#It’s hard to have a good birthday; fellas. Always a cursed day

[muted5ilence]

You’d never believe who’s mom took the first bite of their ice cream cake and shared thst bite with their bro

[calaofnoldor]

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

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

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

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

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

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

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

MASTERLIST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s Sam.”

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

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

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

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

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

“The lore says-“

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

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

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

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

“No,” Sam admits.

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

SIX MONTHS LATER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A thing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

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

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

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

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

“She was practically holding your hand!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you haven’t?”

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

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

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[10blue10]

Soulmates

Hiccup had been born with a soulmate mark on his left hand. It was like a birth mark, except in the shape of the letter T. It was the first letter of the name of his future soulmate. At first, he quite liked the idea of meeting someone who was perfect for him. He wondered who she was, and what her full name was.

This wouldn’t be revealed until his fifteenth birthday when he’d look into a magic mirror in a ceremony. For a month until the big day, Hiccup began to  dream about his soulmate, and get a sense of who they were. His first impressions were that they were male, not female, as he’d always expected.

He was nervous about revealing this bit of information to his father.  When he confessed it to Gobber, his mentor declared “ah, don’t worry. Some folks just swing their swords other way, if you see what I mean. Or both ways! Maybe you’re just one o’ those. Whoever your soulmate is, I’m sure he’s a great fella.”

Though reassured for a while, Hiccup’s future dreams were more unnerving still. For one thing, they only happened after dragon raids. He saw fleeting glimpses of massive fangs and dark caves, but also glittering auroras and heaped clouds. It felt like he was cursed to have a monster as a soulmate.

No, that was ridiculous. The glimpses were supposed to be what his soulmate was seeing, and if he was seeing dragons…did that mean his soulmate was the Dragon Lord? There was a legend in the archipelago that said one day, a mysterious master of dragons would arise to bring an end to the long war.

Hiccup found it hard to believe that a useless, scrawny screw up like him would be the soulmate of a legendary warrior and tamer of beasts. “Got any idea who your future wife is, son?” his father asked one day, to his mortification.

“Uh, no? I mean, I’m not supposed to find that out until the ceremony, am I?”

“Well, not officially, but you can give me a hint,” Stoick insisted, beaming.

He wasn’t so sure about that. “Dad, just…just out of curiosity, what if my soul mate turned out to be someone you - you didn’t approve of?” Hiccup asked nervously. “Like maybe - you never know - they might be the Dragon Lord?”

Stoick stared at him…then burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s a good one! The ‘dragon lord’ is just an old wives tale. There isn’t gonna be some great saviour who’ll come and end this war, son. We’ll do that ourselves, because we are Vikings. Oh! I know what you’re worried about. Well, I won’t lie; it would be very nice to have grandchildren, but if that’s not in the cards for us, then so be it.”

Well, if his soulmate was a guy, his father didn’t seem to be worried about that. Hiccup just wished he didn’t feel like there were bigger things to worry about.  

/

The big day arrived. Everyone gathered in the Great Hall, and a very nervous Hiccup stood before the ceremonial magic mirror. It was hidden behind a red curtain that would be pulled back so he, and everyone else, could see his soulmate. Not for the first time, he wished he could have done this in private.

“People of Berk! On this day, my son’s fifteenth birthday, the identity of his soulmate will be revealed at last!” Stoick announced proudly. “Let’s all be sure to keep an eye out for them from now on,” he chuckled. “Are you ready, son?”

Hiccup took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. “I think so,” he answered.

Stoick patted him on the shoulder, and he stumbled. “Draw back the curtains!”

The fabric fell away. At first Hiccup only saw his own reflection, and that of the Hall behind him. Then the surface of the mirror rippled, changing to a view of…the sky? The view was suddenly filled with a large black snout and huge green eyes and a big pink tongue. Hiccup flinched in shock, and everyone gasped.

He recovered and stared into the mirror, wondering if something had gone wrong. The black dragon stared back at him, wary but curious. They must have been looking down into a pool of water. Hiccup felt a jolt when he realised he was already thinking the dragon of a ‘them’, a person, instead of as an ‘it’.

Only then did he realise that his father was shouting. “Quiet! Everyone be quiet! Gothi, there must have been some mistake. Why isn’t the mirror showing us Hiccup’s soulmate?” Stoick demanded of the village elder. She pointed at the dragon, who was sniffing at the surface of whatever he was looking at.

“That’s what I’m saying, it’s not showing…” Stoick turned an unpleasant shade of red. “Are you trying to tell me, that my son’s soulmate is a bloody dragon?!”

Much to Hiccup’s dismay, Gothi nodded slowly. He couldn’t even fathom the idea of being soulmates with a dragon; he’d barely been able to get his head around the idea of being soulmates with another man. Did the gods hate him?

“No,” Stoick declared, scowling. “No son of mine is going to be soulmates with a dragon. Hiccup! Come away from that damned mirror.” He marched over and grabbed his son’s arm. The dragon snarled. “You’re not going near any dragons until we figure out how to undo…where did it go?” Stoick demanded.

The dragon had vanished from the mirror, which was already fading back to a normal reflection. Hiccup inexplicably knew exactly where they had gone. To find him. “Dad, he’s coming here. He’ll attack the village trying to find me, you have to let me go!” he insisted. “Maybe I can talk him down, or something….”

“Who are you-? The dragon? You mean the dragon is coming straight to us?”

Hiccup realised he’d made a terrible mistake, but it was too late. “Get bolas!” ordered Stoick. “Ready the catapults! If we capture it, we can sever the” -

He stopped listening. His father was willing to break the bond with his soulmate - as if that were even possible - out of hatred for dragons. Hiccup found himself running. The only way to save his village, and his soul, was to get to that dragon before the dragon got to him. Shouts rose up around him, but he’d gotten very good at running and dodging over the years growing up.

Before he knew it he was out of the Great Hall. A shadow swept by overhead; the black dragon was circling over the village. Hiccup yelled up at them and ran into the woods, hoping they would follow. He had no real plan, except to get them both away from the village. His heart was racing, his breath gasping.

At last he had to stagger to a halt. With a crackling of branches, the dragon landed in front of him. Hiccup trembled. “N-nice dragon. Please don’t eat me.”

He heard shouting behind him. “Y-you need to get out of here, or - or they’ll kill you.” What that would do to him, he didn’t know, but he didn’t want to find out.

The dragon - sleek, jet black, with piercing green eyes, a fabled Night Fury - tossed his snout towards his back, as if inviting Hiccup to climb on. “Me? No, I…” Hiccup paused…then steeled himself. If his father couldn’t accept him no matter what, and this Night Fury really was his soulmate…then he ought to go.

He forced himself to move before he lost his nerve. The dragon stayed very still as Hiccup awkwardly hauled himself onto the smooth, muscular shoulders. With nothing else to hold onto, he wrapped his arms around the Fury’s thick neck, even as leathery wings opened on either side of him; and just in time.

Hiccup had never been thrown out of a catapult, thankfully, but this must have been what it felt like. They launched straight up with alarming speed, and he clung on with all his might. Thankfully, the Fury - he really needed to learn their name - soon levelled out. He carefully looked back over his shoulder at Berk.

It was receding swiftly. The only home he’d ever known…he wondered if he’d see it again. “Uh, where are you taking me?” Hiccup asked nervously. His unlikely soulmate gave a reassuring croon, and carried him up to the clouds.

[alienoresimagines]

I'm too tired to be tough (Just wanna be loved by you) | Bill "Hoosier" Smith x Sidney Phillips

A/N : Happy birthday @murphyism, I love you so damn much🥺❤ I hope you’ll enjoy this one and have an amazing birthday!! This was supposed to be fluffy but actually isn’t, it’s more of a character study. I’m not entirely satisfied with it but eh, I hope u’ll like it :) Again thank you @punkgeekchic for being my beta reader and taking the time to correct all my mistakes💙

Taglist :  @murphyism​ @mavysnavy @speirs-sexy-ass​ @order-of-river-phoenix @inglourious-imagines @liebegott​ @tvserie-s-world @stressedinadress @warrior-healer

Posted : 24/09/2020

Masterlist Prompts Taglists

Hoosier loved winters. True winters, with snow and cold, where you’re sick with the flu and not with some illness mosquitoes gave you.

It was the time of the year where he could just lay on whatever surface he found as long as he was wrapped in his blankets.

When he was a kid, he always loved and expected Christmas. His mother’s kind eyes at the end of the stairs near the Christmas tree, waiting for him was the first thing he thought about when asked about home. It was probably the only day he would’ve consider waking up early willingly. Now, he held Christmas and snow even closer to his heart as it was the only things not tainted by the war.

It was the first time he’d celebrate it since he was back. Sidney had invited him to spend it with him, his parents and sister being away somewhere in Chicago. Hoosier refused to think about why he had accepted.

“Are you going to be laid under your blankets all day?”

Sid sat down on the space left of the couch, two cups of coffee in his hands as he handed one to Bill who nodded his thanks while taking the warm cup in his cold hands.

“Why would you want me to do anything else?” He looked up from his blanket, brought the mug to his lips and took a sip, all while carefully studying the younger man who was watching him with something that looked like softness in his kind blue eyes. Hoosier refused to linger on it, but he craved something that he knew only the man beside him could offer. The warmth that was radiating off Sidney only made it to harder to not reach out to grab him by the collar and cuddle to his side. He didn’t even know why he was fighting that instinct, that need.

The source of all his internal conflicts was neatly clothed, Bill noticed. His blonde, slightly curly hair was arranged perfectly to fit his face, his white shirt straight and clean. No matter how much he denied it, Sid always put time into his appearance. There were times Hoosier feared it was to impress him.

Though there was no need, the only thing between them two being Hoosier himself. And for once he was ready to give in. Ready to give him more than a few kisses when the war came too close from knocking at his heart’s door, more than lingering touches he couldn’t hold back, to give him the person he was, but most importantly the person he wasn’t anymore.

“Fair point.” Sidney’s gentle voice brought him back to reality, making him painfully realize how dry his throat was. As if he was back on the damned last island, with dust and blood everywhere he looked. It was easier when they were fighting a war. Then Hoosier could act as he wanted, although chained by fear, he was allowed to joke around and in a rush of fondness give a present and celebrating someone’s birthday. Even if the present was a mere grenade, in a battle it could save his life. But Hoosier hadn’t think about that aspect, it was simply the first thing he laid the hand on. After all, they were in a war, he could have died at any moment, leaving and forgetting everything behind. Past loves and future sorrows.

Hoosier took another sip of his too hot coffee without breaking the eye contact, feeling the warmth deep within his chest again and butterflies in his stomach. Maybe this time, Sid wouldn’t be disappointed and Hoosier’s heart wouldn’t be crushed.

The ringing of the phone in the hallway pierced his ears but he did not flinch and instead rolled his eyes and reluctantly started to move out of his comfortable spot.

“I’ll take that one, Bill.” Sid was off before Hoosier could say a thing but he heard how the younger one’s voice was shaking. His fists clenched as guilt washed over him but he couldn’t let his fences down, no matter how much he tried. Hoosier felt like the bad boy in high school who’d bring girl’s hopes up just to let them know he was in fact interested in their best friend. His mother didn’t raise him like such, the twist in his stomach let him know.

It most probably wasn’t what Sid had in mind as company for Christmas. Hoosier threw his head back and closed his eyes, praying to a god he stopped believing in.

Sidney’s youthful faith appeared in the doorway, a fake smile on his face and Hoosier’s silent prayers turned into curses.

“Eugene wants to know if we’re down for a walk.” He was tired, Hoosier finally realized.

Tired of loving someone who didn’t allow himself to give it back.

Tired of trying and trying for what seemed to be nothing.

Bill was tired too.

“When?”

“Why would that matter, do you have something planned in the near future?” That stung, and Bill flinched. He deserved it though, but what hurt even more was the look of guilt on Sid’s features. People like Sid shouldn’t have to be sad or feel any kind of negative emotions.

“Yes, for ya to sit down here and cuddle me, ’m cold.” Sid watched him with wide eyes, surely repeating what he just said in his head over and over to be sure it was real. Bill watched as Sid’s blue eyes sparkled and he bit his lips, trying so hard not to smile but failing miserably.

That sight was worth fighting every evil in the world.

“I..I’m sure Gene won’t take that against you.” No, that he wouldn’t. But Bill knew that Sledge fella had some unpleasant but deserved words for him. Bill smiled at Sid, truly and with every emotions he could muster. It seemed to be enough for Sid as he left, lighter than before.

Somehow, it hurt even more.

When Sid returned, after muffled whispers of bliss and hushed confessions to his best friend, the smile hadn’t left his face, even if Bill could say he was trying to tone it down.

His own face was softened, lips forming a lazy smile as he observed Sid with a raised eyebrow.

“What?” He asked while making place for him.

“Are you alright? I mean.. I don’t want to force you in anything you don’t want.. I-” Sidney spoke fast his doubts but his eyes didn’t lie. Oh, what did Bill do? What was he even doing?

Nothing good could ever come out of it, his brain whispered.

He’s scarred and so are you. Right now doesn’t have to be good as long as he makes you feel a better man, his heart chimed in.

Bill’s face darkened for a second before he looked at Sid’s face again. He made eye contact with him for several seconds, corners of the lips twitching slightly.

“Sid. Stop thinking and come cuddle with me.” Sid laughed in relief, still a bit stiff but making his way over. They struggled a bit at first with all the fluffy blankets but they managed, and the younger one settled on his side, head layed on Bill’s shoulder and slowly intertwining their fingers, his own shaking.

Hesitating, not sure of the moves he was allowed to do without making Bill walk away.

For the first time in days, Bill’s love for Sid won against his hatred, and he firmly but tenderly squeezed Sid’s hand.

[magpiemorality]

sorry i'm giving you so many prompts but akldsfhjl “When you love someone, you don’t just stop. Ever. Even when people roll their eyes or call you crazy… even then. Especially then!” with intruality (if you want to of course)

AO3

Warnings: bit of angst & hurt/comfort, insecurity, cursing. This got a bit longer than planned!!

***

Remus was acting weird. Like, really weird. He’d been quiet and calm and utterly, bizarrely polite for going on three days now without fail, helping with the cooking, setting the table, wearing button down shirts… It was just wrong, wrong, wrong. 

And Patton was starting to get nervous. That morning when he’d got up for work Remus had been peacefully asleep beside him, sprawled out and snoring gently the way Patton secretly adored, and not so secretly adored teasing him about. He’d flicked the silver stripe in Remus’s hair to rouse him, bending to peck him on the cheek as always. But Remus had woken sharply and gasped when he’d seen the time, muttering about alarms and cursing under his breath, though he was being cagey about what for. He’d started running around the apartment and it was all Patton could do to stop him, trying to calm his wild partner. 

When Remus had sighed and started apologising Patton had finally realised that they Needed To Deal With This Now. 

He’d called in sick to work despite Remus’s protests and they now found themselves in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee to brew, Patton leaning against the cabinets with his arms folded and bottom lip sucked in so he could chew on it fretfully; Remus sat hunched over at the table, head in one hand and working very hard to ignore his partner. 

The machine whirred as it poured out the coffee and Patton added in the horrendous mint creamer that Remus liked- and actually hadn’t touched since this whole weird phase had started now he thought about it- and placed the mug in front of him on the table, sitting down kitty corner with his own. 

They sat in silence for a moment as Patton sipped his drink and tried to figure out where to start. Normally an oversharer of enormous magnitude; Remus had a bad habit of not letting people in. Patton had thought he’d firmly broken through a while ago but apparently not. 

“Are you gonna look at me at any point, doll, or are you gonna keep on ignoring me until I go away?” He murmured. It had the desired reaction; Remus’s head shot up and he looked at Patton in a panic. 

“Shit, Pats, I didn’t mean to make you feel ignored- that’s the last thing I wanted. Fuck, I mean, fudge, I mean… Sorry babe. Sorry.” He caught himself as he hung his head, looking up at Patton with those big brown eyes that had first melted his heart. 

Patton nodded, putting his mug down and shifting it around on the table to keep his hands occupied. “Accepted. But we gotta talk, Remus. I think you and I both know that you’ve been acting… different. And don’t get me wrong, I love all the attention, but most of it is just, it’s creepy Re! I don’t like it one bit! You’re tense and stressed and I don’t like it.” 

Remus winced. “It was meant to impress you.” 

“Impress me?!” Patton laughed, reaching out to take Remus’s hand in his own. “It left an impression. I was seriously considering the possibility that you’d been replaced by a pod person, doll.”

“That would be fun,” Remus admitted, relaxing a bit in his chair. “But no.”

“So then what the hell happened to you?! I’m going nuts here, help a fella out!” Patton beseeched him, trying to lift the tone with a little smile and squeeze of his fingers. Remus continued to look mostly miserable, but there was a lightness to his face that Patton had missed, returning slowly but surely. 

“I wanted to be a better partner to you. It’s not fair you have to put up with me all the time when you could have someone normal and sane and someone who doesn’t make you look after them all the time and who wears adult clothes and is just…” 

“More mature?” Patton guessed, suspicions confirmed by Remus’s nod. “Right. Well fuck that, for starters.” Remus jerked in surprise. Swearing from Patton was a Big Deal. “I know what I said and I meant it. I’ll say it again if I have to.” 

“I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed-” 

Patton huffed and rolled his eyes, scolding him with the utmost fondness. “Concentrate, dollface, save the flirting for after we’ve got you back to normal. Now I want you to listen to me very carefully, okay?” Remus nodded, shuffling closer on the edge of his chair. Good. “I love you exactly as you are. In fact, if I might be so bold, I love you because of how you are. You are perfect to me. You hear that?” 

Remus was hanging onto every word, drinking it up like a drowning man, but he apparently couldn’t resist the impulse to interrupt one last time. “But your parents babe, they think I’m just a freeloader! They’re just waiting for you to move on from your rebel phase! A-and your friends never liked me, I could tell- they always said how crazy you were to end up settling for me.” Patton snorted loud enough to make Remus jump again, the sound dripping with derision. 

“When you love someone, you don’t just stop. Ever. Even when people roll their eyes or call you crazy… even then. Especially then! I thought you of all people would know that. You went and shacked up with Mr. Vanilla Homebody, didn’t you? And don’t try and tell me your friends didn’t say exactly the same thing to start with, because I know and love Dee but he was far from my biggest fan when we met.”

Remus sniffed, but he also shrugged, and Patton marked that down as a win. 

“Okay but, we’re in our thirties now. Shouldn’t I be acting a bit more my age anyway?”

“You mean you don’t love pillow fort Sundays? Getting new lego sets for Christmas and birthdays and just because? The plushie shelf? Because let me remind you, Mr King; I am just as invested in those things as you are. And I know you’d never ask me to change, right?” It was a dirty tactic but hey, it worked. Remus crumbled like a gravel wall and flung his arms around Patton despite the awkward angle, hugging him tightly. 

It lasted a long while, and the coffee was starting to cool when they sat back in their respective chairs and smiled softly at each other. Patton couldn’t bring himself to care one bit, because Remus looked miles better and they still had most of the day left to hang out together with zero obligations. 

Remus’s smile turned to a big grin. “So, you wanna build a pillow fort to make out in while we put The Incredibles on in the background? And then donate every single one of those awful shirts to goodwill?” He held out his mug hopefully. 

Patton clinked it with his own. “I’d love nothing less.” 

[hazel-writes]

Summary: You embark on your first mission off-board the Finalizer, but only to learn that trouble tends to follow you no matter where you are...

Word Count: 2,800

Notes: Things are starting to pick up!

Warnings: strong canon-typical violence, blood

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

I think it's gonna be a long, long time

'Til touchdown brings me 'round again to find

I'm not the man they think I am at home

Oh no, no, no

I'm a rocket man

• Rocket Man - Elton John •

This was your first time in the hangar since Ms. Stoney had rudely ushered you to your quarters on your first day onboard the Finalizer.

As you entered, you were once again faced with the great speckled wall of never-ending space. The scariness of its infinite expanse reminded you of the first time you ever saw the ocean.

You were ten. You and your family had traveled to a remote part of Lothal for your father’s birthday. He had been wanting a change of scenery to spark some new inspiration for his paintings and your mother had surprised him with the impromptu vacation.

You didn’t remember much from that trip, but you did recall your older brother, Doran, attempting to teach you how to swim.

“Move your arms like this, and your legs like this,” he said, demonstrating the correct movements.

You crossed your arms defiantly. “I still don’t understand why you want me to learn how to swim. We don’t live anywhere near the ocean!”

Doran’s eyes lit up. “Maybe someday you will. Maybe someday there’ll be a huge rainstorm and the whole world will flood, and you, thanks to me, will be the only person on Lothal who knows how to swim. You’ll escape, start your own civilization, and be queen of the new world.”

You raised a sceptical eyebrow. “So you’re saying, if I learn how to swim, I’ll become queen of the world?”

He smirked. “Precisely.”

You looked to your mother, still not fully believing him. “Ma, is that true?”

She shrugged. “Crazier things have happened.”

"Okay, fine. I’ll learn how to swim. But I don’t want to be queen.” You look out to the vast ocean, trying to find its end. “It would be much too lonely to rule the world on my own.”

As if on cue, you were pulled from your memory when the First Order’s own ruler entered the hangar, accompanied by General Hux and a brigade of stormtroopers.

The Commander and General made their way onto a small private shuttle, while the troopers entered a larger one to their left. You, Akilah, Takoda, Rilea, and Soren followed behind the troopers.

————————————

The ride to Dantooine was cramped and bumpy, but much shorter than you imagined it to be.

When the shuttle lowered its ramp for the troopers to exit, the view you were met with left you breathless.

Your eyes were embraced by a kaleidoscope of colors. Green hills framed small valley villages like nature’s very own picture frames. Blue skies provided the perfect backdrop. Pink and purple flowers dotted the rolling ground and ancient trees towered over them, almost protectively.

Takoda laughed, nudging you forward, “What, you’ve never seen a tree before?”

“Not like this,” you replied, awestruck.

He sighed, looking around, his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I suppose this place is kinda special.”

You laughed. “You suppose? ”

Rilea appeared next to you. “Koda lived here for a while; he’s used to it’s ‘specialness’ by now.”

You turned back to Koda, surprised. “You lived here? On Dantooine?”

“Yep, a long time ago,” he sighed again.

This shocked you. “Even though there’s so many Resista-”

You are silenced midway through your question as General Hux began to speak to the group.

“All of you have your missions. This should be a quick, easy job. Myself and Commander Ren will be speaking with the leaders here. Troopers, only engage with citizens if absolutely necessary. If any resist violently, kill them. We will not waste our time on wannabe rebel scum.” He turned in your direction. “You five, distribute the posters and try not to get yourselves killed.” He pauses. “You are all dismissed.”

The crowd dispersed as you turned to face your team members.

“Well that was downright inspiring,” Soren quipped sarcastically.

Rilea scoffed, “ You’re one to talk, Mr. Melancholy.”

Soren rolled his eyes.

“So how does this work?” you asked, changing the subject.

“I think it’s best if we split up,” Rilea said, “We have a lot of ground to cover.”

“Sounds good!” Koda replied. “Meet back here in an hour?”

We all nod.

Akilah speaks up. “Just remember: keep your head down. Try to put up the posters when there aren’t too many people nearby. If you get into any trouble, run back here. Got it?”

We all nod again.

“Good. I’ll see you all in an hour,” she said before walking away.

You start in the opposite direction, towards a thick tree-line at the edge of the meadow that the shuttles landed in.

After walking for about twenty minutes, you came across some small buildings — a mix of houses, tiny shops, and public amenities.

You took out your stack of posters, pulled one off of the top, and taped it to the building closest to you.

Success.

You found another building with a white wall, pulled out a second poster, and had just started to put it up when you were approached by three men.

“What do you think you’re doing, First Order scum ?”

Why is it always me?

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.” You took a step back, smiling. “Just putting up some posters.”

The man nearest to you, who was sporting a floppy brown haircut, spoke next. “Posters… is that what you call ’em?” he laughed. “ We usually refer to them as First Order trash!”

He walked towards you, stumbling a little, and snatched the poster out of your hand before crumpling it into a ball.

The man smelled like alcohol and looking around, you noticed that the building you decided to tape your poster to was a cantina.

Great.

The man threw the crumpled-up poster in your direction and you stumbled backwards, dropping the rest of the posters on the dirt below.

“What a shame,” one of the other men said sarcastically. He wore a dark blue shirt that was ripped on one sleeve.

You attempt to stay calm. “Look, I don’t want any trouble — I’m just doing my job.”

“Ha!” the floppy-haired man scoffs, looking at his two comrades. “We’ve heard that one before, haven’t we boys?”

“Yeah!” the man with the ripped shirt shouted emphatically, “Were you ‘just doing your job’ when you murdered my brothers and sisters? When you destroyed our houses? When you stole our land and resources?”

You were lost for words. “I- I’m sorry. I truly am.”

“You really think I’m some bantha-brained idiot?” he replied, infuriated. “If you were ‘truly sorry’ you wouldn’t be putting up those posters.”

“I know, it’s just-”

The floppy-haired man spoke up again, a sinister smile on his lips. “You know what boys, I think we should give the Order a taste of their own medicine.”

You didn’t like where this was going. “Please, let me just-”

Before you could get another word out, the man had grabbed your arm roughly.

You tried to squirm out of his grasp, but he was too strong. You could try using your newfound powers, but you remembered what Commander Ren had told you: don’t reveal your Force abilities while on the mission.

Thinking quickly, you were able to bring your knee up to hit him where it hurt, and he stumbled back momentarily, cursing.

The other two men surged forward, slamming you into the wall behind you. Your head made contact with the hard surface and you saw stars.

Feeling dizzy and disoriented, your body slid to the ground, as the men began to search your pockets.

“What- what do you want?” you managed to choke out, still dazed from the impact on your head.

The man you had hit, having recovered from your blow, made his way back over to you.

“Shut up, you sithspit.”

His words spurred a surge of energy within you, and you did your best to grab and scratch at the hands that were searching your pockets, only to have the floppy-haired man backhand you, hard .

Your cheek stung, and so did your emotions. You felt angry. Hurt. Constricted. Frustrated. Trapped.

A familiar sixth sense began to build within you, begging to be released from your body.

No, no, no, you thought. Remember what the Commander said. Remember what he said. Don’t disappoint him. Not again.

You felt the sense within you retreat and you breathed a sigh of relief. Your head was pulsing to the painful rhythm of your panicked heart. You could feel blood seep from the spot on your cheek where the man had hit you.

The guy with the blue shirt, having found the credits you had brought along with you in case of emergency, shouted in victory.

“We’ll be having a big feast tonight, fellas!” he shouted, holding out your coins for them to see.

"Wait-” you started, knowing that without those credits, you’d be pretty much broke.

“What did I say, girl — shut your mouth!”

You felt a heavy boot make contact with your already nauseous stomach.

Your eyes glazed over, silent tears falling, as you curled into the smallest ball you could manage. It was what you did as a child whenever you heard the X-Wings and TIE fighters exchanging fire above your house.

Your ears suddenly picked up the sound of another pair of heavy footsteps approach from a nearby alley.

Through bleary eyes, you watched as each of your attackers were lifted off the ground and thrown into the wall opposite to you with sickening crunches.

You shuffled back as fast as you could, given your current state, not wanting to incur the wrath of whatever it was that approached you.

Your back hit a hard wall and you could do nothing more than shut your eyes and shield your head with your arms, preparing for the imminent attack.

“Stop.”

A voice sounded from in front of you.

A familiar voice.

“Commander,” you whispered, hoarsely.

He knelt down, his mask scanning your slumped body.

“You need medical attention,” he said, in his typical ‘stating a question as an order’ tone.

“Yes, I think you may be right,” you responded, letting out a pained chuckle.

He continued to stare at you, intently, through his visor. You began to feel a prickling at the back of your head, much like the time in Hux’s office. Except now, it was gentler — comforting. And this time, you embraced it, letting it in completely.

After a moment, the prickling stopped.

The Commander looked down for a moment, as if uncomfortable with what he was going to say next.

“You- you didn’t defend yourself,” he said in a tone you had never heard from him before. He sounded confused, conflicted.

“I tried,” you said, rubbing your hands, which were still sore from clawing at your attacker’s limbs.

“I meant with the Force,” he continued. “You felt prompted to do so with Hux, and yet with this more... threatening encounter, you refused.”

You gazed up at him, surprised that he didn’t already know the answer to his own question.

“You told me not to,” you said simply, looking at him, the corner of your mouth twitching upwards.

“And you would rather risk death than defy my orders?”

Finally, you thought. A genuine question.

“I trusted that the reasons behind your orders were important,” you replied, confident in your explanation.

He seemed taken aback by that. Maybe he wasn’t used to people following his orders because they ‘trusted’ him. Instead, he was probably used to them following his orders out of fear .

You started to stand, but your stomach reeled at the attempted movement. You sucked in a sharp breath of air through clenched teeth and put a hand on the wall behind you for stability.

Your head was spinning — you had hit it harder than you thought. Lights danced before your eyes, making it hard to see.

The Commander’s cloaked shape rose next to you, and as your eyes followed his movement, you realized you had almost forgotten how tall he was.

He reached a gloved hand towards you, slowing slightly when he got close, almost as if he was expecting you to flinch.

You didn’t.

He took that as a sign to continue his maneuver. Placing one arm below your shoulders and the other at the backs of your knees, he wordlessly lifted you off of the ground and into his arms.

You were on the brink of consciousness, but managed to whisper a final “thank you” before drifting into an unrestful sleep.

———————————

When you woke, you weren’t in your bed like before. You looked down, only to realize you were still in the arms of your Commander.

Slightly embarrassed at your vulnerable state, you closed your eyes and pretended to be asleep, as to avoid any potential awkwardness.

“I know you’re awake.”

Kriff.

You opened a hesitant eye and looked up at the source of the deep, rumbling voice, but his mask was pointed straight ahead, on the trees in front of him.

“Where are we?” you asked, your voice coming out hoarser than you wished it to.

Still looking forward, he responded. “We’re almost back to the shuttle.”

“Oh,” you replied.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you; no noise was present other than the breeze blowing the leaves of nearby trees and the sound of the Commander’s boots crunching twigs and branches at a steady pace beneath you.

His walking slowed as you neared the edge of the tree line. You looked past it to see the larger meadow where the First Order shuttles were situated.

The Commander came to a complete stop and looked down at you quickly, before bringing his eyes back to the clearing ahead.

There was that strange emotion again: confliction.

He probably doesn’t want to be seen carrying me, you thought. Too much visible empathy isn’t good for his menacing reputation…

You decided to speak up first — making the decision for him. “You can let me down now, I’m fine.”

He shifted his glance downwards as you moved in his grip. However, instead of letting you go, as per your instructions, he maintained his tight hold.

You wished you could read his mind like he had read yours back on the Finalizer.

What was he thinking?

Why does he seem so conflicted all of a sudden?

Why is he helping you, again?

Suddenly, as if in response to your questions, waves of intense feeling washed over you.

Anger. Frustration. Confliction. Curiosity. Reluctance.

It took you a second to realize that these weren’t your feelings, they were his.

Shocked by your sudden intrusion into his mind, he looked at you, tilting his head slightly to the side, before guiding you to stand on your feet. The Commander remained silent as you leaned on a nearby tree for support.

He glanced between you and the shuttles, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

“Go,” you waved him in the direction of the meadow.

He didn’t move.

“Go,” you spoke again, softly, attempting a smile. “I understand.”

Seemingly content with your reply, he nodded his head slightly, and headed into the meadow, cape blowing in the breeze behind him.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you waited for five minutes, giving the Commander enough time to get to the shuttles before you followed.

The pain in your head, cheek, and abdomen increased, so you began to stumble into the meadow, hoping to make it to the shuttles before you passed out again.

Luckily, a familiar voice called your name.

“Guys, come on — I found her!” Akilah’s words sounded across the meadow.

Your exhaustion got the best of you, and you crumpled into the soft grass beneath you.

“Sor, come help me!”

You looked up to see Akilah’s worried face, followed by Soren’s confused one.

Koda and Rilea followed close behind, but Akilah soon directed them back towards the shuttle to warn the medical crew of your arrival.

She directed her attention back at you, smiling. “Here, hold on, we’ll get you back in no time. Sor, grab her other arm.”

You felt your body lift off the ground, Akilah holding up your left side and Soren holding up your right.

“Wait,” you spoke, barely a whisper. “I- I dropped the posters.”

Soren looked at Akilah. “Is she serious right now?”

“Umm… I’m really not sure,” she replied, frowning. “Could be a head injury.”

“We better get her back,” Soren replied, as the two of them helped you back to the shuttle.

They laid you on a makeshift bed and the on-board medic began attending to your injuries.

You used the last of your strength to lift your head slightly to search for Commander Ren, but he was nowhere to be found.

Dropping your head back onto the pillow, you closed your eyes, finally embracing the comforting darkness of sleep.

———————————————

Previous || Masterlist || Next

[latina4rmbx]

Purpose Driven Life...

Before you get in a huff, I know the title above is the title to a Religious Diary.  I have one, someone very dear to me gave me. However, this is not totally religious.  Now, notice I said “NOT TOTALLY?”  Well, when it comes to living your purpose or finding your purpose in life, it’s kind of difficult to ask those questions without mentioning a higher power driving you.  Get it?  No?  You will.

I will admit, I am a person who is random.  I will randomly reach out to people I haven’t communicated with in years, just because they were on my mind.  I will randomly sing a song because it’s stuck in my head and I will randomly ask a question, because this is what I do.

What if I tell you, my randomness isn’t..well, for lack of a better term...random?  What if there is a rhyme and reason for everything I do (I can’t speak on anyone else BUT myself) even if I don’t know it at the time I do it?  You may think I’m talking about a higher power controlling me or the universe or the spirits that guide me.  Whatever you call it, I’ve realized, my randomness is NOT random.

For the record, I will say, not every time I want to reach out to someone I do it.  I think of them, wonder how they’re doing, pray for them - hoping they’re well - and then go about my life.  There are some doors that need to remain closed, and for the most part, I’m good on maintaining this level of closure.

Yesterday I reached out to a dear friend of mine.  Mind you, we probably converse once every few months.  Not because there isn’t love there, there is an abundance, but life being what it is.  You know the story.  I reached out as I was driving, because she was on my mind heavy.

SIDE NOTE:  This is the little sister of an ex of mine.  He passed away a couple of years ago.  His death anniversary and his birthday are days apart.  So whenever August/September rolls around I think of her very much.  She was my rock during this ordeal and I hope I was hers.

I reach out to her on some “what’s up? how you doin’?” type but something compelled me to ask a simple question:  “Are you happy?”  Now, it may be an innocent question however, I know this womans life story.  I know her parents, her brothers, he children, her love and her heart break.  Without getting into detail, she has suffered a lot of constant heartbreak.  When I say “constant,” I mean, it was one thing after another after another and she didn’t get a break from it.  Me, being witness to part of her heartbreak, I had to ask.  She has recently taken control of her life and I am so proud of the woman she IS and has always been.

SIDE NOTE:  I am a very honest person.  Honest to a fault.  Don’t get me wrong I have lied, here and there, but when it really counts, I will be honest because it’s what I expect from those around me.  Those who can be honest with me, regardless of how it makes them look (honest about themselves) or how it will make me feel (honest about me) are those who I treasure most.  But I digress...

Her response was a very short and appropriate one:  “  Wow that’s pretty deep!  It’s okay that you didn’t to text me.  He was definitely on my mind.  Am I happy....I’m not where I want to be but I’m nowhere near where I was in the dark.  I’m on the right track to my happiness.  What made you ask me that?  How about you?  Are you happy??

Well, didn’t she just lob that question right back at me?  “I am happy.  Very.  I had to choose to be.”

Now, here is where things take a very meaningful turn.

This is something I have been vocal about, but not really on social because frankly it’s no ones business, until I allow it to be someone’s business.  Again, without getting into too much detail, Bebesito and I had been going through a really rough patch.  At the end of the day, I allowed my insecurities override my happiness.  More on that in another blog...MAYBE

HER:  “So you worked things out with your boyfriend?  Last time we spoke there was some things going on.”

Since I was driving, I sent her a series of audio texts, explaining myself.  

EXCERPT:  “Since I forgave him, and he’s really trying, I decided to change my attitude.  I had to change the way I was approaching him and life because everything was getting me down.  I depressed.  I was crying all the time.  I was hurt all the time and we were arguing all the time.  Something just clicked.  I don’t know why, I don’t know how.  I thank God that it happened.  I didn’t want to feel that way anymore.  I didn’t feel hopeless, but I felt worthless.  I decided to be happy and it’s working.  Just for your knowledge (and I guess the knowledge of my 4 readers) I really want to be with him and I knew the way I was approaching him was not going to give me that end result.  He was going to leave me.”

MIND YOU:  He has never said if I don’t change he’s going to leave.  However, there is but so much badgering a person can take.  

EXCERPT CONT:  “It was like I was fulfilling a prophecy I didn’t want to come true.  The change has been recent.  I decided - this is who he is.   There are things I don’t like about him, but I also think it’s a man thing.  You have to sometimes tell them.”

Then I go into a quick example - here’s what happened:  I went on vacation for a week.  When I returned home, a fuse blew at the apartment and all of my food in the fridge spoiled.  I mean it was hot and bugs were growing, so the fuse tripped probably at the start of my trip.  Anywho, I tell my boyfriend because he’s my best friend and I tell him everything. His replies to me were “that’s crazy.  I’m so sorry.  damn babe..”  Etc.  But he never offered help.  THAT incensed me, because I’m like dude, you eat here practically every day, why don’t you offer to help me?  I had made up my mind that if he didn’t offer to help, I was going to leave him.

FELLAS:  This is really how women think and you never know how close you come to being left on a daily.  I’m not saying it’s your fault.  I’m just saying, pay better attention.

I don’t think me wanting to leave him because he didn’t offer to help me was fair to him.  Mind you, I am a woman who always gets shit done.  I don’t know how but I figure out a way, always.  He knows this.  So in his mind, I don’t think he would even think to offer help, because I always figure it out.  Not saying it’s right, just saying that’s what it is.  

Then I thought about unfair it was to him.  Also, I was so stressed out and probably wasn’t thinking clearly on the verge of tears.  So I asked him, listen, can you give me money for groceries.  Actually what I said was:  I feel weird asking this, however if I don’t ask, I won’t know.  Can you give me money for groceries?  And his response was “of course.”  

To think, a few minutes prior, I was thinking about leaving him.    I am learning that I can’t assume someone knows my situation, and this includes him.

I couldn’t continue trying to have him live up to this expectation, when he had no clue what I was expecting of him.  There I vowed to change.  I feel lighter and easier.  I feel better, Our relationship is better.  We talk more. We talk to each other which is one of the reasons why I am able to choose to be happy.  

I ended the messages to her saying:  I feel proud of how far we’ve come.  He and I, we’ve come far and we’re both willing to make it work...regardless of the mistakes.

Let me remind you, I haven’t spoken to her in a few months.  I knew her situation and how she was getting away from it.  I understood where she was coming from and knew what she felt she had to do to get to happy.  However, I didn’t know that my story about my rotten food was going to make her tear up.

IN A NUTSHELL:  Women who have had to be strong their entire lives, have a hard time relying on anyone.  And when someone wants to help, genuinely help, we always think there’s an underlying reason and we are leery.  This is the toxicity of women that we refuse to discuss.  We take on so much that we don’t let men be men and then wonder why they leave us.  Well, we show them time and again we don’t need them and men need to feel needed.  It’s the Masculine/Feminine that we have give and get.  Men need to be needed and women need to be wanted.  Not through any fault of their own.  This is where Daddy issues and generational curses come into play.  But this is where we are in this story.

So she explains to me what’s been happening in her life and the fact that I am choosing to be happy and letting the past be the past and forgiving and allowing myself to be forgiven, all to be happy, she had some giving up of herself to do too.  

Mind you, when I asked “Are you happy?”  I had no idea what was happening in her life.  I just knew she was starting a new one.  I was genuinely curious to know if she was happy with the choices she made.  I mean, I am nosy that way.  I didn’t know how deep of an impact those words can have on another human.  Especially, when one has been so unhappy for a long time.  You sometimes have to sit back and really think about what’s being asked.  Something as simple as asking, “Are you happy?” can cause a person to reevaluate their lives.

I ended up telling her, I guess this is MY purpose in your life.  To push you forward.  To check in from time to time and make sure you get to happy.  Whether it’s uprooting your family and moving to another state.  Saying YES to that man, because you’ve been hurt so many times before.  Saying NO to someone you love because they hurt you, etc.  

I don’t know if this is my purpose in life.  To tell the stories from my perspective and my experiences.  Maybe someone is going through something similar and needs to know they aren’t alone.  Please note, YOU ARE NOT ALONE.  

From the bottom of my heart, I hope my blog, at the very least helps someone feel like they are not alone.  We are all human and go through things in our lives that make us question “What is my purpose?”  Maybe your purpose is to guide someone else.  This doesn’t have to be literal in response.  I hope you all live your purpose.

Thanks for reading.

XOXO

[cchexmex]

ballad of paladin

chapter two worked out in my head, just need to write it all down. was hit by the desire to write this up, possibly part of chapter three after I work it all out, this is a bit of a rough draft. 

warnings:child abuse implied/referenced, underage drinking, mild mentions of gore. summary: a few drinks shared, the men talk about their fathers for a moment.

near 2000 words.

The bottle handed out to him, Erron took it-cautious, wondering what was going on in Reid’s head, the man sporting a weak smirk, eyes glimmering. “Go on, it’s alright… I don’t mind sharin’.” 

He took it, surprised by the heft of glass. Holding it up, he looked into it-lantern light reflecting off of the contents, a murky amber, the smell hitting him even from a few inches away. “Thanks.” A mumbled response, the saliva on his lips drying-making his skin peel-the air too dry. Eyes on him, Shaw lifting up the brim of his hat and glancing over at him, Delany tutting and leaning back in his chair-casting a glare over at them both. Erron drank, fighting back a cough when the liquid tore through his throat and burned down towards his stomach. A long swig, wanting to prove himself. 

“See? He’s fine…” Reid stuck out a hand, his face growing redder as he turned around to grin at the men, gaze lingering on Delany-beads of sweat now forming on his forehead as he continued to clean his revolver, grumbling something under his breath. “Just fine, a little drink never hurt no one…” he chuckled, holding his bottle up high before leaning forward and tapping it’s lip against the larger bottle held in Erron’s hand. 

The minutes passed by silently, swigs taken as he tried to keep pace with Reid-the man taking down another bottle, lightly tossing them on the ground-the clang of glass meeting the clicking of metal and the soft breathing of the men around him. A scoffed breath from Delany as he wiped the excess oil from his revolver-putting it back together now, his attention half held on the task as he glanced over at Erron. Reid spoke first, his words slow-like molasses dripping off a spoon. “Now… Erron… son-” he laughed, flashing Erron a yellowing grin. Erron grimaced, clearly he was still amused by the discussion the day prior at that homestead. The gentle prods from Shaw, annoying when coming from Reid. Gut burning, he steadied himself and took another drink, ignoring him.

“What…” Reid leaned back, the chair creaking as his heft shifted “what was your daddy like?” he spoke each word with a curious eye twitch, the skin around his eyelids jumping up and down. Erron raised a brow, face burning as he mulled his question over. 

“My what?” He muttered over the lip of his bottle, tipping it back slightly-head starting to buzz.

“Leave him alone, R-”

“You hobble your lip, we’re just talkin’” Reid interrupted him quickly, Delany’s cheeks puffing out with a huff-his ears turning a dull purple. 

“I didn't ever call him daddy…” Erron spoke up, covering his mouth as a belch rolled up and out. 

“Well, what’d ya call him?” Eyes narrowed, a slight jump of a brow as he focused on Erron.

“Pa…” a response that was half true, in recent years before he left he had rarely called him by that address. How his father had expected to be addressed as Sir and Sir alone once Erron began to grow taller, once he began to fight back. Yes Sir, no Sir, the few accepted words to leave his lips. 

“Pa…” Reid repeated the word, nodding in an exaggerated manner, rubbing his fat chin with calloused fingers. “I’ll go first… I’ll tell ya about my daddy.” he hacked out a cough, saliva catching in his throat. “Now.... my daddy was a good man. A damn good man. Taught me how to fish… how to shoot.” A pause in his words as he tipped back his bottle, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before continuing. “But… when I was ‘bout eleven-he cut himself on accident. A big ol’ gash when we were out gettin’ a trapped coon. His damn leg rotted from the inside out.” he clicked his tongue against his teeth “killed him… damn bullshit takin’ my daddy from me.”

Erron stared at him, a queasiness in his stomach as he imagined the sight-the smell. Surprise that Reid was so open about his father, never having heard the man talk about anything in a serious manner-aside from how to make gunpowder blow shit apart. 

“Now my mama, she couldn't go on takin’ care of me… or so she said. She sold me-sold me off to some well off fella. He got me workin’ on his damn farm, treatin’ me like a mule-beatin’ the shit out of me when I complained. Hope she got her money’s worth…” he grumbled, tossing down his empty bottle, the glass thick enough to hold from the short distance “one night, it got bad-so… I had to do it. I snuck into his room when his lady was away-little knife I used to peel potatoes and shit… stuck that in his neck and took care of him.” A chuckle left his lips, the room quite-save for a small cough coming from the corner of the room. His eyes dark, drifting up from a point beside Erron’s head-meeting his eyes. Expectant, sitting loosely in that chair-waiting for Erron.

Another swig, wanting the burn to distract him. He licked his lips, tapping his fingers against the glass that had now warmed up in his hands. Eyes darting from Reid’s gaze, looking over at Delany for a second-the man staring down at his clasped hands. “My pa…” he began, searching for the words “he was always drinkin’. Always drunk…”

A soft sound leaving Reid’s lips, comprehension-brows darting up. “What’d your pa do for work?”

“Miner.” he muttered, wondering if he was giving him an out.

“A miner…” The words repeated over on one of the beds pushed up near the wall-Shaw’s voice half muffled by his hat-now covering his face. “Those folk are always four sheets to the wind…” a laugh shared by him and Reid. Reid turned back to face him,giving him a short nod, expected to continue.

Erron shrugged. Never having talked to anyone about his parents, about what he left behind. A few simple words mentioned here and there, to Delaney or Avilla. No explanation really ever asked from him-easy to figure out from a few reasons why a young man like him would be out on his own. “Yeah… both of them were… I don’t know-” anger in his gut, he bit at his lower lip-a little too hard “my ma… she said she never wanted me, a damn accident gettin’ in bed with my pa-she’d say. That she ended up stuck with a man she didn’t love. Said she’d hoped I’d at least been a girl...” he could hear the bite in his words, the bitterness that made him sweat. “They both hated me… hated each other. Or maybe…” he paused, face burning again-the alcohol and the memories in his head “they just hated themselves and put that on me…” nothing more he wanted to say, everything flooding into his head-wetness forming at the corner of his eyes as he tried to steady himself.

“That’s enough, Erron…” A gentle voice-Delany reaching over, taking the bottle from his hand and setting it on the table. “We best get some sleep.”

“I ain’t done drinkin’” Reid chuckled, leaning towards the table, scooting closer-chair squealing as it was dragged across the floor. He grabbed the bottle and tipped it back. “Just talkin…” he mentioned offhandedly, making to offer the bottle back again to Erron.

Erron watched him, sourness in his stomach “Do you just wanna feel better about yourself?” His words surprised him, the edge in his voice unexpected even to him. 

Eyes narrowed, Reid snorted, pulling the bottle back and holding it against his chest “I was just curious… and y’know what? Maybe it did make me feel better bout myself…” he huffed, standing up with a groan, stumbling slightly as he made his way over to the bed he was to share with Shaw. 

A frown teasing his lips, arms shaking slightly with a barely noticeable ache of adrenaline. “Erron, c’mon, lets go.” Delany helped him up, his legs trembling just the same-the room spinning. “He don’t mean no wrong, he’s just…” Delany sighed, a curse leaving his lips as he grasped around Erron’s waist. He leaned into him-a few steps over to the empty bed-passing by Jacob tucked into his bedroll on the wider plush chair he’d volunteered to sleep on. Delany settled him on the bed, asking if Erron needed help with his clothes. He shook his head, kicking off his boots and then working on his shirt and trousers. Crawling over to an end of the bed, he laid his head down-listening to the shift of the bed as Delany climbed on. 

“Damn drink. That’s what it is…” Erron opened his eyes, the room dark-lantern light gone. He heard Delany groan beside him-the man rolling over to lay on his side. “For god sakes, Reid-if you piss yourself…” 

Erron chuckled softly, sitting up an inch-dark muddled shadows moving as the men jostled for space on the bed across from his. 

“That’s what it is… my pa… he drank. Drank like a damn fish. But he’d just do that and that alone. Drink himself into a stupor. Don’t know how many times I came across my momma-sobbing her eyes out and trying to wake him up.” he sighed deeply, the sparkle of glass against wood as he dropped a bottle from the bed “it’s in our blood ain’t it… shit…”

“No, no it ain’t.” A slurred response from Reid, the man sitting up-staring down at his bedmate “my daddy, he never drank… only drank on his birthday-or my mommas birthday… and look at me-” 

“Can you men just drop it and close your eyes?”

“Drop what?”

“Goddamn it… don’t have enough patience to deal with y’all…” Delany muttered under his breath-patting a hand against the pillow under his head. Erron laid back down-staring at the dark ceiling as he listened to Reid hack up another cough, the sound too loud, filling up the room. 

“Goodnight.” a simple word, spoken in a tired raspy voice after he came out of his coughing fit. Goodnights traded, even from Jacob-speaking up in his corner of the room. Erron licked his lips, feeling out the drying blood, tasting the copper. He bid the men goodnight, eyes drooping heavily-breathing slowing. Turning to lay on his side-back against Delany, he pulled up a corner of the sheets, covering his legs. The last few blinks of a conscience mind, he stared out the window, thin curtains still letting him see the outline of glass, the muted light of the moon. He fell asleep, picturing those stars in his mind.

[fluidityandgiggles]

Dalton Big Bang day 11 - The Natural Next Step (coffee shop AU)

Writing Masterpost, AO3 Link

Notes: Sperril will not let me go, and so I shall write for them.

(Who cares? They're adorable)

Meeting one

"Logan, back me up here?" Charlie called into the break room, to his fellow barista, who was currently on break. "Your boyfriend is here!"

"Good!" Logan called back, pushing his glasses up without even looking at Charlie. "I'm having lunch."

"Okay!" Julian laughed as he saw Charlie come back and immediately turn to Dwight, letting out a loud "yeehaw!".

"Yeehaw?" Dwight replied, getting away from the cash register to join Charlie. "Yeehaw, yeehaw!"

"Yeehaw, yeehaw yeehaw—"

"You made your fucking point!" Logan almost screamed by then, getting out of the break room as the two Texans started laughing. "Yee fucking haw. Yeah, yeah. Fuck you too."

As Logan went to greet (read: kiss) Julian and get his order, and the others could not help but make fun of the two, Merril silently thanked them for keeping her out of it. They were her friends and she loved them all very dearly, but they could be a wild bunch when they wanted to be… and it could honestly sometimes be a lot. So these times when they all got this chaotic, Merril counted her blessings and smiled to herself.

She was in the middle of piping the meringue on top of a lemon pie when she heard another commotion outside, looking as Dwight ran into the kitchen to grab a cup of water.

"Are you okay, darling?"

"He's here."

----

Spencer Willis didn't think, not in a million years, that he would ever become a set designer for an off-Broadway show. He didn't even think he'd enjoy set designing at all, until getting discharged on medical grounds from West Point.

It took him a year to recover, spent while living with Justin in New York and not doing much more than physical therapy and just being dorks together, and then he applied to Syracuse. It was an easy choice to make - it's still in New York, so he could still see Sydney from time to time; he could afford it, between his parents and some scholarships and grants he could apply to; and best of all, it had a great art department, at least according to his research (and Justin's sister's friend Lucy who also applied).

Lucy Westwood was, for a lack of a better word, quite chaotic. The eighteen-year old costume design major quickly took to the twenty-year old art major, which didn't go unnoticed, and before Spencer knew it he was asked by his professors if he thinks theatre design would be a better major for him. Well, less asked and more told to try a couple courses and see how he likes it, and… in stage design he ended up staying. It was still art, and amazing art at that, but it was also a lot of physical, tactical work, and he fell in love with all of that.

It's been four years since graduating Syracuse. Four wild, wild years, where he got to meet and befriend Reed Van Kamp, get roped into the theatre world harder than ever before, and as of a few months ago and thanks to Reed's insistent pleas, also start working off-Broadway on a revival of Assassins.

He still couldn't quite wrap his head around how this happened, but somehow it just did.

"I saw Shane again last night," Reed told him and Lucy as they joined them for lunch, in the middle of a long day none of them could guess just how long it'll end up being. "He's so good! Lucy, he's so good!"

"Now you're going to tell us we need to come see Once On This Island," Lucy laughed, bouncing as they waited at the queue at the cafe they ended up going to. "You've told us that several times already."

"Mercedes Jones is a goddess, okay? And a literal one in this production! And Shane is really good as Daniel, and Jane, the girl who plays Ti Moune, is just… I can't praise them enough! I think I'm in love with a whole cast. Can you be in love with a whole cast?"

"I think you definitely can," Spencer answered them, watching as the cashier ran away into the kitchen. He started doing that after the third time Spencer and Justin came here, to meet with Justin's boyfriend Charlie, and they had a conversation about Cats that got the whole cafe involved in it. He always felt bad for the poor guy, but to each their own, he supposed. "Hey, Chaz."

"Oh, hi," Charlie chuckled as he came to the register for now. "I swear, Dwight needs to get over that Cats debate…"

"No he doesn't, he's fine."

As Reed and Lucy left the queue to sit down and Spencer stayed to order - "two caprese sandwiches, an omelet sandwich, two chocolate cake slices and three iced coffees, everything to-go so Reed won't hurt themself" - Dwight showed up again, being pushed out of the kitchen by possibly the prettiest girl Spencer's ever seen.

"...Spence? Dude, you're gonna pay?" Charlie even waved a hand in front of his eyes, and it's only after the girl runs back to the kitchen that Spencer shook back up, realizing he's been staring.

"Uhh… yeah, sorry. Yeah."

----

Meeting three

The depression hit Merril pretty hard about two weeks ago, and this was the first time in ten days that she left the house. She showered, changed clothes, cleaned her apartment somewhat, all in attempt to make herself feel better, but nothing really worked.

But… that nice guy from the c-- Spencer! Spencer asked her out on a date last time they met, and she'd never back out on this… not to mention she might seem like a flake if she does, and it's so unfair to him, he's so nice and sweet and, and…

"Merril, go home," Charlie told her the second she stepped into the cafe. "Honey, you don't have to work today, remember?"

"I'm here for a date," she reminded him, sighing tiredly and going to hug him. She could smell his detergent as she did so, calming down almost instantly. Charlie… smelled like home to her.

Then again, isn't that what he was for her…?

"You look beautiful," he reassured her, patting her head gently. "You bought this dress with Casey, right?"

"Mmhm."

"It looks very good on you. I'm so happy for you."

"Thank you…" She smiled into his chest. It's the first smile she managed in over a week.

"Get away from the counter now," he told her after a few moments of hugging. "Go sit down. You have a date."

"Who has a date?" Came the question from Logan, who came back from the break room, wiping his hands with a paper towel.

"Merril does."

"Oh, hello!" He smirked at her, in that uniquely Logan way of his, and she just had to smile back. "Who's the lucky fella, mom?"

"Don't you have band rehearsal today?" She teased back.

"Drew canceled in favor of meeting Alex's parents."

"Oh, poor guy… sucks to work an extra shift, doesn't it?"

Just as Logan stuck his tongue out at her, Spencer stepped inside the cafe, barely looking for her before just heading over and sitting down next to her.

"Hi."

She smiled at him, swatting at Logan to go away. "Hi."

----

Seeing Merril in that blue floral dress, with her hair curled around her face and her eyes sparkling so beautifully, Spencer didn't want this date to end.

But alas, he was needed back at work soon.

"So…" Merril twirled a lock of hair around her finger, sipping her iced tea. "You really don't mind dating me…?"

"No!" He called almost immediately, startling her. "Merril, you're… so out of my league. You're so beautiful and smart and nice, and-- and you're the baker here, so obviously you're talented, and--"

"No, no no no, Spencer…" She took her hand, her face falling. "Spencer, I'm transgender."

"Okay, so what?"

It took a second, but then she just looked at him so weirdly, like she can't believe his words.

"What… what do you mean, so what?"

"You… absolutely ruined my expectations in women. I don't care what your body is like, you're perfect in my opinion, I enjoy being around you, I would love to keep dating you, and I very much hope you would the same. So, so what? You're a girl that I like. I like you very much even."

Merril just laughed.

"What… what's happening--"

"I like you very much too," she told him, through sad laughter. "And I would love to keep dating you too."

"Oh, that's-- that's good! Can I kiss you?"

She laughed again, and nodded, and Spencer could swear he heard Charlie and the other barista cheer as he leaned in to kiss her.

He did too, in his own way.

----

Meeting twelve

It was Julian's birthday, and Merril could see Logan avoiding work and just hanging with him and their best friend Derek near a window. She was almost finished with his cake, just piping a small happy birthday on top of it, when Dwight ran into the kitchen.

"You need to stop doing that, darling. Spencer isn't going to kill you."

"He's a cursed man," Dwight told her, making her chuckle. "You're dating a cursed man, Merril."

"Oh dear… did you not know I like Macavity?"

It took him exactly three seconds to put his cup of water down and march right out of the kitchen, hollering "I HATE THIS FUCKING FAMILY".

"But I do!" She called after him, going back to finish the cake right afterward. Poor guy… She never meant to upset him, but…

Huh. Maybe it was just a touchy musical.

"I want to try something new," she heard faintly from the front, smiling a little to herself. On their third date, Spencer told her that he decided to try new types of coffee every day - he's an artiste, after all, so what's a little experimenting going to do - and that she should be prepared for some bizarre drinks. Of course, she reminded him she's not the barista, but…

"And what would it be today, Spence?"

"A cortado with lemon."

Of course.

She stifled a laugh when she heard that, almost dropping the cake before she even picked it up. She steadied herself, picked the cake back up and left the kitchen, watching Charlie hold back from beating himself up over Spencer's order.

----

"A cortado with lemon?" Spencer nodded as Charlie just stared at him. "Do you know what you're ordering?"

"Nope."

"...I'm fucking glad you're not ordering an iced pumpkin spice latte at least," Charlie sighed as he slid Spencer's card for him. "It's the middle of August."

"Glad to not disappoint for once."

As Spencer waited for his coffee, he watched Merril hug Logan after serving his cake, then come over to hug Spencer himself.

"Hey there, Gilear Faeth."

"Stop calling me that," he laughed. "But hi."

"You know a cortado is just an espresso with a bit of milk foam, right?"

"...what the fuck did I just order?"

Merril just giggled. "I can't tell you, I've never tried it."

"I'm going to die…"

"Spencer?" Charlie called after a bit, and he let go of Merril to go get his coffee. "Here's your poison, man."

"Gee, thanks."

"You're here late," Charlie pointed out as Merril ran to the bathroom, kissing Spencer's kiss as she goes. "What's the occasion?"

"I got two tickets to see Once On This Island. Reed finally convinced me…"

"That's their boyfriend's show, right?"

"Yeah. They finally broke me, and Merril's interested, so I got two tickets." He took a sip from his drink. "Oh god, this is disgusting."

"I'll replace it for you with hot chocolate for free if you stop ordering stupid drinks," Charlie laughed.

"I would like that very much, please and thank you."

Merril came back from the bathroom after a few minutes, dressed in a clean red dress instead of her black shirt and jeans, her makeup retouched, to see Spencer drinking a cup of hot chocolate instead of his absolutely random abomination.

"I'm ready. Are you?"

----

Meeting seventy-seven

Merril and Charlie were closing the cafe that day - well, more like Merril was closing and Charlie spent most of his time talking with his boyfriend (who just so happened to stay there after closing so he could "pick Charlie up") - when Merril found an envelope under the counter.

An envelope addressed to her.

"Charlie, darling, it's not payroll day, only tomorrow…" her eyes got dark as the boy turned to look at her. "What… what's going on…?"

"Mom, it's not what you're thinking," he was quick to say, but she was quicker to cry.

"I… I don't understand, what…"

"That… was supposed to be for tomorrow. Spencer asked me to help him surprise you…" She just looked at him confused. "It's nothing bad. Let's finish here, go home, you'll get to cuddle with your boyfriend and watch whatever cheesy show you two watch nowadays. Tomorrow it'll all make sense."

"Spencer adores you," Justin tried to add, looking quite worried. "This is a good one, we promise."

"I…" she took a second to stop shaking before putting the envelope back in place, feeling something hard inside of it. "Okay… you're his best friends, I'm going to trust you."

"Go home, Merril," Charlie sighed, watching her fumble. "I'll finish here. Please."

"...fine."

----

Spencer showed up for lunch the next day, ordering his omelet sandwich and iced coffee, and a slice of lemon meringue pie. It was a quick order, one made fully knowing that Merril would join him for lunch today.

"...and a chocolate cupcake, please."

"Sure thing."

Merril joined him after thirty minutes, looking grateful to be off the clock for the day as Dwight brought over a cup of green tea and an envelope, looking rather suspicious to be near the table.

"God save your soul, Spencer," he told the man before putting Merril's things down and leaving.

"...is he still about that?"

"I don't know, honey. We're working with him on it."

They ate lunch, talked about their day, but Spencer couldn't help looking at the envelope like it was about to kill him.

"...and then Dwight just-- Spencer…?" Merril kissed his cheek, making him look at her. "Honey, what's happening?"

"Can you open the envelope please…?" He looked off to Charlie, who gave him two thumbs up. "The anticipation is killing me."

"Oh! Oh… sure." She frowned as she opened it, too focused on making it neat to ignore Spencer getting down on one knee as a ring fell out of the envelope.

A delicate gold ring with a lovely blue stone in the middle of it, and three tiny diamonds on either side of it.

"Spencer…?"

"You're perfect for me," Spencer managed to say as he grabbed the ring, holding it up to her. "Merril Portman, you are perfect. I love you more than words can describe, and if I started listing the reasons why we'd be here until Sunday in fifty years."

"Spencer, I love you too, I…"

"You complete me, Merril. God, I can't tell you how much I've gone through that just seemed to… go away when I'm with you. So… this is just the natural next thing to do."

She started crying. Merril won't lie, she started crying. Prompting Spencer to give her a hand, squeeze it a bit, watch her smile through her tears.

"Merril Portman… will you do me the honor of--"

"Yes!" She laughed, still sobbing. "Yes, absolutely, I will marry you."

They kissed and hugged and kissed some more, to the cheers of everyone around them, and it didn't really matter how much Merril cried or how odd Spencer felt the rest of the day afterwards. This was just the natural next step for them.

[maraudersinparadise]

Party Lily

In which Lily is moping, Mary can't take anymore of that, Remus needs to take the girls to a birthday party, and Lily trashes the party to a stranger.

FF.net  AO3

Lily did not want to go to that party.

Not that she doesn’t like parties, as a whole. On the contrary – she’s rather fond of such gatherings, considering how much fun she always has.

Mary likes parties, too. Mostly when Lily goes to, because Mary says Lily can turn even the lamest parties on memorable moments, like on Edgar Bones’s birthday all those years ago, when everybody tried to leave because no one was enjoying it and out of nowhere Lily created a cards game that got everybody so involved that the first person left only 4 in the morning (the fact that the loser had to drink enormous amounts of alcohol and divulge some secret might have helped, but Mary always seemed to forget these little things).

That particular Friday, however, she just didn’t want to leave the comfort of her bed and interact with the outside world. Such behaviours tend to happen when one has just lost their childhood best friend one week prior.

“Mary, I told you I’m not going to some bloody bar!” She says as she hears a knock on her door.

“Good thing I wasn’t inviting you to a bar, then,” a familiar voice says, and she hears the smile on his voice.

“Oh. Come on in, then, Rem.”

She had met Remus Lupin in a book club when they were both 17, and coincidently, they started attending the same university, which contributed for their stronger friendship.

“Everything alright?” He asks, hands on his pockets, leaning against her door frame after closing it. “Haven’t heard much of you since last week.”

“I…” Lily hesitates, sitting on her bed.

“You don’t need to lie to me,” he reminds her. She knows that, but the instinct to not share this is immediate, “and you also don’t need to tell me what’s going on. Just wondered if something happened.”

Lily sighs.

“Well, d’you remember Sev?”

“Hm, weird fella, dark hair, hook nose, seemed to hate me?” Remus guesses.

“Yeah, that one.”

“What about him? You guys are super close, right?”

Lily sighs again. Then she tells Remus how they hadn’t been that close for a while now, mostly because Sev had found other friends on college. Lily would have literally zero problems with that – she wasn’t immature enough to think she would be Sev’s only friend forever – if not for the fact that those friends usually sputtered some rather prejudiced things.

Not directed at any group, no. It was more directed to a lot of people – gays, black people, immigrants and, more recently, women.

On the few occasions Lily had bumped into these friends of Sev’s, she’d stood up to her believes (“really, Timmy? You’re literally using a 2-thousand-year-old book to justify your bullshit?”). Severus hadn’t liked it and asked her to refrain from such comments. Lily raised her eyebrows and let go. Maybe he was having a hard time to adjust on a new college, considering both of them had started just a year before and Sev was really introspective.

As Severus spent more time with his Trash Troup (Lily always loved a good alliteration), she felt a wall building between them. It was hard to put on words, and it was even harder to get Severus to listen – he didn’t get why she just couldn’t hang out with them and not turn everything into a “politically correct” debate.

She didn’t get how he could stand listening to such gibberish for so long.

Then last week she did.

They had agreed to meet on a pub – sans the Trash Troup – have a beer and talk like they did before. Severus was running really late, and she started to worry. As she was about to call him, Severus entered the pub, dragging along Mulciber and Avery – both of them who previously had said hateful things about women in general.

She managed to not roll her eyes, but couldn’t quite smile the way she used to when they met at the booth she had sat.

“I thought it would be just the two of us?” She asked quietly.

“Sorry to intrude in your little date thing,” Avery interrupted rudely, “but imagine how bad it would look to him to be seen on a pub with you?”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” Lily snapped.

“Well, what kind of respectable woman goes to a pub anyway?” Mulciber questioned.

“The one who can do whatever she wants.” Lily replied instantly. She glanced at Severus, as if to say, ‘see what I mean about them?’, and found a speculative look about him.

“Well, these sorts of girls aren’t respectable, Evans,” Avery said, “you should know that by now. Oh, I forgot you were a pain on the arse with your feminist views.”

“Well, you’re free to leave as you please, Avery. You weren’t invited at all.”

“Lost cause, Snape. We should really leave. This place is full of sluts,” Mulciber said with disgust.

“Sluts?” Lily asked, fists clenched.

“Well, yeah, Lily,” Severus talks for the first time, “look at their short skirts. They’re begging to be raped.”

Lily gaped and then glared at him. For the first time she heard him say things like that. At once, she got up and gestured at herself.

“Then what am I, Severus?”

His eyes widened as he saw Lily’s wearing a short skirt herself, then he glared at her.

“A slut, just like them.”

That was the last time Lily spoke to Severus. He tried apologising – her mobile was full of messages from him, but she would not return to that toxicity (or at least she told herself she wouldn’t).

Remus only raises his eyebrows as Lily talks. By the end, he’s sitting on the chair in front of her, brow furrowed.

“I’m sorry, Lily,” Remus says, and just then Mary enters the room.

“Oh, came to drag her along too, did you?” Mary asks Remus.

“Drag me along to where?” Lily asks in an alarmed voice. Mary rolls her eyes.

“He came over to invite us to a party, Lily! At a fancy house, even! Let’s pretty ourselves up for the occasion, eh?”

“You know I’m not on the mood, Mary,” Lily replies, laying back down on her bed.

“She’s been like this for a week now,” Mary tells Remus, ignoring Lily’s presence on Lily’s own bedroom, “because of that scumbag Snape. I’ve tried it all. Maybe you’ll be luckier?”

Lily hears the door snapping shut, and knows Mary left her to Remus’s device, which Lily thinks to be rather unfair, considering she can’t say no to Remus.

Remus was never the healthiest of people, ever since he was little kid. For this, he wasn’t really fit to play with the other kids, so he stayed inside and read. This led into him joining a book club when he was seventeen-years-old – in which he met Lily.

He is smart and funny; Lily loved to sit by his side so she could listen to his quiet and sarcastic comments during the club. Once she told him exactly that, and he laughed, saying he’d try to come up with new material every day.

Since then, they became very good friends, even after the book club had be shut down. Sometimes Lily noticed that Remus wasn’t looking all too good, so she sent him a pack of his favourite tea and a book recommendation.

Remus tried to make it up to her, but she adamantly refused.

She always insisted on taking Remus out, making him have fun and not mope and hide. She took him to parties and bars (whenever those friends of his allowed, that is).

And now Remus – bless him, curse him – seems to be trying to do the same with her.

“It’s a birthday party. I’m supposed to bring friends,” he explains, and Lily groans, hiding her face, “so I thought I should bring the friend who always drags me to such events.”

The brilliance of Remus is that he can make someone feel obliged to do something with the softest of words. With a single sentence he made Lily feel guilty for dragging him to places he wasn’t really into going, and to deny the same favour to him.

“You, Remus Lupin,” Lily says, taking the blanket off her face and glaring at the now grinning boy, “are a danger with your words. But you know that already. Ok, I’ll go to this bloody party, but be warned: I’m not gonna have fun, I don’t want to go, and I’ll hate every second I’m there.”

Despite such harsh promises, Lily dresses like she usually does. Mary did mention something about it being fancy.

“Whose party is this anyway?” She asks as she and Mary enter Remus’s sedan.

“One of my mates’ mother,” Remus replies, starting the car, “I’ve been told by her that if I don’t bring you I won’t be allowed to stay.”

“How does your friend’s mother know me anyway?” Lily asks, and Remus grins in reply.

“Well, Mrs. Euphemia Potter follows me on Instagram, and she saw that story I posted last month.”

“Oh. So now she thinks we’re dating?”

“At first. I’ve explained that you’re just a friend.” Remus clarifies and shrugs. “She still said I had to bring you, as you are, her words not mine, ‘incredibly gorgeous’ and also ‘seems to be a very nice and polite girl’. She wants good influence on my mates.” He finishes. Mary snorts and Lily furrows her brow.

“Well, you are an excellent influence on people, Rem.” Lily says. And it’s the most absolute truth: Remus made people feel like they should be better to other people.

“And Lily’s definitively not that much of a good influence, let’s be honest here,” Mary adds. Remus laughs, but Lily rolls her eyes.

“I was very good to you, MacDonald.”

“Eh, just a bit. Couldn’t get worse, could I?”

Before Lily replies that, actually, it could, Remus interrupts with his kind smile again, “anyway, it’s her 70th birthday, so my mate decided to throw her a huge party by himself.”

“Wait, it’s her 70th birthday? And you let me leave dressing like this?!” Lily squeaks, looking at her simple dress and heels.

“Don’t worry, Prongs said it wouldn’t be like, suit and all that. Look at me.”

To be fair, Remus wears simple trousers and a buttons-down shirt with a tie.

“You look great, Lil,” Mary pipes in.

“So how old is your friend anyway? If his mum is turning 70.” Lily asks curiously, lowering the sun blocker to get access to the mirror and check her make-up.

“He’s a couple months younger than you, actually,” Remus explains, “he was sort of a miracle, because she got pregnant of him in a very old age. It’s why he’s such a spoilt brat, but we just ignore that usually.”

As promised, the house Remus parks in front of screams of fanciness, and Lily once again wonders if she’ll be underdressed. Mary assures her once again that she looks just fine, and Remus leads them both to the backyard, where there are some tables scattered around, a mini bar near a pool, and what looks like an improvised dance floor.

Looking up as if asking help from above, Lily follows Remus and Mary, choosing to sit on a swing while Remus goes for some drinks and Mary stands with her.

Lily feels her phone vibrating and sighs as she looks at the screen and sees it’s a message from Severus.

“Oh, hell no, Lily Evans!” Mary exclaims, trying to take her phone away. “You’re not moping around about because of that idiotic arse!”

“I’m not moping around, Mary! I’m just understandably sad about losing my oldest friend.” Lily replies. Mary sighs.

“Well, of course I understand you’re sad about it, but… it’s like this. When you remember the good times, remember why you told him to fuck off. Don’t get hung up on him, Lil. He’s a bit of a scumbag-”

“Just a bit?” Lily pipes in.

“- a lot more than a bit, but I was trying to be a sensitive here, and you’re better off without him.” Mary says. “What’s he even saying anyway?”

“Says he didn’t mean to call me a slut. That we should talk because he misses me. To meet up at his place, sans Trash Troup for real this time.” Mary rolls her eyes. She’s heard that before.

“Well, I think you should block him on everything.”

Lily sighs and nods.

“Maybe you’re right.”

Mary smiles a bit and goes after Remus and the drinks, but Lily knows that deep down Mary wants to give her some time.

Her petit friend is right; Lily should block Severus from her life, as a whole. She had given a free pass to him for far too long. With another sigh, Lily opens her Instagram and deletes the photos she had with Severus, and blocks him. Then on Facebook, Twitter and finally on WhatsApp, where he had been the worst.

“Creep or ex?”

Lily swirls the swing 180 degrees, searching for the source of the voice – it’s a tall man with jet black and messed hair, wearing a pair of round glasses.

“I beg your pardon?” She asks. The man smirks.

“Well, it’s just I came over because you seem rather lonely, and I couldn’t help but notice you just blocked this dude on a million different social media, so…” Lily raises an eyebrow at the man, trying to ignore the glint of fun that shines on his eyes.

“So this means you were looking at what I was doing over my phone?” She completes, a tone of accusation clear on her voice. Instead of looking ashamed, the man simply grins. “Have you ever heard of something called privacy?”

“I’m truly sorry, it’s just it’s a bit odd to see a pretty girl such as yourself sitting so far away from this marvellous party, on her phone, on Facebook even, so I got a little curious.”

“I could be engaging on a tirade against bigotry,” Lily suggests, shrugging. The man smirks again.

“You could, but you weren’t. Which makes me return to my question.”

“Hm, I’m sorry, but I feel like you are being the creep after all,” she says.

It’s kind of funny because she reckons she knows him from somewhere. His face is familiar, but she can’t quite put it together – she’s terrible with names and faces.

“Touché,” he admits, grinning. He points to the swing besides Lily, “can I sit here? I feel like I should prove I’m not a creep at all, just fell prey to the great curiosity that sometimes takes upon even the best of people.”

Lily shrugs. To be honest, she doesn’t want company, but feels it could be rude to ask him to leave. So he sits on the swing, using the chain as a support for his head.

“Enjoying the party?” He asks.

“Not much,” she replies simply, looking down at her phone and wondering if there’s anything else she could do to get away from Sev.

“Why’s that?” He asks, and Lily fails to see his raised eyebrows because she’s still staring at her phone.

“Well, for starters, what sort of party is this anyway?”

“It’s a birthday party!”

“How would one know?” She says, looking at him. He’s got a puzzled face about him she finds a bit endearing. “I mean, where’re the balloons? The cake? The ‘happy birthday’ somewhere on this party?”

“Maybe the cake’s inside waiting for the right time,” he suggests, fixing his glasses that had gone askew. Really endearing.

“See, that’s just no right. Birthday cakes were meant to be displayed, not hidden. Someone picks a birthday cake thinking how it’s going to look on the party, you know?”

“Not always. D’you know how expensive cakes can be nowadays?” He hits back.

“Didn’t this bloke throw the party to his mother? Look at this house. Money certainly isn’t an issue on this family, right? So why be cheap on his mother’s 70th birthday party? From what I hear he must be loved oh so dearly, so why not retribute kindly?”

This wins her a sweet smile from him, so sweet that she’s got to hold herself as to not smile back.

“Okay, point taken. What were the other flaws?”

“Well, balloons, obviously,” she states matter-of-factly, “how can this be a birthday party without a single balloon? I repeat, how would one know it’s a birthday, huh?”

“Maybe if the read the invitation they’d know,” he replies cheekily, causing Lily to roll her eyes.

“That’s so not the point. It’s a birthday! You’ve got to show it’s a birthday!” Lily exclaims, looking at him.

So, so fit.

“Maybe this lad wanted to do a fancy party, considering it’s his mother’s 70th.”

“Huh, I hear you, but I must disagree,” she tuts, causing him to bark a laugh, “if he wanted it to be fancy so much, what’s with this semi-formal-wear thing? I mean, it took me about 30 minutes to get dressed. I came because my mate told me this lad’s mum wouldn’t allow him in if I didn’t come, I was spiralling at home because of my creep-slash-ex, and I still managed to get dressed in 30 minutes. Were this a really fancy party, I’d be so underdressed I’d crawl home crying out of shame.”

“I’d say you look brilliant anyway, were this a really fancy party,” the man replies smoothly. Lily narrows her eyes.

“I think you’re trying to get yourself inside my metaphorical pants, Mr. Creep.”

“I’d rather die than admit to such a thing,” he says, laying his hand on his chest as a promise sign.

“Don’t waste your time, tho,” she says, “as a not so good party is meant to be, I have yet to have a drink, so I won’t be drunk anytime soon.”

“One, you being sober only works on my favour – were I actually trying to get into your pants – as I’d never try anything on a drunk girl,” he says, raising his eyebrow, “and two, you’re kind of isolated, how do you expect the waiter to bring you a drink if you’re away from the party?”

“The host should advise his waiters to bring drinks even to the isolated girls – you and I both know those are the kind who need to drink the most, eh?”

The man laughs at her attempt of a joke, and Lily smiles back. He’s really handsome, and a bit charming – that damn dimple she’s seeing as he laughs could murder her – so she doesn’t mind his presence so much. In fact, she’s actually kept her phone away as she drags the party.

“Which brings us back to: creep or ex?” He asks again, and this time she laughs.

Before she could answer, a glass of champagne is stretch at her face, and she looks up to see Remus holding drinks.

“Sorry for the delay. Had to introduce Mary to someone.” Remus says, smiling apologetically. “I didn’t mean to abandon you at all,” he says, and Lily smiles.

“It’s okay,” she assures him, “I’m not alone. I’ve been telling…” she looks at the man, who’s now smirking.

“James Potter.”

“… James Potter how this par-” she stops dead.

Oh no.

She looks at James Potter, who’s clearly having a laugh at her at the moment, and feels her face and neck blushing.

Because of course she knows him. He’s Remus’s mate, James Potter. She knows his face because he’s often on Remus’s Instagram, either on selfies with their other two friends (damn her if she could remember their names now) or when James steals Remus’s phone.

“So you’ve met James, then?” Remus asks, and Lily puts her face between her hands as James laughs more. “I feel like I’m missing something.”

“Evans and I were just having a chat about how this party sucks.”

“I never said it sucked!” She says, returning the swing to its original position so she’s not facing the boys.

“You clearly stated you weren’t having fun,” James says, and she can hear his smile on his voice.

Shit, shit, shit.

“It’s a bit of both,” she says suddenly, “he was an old friend of mine who’s turned onto bigotry and creepy things. So we had a fallout and I was blocking him because he’s been trying to get to me, and I’m tired of this.”

She slowly turns back to James, and he’s got his eyebrows furrowed, not sporting a smile for what feels like the first time of the night.

“I told you I shouldn’t leave my flat,” Lily states at Remus, who widens his eyes in surprise, and then she turns to James again, “I’m really sorry, I-”

The remainder of her apology was cut by a voice approaching them.

“James Potter, you spoilt little brat, where’s my cake?”

They all turn to see a beautiful, older woman walking towards them, wearing a fancy pink dress.

“Hello, mother,” he replies drily.

“Yes, yes, hello. Where’s my cake?” Euphemia (Lily remembers the name because Remus said it earlier) turns to the other two, and Lily practically jumps up from the swing. “Oh, Remus! So nice to see you!” She says, hugging Remus, who returns with a wide smile on her face. Euphemia then turns to Lily, who doesn’t know what to do and is sure her face is still all red. “And this must be your friend, Lily, isn’t it? So very nice to finally meet you!” Euphemia hugs Lily too, who, a bit startled, returns the hug the best she can. “See, James, she’s really as pretty in person as she is on Remus’s pictures. Now, where’s my cake?”

Lily looks at James (who exclaimed an indignant “mom!”) raising an eyebrow, but he ignores her.

“The cake’s on the kitchen,” he mumbles. Euphemia makes a face, and Lily has to hold herself not to laugh.

“On the kitchen? This is a birthday party! The cake must be seen!” Euphemia states. James rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Sorry, ma. Want me to get it?”

“No, I want you to be the host and show our lovely Lily our home. Remus can help me, can’t you, dear?”

Remus nods that he absolutely can help with the cake, and follows Euphemia with a wink thrown at James and Lily.

“So how come your mother knows my name?” Lily asks, sitting back down on the swing, looking directly at James (of course it was James. She knew Remus had one really handsome friend).

“Remus talks about you.” He replies, too blasé for Lily to believe. It’s her turn to smirk.

“And what was all that about me being as pretty in person?” She inquires, taking pleasure in seeing him squirm.

“Well, I might have mentioned to Remus that I find you to be really pretty, and I might’ve threatened him to death unless he brought you today. Only suppositions, of course.”

“Hm, suppositions, right?” Lily repeats, grinning. James looks at her and smiles back.

“She’s wrong anyway,” he continues, and looks over Lily again.

“Who’s wrong?” Lily asks.

“My mother. You look even prettier in person.”

Lily laughs at the line (a very good one, indeed), but she cannot hide her blush.

“So you are trying to get into my pants!” She says. James shakes his head with a laugh.

“Not tonight, no. You don’t seem to be the type who share their bed with creeps,” he states, and Lily smiles.

“Not on first meetings, no.”

“See, I’m not completely wrong.”

“And I don’t really share my bed with a complete stranger who doesn’t even introduce himself.”

James grins, gets up, takes a few steps back to the party, then walks towards her, eyes sparkling, the messiest of hairs and the most brilliant smile he’s shared this night.

Oh no, Lily thinks again, because she knows that the knots on her stomach are a direct reaction to the spoilt little brat.

“Hello, nice to meet you!” He says, offering her his hand. She grins back. “My name is James Potter, and I really suck at throwing parties to my mother.”

She shakes his hand, and doesn’t mind the least when he seats again on the swing besides her and doesn’t let go of her hand, intertwining their fingers instead.

“Nice to meet you, James Potter. I’m Lily Evans, and I’m great at fixing ruined parties. Where’s the nearest market? I think we need some balloons in here.”

[shy-violet-soul]

The First Bite

Characters: little Dean Winchester, little Sam Winchester, appearance by Bobby Singer Rating: E for everyone Warnings: allusion to child abandonment, allusion to child endangerment, scared child, angst, a little bit of fluff Summary: A small country store, the best pie in the county, and a boy looking for work.  The story of how Dean fell in love with pie. Word Count:  6,400-ish (holy crap, I wrote all that?!) A/N: I read a Tumblr post that talked about why adult-Dean always chipmunk’s his food and has a deeply passionate love affair with pie.  And so, I came up with this slice of heartbreak.

A huge “thank you” to the phenomenal writers @thesassywallflower and @percywinchester27 for being my betas!  The kind feedback from your talented perspectives is so appreciated!

This is a work of fiction based upon characters created and owned by the CW.  My work is not be published without my written permission.

(1st ever moodboard by me.  Photo cred. to owners via Google)

Effingham, IL ~ 1988-ish

Knees creaking as he descended the stairs, Louis “Louie” Moenning ambled over to the window of the store, and switched on the “Open” light.  Just like clockwork, Owen Weis drove by and honked his hello as he sped down US 40 to work, Louie waved his reply as he unlocked the front door.  Coffee maker fired up, popcorn machine plugged in, Louie worked his way down his morning punch list.

Once Effingham got all modern and built a Walmart, business at his little store had taken a real hit. But, then that Schultz fellow helped build the giant ‘Cross of the Crossroads’ out on Highway 70, and he had enough tourist traffic to keep the lights on. Things had been pretty quiet lately, though.  Louie paused to enjoy the view of blue sky as he looked northeast towards town.  Vic and Ada Lovelace had stopped by yesterday with a couple of bushels of apples from their trees.  Vic Lovelace was by no means a reliable source of information, but Louie always enjoyed chatting with him.

“Heard George Prescott down at the diner say they’re having that same problem at St. Anthony’s again.  Up on the mama floor.  Lights won’t stay on, and he’s checked the wiring top to bottom.  I’m telling you, it’s a spirit.  It’s a spirit from that fire in ‘49,” the old coot insisted, slapping his knee for emphasis.  

Nodding exaggeratedly, Louie poured the other man a cup of coffee.  “Sure, Vic.  Probably one of them nuns.  Better watch she don’t smack you with an invisible ruler for snitching my caramels when you think I’m not lookin’.”

A mischievous grin touched Louie’s face when he recalled Vic’s scandalized expression.  He didn’t buy into all that nonsense, and no spirit had been thieving his candy for years.

“Don’t forget to water the plants!” The reminder echoed down the stairs from the living quarters above.  Louie just grunted as he bent down to unlock the safe.  Violet and her plants.  He swore that woman had a whole green hand, not just a thumb, with her knack for growing things.  The old bell jingled a welcome as the front door opened, and Louie kicked the safe shut and stood.

A wiry young boy, maybe 9 or 10 years old, stood just inside, holding the stack of the day’s newspapers Marchie had dropped off for him.  Serious green eyes stared up at him as he keeled back from the strain.  

“Well, thank you for hefting those, let me take ‘em.  You’re a might young to be handling that,” Louie hustled to take the load from the youngster.

“Thank you, sir, but I got it.  Where do you want ‘em?”  Louie nodded in recognition at a man’s pride, staying just close enough to grab something if need be.

“Right over there by that metal rack, if you don’t mind, son.  Yep, that’s perfect,” praised the old man as the lad carefully plopped them down, scooting the string-tied stack as close to the rack as possible.  Faded blue eyes squinted down at him, and Louie offered him a smile.  “You must be new around here.  Think I know all the kids.”

“Just passing through.  You mind if I look around?”

Another smile touched Louie’s face.  “Not at all.  I got me a few comic books at the end of the magazines down there,” he pointed.  The youngster’s mouth pulled up at the corner in a half-smile before he turned towards the aisles.  Rounding the counter, Louie watched the little stranger for a moment.  He was in the grocery aisle, staring studiously where Louie knew the chips, crackers, beef jerky, and the like were displayed.  He shook his head fondly as he squatted back down by the safe - growing boys are always hungry.  

The front door bell rang again, snagging Louie’s attention.  A fellow walked in, worn quilted vest tossed over a flannel button-down.  A ragged ball cap, so faded the logo couldn’t be read, sat on top of longish dirty blond hair - a mullet, Marchie would have called the cut.  Louie could smell the stale cigarettes on him from here.  From the bloodshot eyes and hand tremors, he figured the stranger was beyond hungover.

“Help you, sir?” Louie called out, startling the man.

“You got coffee?” His shoulders hunched behind the query as he shifted on his feet awkwardly.  Louie hesitated a moment before lifting his chin towards the machine.

“Brewing right now.  First pot might be done.”  The stranger turned, hesitated, then fidgeted his way to the coffee pot.  Louie watched him for another moment; when he did nothing more than pour himself a cup of coffee, he returned to his task.  His fingers hurried to open the safe to get the cash drawer, his memory seeing the gun he kept under the counter.

Movement out of the corner of his eye drew his glance up - the hungover stranger stood at the end of the counter, staring at him.  The hairs on the back of Louie’s neck prickled, and he cursed his bad knee when he couldn’t get his feet under him to stand.

“That coffee’ll be fifty cents.  If you want to come around this way to the front, I can help you there,” Louie offered, a clear warning in his voice.  The stranger didn’t move, just stood silently, coffee dribbling over his shaking fingers to the floor.  “Mister, you step around here to the front, and you can pay and get on the road.”

Just when Louie was about to scramble for that gun, the rack of chewing gum and breath mints on top of the counter toppled over, slamming into the stranger.  As he cursed and grappled with the metal stand, cellophane packages raining in all directions, Louie climbed to his feet and pulled the gun free, placing it visibly on the counter.  

“Sorry about that, Pops.  By the way, I forgot to tell you.  Chief Nelson from the PD said he’d be stopping by at 8:30 this morning to drop off that book.  I told him that would be okay.”

Swallowing past his suddenly dry throat, Louie nodded gently at his green-eyed back up.

“That’s just fine, sport.  We’ll clean this up in a minute.  Why don’t you call down to the station and ask Nelson to join us for breakfast?”  Before the lad could reply, the stranger bolted for the door and ran.  Louie took a moment to calm his afib, then turned to look at the boy.

“Young man, you just helped me in a mighty big way.  Thank you.”

Thin little shoulders shrugged as he studied his shoes.

“It was no big deal.  He needed to get bent.”

Louie wasn’t sure what ‘get bent’ meant, but he nodded in agreement.  “Well, it was a heckfire lot more than ‘no big deal’.  I figure that fella planned to rob me.”

His little saviour stared out the door after the ne’er-do-well, shaking his head.  “Humans suck.”

Chuckling, Louie carefully stepped over the spilled packs of gum and righted the metal rack back onto the counter.  Without a word, the lad started scooping handfuls of gum to the counter while Louie grumbled to himself as he scooted the rack into place.  When he turned back, he smiled to see all that gum being studiously stacked by brand and flavor.  Louie watched the young man for another moment before reached down and scooped up the cash drawer, fishing out a shiny silver dollar as he wedged it in the register.  He smacked the coin down by the boy’s elbow with a flourish, then extended his hand out.

“Young man, I don’t know your name, but I’m Louie Moenning.  I’d be pleased to shake your hand, and I hope you’ll take that as a thanks for your help this morning.”  The kid surprised him by looking at his hand first, then the money, before putting his own smaller hand in his.  The strength and calluses in his grip further surprised Louie.

“Dean Winchester.  You don’t have to pay me for that.  Just doing what’s right.”

Such grown up wisdom in such a little fella.  “Well, Dean, consider it payment for hauling in that newspaper and stacking up the gum nice n’ neat.  Hard to get any help from young people these days.”  Louie busied himself setting the packages back on the rack; from the corner of his eye, he watched Dean stare at the silver dollar, then glance back towards the grocery section that had earlier engrossed him before he joined in restocking the gum.

Footsteps on the stairs announced Violet on her way down.  He grinned when his bride appeared in the white dress with big yellow flowers he’d given her for her birthday.  She complained she looked like old wallpaper, but he thought she looked just like Princess Di.  Wonder if Prince Charles ever got the glare Vi was shooting at him now?

“You didn’t water the plants, did you?” she accused, hands on her hips.

“Now, Vi, I had a customer, and this young man was kind enough to help me.”  

Violet’s brown eyes began to sparkle as she smiled.  “Louie!  Have you finally changed your mind about hiring some help?”

He blinked at her in confusion.  “No, no, Violet, I-”

“He looks like a strapping young man, too.  Think you can handle boxes when orders come in?”

Dean snapped to attention.  “Yes, ma’am.  I can carry boxes just fine.”

“Violet-”

“How are you at sweeping?”

“Real good.  I can sweep really good.”

“Vi-”

“Stocking shelves?”

“Violet!” Louie frowned at his wife.  This was getting away from him.  Yes, they’d talked about him hiring a helper, but he didn’t know this boy, helpful or not.

The boy in question turned those green eyes back to him, earnest and hopeful.  “Mr. Moenning, I’d be happy to help you out for a few days.  I can be here at sunup, and I’ll work till dark.  Whatever job you need me to do.  You don’t have to pay me much.”

Shooting his wife an exasperated look, Louie folded his arms over his chest.  “How much you figure ‘not much’ is, son?”

Dean looked down at the floor, then cast a brief glance over his shoulder towards the shelves behind him.  Neither of the Moennings saw his fingers twitch as he counted.  “Two dollars and thirty-four cents.”

Both Moennings blinked at the strangely specific amount, then turned to regard each other.  Louie pursed his lips when he saw the mulish set to Violet’s chin, and sighed.

“Mr. Winchester, I’ll tell you what.  You go out front and water Miss Violet’s plants for me, and I’ll pay you that two dollars and thirty-four cents.  Alright?”

“Yes, sir.”  The boy hurried out the door, and Louie turned to his wife.

“Violet Iola Moenning.  What do you think you’re up to?”

“Louis Daniel Moenning.  Your promised me you would hire a helper.  And one shows up practically gift wrapped.”

“But, Vi, we don’t even know this boy.  He said he was just passing through.  For all we know, his family could be mixed up in all kinds of...ne’er-do-well stuff!” Louie sputtered at his wife.  She scoffed at him as she stepped forward to peer out the window.

“Nonsense!  Just look at him.  He’s even got the water pressure turned down so the water doesn’t plow into the dirt.  That little man is being real gentle with my petunias.  Better than you’ve ever been,” she scolded with a side eye in his direction.  He only harrumphed as he came around to join her studying the boy.  

“Well…,” Louie watched as Dean finished up watering, and began carefully coiling the hose - more so than he was wont to, he had to admit.  “He was mighty helpful this morning.  Thinks good on his feet.”

Sensing victory, Violet patted his arm gently as she wrapped her other arm about his waist.  “And since he’s not staying long, it would just be for a few days.  Like a test shot those car salesmen talk about.”

“Test drive, Vi.”

His wife only sniffed.  “He may need to make arrangements, so you pay him his money and tell him to come back tomorrow.”

Knowing he’d well and truly lost, Louie only sighed as Violet took herself back up stairs.  The bell jingled again as Dean returned, and Louie had to smile at the hopeful look on his face.  Moving back to his spot behind the counter, he opened the register. “Well, now, Mr. Winchester.  For your help this morning, here is two dollars and thirty-four cents.  You go on now and enjoy your day, and I’ll see you back here 8 o’clock sharp.  Deal?”“Deal.”  Green eyes crinkled a bit as Dean grinned at him before he studied the money in his hand.  “Would it be okay if I bought a couple things?”“It’s your money, son.  You’ve earned it.”  Without a word, Dean spun and hustled toward the shelves.  Certain he’d be returning with a comic book, Louie shut the register and finished piling the gum and mints where they belonged.  The boy returned in a quick minute, carefully placing a box of Ritz crackers, a small can of Vienna sausages, and a can of Coke on the counter.  Almost proudly, he slid the silver dollar from earlier and the newer coins and $1 note towards Louie.“Thank you, Mr. Moenning.  I’ll be here in the morning.”  Chuckling to himself, Louie bagged up the foodstuffs for the boy and waved him out the door, watching him run west down the highway.  Growing boys and their food - he should have figured.

*******************************************************************************************

Louie guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised that the young Mr. Winchester was a man of his word.  What he wasn’t prepared for was how the boy gave him a heart attack by popping up in front of the door just as he was unlocking the next morning.  While he calmed his afib down, Dean proved his readiness to get to work.  Newspapers were hefted in, the string pocket knifed free, and the daily dose of headlines plopped in the rack.  Louie couldn’t help the approving smile he gave the boy as he directed him to the wash closet for a broom.

That day set the pace for the next four.  Dean would be waiting on the doorstep well before 8:00am, and always got right to work - newspapers, sweeping, dusting.  Wednesday was soda truck day, and the boy dragged or pushed cases like a pro.  Thursday brought Robbie with the food goods delivery, and again, he found himself impressed at the boy’s stick-to-it attitude with the bulky packages of canned goods, bottles, and the like.  

At noon, Violet brought him lunch, happily adding an extra plate for the boy.  Dean always stared at the sandwich, chips, and cookie for a moment.  He’d thank Violet politely, ask if he could eat it later, and return to work when given permission.  The first two times it happened, he and Violet just shrugged at each other.  The plate always stood empty by afternoon.  The third time, Violet had to dash off to lunch at a friend’s, and Louie got a phone call.  The fourth time, Violet didn’t want to take ‘no’ for an answer.

The day had started rainy, with Dean surprising him with his absence from the doorstep.  Louie caught himself staring out at the highway, looking in both directions for a glimpse of the boy.

“He’s late?” Violet’s query sounded behind him.  Louie grunted his reply.  “He shouldn’t be out in this rain.”

Dean was a surprisingly reticent ten year old, proving himself an expert in classic rock and hand tools, but unwilling to talk about much else.  Louie realized with a pang he didn’t even know where the boy was staying.  When he turned around, Violet stood wringing her hands as she squinted into the downpour.  “He’ll be wet through when he gets here.  I’ll go make something hot to drink.”  She spun on her heel and hurried back upstairs.

Silently, Louie went about his normal routine - coffee maker, popcorn machine, cash drawer - 8:08am.  The quiet store, so familiar from before, seemed altogether too quiet without the serious little worker bee of the last three days.  The elder Moenning shook his head and ambled to the wash closet for the ‘wet’ rug.  Any customers today were sure to track in water, needed to give them somewhere to wipe their boots.  As he struggled with the bulky, awkward floor mat, the bell jingled.

“That you, Dean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Glad you made it!  I’ll be right there!” he called out.  No answer came from the boy as Louie finished wrestling the mat out, carrying it to lean against the counter for a moment.  Dean wasn’t just inside the door as he expected; a slight scuffle-ish sound drew his attention to the back.  Dean appeared, looking like a half-drowned pup, wet wedges of dark hair dripping into his eyes.  He’d tried to keep the worst of the rain off with a trash bag, but Louie could hear the squelching of his soaked shoes from here.

“My goodness, boy!  Am I glad to see you.  You didn’t have to come all this way today!  Couldn’t your dad drive you?”  Louie hurried to drag out the old space heater from under the counter, ignoring the complaints of the coils as they heated up while he peeled the boy’s sodden jacket off of him.  

“He’s working.  ‘S alright, I wanted to be here.”

“Louie, is that Dean?”

“Yes, Vi, he’s here.”  Muted exclamations filtered down, staccatoed with Violet’s footsteps above them.  Moments later, she pounded down the stairs as Louie tried to urge Dean to kick off his shoes.

“Heavens to goodness, child!  You’re soaked through!  Here - you sit right there and drink this.  I made you my special hot chocolate.”

Dean’s shoulders hunched, his hands bunched with discomfort.  “I don’t want to make any trouble.  I’m fine.  I tracked a bunch a’ water in, I’ll go get the mop.”  When Louie and Violet wouldn’t rest till he’d drunk the beverage, the boy chugged it in four swallows and bolted for the mop without a word.

The rain kept customers away.  After he wrung out his socks and shoes and studiously mopped up the tracked-in water, Louie had Dean tackle expired products. After setting him up with empty boxes for the refuse, Louie started a deep clean of the popcorn machine.  It gave the older man a chance to think and watch.  

No one could ever complain about the determination with which the boy went after each chore,  not one too menial or too dirty.  He attacked the pesky dustpan-leftovers line and straightened magazines with a precision he remembered from his Marine uncle.  No complaints, no stopping to rest, just a serious gaze and busy hands.  Maybe too serious.

Ready to give credit where credit was due to the father who clearly taught Dean an impressive work ethic, as Louie watched the boy today, he was more ready to give him a piece of his mind.  Faint shadows flagged the boy’s eyes, and more than once, he paused from his work.  Catching his breath?  A small hand rubbed between his eyes.  Headache?  Louie wasn’t sure, but he did know whoever this Winchester was, he wasn’t taking care of his son.

When Violet reappeared with lunch, she’d done some extra fussing.  Their ham and cheese sandwiches had an L and a D carved in the bread, the chips arranged in a circle around them.

“Here we are!” she sang out, handing both working men a plate.  Louie pressed a kiss to her cheek, offering her a warm smile as he sat down.

“You’ve been reading Betty Crocker again, haven’t you, Vi?”  He chuckled when she shooed him away, turning to face the boy as he tried to slink away.

“Now, young man, you’ve been working like a fiend messing with all those cans and boxes.  I insist you take a break and eat your lunch right now.  I can’t have you gettin’ sick on me!” she exclaimed, urging the boy to the folding chair she’d set out for him.  Louie nodded his approval as he gestured with his sandwich to Dean.

“Come on, Dean.  Break time.  Work’ll still be there after we eat.”  Dean squirmed a bit under their watchful gazes, then took a bite.  Satisfied, Violet turned to her husband.

“Ada’s going to drop by my Avon order today, if she wants to get out in this rain.”

“Whaddya get?”

“Just a lipstick.  I was out of Bold Orchid.”

Louie shook his head as he chewed around a chip.  “You mean, the pink one?”

“Louis Moenning, you have no fashion sense.”

“I agree, dear.  It’s a good thing I have you.”  When Dean scooted off his chair to amble towards the back, they paid him no mind - he’d been told time and again to help himself to a soda.  

“They got any more apples ready?”

“I hope so, I put the last of them in a pie for after dinner.”

Dean reappeared, chewing the last of his sandwich as he offered his empty plate to Violet.  “Thank you, Mrs. Moenning.”

She patted the boy’s cheek fondly.  “Of course, hun!  I love to see clean plates!”

He shrugged his shoulders a bit awkwardly, turning to Louie.  “Mr. Moenning, the coffee machine stopped working again.  Want me to unplug it and get the tools?”

Louie grumbled to himself, telling Dean, “yeah, let’s take another look at it.”

Violet smacked a pink/Bold Orchid kiss to his forehead, taking the plates back upstairs.  While Dean dug in the closet for the tool box, Louie approached the coffee machine.  As he stared accusingly at the cursed contraption, a movement to his right caught his attention.  Louie glanced over at the display of umbrellas - one must have fallen and opened, for the dome of the thing showed out towards the store.  With a careful lean, Louie snagged the item, wiggling it when it appeared to get stuck on something on its way.

A pair of huge hazel eyes stared up at him, startling Louie something fierce.

“What the...who are you?” he stumbled out, reaching down to tug the youngster to his feet.  Small, swimming in a too-big rain jacket, the little curly top looked absolutely petrified.  His bottom lip trembled, his hands shook - holding a ham and cheese sandwich with a D carved in the bread.  Flummoxed beyond description, Louie took a step back.  “What is going on here?”  

In a blink, the little mister mustered up a scowl, trying to look mean.  Then, he squared himself up into a miniature little boxer’s stance.

Louie didn’t remember a lot about the next few moments except pain, shouts, more pain, crying, and stars and black dots in his vision.  Gradually, Violet’s voice threaded its way into the mess.

“Louie!  Louie, what happened?  Dean, who is this boy?  It’s alright, hun, don’t cry - Louie if you don’t open your eyes this instant, I’m calling an ambulance!”

Growling under his breath, Louie tried to roll to his side, cupping his throbbing manhood gingerly.  “Don’t call an ambulance!” he barked out.  After another moment of Violet’s whispered reassurances, Louie dragged in a deep breath as a different voice came through.

“I’m so sorry!  I’m sorry!  He didn’t mean to, it was my fault!  I’m responsible, please don’t punish him.  I’m sorry!”

Dean.  It was Dean’s voice.  Louie forced his eyes open and saw his serious little soldier clutching the pint-sized boxer to him, tears running down his face.  While Violet steadied him, Louie made his way to his feet, the pain in his crotch still keeping him hunched over.

“Alright, everybody,” he declared, still short of breath.  “Alright, let’s everybody calm down.  Violet, why don’t you go get a couple more chairs?  I think we all gotta do some talking.”

Five minutes later, the four of them sat facing each other.  The littler little boy was wedged firmly against Dean, Dean’s arm tight around his shoulders.  The bedraggled ham sandwich had long ago lost the fight, laying in limp chunks from the youngster’s chubby fingers.  When Violet had offered to take it, the boy had clutched it closer; Louie knew the heartbreak in his wife’s eyes mirrored his own.

“Dean, why don’t you introduce us to this young man?” Louie started, adjusting the icy liter bottle of beer against his abused parts.  Pale, solemn, Dean tightened his arm around the little boy’s shoulders.

“This is Sam.  He’s my brother.”  The boy’s voice croaked with the words.  A ten-year old’s terror trembled his chin for a moment, belied by the protective ferocity glowering from him.  Louie nodded while Violet tried a winning smile at little Sam.  

“It’s very nice to meet you, Sam.  Sam, I’m Louie Moenning, and this is my wife, Violet.”  Sam ducked his chin in answer, looking for all the world like he was trying to disappear.  Louie thought another moment before he spoke again.  “I’m sorry I scared you earlier.  You packed me a real good punch.  Did your brother teach you to do that?  Hit a man in the privates if you think he’s going to hurt you?”

A beat of silence, then the little boy nodded.  “He said they’d go down like a potato and leave me alone,” came the tiny answer.

Louie had to smile at that, chagrined as it was.  “Well, Dean was right.  I sure went down like a potato.  And, again - I’m sorry I scared you.”

Serious hazel eyes blinked at him before he offered Louie a nod, then looked up at his brother.  “Dean, is that the lady who made the sandwiches you brought me?”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

Sam turned a shy smile to the lady.  “They were real good, even with the cheese.  Dean said I could pick it off and just eat the ham.  Was that okay?”

Louie blinked at the question, watching Violet’s head tilt a bit in confusion as she cleared her throat.

“That was absolutely okay.  Now - I know the sandwich you’ve got there has cheese on it, and it looks a little tired.  Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll make you a new one with no cheese?” she asked gently, holding a hand out to him.  Sam shrank back against Dean’s side, looking up at him fearfully.  “Oh, don’t you worry, hun.  Dean’s coming for a new sandwich, too.”

Astonishment blinked from Dean’s green eyes as his gaze shot between the two Moennings.

“No, I - I gotta get back to work.  You don’t pay me for sitting around.”  

Memories flipped through Louie, awareness stitching sadness behind.  The very specific $2.34 and the carefully chosen groceries.  The disappearing sandwiches.  The absent father.  The clear fatigue and headache from earlier.  Dean’s actions were more than just protective over his brother.  He was raising his brother - earning money, buying food, sacrificing in a man-sized way from his little boy heart.

Clearing his throat once, twice, Louie tried to smile.  “That’s alright, Dean.  You’ve earned a break.  You go on and help Mrs. Moenning upstairs.”

As soon as the three disappeared upstairs, Louie closed the store up.  There was more important work to be done.

*****************************************************************************************

If little Sam’s words had  broken Violet’s heart, those shared at their dinner table stomped all over the leftover bits.  Sam, who she learned just turned five, often lifted hazel eyes to Dean, waiting for his nod before answering questions or making a move.  She’d made a double-batch of her famous Sloppy Joe sandwiches, along with crinkle cut French fries, pickles, tall glasses of chocolate milk, and no cheese for Sam.  Gradually, the littlest Winchester warmed up to her. He chattered about how strong Dean was when he piggybacked him to and from the motel seven whole times now.  About all the ‘radical’ bugs he’d found under the big tree by their fence where he waited each day for Dean.  How Dean taught him his numbers to the Scooby-doo song.

Dean, on the other hand, sat as silent as stone.  He wouldn’t touch one morsel of food until after he saw his brother’s plate filled and several bites down the hatch.  After the hushed conversation she’d had with Louie, Violet wondered when Dean had last had a first bite of something without having to worry about whether his brother was hungry.  When the sandwich platter was empty, and the little faces were pleasingly sauce-smudged, Violet ducked into the kitchen and returned with the apple pie she’d baked earlier.

“Now, I hope you boys like pie!  My Violet makes the best in the county.  She won a blue ribbon for her apple pie,” Louie praised.  She blew him a kiss as she began to slice.

“Do I like pie?” Sam whispered to his brother as Dean wiped his face.

“You will, don’t worry,” came the confident whisper in reply.  Louie sent his bride a proud smile as she placed a huge slice in front of each boy.  Curiously, she handed only Dean a fork before she continued slicing for the two of them.

“You go ahead, Dean, tell me what you think,” Violet encouraged nonchalantly, seemingly very involved in her cutting.  Dean looked over at Sam, who simply watched his brother disarmingly.  The older boy looked downright uncomfortable before turning to his brother.

“Here, Sammy, I’ll take the next fork.”

“That’s alright, Dean, I’m counting on you as my expert taste tester.  You show your brother how eating apple pie is done.”  Violet served up another slice with aplomb, and Louie quickly realized her endgame.  He busied his hands holding the pie plate for Violet, both of them watching Dean from the corners of their eyes.

Tentatively, Dean dug the tines into the pastry, coming away with a healthy chunk of golden fruit.  The syrupy goodness, delicately dusted with spices, coated the apple luxuriously.  When Sam nudged his elbow with a, “go on, show me!”, Dean carefully took the bite.  As the flavors unraveled in his mouth, Louie couldn’t bite back the grin when the boy’s eyes drifted shut.

“Mmmm,” he murmured absently.  Violet smiled, radiant in her glee, as she handed Sam a fork with a flourish.

“There you go, young man!” she crowed.  “Show us what you learned from a master pie taste tester!”  Smiles abounded across the table as everyone enjoyed the dessert; and if Dean’s smile was a trifle brighter, a bit more grateful, no one was the wiser.

While Violet had the boys help her clear the table, the doorbell downstairs summoned Louie to the little-used “front door”.  Ada Lovelace stood there, bag in hand, smiling up at the bearded man behind her holding the umbrella.

“Ada, hello!  Come to sell my beautiful wife beauty products she don’t need?”  

The woman trilled a laugh as she lifted the bag.  “And bring you apples!  Louie, this man has a question for you about someone.  Robert, was it?”

“Bobby, ma’am.  Bobby Singer.”  The newcomer paused as Louie ushered them both in the entry way out of the rain.  He removed his hat, showing a head of thinning, reddish hair that matched his beard as he shook hands with Louie in greeting.  “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Moenning, but I’m looking for a couple of boys.  Man down at the Field & Dream Motel back a mile or so said they headed this way this morning.  Both have dark hair, kinda’ quiet.”

Louie squinted at the man, studying him briefly before he gestured up the stairs.  “Come on up, both of you.  Violet’s got coffee and pie on.”

The quiet Mr. Singer hesitated a moment before heading up the stairs.  He kept his back to the wall, not entering further into the room while Ada unbuttoned her jacket.

“Violet!  Company,” he called.  The clinking of supper clean-up stopped as Violet murmured something before she stepped into the doorway.

“Ada!  You didn’t have to come out in this weather!”

“Oh, it was no trouble.  Saw you’d closed up, everything alright?” The shorter woman’s gaze flicked between the Moennings curiously.  

“Right as rain, just decided to close early for a good meal.”  After Louie’s statement, the boys appeared, both of them pausing at the sight of the stranger.

“Uncle Bobby!” Sam shouted delightedly, running to the man.  A wide smile crinkled Dean’s eyes, relief sagging his shoulders a bit.  

“Hey, there, boys!  Good to see you!”  Mr. Singer hefted Sam up to his hip, ruffling Dean’s hair affectionately.  “You ready to go?”

“Is Dad with you?” Dean wanted to know.  Louie caught the flicker of frustration on Mr. Singer’s face before he schooled his features.

“No, he asked me to come get you two and he’ll meet us at my place.”

Nothing could hide the disappointment that wiped away the smiles from the boys.  After an awkward moment, Violet clapped her hands.  

“Boys, Mr. Moenning and I can’t possibly eat all that pie.  Come help me pack it up for you.  I’ve got some Tupperware we can use.”  

The three adults watched Violet lead the boys away before Ada turned to Louie.

“I need to be running.  Would you give this to Violet?” When Louie nodded his affirmative, she handed the bag over.  “Oh!  Before I forget - did you hear what happened in town today?”

“No, no customers in today.”

“Well.  First of all, after the most bizarre chase through the hospital, the police caught a man who had been lurking outside the nursery.  He was going to steal a baby, can you imagine?  All the lights kept going out up there again, doors kept getting stuck, it was a mess.  By the time it was all over, the only door that was stuck was to the room he’d run into.  The fool was raving like a lunatic that someone kept trying to attack him.  He’s in jail as we speak.  But that’s not the only thing!”

Louie shook his head, baffled at the gall of the perpetrator.  “Well, my goodness, Ada!  What could top that tale?”

The woman leaned forward, intent on her news.  “The groundskeeper at the cemetery found a grave disturbed.  And not just disturbed - completely dug up!  Someone broke into the casket and burned that poor soul!”

Disgusted and mystified, Louie frowned at the woman.  “Who on earth would do such a thing?”

Ada shook her head, just as baffled.  “I don’t know.  And the saddest part?  It was one of the nurses who died in the hospital fire of ‘49.”

Louie snorted at that.  “Oh, Lord.  Don’t tell Vic that!  He’s for sure that hospital is haunted!”

“Haunted,” Ada scoffed at her husband’s notion.  “It is sad, though.  That grave was Fern Riley’s.  She’s the nurse that died in the fire trying to protect the babies.”

Silence fell at the announcement; the day St. Anthony’s Hospital burned had been a sad one.  Everyone in the small town had been affected - everyone knew many, if not all, of the 77 people who died.  Ada sighed, then rebuttoned her coat.

“I best get back to Vic.  Tell Violet she can write me a check later for the lipstick.”

“Her pink lipstick?” Louie smirked as he ushered the woman to the stairs.

“Bold Orchid, Louis, get it right,” she sassed.  Louie waved her on her way before turning back to Robert Singer.  The man had a strange stillness about him - like someone who knew a lot more than what they’d ever say.  Before Louie could ask, voices and footsteps told him Vi and the boys were headed this way.

“You from around here, Mr. Singer?”

The other man shook his head.  “South Dakota.”

“You know this Winchester fella?”

“Enough.”

Watching Dean hold the green Tupperware of pie like it was the Holy Grail, Louie fixed a stern eye on Singer and dropped his voice.

“You tell him from me that he’s doing a piss-poor job of being a father, leaving his children hungry and fending for themselves.”

It was a small comfort to watch Singer’s gaze dart to the boys in shock, then curdle with disgusted anger.

“I’ll be more than happy to.”

A chorus of happy chatter from the boys accompanied them as everyone trooped down to the store.  While Dean reminded Sam to make his thank you’s and good-bye’s to Mrs. Moenning, Louie popped open the register before coming around the counter for his own farewell.

He smiled at Sam’s well-trained seriousness as he pumped his hand in a man’s handshake, looking for Dean’s approving smile afterwards.  As Dean stepped towards him, Louie placed a warm hand on his shoulder, smiling down at him.

“Well, Mr. Winchester.  You were a man of your word.  You did every job that came your way, and more besides. Minimum wage is $3.35 an hour.  You worked for me four days here, and you did a man’s work every hour.  So, here’s $110.00.  There’s your wages for hours worked.  You earned it.”

If the boy’s eyes got any wider, they were going to fall out of his skull.  The boy’s throat bobbed once, twice, as he swallowed.

“I - I - I can’t accept this, Mr. Moenning, it’s too much!” Dean frantically shoved the money back towards him, but Louie raised his hands and stepped back.

“No.  We had a man’s agreement.  You’d gone anywhere else, they’d a’ paid you minimum wage.  Ain’t that right, Mr. Singer?”

The man’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again.  “Mr. Moenning’s right, Dean.  If he says you worked the hours, then he can pay you a wage he sees is fair.”

“Yes, sir.  Thirty-two hours at $3.35 an hour - you take that $110.00 and we’ll call it square.  Deal?”  Louie held a hand out to the boy; he stared at it for a long moment before he looked up at the older man.  Tears shimmered in the green eyes as he shook his head firmly.  Gratefully.

“Thank you, sir.  Th-thank you.”

Louie smiled at him as Violet stepped up to his side.  They looped their arms about the other’s waists as Singer led the boys to the door.  Sam waved a smiling good-bye to them as Dean paused at the door.

“Thank you, sir.  Ma’am.  I mean...thank you.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Louie felt Violet tighten her arm around him comfortingly.  “You’re a good man, Dean Winchester,” he told the ten-year old boy.  Just like that first day, a corner of his mouth kicked up a bit in a half-smile.  With a little wave, he followed his brother out the door.  The roar of a truck engine sounded, and they were gone.

The Moennings never saw the boys again, not that they expected to.  Whenever it rained, or the coffee machine broke, they’d remember the two fondly.  They wondered if Sam still had all that hair, if Dean was still a natural with tools, if both of them were still so serious. They always shared a quiet smile when they had apple pie.  No words needed to be spoken as the memory of serious green eyes threaded between them.  They both hoped that whenever there was pie on the table for the Winchester boys, wherever he was, Dean always got the first bite.

**2nd A/N:  The hospital fire mentioned here is a true story.  St. Anthony’s Hospital in Effingham burned down April 4, 1949.  Among the 77 lives tragically lost - patients, employees, nuns, a priest - was 22yo nurse Fern Riley.  A nurse in the maternity ward, she was heard shouting, “I have to stay with my babies!” as she ran towards the nursery, where her body was later found.

In case they want to read it: @pinknerdpanda @littlegreenplasticsoldier @mirandaaustin93 @my-mind-is-incognito @mrswhozeewhatsis 

[marshaeb]

P.S: I'm Mated With The Cursed Alpha!

Chapter Fourteen

Hey guy! Don’t forget to Like, Comment, Review, and Follow for more updates! My apologies in advance for all the grammatical errors. Book will be professionally edited when completed.

“Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday, Miss Joel, Happy Birthday to youuu!”

The entire day-care staff and the pups surrounded me, singing off-key in my ear.

“Happy Eighteenth Birthday, Joel!” Ms. Sumpter exclaimed, resting a chocolate cake in front of me.

“I know it’s not much, compare to what’s in store for you.” She winked. I smiled, but my heart was ready to erupt in my chest. “But please accept this token of our appreciation.”

I was overly emotional but also happy that I’ve finally reached a milestone in my life. From a little girl, I’ve always dreamed of this day. Finding my mate, falling in love, starting a family, but unfortunately, that could all change in a matter of seconds.

The things in life I wish I could control.

That day in the library was the last time I’ve seen Alpha Darius. I haven’t spotted him anywhere since, and it was nerve-wracking.

Damn, he’s so unpredictable! But little by little, I’m starting to figure him out.

Then again, I haven’t heard or seen Jackson since he told me returned the other day.

The suspense of it all...it was eating me alive! They’re both aware that it’s my birthday. Who knows what those two have planned for today.

My stomach started to breakdown as I overthink about the worst possible outcomes. What if...just what if those two run into each other.

All the demons in hell would break loose! And here I am, caught up in the mix.

I zoned out everyone in the room...my mind was far and my heart was too heavy to focus on those celebrating for me.

“Ms. Joel?” Ms. Sumpter called me out of my daze, concerned. “Is everything alright?”

Gosh! If only she knew...

I placed a happy facade on my face and smile up at her as a few of the pups gathered around me. They were only there because they wanted to blow out my candles.

“Everything’s alright... I’m just thinking about this big day.” I whispered.

“Oh yes, didn’t we all on our Eighteenth Birthday,” she said as the other caregivers agreed with a smile. “Today you turn a new leaf...that lucky fella is out there waiting for you.”

I wish it was that easy. I’m in a living love triangle at the moment and it’s driving me nuts.

“Yes,” I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”

I lean forward and blew out my candles. The pups cheered and popped their party time confetti at me.

Since it’s my birthday, Ms. Sumpter gave me the rest of the day off to enjoy myself, but to be honest, I was far from enjoying myself.

Any second now things could turn around, and Alpha Darius could be my potential mate.

Arriving home, just a the door, Samantha waited for me with a small box in her hand with a bright smile on her face.

“It’s from yours truly,” she said, placing the small box in my hand.

My heart melted for a second and for the first time for today a genuine smile widened on my face. Jackson sent me a box. He always loves to surprise me.

I took it in my hand and shook it near my ear. Something was clunking inside. I wanted so badly to see what it was, but first to my room.

Before I could make it to the second step, Mom called out for me in her office down the hall. The door was wide open.

“Yes, Mom?” I said, entering her office.

She leaned back in her chair, her desk full of paperwork.

“I heard Mr. Hamilton is Sarah’s mate and they are engaged to be wed next month.” She said, eyes fixed on her yellow booklet.

I rolled my eyes annoyingly and sighed “Yes, good for her...”

She rests down the booklet and looked over her glasses at me confusedly.

“Wow, you said that quite coldly for a best friend.” She said, taking off her glasses. “What’s going on with you two? She said. “She told me you two had a little scuffle at the hospital. Ever since she been trying to reach you, but you’re deliberately ignoring her.”

“It’s nothing really,” I mumbled. “She has her mate...and I got my problems.”

“But, she’s your best friend.” Mom replied. “She called to wish you a happy birthday. And told me to tell you, that as soon as she comes out of the hospital, she’ll be stopping by to see you and patch things up face to face. She wants you involved in her wedding plans.”

“She has her mate...let him help her!” I exclaimed heatedly, then I shut my eyes feeling shame for overreacting.

“I see... I don’t know what happened between you two, but obviously, I sense that it’s jealousy.” She said.

“Jealousy?” I repeated, upset that she called it out for what it was. “Jealous of what?”

“That she already has her mate...and that you are in a more complicated situation,” Mom replied. “You envy her. I’ll admit it’s kind of cute. It reminds me of when you two were younger and always had fallouts.”

“Well, this is different!” I said, getting even more upset. “I’m not interfering with her life any longer.”

“Don’t worry, you two will patch things in no time—

“No, Mom! I mean it this time.” I said, not giving my decision a second thought.

Mom folded her arms and shrugged her shoulders. “If you say so.” She said not taking me seriously, but I was as serious as a heart attack.

“Anyway, that’s not the only reason why I called you in here.” She said. “Are you enjoying your birthday so far?” She asked tiredly.

I breathed out anxiously and nodded my head, “Y-yes ma’am...so far so good...and thank you for everything—”

“No need to thank me for the breakfast in bed and the gifts...” She said. “It was mainly your father’s idea... You should thank him.”

“I-I did thank him before I left for work,” I said wanting to finish say what had I to say, but she kept cutting off. “But—

“I wanted to take you hiking to the lagoon, but obviously Alpha Darius ruined my plans.” She said, tapping her pen against the desk.

Mom wanted to take me to the lagoon?! I’ve always wanted to go there...ever since I learned about its magical healing powers in school. Almost every day in junior high, I would beg her to take me, but she was always too busy and promised me she would take me on one of my birthdays...my eighteenth birthday!

“Sorry for interrupting you...what were you going to say?” She said.

“I just wanted to thank you,” I said holding back tears. “I— I haven’t got the chance to do it earlier... Now that we’re alone, I just thought I’d tell you.”

“What are you thanking me for, Joel?” She asked. “Not for... protecting you... as I should, right?”

I cleared my throat and nodded my head. “But it’s not just that...these couple years I’ve been nothing but a troubled teen. Disobeying you, shaming you. Even though I’m not your biological daughter, you still put up with my rebellious behavior and loved me anyway. The gifts are nice and all, but...nothing can top you, Mom...” I said wiping my teary eyes. “And of course Dad, Sammy, and Samantha.”

She paused and shook her head at me. “You’re my daughter...it doesn’t matter, biological or adopted...your mine, Joel.” She said to me. “You know that I love you.”

I nodded my head. Her words touch me deeply. I couldn’t hold back the tears. They just kept flowing and flowing.

“Come here.” She said as I shuffle towards her slowly. She took my hand in hers. “You’re nervous aren’t you?”

I nodded my head, looking down at my feet.

“Nah uh, use your words...” She said.

“Y-yes ma’am.” I sniffled.

“I know you are...any second now you won’t belong to me any longer...it’s such a hard pill to swallow,” she said. “Especially for me and your father.”

A warm, relaxed sensation came over me for a split second as she rubbed her thumb over my knuckles.

“Who do you think it might be?” I asked softly.

She glanced up at me, “What do you mean?”

“My...Mate.” I said, seeing images of both Alpha Darius and Jackson in my head.

She sighed, releasing my hand, “I don’t know.” She said. “But there’s no doubt that you are Alpha Darius’s mate. Because of his curse, his chances of his mate accepting him in return is very, very scarce... but because of that, you have a chance of finding another.”

Part of me felt thrilled because my heart beats for Jackson, but a part of me felt bad for Darius... All he wants is for someone to love him in return, but Moon goddess why me? Why?”

“If that’s the case, why is he so determined if you know what’s to expect?” I asked.

“Because it’s obvious that you have an attraction for him as well. The stronger the connection the weaker the curse will be.” She said.

“I-I don’t have an attraction for him...” I said strongly, but deep down apart of me really did. Even when I don’t want it to. “I mean he is awfully handsome, but...but so is Jackson.”

“Jackson is nowhere close to Alpha Darius in looks, stature, and dominance, but they do have one thing in common... agility.” She said. “Regardless of who ends up being your mate, just know that you will be the most loved and protected thing in their life.

“Mom, w-what are you saying?” I said giving her a hard, confused look. “I thought you wanted Jackson to be my mate?”

“I’m just saying what it is, Joel.” She replied. “Of course I want Jackson to be your mate, but that doesn’t change your situation, does it?”

I shuffled uncomfortably where I stood and softly reply, “No...”

“Good, now the only thing we could do is wait and see what happens.” She said. “Jackson’s back and he sent a surprise for you. It’s upstairs in your room.”

Immediately I turned around and rushed upstairs to my room.

My bed was covered in rose petals, a few gifts, and a silk emerald dress. My heart fluttered in my chest...it was the sweetest thing. I was falling in love all over again.

I walked over and started with the smallest box. It was from Sarah.

Read:

Happy Eighteenth Birthday, Joel!

About the other day, please forgive me, I love you,

Love, Sarah

Getting overly emotional, I forcefully bite back my tears and opened the box. It was a silver bracelet with stars, my birth sign, and a blue moon that represented my birth month.

It was beautiful, but being immature and narrow-minded, I rest the bracelet back in the box and rest it on my nightstand.

My mind was solely focused on the surprise Jackson had for me. I opened his first gift, revealing the most beautiful black and silver rhinestone heels I always wanted. I took out a shoe and marveled at its beautiful detail.

Then my eyes drifted to another small box. Inside revealed the most beautiful drop diamond earrings I’ve ever seen.

“They’re beautiful!” I whimpered as I blinked back my tears.

My sweet, sweet Jackson. He did all of this for me not having a clue that our relationship is being compromised by another man. The same man that seduced me and in return I willingly seduced him behind my boyfriend’s back. Guilt and sadness started to take over me. Questioning myself if I should accept these lovely gifts that he wholeheartedly went out of his way to get me, his unfaithful girlfriend.

I looked over at the small box Samantha gave me at the door.

I opened it up and stared at the two chocolate kisses, my favorite candy, but there was also a folded piece of note inside. I unfolded it and read it aloud.

~Happy Birthday, sweetheart! I hope you love the gifts I sent you, there’s more to come...I can’t wait to hold you in my arms again. I’m going to wine and dine you tonight. Meet me at the Closure at 7:00 pm in your pretty, little dress.

Love, Jackson.

I instantly grew all bubbly inside and quickly ran into the bathroom to prepare my bath with the bath&body works Mom gifted me this morning for my birthday.

After soaking, shaving, moisturizing, and applying a small amount of makeup over my face and my neck, I fixed my hair into a curly afro.

The dress fit me so perfectly, showing my natural curves. The drop earrings complimented my complexion nicely. I felt like a million dollars, but deep inside I was still so nervous...nervous about what to expect.

As I walked downstairs, all eyes were on me.

“Is that you, Jo?” Sammy said with his eyes wide open.

Samantha playfully nudge her elbow into his shoulder, “Of course it’s her!”

I chuckled softly as Dad called for me.

“You’re so beautiful!” he said holding my hand. “My baby’s all grown up!”

“Ah, Dad you’re gonna let me ruin my makeup,” I said trying to force back the tears, kissing him on the cheek.

“Which we don’t want!” Mom said, sipping on a can of soda. “So it’s a date, that’s nice! Where to? I’ll drop you off.”

“It’s at the Closure,” I replied.

They all gasped sharply.

“The Closure, eh? That’s quite expensive.” Samantha said.

“Yup, Lad got that coin I see,” he said. “Maybe he can take me and my girlfriend out next.”

“Get a job, heffa!” Samantha said.

“Let’s get going.” Mom said as we headed out the door.

“Have a goodnight!” Dad and Samantha said waving as we left.

“Bring me a spare plate, Jo-Jo!” Sammy said as Samantha pulled him back inside the house.

After a short drive to the Closure, Mom dropped me off at the entrance.

“Tell Jackson there’s still a curfew for you,” she playfully winked. “Enjoy your night and stop worrying.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said as she drove off.

I turned around and face the entrance of the door and slowly walked towards it, but something felt off. The wind had a thrilling feeling to it and all my senses were growing sharp.

As I stepped inside the five-star establishment, I marveled at the elegant interior design as the hostess welcomed me.

“Welcome, to the Closure, ma’am,” she said.

“Oh, thank you,” I said looking around for Jackson, but it seemed as if he hadn’t arrived as yet. “table for two please.”

She escorted me to a comfortable seating near the frosted window under a stunning chandelier.

“Thank you!” I said as I took my seat.

This was so romantic, but where is Jackson? Probably late on purpose to surprise me. He always does that.

I glanced at the couple a few tables before me, indulging in a warm kiss. The scene made me melt inside a little, but then my mind went on Alpha Darius. Remembering the intense kiss we shared. I shook my head, trying to forget all about it, but my heart kept racing as I shuffled uncomfortably in my seat.

I have to stay focus. I have to get him out of my mind!

Five minutes turned into seven, then ten. Still, Jackson was nowhere in sight.

I was starting to grow worried. My mind raced with every disastrous thought I could think of. What if Alpha Darius got a could hold of him on his way here. He’ll find out that I’ve lied to him when I said I had broken up with Jackson when really, I didn’t.

“Oh, goddess! I can’t take this!” I muttered to myself.

I got up promptly and headed towards the lady’s restroom.

I looked myself in the mirror and took deep, sharp breaths. I just needed to calm down, but nothing seems to work.

“Come on, Joel, calm down,” I said. “Deep breaths...deep breaths.”

Gradually I became at ease when suddenly the restroom open and it locked behind the person who entered.

“You look really nice in your dress, princess.” The familiar deep voice said.

My ear flinched back as a sharp, chilling sensation rolled through my body. I slowly looked over, gasping deeply at the man standing before me. He was dressed in a fitted black suit that displayed his gold chain laying on his muscular chest. His jet black hair was slick back with a diamond stud in one ear.

He stared at me with those blazing golden eyes as a dark, cunning smile formed on his face.

It was Alpha...Darius.

“Happy eighteenth birthday!” he said with a smile.

Instantly, it hit me.

Every hair strand on my body stood upright as I inhaled a big whiff of his scent. It was a sharp, hazel, vanilla mixed with a hint of mango passion. It burned in the back of my nostrils, hitting my brain like a strong drug.

He took a step closer and his scent became even more potent.

I hunch over, feeling a slight churning feeling in the pit of my stomach. “That’s right...take me all in, baby girl,” he said. “You can’t fight it...the more you fight, the stronger it gets.”

My nails were shifting and unshifting into claws and the same with my teeth.

“I’ve kept my word...I’ve waited...” he said.

My wolf, she was raging, flipping, and howling from within, ready to emerge for the man standing in from of her. She has finally found her mate.

“I told you an Alpha knows when something belongs to him!” he smiled hungrily at me. “You officially belong to me, princess. Get ready for a hell of a ride!”

A/N

How do you like the book so far guys? Are you happy for Darius?

(Click the link below to continue)

[hysterialevi]

In the Smoke pt. 1 (Cobblebats)

(I’ll post 2 parts today just to give this story a head start!)

From Bruce’s POV

20 YEARS AGO

“Here ya go, kid,” Falcone said with pride, handing me the present. “Happy birthday, Bruce.” 

The present was neatly wrapped in extravagant, golden paper and was decorated with an elegant ribbon on top to match (exactly something you’d expect from Falcone). It was also decently-sized, and felt rather heavy. Whatever was inside must’ve been expensive. Curiosity filled me as I eyed the gift like I’d be able to see through it if I looked hard enough.

Taking the box into my arms, my father gently patted my shoulder from behind. “What should you say, Bruce?” He reminded.

I smiled shyly, practically hiding behind the present. “Thank you, Uncle Carmine.”

He grinned at me. “Anything for my nephew.” Falcone glanced up at my father. “Someday, he’ll grow up to be just like you, Tommy. I can see it.”

He laughed. “That’s the goal.”

“And a good one, at that. Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure there are other guests who’d like to see the birthday boy. Meanwhile, I think I’ll help myself to the wine. Enjoy the evening, fellas.”

“You too, Carmine.”

Once Falcone and his little group had wandered off, my father gestured over to a small table in the middle of the foyer that had multiple other presents already sitting on top of it. 

“Why don’t you go put that with the rest?” He suggested. “We’ll open them together later. For now, I’ll see if I can’t find Hamilton. He should be here by now. Ah, he’s probably just stuck in traffic somewhere. I’ll give him a call.”

“Okay, Dad.” I said.

“Good boy. If you need anything, your mother shouldn’t be hard to find. Last I saw her, she was in the parlor, talking with the Zellerbachs. I’ll be right back.”

And with that said, my father walked off while he searched through his phone for Hill’s number, disappearing into the thick crowds of guests while I stayed put. The entire manor was full of people tonight including colleagues of my parents, close friends, and even neighbors who probably just wanted free food. All the guests were dressed in formal, fancy attire and they each held a glass of wine in their hands, chattering amongst themselves in small circles.

There was also a band playing eloquent, classical music in the background, and with every passing minute, more and more people walked through the front door. 

Heading over to the table, I carefully lifted the heavy box up with a quiet grunt, trying not to drop it as I attentively stacked it on top of another one. A short tower of presents was starting to build, and the idea of having to rip all of them open later already exhausted me. Though, I was excited to see what everyone had gotten me. I just hoped no one got me school supplies like last time.

“You’re gonna put mine on the top, right?” Someone said from behind. I turned around.

Standing only a few feet away from me was none other than Oz, my closest and best friend. He was wearing a simple suit with a yellow bowtie, and his hair had been neatly slicked back. It was quite the change from his normal, casual appearance. His parents were also with him.

“Oz!” I exclaimed happily, running up and giving him a friendly hug. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come. I hadn’t heard from you in days.”

His father chuckled. “He wanted to surprise you.”

Oz extended his arms out, holding his gift. “Hopefully, you’ll forgive me?”

I gladly but cautiously took the box, just in case it was heavy like Falcone’s. “Of course I will. I’m really glad you’re here.” 

Standing on my tippy-toes, I placed it next to Falcone’s, making sure it was just a little higher than the rest.”Thanks, Oz.” I looked at his parents. “And you too, Mr. and Mrs. Cobblepot.”

His mother, Esther, bent down until she was eye-level with me. “You’re very welcome, sweetie.” She gazed around the foyer. “Bruce, do you know where your parents are?”

“I think my mom’s in the parlor,” I replied, “and my dad’s looking for Hill. He said he was supposed to be here by now.”

Esther’s usually cheerful expression seemed to dim slightly at the sound of his name. “Ah, I see. Thank you. Well, you boys go on and have fun. And don’t get into trouble.” She sent a light-hearted glare at Oz.

Oz smirked. “I won’t, mum.”

Oh, yes he will.

Mr. and Mrs. Cobblepot went off in their own direction as they started to acquaint themselves with other guests, staying particularly close to one of the snack bars. The ornamental, silver food trays still appeared rather full. I hoped that at least some people would take the desserts. Alfred had worked incredibly hard getting all the orders done.

Oz nudged me. “So...” he reached into his pocket, “I got you another present.” He pulled out a pack of firecrackers. 

I laughed, knowing exactly where this was going. “What happened to ‘don’t get into trouble?”

“It ain’t like I’ve written my name on these. No one’ll even know it was us.” He could see that I was still a bit hesitant. “C’mon,” he urged, “it’ll be fun! It’ll be even better if it’s Hill.”

I sighed, crossing my arms. “All right, all right. But we have to be quick, okay?”

“Yes! I knew you’d agree. Follow me.”

Grabbing my hand, Oz dragged me through the crowd and to the nearest bathroom, the two of us scurrying in before anyone could see us. Fortunately, no one was inside at the moment, leaving us free to get to work immediately.

With a mischievous chuckle, Oz lifted the toilet seat up and carefully put the firecrackers into position while I kept watch, making sure no one would be around when we left. 

“Hey, Bruce,” Oz said as he gathered more fireworks. His tone was oddly serious. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“...you don’t like Hill, do you?”

Honestly, no. I didn’t. Uncle Carmine had always been friendly enough to me, but something about Hill creeped me out. He wasn’t rude or anything, but his kindness towards me never seemed sincere. He always looked like he was secretly scheming something, and everything about him just screamed, “don’t trust me.”

“No. Not really,” I answered. 

“Good.”

“Why do you ask?”

Oz scoffed. “Hill’s tryin’ to kick my mum and dad out of the estate. He wants the land for some reason, and he’s tryin’ to convince my parents to sell it to him. I don’t want them to, but my mum says we might have to.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Worry spread across his face. “...actually...well--no, never mind. I don’t wanna get you into more trouble.”

“No,” I persisted, “what is it? If I can do something to help, tell me.”

He thought for a while. “...maybe...maybe you could talk to your dad? I know he and Hill are close. It probably wouldn’t do much though. Adults never listen to us kids, but it’s worth a try.”

I nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Oz’s face lit up with appreciation. “Thanks, mate. Really.” He snapped back into his mischief mode. “Anyways, enough of that.” He steadily put the toilet seat back down. “The firecrackers are ready. C’mon, let’s wait outside. This is gonna be great.”

Quickly escaping the bathroom, Oz and I tried our best to act as casual as possible and calmly waited at a reasonable distance, pretending to be occupied with one of the multiple snack bars. Oz eyeballed the bowl of punch. 

“I know that look,” I said, slightly concerned. “What are you thinking?”

He grinned and glanced at the salt shaker. “...should I?”

I looked around, checking both sides to see if anyone was watching. “Go for it. That’s not the only bowl of punch, after all.”

Hiding away from people’s sight as best as he could, Oz hurriedly twisted the shaker’s top off and emptied its contents into the punch, stirring the ingredient in with the rest of the mixture thoroughly.

“There. All done.” He announced, wiping his hands clean.

Just then, I spotted someone walking into the bathroom. I repeatedly tapped Oz’s arm with the back of my hand, pointing in that direction as the two of us got closer so we could hear better.

Sitting idly by, we eagerly waited for the poor victim to fall into our trap--quite literally--and had to hold ourselves back from laughing too much from excitement.

After a few moments of silence, we suddenly heard a loud series of frantic pops along with an outburst of swear words, the man inside clumsily stumbling around before a heavy thud reached our ears. Neither I nor Oz could help it at that point. Both of us broke into laughter, playfully giggling with our hands over our mouths.

“And just what are you two doing?” 

Oz and I froze at the voice. It was Alfred. 

I slowly looked behind me, addressing the butler. “...uh...nothing.” I replied sheepishly. The man inside the bathroom shouted another curse.

Alfred raised his brows, folding his hands behind his back. “Doesn’t sound like ‘nothing’ to me. Oh, well. Seeing as how it’s your birthday, Master Bruce...” he winked with a smile, “I won’t tell.”

Oz laughed. “I like your butler.”

“And I like you as well, ‘friend-who’s-clearly-a-bad-influence-on-my-master’s-son.” Alfred cleared his throat. “Anyways, Bruce, I come to inform you that your mother wishes to see you. She’s waiting in the parlor. You may bring Master Cobblepot along with you, if you wish.”

“I’ll go see her, then. Thanks, Al.”

“Well,” Alfred straightened his suit, “I shall return to my duties. There’s no shortage of them tonight. If I can assist you further in any way, please do not hesitate to ask.”

As Alfred began to walk away, I turned to Oz.

“So, you wanna come with me to see my mom?”

He shrugged in a “why not” manner. “Sure. Let’s go.”

We strolled away from the snack table, hand-in-hand, and braced ourselves as we prepared to navigate through the sea of guests once again, when the distant sound of someone coughing suddenly caught our attention. Looking for the source, Oz and I saw a struggling woman holding a cup of the punch that he had filled with salt earlier, her face twisted with disgust. It was amusing to watch--that was--until she caught us staring.

“Uh-oh,” Oz shoved me into the crowd with a forceful push, “run! Go!”

Laughing hysterically, the two of us quickly vanished behind the tall figures of the adults surrounding us as the lady speed-walked in her tight gown in a pathetic attempt to catch us. 

Before this party started, I had been worried that it was going to be boring and that I was going to spend the rest of the night doing nothing but introducing myself to random grown-ups, but with Oz here now, I knew that it was going to be nothing but fun, and I didn’t want the night to end. The only thing that concerned me right now was what Oz said about Hill earlier, and I hoped that it wasn’t true.

Oh, well. That was an issue for another time. As much as I wished it would, tonight wasn’t going to last forever, and I intended to make the most of it with Oz at my side.

[cielowrites]

Heavy Breaths - Gladio/Reader 

I actually had something else planned out for my first Gladio/Reader fic, but I got struck with inspiration with this right now and I wanted to treat myself today so, yeah. 

P.S. This fella and Nyx are my favorites in this fucking game, maker SAVE ME 

He wanted to surprise you with a visit, a bouquet of flowers carefully held in one hand and hidden behind his back. The spare key to your apartment, your birthday gift to him, felt warm in his pocket, and Gladio was nothing short of excited to see you after a whole week of being stuck in the Citadel for work. 

He’s dedicated to being the prince’s shield, but he’s just as dedicated to being your boyfriend as well. 

Unsure whether you were at home or not, the amber-eyed man tiptoed his way up your door and slowly pressed his ear against the wood. The sight was a rather comical one, the way his shoulders hunched up to his ears as if making himself shorter would quiet his steps. 

Gladio expected silence or some shuffling from you moving around, possibly making brunch since you woke up rather late (compared to him, at least). He did not expect to hear you breathing so heavily. 

Six, were you panting? 

Eyes wide in realization that, yes, that was definitely you inside and the sounds you made were indeed what he thought they were, a smirk slowly spread across the man’s face. The two of you have been intimate before, so listening to this wasn’t unfamiliar to him in the very least. 

His surprise was going to have to wait. He wanted to enjoy this just before smothering you with long-awaited kisses he’s been dying to give you. 

Your breaths varied in length and some were shakier than others which left a shiver down his back. He bit down a knuckle from his free hand to keep the growls that rumbled deep in his chest from spilling past his lips. It can wait. He can wait just a while longer. 

Besides, this was one hell of a welcome for him. He could only imagine what you were doing behind that closed door he unconsciously pressed himself up to. Were you enjoying yourself? Did you think of him as much as he thought of you? Gladio was more aware of the key that sat in his pocket than ever, the metal becoming hot with him as his thoughts continued to go over what you might be doing. 

And the way you took in a breath was     

“Aah...ACHOO!”

Gladio froze when a few thuds! that most likely hit the floor followed your sneeze. The abrupt shift from aroused to worried had him fumbling to unlock the door once he heard you groan in pain and sniffled.

“(Y/N)?! Are you okay?!” 

“Wha   G-Gladio?! What are you doing here?!” 

You sat on your living room floor wearing a pair of sweats and a hoodie (both his) with books from your shelf scattered around you. From the looks of it, they had fallen off and you with them. The flushed look on your face, whether it was from embarrassment, surprise, or both, made the Amicitia scion chuckle softly as he locked the door behind him and set the bouquet on the nearest table. 

“I was plannin’ on surprising you, but it looks like you turned it on me.” Knees slightly bent (a rather difficult feat when you have a half hard on), Gladio helped you up to your feet and leaned in for a kiss only for you to quickly turn your head to the side. It took him a few seconds to register that his lips were on your cheek before he drew back, a hurt expression on his face.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong? You mad at me or something?” 

When you turned to look at him, you felt horrible and quickly shook your head. On the contrary, you were so happy to see him again after he had been away for a week and missed him terribly. 

“No! Gladio, I’m not mad at you. It’s just that    A-aah...” 

You immediately pulled your hands out of your boyfriend’s and backed away from him, your mouth covered with your arm. Unfortunately for you, the Astrals decided to curse you with the most painful of sneezes...

“ACHOO!” 

... that were strong enough to make you fall on your ass.

“Ow... Nooo, NO. Gladio, don’t you dare laugh.” You gave the best glare you could muster as you reached for a tissue to wipe your nose while Gladio tried his very best to hold it in. That certainly explained how you fell with the books. “Ugh... Just let me breathe through my nose, dammit. Fucking Six.” 

So that’s why you were breathing so loudly. “Careful there, hon. You never know what they might do next.” 

“It better be giving me the sweet release of death from whatever I’ve got. Then I’ll kick their asses so you won’t go through the same thing.” Tossing the tissue into a trash bin, you saw Gladio’s arms paired with that playful grin of his coming for you. You attempted to dodge him so he wouldn’t catch whatever you had. “Stooop. I’m going to get you sick!”  

There’s no escaping his hugs. Ever. 

“But babe, that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me!” He rubbed his cheek onto your forehead while you squawked, hands on his chest to get him off you. The protest was weak though, his body gave off that comforting warmth you’ve been waiting for so long. Slowly, you came to accept his hug with a sigh and wrapped your arms around his neck. You felt his pleased hum from the rumble of his chest pressed against yours and the two of you stayed that way for a while, until he decided that he needed to ask you a few questions.

“How long have you been sick?” 

“A few days. Ignis stops by during lunchtime to give me soup and Noctis insisted that his doctor check up on me.” 

“Did they now?” The burly brunet loosened his hold around you, hands settled on your hips as he pulled his head back to give you a once over. You didn’t look too bad, as far as he could tell. A few days of rest, water, and medicine should do the trick. “When I asked them how you were a couple days ago, they said you were fine.” 

You were about to let out a sheepish laugh when a cough interrupted you. You turned your head to the side to cover it with the crook of your elbow. Gladio’s brows furrowed at how your body shook from  it. 

Scratch that. You needed more than just a few days. 

“I... Jeez, that one really hurts.” You swallowed and take a second to catch your breath. “I told them to keep it from you until you were done with work. I didn’t want to distract you.”

“(Y/N)...” Gladio craned his neck to rest his forehead to yours, his intense gaze was extremely difficult to look away from, especially with that look he gave you. “I promise you that you’re not a distraction. I will always worry about you, but I know that you can damn well take care of yourself.” 

One of his hands slid up to cup your cheek and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. A sense of calm washed over you while you were gazed at with such adoration from the man who always took the chance to show how much he loved you. “Just... Just let me know when something like this comes up again. I know you think it might seem small, but I’d rather know how you’re really doing than be in the dark.” His gaze softened and for a moment you’re reminded that he’s just as young as you were. “... Please, (Y/N)?” 

“I will, Gladiolus. I promise.” You smoothed your hand over his and gave it a slight squeeze to reassure him. It felt good to have him talk things through like this. You knew that he’s used to giving ‘tough love’ as your friends liked to call it, but the two of you managed to work through it the first few months into dating. 

It was in his nature to power through anything that came his way, whether it was physically or emotionally, and you understood that. You simply showed him a new way to handle the latter and it worked great with him. 

“Thanks, (Y/N).” He pulled you in for another tight hug, his face buried into your shoulder. You could hear the relief in his voice and rubbed his back with one hand, the other gently combed through his hair. The Crownsguard must have worked him real hard for him to be this tired. “Really helps me get some peace of mind, y’know?” 

“Yeah? I have a feeling that there’s something else going on in your head.” Gladio raised a brow at the cheeky tone of your words and hummed in confusion. “Oh, sorry, I meant your other head.” 

...Right.

“Okay, look, (Y/N). First off, it’s exactly what you think but I have something to add to it.” 

“Sure thing, honey. Tell me all about it while we wait for Ignis’ soup.”