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anika-ann · 5 months ago

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A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events - S.R.

Part 1 of 2

Type: two-shot, idiots-in-love, feel-good fic

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 7,3k

Summary: It's just a bunch of Avengers and SHIELD agents who often cooperate on missions - hanging out and getting to know each other better on a camping trip. What could possibly go wrong?

A few things. A few things could and they all seem to have you at the centre. Luckily, you have a hero in shining armour to help you in the time of need.

Warnings: allusions to NSFW, minor injuries, mention of misogyny, brief reference to PTSD, language, attempt at humour, FLUFF , Steve being a menace

A/N: written for the Essie’s Summer Lovin’ 300 Follower Celebration. Congrats @bigtreefest and thank you for hosting 💕 I have chosen multiple prompts - in this one, you shall find “why’s it…sticky?” and modified “here, you can share with me”. I hope to finish the second part in time 😁

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰 Several Agent of SHIELD characters are involved - I don't think you need any knowledge of the show to read this

The afternoon North Carolina sun warmed your skin pleasantly, even as you found yourself panting after the having climbed up the hill you. The backpack with an attached sleeping bag and a tent pack was growing heavier and heavier on your shoulders with every step, but the view and the company – most of it anyway – were certainly worth it.

Everyone seemed affected by the fresh air and exercise the Great Smokey Mountains provided, the atmosphere light and content as this was, for most, the first trip in a long time that had nothing to do with a mission.

Sure, one could argue there were some strings attached, as the ‘mission’ was to solidify relationships within the group – several Avengers and several SHIELD agents who were often outsourced for Avengers-level missions – but still: no one was shooting at you. And you wouldn’t have to write a report. That counted for something. For a lot, in fact.

Plus, the path was the goal. The destination, while set precisely according to Steve’s plan, might as well be just about anywhere.

You glanced at him as he walked by your side, smiling absently. The corners of his lips only twitched higher as he noticed you watching him, his gaze flickering to you as well.

He looked as if he was born to do this. A halo of dark blond hair around his head ruffled by the wind, sunlight painting them almost golden. The heaviest backpack of all sitting on his wide shoulders, straps around his broad chest and thin waist. Legs clad in light track pants that hugged his thighs and ass in the best way possible, a downright magnetic sight--- no.

Uh-huh, no.

No thoughts of that sort. You had forbidden yourself from that, at least for the duration of this trip, because you had known Steve would be a literal walking thirst-trap, the sheer happiness surrounding him making his glow ten times brighter. You had forbidden yourself from thinking like this, because this was not an appropriate observation to make about a colleague, a superior no less, even as everybody else probably thought along the same lines.

It didn’t matter that you wanted to throw hands at the mere idea of someone else making that observation as well. You didn’t exactly have the right to do that and it was a lost fight before it even started. Steve Rogers was simply too beautiful and essentially perfect in all his imperfections, and god knew that those imperfection had nothing to with his body. Ass included-

Gaze quickly snapping up back to his face, you found him smiling at you warmly, a soft dusting of freckles adorning his cheeks from the prolonged exposure to sun. The same phenomenon could be observed on his bare arms; a constellation of freckles, where angels had kissed their kindest, prettiest and most loyal creation; a constellation of places where you’d love to press your lips and linger, breathe in the scent of his skin and taste it.

God, he was breathtaking and all kinds of alluring. The nature around you was too, sure, the smell of pines and sandy rocks whispering of vacations and good times, but the way he-

“Whoa!” you yelped as you suddenly found yourself tumbling towards the ground, foot having slipped on a rock, you supposed.

Hands outstretched, you had no chance to break the fall, only to slow it, the burden on your back completely changing your momentum.

The second your palms as much as brushed the rocky floor, you were being held by your waist so firmly that none of your actual weight landed on the ground. You would recognize the arms holding you anywhere – just like the scent of sandal wood, musk, man and comfort, suddenly wrapping around you.

The safest place on Earth.

Steve’s arms.

Your stomach made a little flip-flop as his hands squeezed you gently and helped you up, only releasing you when his eyes found yours, silently asking if you were okay.

You responded with an embarrassed smile.

“Whoa, you okay?” Daisy rushed to your side, bless her, breaking the brief moment you had allowed yourself to bask in the sweet worry in Steve’s gaze and in the heat his body was radiating, despite the fact you could feel everyone staring at the newly nominated klutz of the group of superspies. You.

Heat of embarrassment flooded your skin under everyone’s scrutiny – and more so under the judgement in Agent Hopkinson’s glare, the jerk. Then again, you could hardly blame him for looking down on you right now.

Allegedly one of the deadliest agents known to the world; bested by a few rocks on a hiking trail and Steve Rogers’s smile.

You chuckled self-deprecatingly, quietly thanking Steve and turning to Daisy to assure her that besides your pride, nothing had been seriously wounded.

“I’m fine,” you said, scratching your forehead with a poor attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Must have missed a step, I don’t even know how…”

You did know how. You knew it precisely. You hadn’t been watching your step, too mesmerized by the beauty of your favourite Captain – and favourite person in the world. The man with the most honest, goodest, fiercest and most beautiful soul you had ever met, your closest friend.

“I do,” Agent Melinda May commented dryly, a pointed look aimed at your feet, revealing the culprit – and making you wish the Earth could swallow you, especiallysince it was her, the second in command at SHIELD – and one of the most admirable women in history of anything. And she had just seen you, an agent for both Avengers and SHIELD, a master of martial arts, to trip on nothing like a five-year-old. For the same reason too. “Your shoelaces are undone.”

“…thanks. And sorry. Go ahead. I think I can tie my shoelaces on my own,” you chuckled again, swallowing the shame even as you were among friends. Albeit some of them more reluctant than others.

“Clearly not,” Agent Hopkinson remarked, not missing the opportunity to belittle you, making you sigh as you crouched down, taking extreme care not to as much as wobble despite the heavy backpack.

Case on point, you supposed.

Having worked for SHIELD for years now, acting as the main liaison for situations where Avengers needed help, be it due to too many hostiles or the nature of the job leaning more towards spy-work that alien-invasion-work, your general experience was that tolerance and cooperation were the way. Some people were less pleasant than others, that much was true, but one should handle disagreements, various personality traits and different views on life. You certainly could; your approach to conflict, your supposedly calming presence and search for harmony in a team and the calm composure you maintained under pressure to quickly weigh your options, had even earned you your codename, Libra.

You genuinely believed tuning down an attitude for the sake of the mission was the custom, the golden rule.

And then you encountered Agent Martin Hopkinson. He was the exception. And a pain in your ass.

He got along alright with most people despite his arrogance; but you and him were a trainwreck happening in slow motion. He did not like you. Whether it was jealousy of your position, misogyny, or both, or something completely else, you wouldn’t know. But he was bitter and biting, always looking for a flaw, always making snidey comments.

You could handle that – an insult here, a mean comment there. After all, you could take a punch, a stab, a gunshot wound. You could take down men twice your size with your bare hands and just a little wit, if you tried hard enough. You had faced soldiers, rapists, murderers; Agent Hopkinson was but a small hindrance, annoyance on legs. But by god, your fists itched whenever he opened his mouth. And the feeling was mutual.

However, as a professional, you worked hard not to reciprocate his aggression, even as it only ever remained verbal; the same could not be said about him. And he didn’t care zilch about who heard him be ‘smart’ with you either, which, in turn, led to several reprimands; and on one delightful occasion, to Steve almost breaking his jaw when he heard him utter a comment about Coulson pimping out the pet agent again, clearly meaning you. The wrath Steve had showed was nothing hort of holy, and holy was the miracle that Hopkinson was still alive; the fact he barely toned down his attitude was just idiocy.

But had you mention Steve was an angel? A fiercely loyal protective friend, a gentleman, who might swear on occasion and be a little shit par excellence, but god should help anyone whose behaviour towards others offended him. He might be an angel, but was an avenging one.

A caring one too.

As soon as you stood up again, Steve was carefully cradling the backs of your hands, examining the teeny scrapes over your palms with about five droplets of blood in total, frowny gaze flickering to your knee which you hadn’t even realized you had grazed too.

“We should disinfect that.”

“Steve, I’m fine,” you laughed, even as you let him examine the barely-there bleeding, knowing there was no use trying to resist. “Thank you for caring, but it’s literally just a scratch… I’ve had worse.”

He shook his head, his expression darkening a bit. “That’s not comforting and you know it. And any wound, if infected, can be dangerous – I know I don’t have to tell you that.”

You knew instantly what instance he was referring too, a small shudder running up your spine. Yet, the rational part of you argued that there was no comparison, even if the cut on your arm over a month back had not been all that deeper and wider than this.

“That was literally a poisoned blade, Steve-“

“We were about to take one more break before reaching the destination anyway,” he interrupted you, unrelenting. “Let’s head up to that clearing and we’ll rest for a bit. I’ll take care of it, okay?”

“Steve-“

“I’ve got the first aid kit,” Bobbi uttered nonchalantly as she passed you, joining the others who had gone ahead already.

You sighed. Bobbi Morse – an agent with a clever sense of humour, sharp tongue and no-nonsense attitude, a good friend – and she was using all of her powers against you. Wicked.

“It’s just a-“

“Captain’s orders,” she almost sing-sang, earning a grin from Daisy who only shrugged, as if to confirm her words.

You sighed, rolling your eyes; acutely not aware that Steve was still holding your hands in his and your body was heating up from inside at the prolonged contact – particularly your chest and something deep within your belly.

You looked up at him, mildly annoyed and rather amused at his insistence and protectiveness. And even though you wouldn't admit that out loud, touched.

“You’re overbearing. You’re lucky I like you,” you scolded him in a whisper.

He only grinned, his worried gaze clearing and lightning up at your feigned outrage, and squeezed your hands before letting go.

“I love you too. Let’s go.”

You bit your cheek as you nodded, reminding yourself for at least the tenth time since you had set off hiking: friends. The keyword of this trip was ‘friends’.

It was just really hard to actually remember that when Steve looked at you like that, talked like that, and you could still feel the warm imprint of his hands on yours.

Steve Rogers was a man impossible not to fall for; from almost absurd handsomeness to even more absurd goodness he lived by, from his sharp wits to effective moves, from the crinkles in his eyes when he smiled to the tenderness in his touch. His sense of humour equalled to the one of duty, his drive and determination in leading interlacing with a soul of an artist and a simple man who appreciated the most ordinary things.

You had clicked instantly; your friendship bloomed almost effortlessly, working alongside him making for many opportunities to spend time together. Despite barely having met about three months ago, the times you owed him your life for were numerous; and the few times he owed you his, even as there was no such thing as keeping score, only strengthened your bond. Moments where you thought you wouldn’t make it out. Long nights at motels or in a stake-out cars, filled with mindless chatter, profound talks and comfortable silences. His goddamn smiles alone, always feeling a little warmer, fonder, when directed at you.

The fact he had quickly slipped into a habit of calling you Lee, a nickname derived from your codename with a wordless implication of you being his refuge, with that damn smile on his plush lips, was making something in your ribcage tremble with affection.

You had fallen hard. But who wouldn’t? You were only human.

And his proximity, his friendship, his affection, they were most precious to you; no matter which form they’d have, you’d take it.

Even if it meant inappropriate thoughts and your heart racing fast enough to collapse from exhaustion when he cleaned your scraped knee and palms with such care and focus one might believe they were fatal wounds.

Your heart would tremble less if he hadn’t kneeled in front of you as he did so, but you supposed Steve Rogers was just that kind of deadly. He cradled your hands in his huge ones as if they were as fragile as butterfly wings, smiling when he was done; and grinning when you said Thank you, nurse Rogers, the words carrying both humour and respect for his late mother.

His smile resembled the sun so much you almost missed how the actual sunrays grew less and less warm. It was only a few minutes later – every one of them making you aware of the either knowing or incredulous looks following yours or Steve’s every move, almost enough to make you self-conscious when snacking – when you realized you were getting cold.

The solution was easy; and despite how effective it would have been in chasing away the cold and lifting your spirits, it did not involve hugging Steve. Instead, you dived your hand down your backpack through the layer of snacks and other small necessities towards your clothes for the occasion.

And your hand reached something it most definitely shouldn’t have.

“What the-“ you murmured, still acutely aware of all the gazes on you, now joined by Steve’s. “Why is it… sticky?”

Puzzled and horrified – and suspicious, because Hopkinson might have never played a prank on you, but lines always had to be crossed for the first time someday – you threw out the things from the top, pulling out what was normally one of your favourite sweatshirts.

Fairly soaked in a rusty-red oily substance that now resided in your luggage.

Not that it hadn’t been there before – but before, it was safely stored in a Tupperware container along with the thin marinated steaks you had been tasked to carry for the team’s first dinner above fire, Hunter carrying the grate.

“What is it?” Bobbi asked, frowning at the poor article of clothing you had intended to wear.

You didn’t have to sniff it to answer; mostly because the scent of spices was strong enough to answer for you.

“It’s the… marinade from our dinner,” you informed her with a grimace, a small whine escaping you as you went to inspect the rest of your clothes with dread and irritation rising. Because you already knew that the sweatshirt would not be the only thing having been hit. There had been enough to marinade to drown Steve and Bucky in – that was why you had triple-checked it was secured when you had pulled the straw for carrying it in your backpack. “How is that even possible?! I swear I checked it at least five times! I used rubber bands and a plastic bag and- ugh.”

“It probably gave out with all the moving around,” Natasha said, compassion evident in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you sighed.

And it was. You were only just beginning to feel the mountains part of your destination. You weren’t even shivering – and god knew you had been exposed to much worse conditions with fewer clothing. It wasn’t even raining. You had been through much worse – this was but an inconvenience.

Kinda like Hopkinson himself.

Your gaze flickered to him as he himself put on a thin hoodie, your gaze narrowing in subtle suspicion; but there was no way. He almost looked as if he was pitying you. Genuinely. Though not enough to share his clothes; not that you’d accept if he had offered. But that was beside the point. The point was he probably wasn’t to be blamed for your current misery. Not where marinating your clothes was concerned anyway.

It was probably all on you. It seemed your Tupperware skills still needed some work. Goddamnit.

“It is fine,” you spoke to yourself more than anyone else. “I’ll walk the cold off and then stay close to the fire-“

Your heart skipped a beat as you felt a presence by your side, a large navy-blue hoodie entering your sight; it was as if talking about your potential inconvenience summoned him.

An angel by your shoulder.

With a soft frown and a welcoming smile, he set the hoodie next to you as your hands still held onto your tainted clothes.

“Hey… here, you can have mine.”

You opened your mouth to protest, the words dying in your throat when you met Steve’s gaze. The golden hour had arrived, highlighting the freckles and the god-like warm glow of his smile. Your fingers reflexively twitched in the fabric of the t-shirt in your hands as the urge to run them through Steve’s hair instead hit you like a sledgehammer.

Friends, you reminded yourself again. FRIENDS.

He was offering a friendly gesture. It was no different than borrowing boxing wraps from Hunter for training if yours had torn, borrowing a dress from Natasha because none of yours fit the theme of a party, or borrowing heels from Daisy because they matched better than anything you owned. There was nothing special about this and no one would think twice.

Yet, it was a gesture you had to turn down, no matter how gentlemanly it was – no matter how at home you knew you’d feel in that hoodie. The idea alone was tickling along the most sensitive parts of your body and for that alone you should refuse.

“Thank you, Steve… but that wouldn’t be fair,” you said. “You shouldn’t be cold because of me.”

Plus, I know this one is your favourite, you wanted to say, but bit your tongue, aware that the scene was already out-of-chart intimate as it was. It certainly felt like it.

“I won’t. You know I run pretty hot…”

You are hot, you wanted to say – but a little choked noise from Hopkinson and Bucky had you quickly set your mind straight.

Until Steve pulled out the big guns – rather literally. Long fingers wrapped around your bare forearm, goosebumps erupting on your skin despite the nearly burning sensation, breath catching. It did not help the situation that something you didn’t dare to identify for the sake of your sanity flashed in Steve’s eyes when he touched you.

Friends. Friends, friends, FRIENDS-

“See. All warm. And it will stay that way even without a hoodie. Take it. Please,” he added. And soon, a content smile appeared on his face, because he recognized the signs of you yielding.

A girl had to pick her battles. Arguing with Steve was not one of those which you had no chance at winning – it would be like trying to move a ton-worth block of concrete with bare hands. You had enough experience with that – fighting with Steve on the matter of your comfort, not moving concrete – and there was no winning. He respected your choices, yes, but he’d fastened straps of a parachute on you himself if it came to it, even if it meant he wouldn’t have one himself; he was a sweet hypocrite like that.

“Fine,” you sighed, smiling just a bit. “If you insist… thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

You would swear you heard at least three people mutter under their breath: I bet.

Thoroughly warm and comfortable despite the numerous miles in your feet and tens of pounds on your back, you trailed behind Hunter and Bobbi, who were fighting animatedly – and most lovingly – about which European brand beer was the finest. For a couple who had been married and divorced, once talking about each other in not so nice terms including Bobbi being called ‘a demonic hell-beast’, they sure appeared very much in love – but every bit professional when it counted. They were lucky to find each other again, that was for sure. It made one long for a love like that; explosive as they were, you wouldn’t shy away from calling them soulmates. They belonged with each other; they were lucky to have find one another.

As you tugged at the sleeves of the hoodie you were wearing, long to easily hide your palms, you wondered if you were being lucky or cursed on this trip so far. Tripping. Spilling sauce onto your clothes. Withstanding Hopkinson’s moody glares of which exactly one resembled a shred of compassion and only lasted until you put on the hoodie of the Captain America himself. And yet, surrounded by colleagues, friends and Steve, on a trip with a sun that had slowly begun its descent at your back, you had to count your blessings.

Lucky. You were luckier than most.

Daisy had joined you for a bit, walking side by side with you when the path allowed it, meaningless chatter altering with meaningful; a natural course of conversation between close friends who were together for a few hours with nothing else to do but take it step by step, literally, admire the nature and talk.

Steve had promised it would only take less than an hour and you’d make it to where you were supposed to set camp. He had fallen behind, walking with Natasha and Bucky, who, judging by his tone and Steve’s groans, roasted the team captain about something with Natasha’s occasional but effective help.

Now, about what you assumed was twenty to thirty minutes later, the last challenge of today’s journey awaited you; fording a river.

A rather cold river.

The weather was nice, sure, and you were having a good time; but the idea of warding through water reaching your thighs was not all that alluring.

But of course, Steve Rogers was the man with a plan.

Walking down the river and finding a relatively shallow section of the river with several large rocks, all you had to do was to step from one slightly slippery stone to another without face-planting or letting your heavy backpacks break your balance. Easy – or it should be for a group of athletic agents.

Yet, Bucky and Steve were discarding their shoes in a blink, rolling up their pant legs, ready to dip in and get wet so other wouldn’t.

Your heart skipped a startled beat, a lump growing in your throat, as you watched Steve regard his friend, already knee-deep in water, with the tinniest bit of hesitance.

Cold water. Cold water.

In the early June, the water couldn’t be colder than fifty, fifty-five degrees; but if the supersoldiers planned to stand there until all of you crossed the not-so-unsignificant distance while they’d assist, they would certainly feel it. And while history taught you both Steve and Bucky could clearly take the cold better than anyone, the idea of being the person knee-deep in the water was anything but pleasant.

Especially to someone who had already laid his life by diving a plane into icy waters of the North Atlantic.

Without a second thought, you left the line forming at the best crossing point, walking down the bank to crouch at Steve’s side.

He noticed your presence in an instant, snapping his head to you, an all-easy smile forming on his lips. As if you couldn’t see the brief flash of anxiety before he hid it. As if you couldn’t see his carotid pulsing wildly. As if he, the supposedly fearless man to all, could hide the one flicker of apprehension he allowed himself to feel from you.

“Are you sure about this, Steve?” you asked, voice as low as possible as not to attract attention.

As you met his gaze, understanding flashed in his eye. A silent conversation; he knew why you came to him, where your concern came from.

And in a very Steve Rogers fashion, he ignored it. He just gulped and squared his shoulders and rose to his feet, suddenly towering over you again.

“Of course I am.” Of course he was. “It will be much easier than all of us fording through.”

You sighed, looking at him pointedly as you swallowed your irritation – and worry. That was not what you were questioning and he knew it. And you weren’t questioning his dedication or his ability to help either; just the decision to put himself through discomfort anyone else could have taken upon themselves, when it meant more hardship for him than others.

“I know. It just… it can be literally anyone else-- hell, I can do it.”

You could. You’d warm up after soon enough, judging by the terrain awaiting you. It was a better option that him going in there to freeze his toes off at and bring him back to--

To prove your point, you reached for the backpack buckles on your belly to take it off.

Steve’s hand was on your forearm stopping you before you could undo a single one, squeezing.

As your head snapped back to his face, there was a little crack through the mask he had put on, showing just the slightest hint of anxiety now. But there was a fresh wave of warmth in his expression too; gratitude lit up the blue of his irises the way the sun lit up the summer skies, dreamy and sweet.

His thumb pressed into your forearm gently, stroking, reassuring. You felt the tension melt from your shoulders faster than a butter on the stove, something stirring deep inside your bones as you took a shaky inhale.

“Thank you, Lee, but I’ll be fine,” he said, one of his eyebrows arching, a little quirk to his lips. “And we don’t want to undo the work the hoodie has done on you.”

Right. The hoodie. His hoodie. Yes, you were very much aware you were still wearing it, while he remained in a t-shirt that was at least one size too small for him and did all things delightful for his already insanely impressive physique.

Not the point.

You opened you mouth to argue, only to be interrupted by a shout from behind you.

“Oi, punk! You gonna help or just stand there enjoying the view?”

As you both turned to Bucky, you could see him helping Agent May cross the river, already halfway through.

Steve let go of your forearm, smiling at you once more.

“At least take the hoodie,” you insisted. He shook his head, your mouth opening on empty, deeming your effort fruitless.

“I have a jacket if I want… don’t need the hoodie,” he assured you, his grin earning a glint of danger that made your stomach flip-flop funnily, the heat in your abdomen burning hotter. “Plus, it looks much better on you.”

With that, he set off, jogging towards the water, and leaving you stand there with cheeks exploding with heat.

Damn you, Steven Grant.

Shaking your head, you returned to the line, anxiously watching Steve climb down into water, a shudder running down his spine.

“Come on. I saved you a spot,” Daisy said, gesturing for you to stand in front of her, earning an eyeroll from Hopkinson who stood behind her. “Everything okay with you and Steve?”

The phrasing had your head snap up with a startle, heart speeding up.

“What?”

What did she mean by that?! You and Steve?

No. There was you. There was Steve. Two separate entities. Friends.

Checking up on each other. Wearing each other’s clothes. Typical friends.

You relaxed when all you found in Daisy’s gaze was genuine care and curiosity, no trace of implying anything. Right.

You smiled back. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Hunter and Bobbi followed after May; then it was your turn. The sight of the river, while beautiful, got a little less pleasant as you stepped on the first stone, testing just how slippery the surface was. It wasn’t awful – you could handle that, even as you felt the extra load on your back disturbing your balance.

But hey – the worst that could happen was you taking a cold bath. Just another inconvenience, right?

Yet, you didn’t have to worry. You didn’t even make it to the second large stone when a familiar pair of warm hands wrapped around yours, offering a gentle but firm support.

You met Steve’s reassuring gaze, a message without words: I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.

You send one back, squeezing his hands: I know. You makeme feel safe. You okay?

A tiny nod on his part and then you were on your way, careful taking step after step, always testing the surface first, making sure your every move was secure before shifting your weight. From one to another, you made it halfway to the deepest part of the crossing without any issue, actually enjoying the little adventure – which had obviously nothing to do with Steve’s touch, because you were not at all disappointed to see Bucky heading back from the other side of the river where he had left Bobbi to take you off of Steve’s hands. Not at all.

You were just stepping on the next stone when you felt a sudden drop in weight on your shoulders and back, an embarrassing yelp erupting from your throat as you scrambled for balance.

A fleeing thought of this trip being cursed for you indeed flashed through your mind as you braced yourself for the impact into cold water despite still trying not to have it come to that.

And it didn’t.

A splash sounded next to you, a few drops cooling your ankle, but that was it; you stood tall and firm on the irregularly-shaped stone, a hot vice of a grip on your hips, your hands having found purchase on just as hot and solid surface nearby.

Steve’s hands securely holding your hips.

Your hands on his shoulders.

Attentive blue eyes looking up at yours to assure both you and himself that you were okay.

Your face heated up, but the rest of your body was set on fire; indecent images of a wholly different situation with Steve’s hands having a steel-like grip on your hips and his eyes boring into yours flooded your mind, a wildfire of visceral need spreading through every single cell of your body and lightning it up. Steve was all about touch. Steve was all about eye-contact. You knew with absolute certainty that he’d never once let his gaze wander from your face when he’d sheathed himself inside you, feasting his eyes, because he lived for capturing images of beauty and he was a giver, the pleasure of people he loved being his own--- and you wouldn’t dare to look away. Your eyes might flutter shut at the sensation of utter-

Forcing yourself to snap back into present – into reality –, looking everywhere but at Steve as your whole body burned, a floating object caught your eye behind Steve’s back. A dark prolonged object, neatly packed, carried away by the stream.

Your tent. The thing that had fallen into water and nearly knocked you off balance was your tent, slowly sinking lower and lower as it slowed down its path down the river.

Great. Really great.

You were fucked.

How did it even-

“I got it!” Bucky hollered, changing course, heading to retrieve what was supposed to be the roof over your head for the next three days.

He’d get it; you weren’t worried. It was fine.

And the tent would be fine too. It was in the waterproof case. It would--- it would be absolutely soaked, because it was sinking. The entirety of the tent had gone under water, including the protective layer that was meant to save you from rain should it come to it.

There was no cloud on the sky but you had a feeling there’d be water dripping on you all night anyway.

How could it have fallen off? You had secured it with the buckled straps to the bottom of your fairly new backpack, checking repeatedly – every time before you put the backpack on again – that it held.

Then again, maybe you hadn’t done that after the fiasco – and the lovely result of it – with your marinated clothes. So you might be cursed, but by your own fault, really-

A squeeze to your hips brought your attention back to Steve, making you realize you were still standing in the middle of the river, stalling.

“I’m sorry, moving on, moving on,” you babbled, only to have him still your movements, eyes scrutinizing your face.

“You okay?”

Funny you should ask.

“Are you?”

You reciprocated the scrutiny; eyes roaming his handsome features, you searched for any signs of discomfort – not from having to hold you, but from still soaking his legs in the cold water. All you found was a reassuring smile; and yet, you couldn’t but brush your thumb inconspicuously over Steve’s shoulder in an attempt at comfort, incidentally along the hem of his t-shirt. An emotion flashed in his irises, eyes darkening a fraction, the grip on your flesh turning almost bruising before he began to release it, taking one of your hands again and then the other. You licked your lips – and you’d swear Steve’s gaze flickered to your mouth at that – standing up straighter.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky dropping your tent on the bank of the river.

“Thank you, Bucky!”

“No problem, dollface. Get moving though, my old knees aren’t built for this cold anymore,” he said, causing you to glare at Steve accusingly.

He had lied.

Of course he had fucking lied.

And he had the audacity to grin when you looked at him with accusatory and genuinely worried eyes.

“Let’s get you to the other side, shall we?”

“I packed your favourite snack, but I just decided I’m gonna eat it alone,” you threatened your vengeance for him for not being honest.

Steve feigned hurt so well you might as well believe it; but the hold on your hands remained gentle and secure as he helped you continue the path. “That’s cold, Lee.”

The corners of your lips quirked up.

“I know it’s cold. Now was it so hard to admit it?” you questioned as you beckoned to the water – causing Bucky to chuckle and Steve to deadpan when he instantly realized your trickery.

“You should be around more often, dollface,” Bucky said, approaching you and taking up on Steve’s task.

Steve just grunted and made his way to help Daisy. You felt your face heat up further at Bucky’s remark, grateful no one else could hear the exchange.

…were you though?

“I’ll take your words for it… and Steve?” He glanced at you over his shoulder, clearly not really offended. “Thank you for catching me.”

His smile, no matter how small, said it all and felt like the softest blanket to wrap around you on a cold winter morning; I’ll always catch you.

Always.

Just as you had expected, once you all made it through the river, you reached the camp spot in no time; and just as you had expected, your tent was a lost cause. You could build it, hoping it would dry out overnight at least bit, but actually sleeping in it was out of question unless you wanted to wake up soaked up and sneezing.

In a brief moment of self-pity you granted yourself, you planted your butt on the ground, laying the drenched parts of your tent next to you, taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it as you stared at the traitorous pieces of equipment, including the buckles that had been meant to hold the package to the backpack but had given out.

While everyone busied themselves with unpacking their temporary shelters as well – Natasha with Bucky, Bobbi with Hunter, May, Daisy and Hopkinson each on their own in the lightest and therefore smallest tents possible, Bobbi took note of your state, smiling compassionately.

“Are you okay? The water really did a number on that thing, huh?”

You reciprocated her smile wryly, no less grateful for her care.

“Yeah… But you know what? I win. Sleeping outside? I can stargaze. I’ll be fine,” you said, shrugging and rising to your feet to get to work. You could build the tent to have it dry out at least and wash your clothes in the lake you had settled at. “I’m just… gonna sleep by the fire under the open skies, in… borrowed, non-marinated clothes and with no sleeping bag, because with my luck, it’s probably full of bugs or itching powder or something. It’s fine. God knows I slept in conditions a lot worse than that.”

And wasn’t that the truth. You had slept in much better conditions too, but that was beside the point. You tried to summon the memories of horrible nights spent in damp clothes, freezing, teeth clattering so hard the sound made it impossible to fall asleep; unbearable heat, loud noises, even just annoying persistent chatter. Sleeping under the open skies was practically a blessing in comparison. A dream.

And you did not want to remember nights that had been very different, because that would only make you miserable at your predicament.

“Yeah, not on my watch,” Steve called out lowly, placing another hook in the ground, using his foot to step on it and dig it deeper. “Not when the solution is obvious.”

Your heart skipping a beat at the obvious solution, you barely had time to breathe in to respond when someone else did – in an extremely irritated manner.

“Seriously?! What, you gonna lend her your tent too?” Hopkinson spat, rising from where he had been crouching by his tent. “Maybe even keep her warm through the-“

Steve lunged his direction so fast you didn’t even have time to be offended by the implication.

But Bucky, the supersoldier he was, was much faster; his metal arm stopped Steve in his tracks, palm pressing against Steve’s chest before he could make the almost-breaking-Hopkinson’s-arm a pleasant memory for the man.

Still, Hopkinson had enough wit to shut up and step back hastily, raising his hands defensively. His face turned white as a sheet of paper; good. He had some brain left then, it seemed. How he had survived for so long you had no idea.

Gulping – and shamelessly satisfied at the fear in Hopkinson’s eyes, because Jesus he did not just say that, even as you had thought about exactly the same – you turned your gaze back to Steve and Bucky.

And something in your core exploded hot, a tug so violent and visceral it was almost painful.

If Steve had looked at Hopkinson like he could break his arm all those weeks back when he had made his stupid comment, now he looked like he could break every single bone in his body, snap the guy in half and enjoy it. And he’d enjoy doing it for you. To defend you.

Steve’s smile was always a beautiful sight and so was the softness he could look at you with at times; but the rage in his face now, the fire in his eyes, on your behalf, were nothing short of breathtaking.

Avenging angel indeed.

He might not be carrying a flaming sword, nor had his shield on his arm, but that made him no less menacing, no less divine; and no less beautiful.

“Do we have a problem, Agent Hopkinson?” Bucky asked calmly, despite the clear effort with which he was holding Steve back still, even as Steve visibly didn’t move a muscle.

You were barely moving at all too; your chest was heaving, the rest of your body strung tight with effort not to let show just how affected you were by Steve’s near literal white-knighting.

“No, sir,” Hopkinson saluted, nodding stiffly, before he scrambled to finish building his tent.

“Good.”

Few seconds of deafening silence was only interrupted by the scrape of shoes against ground as the camp slowly came back to life again. Bucky shot Steve a look before he let his metal arm down, watching Steve avert his still flaming gaze from Hopkinson with shoulders remaining squared; and so alluringly wide you just wanted to run your hands over them, just as breathless at the sensation as you were now-

“I mean, makes sense you’d share,” Daisy broke the silence, everyone visibly relaxing. “It looks like your tent is pretty big, eh?”

Your eyes went wide.

Loud cough erupted from Hunter’s direction as he spitted the water he had been drinking; Bobbi patted his shoulders, amusement clear on her face. Bucky’s face twisted in a questionable grimace; Natasha pursed her lips, seemingly one second from making a comment. May bit back a smirk; Hopkinson was only showing his back, but he clearly froze in his movements.

Steve just looked shocked – shocked enough to snap from the anger that had overtook him on your behalf.

You would think it would take Daisy a few seconds to realize how she had worded her statement, accidentally referring to a figurative ‘tent’ men grew in certain situations – but judging by her seemingly innocent smile and the sparkle in her eye, she knew exactly what she had implied. And she had done so on purpose and with delight.

She was right, however. Steve’s temporary dwelling was probably the biggest one at your site and it even included a vestibule, where all the equipment which was meant for everyone was to be stored. His tent had the most space for the reason he could put his backpack to the vestibule alone.

Steve cleared his throat, taking a few steps to you, a relaxed smile having found way back to his face.

“…are you comfortable with sharing a tent with me?”

You reciprocated his smile, shrugging, even as you had to work hard to swallow your amusement at Daisy’s comment. One that was very much on point.

Yes. You were very comfortable sharing a tent with him indeed. More than, actually, but not everyone needed to know that; and you could feel several knowing gazes on you as you answered as levelled as possibly.

“I mean… we have shared a room before for a mission. I’m fine… are you? Comfortable with that, that is?” you asked, perfectly polite, considerate and friendly, even as your heart was racing in your ribcage.

There was no reason for the racing heart though. Because this was okay for friends to do. Absolutely. If you having shared the room sometimes included sharing a bed, which had naturally resulted in cuddling, body heat searching body heat, no one needed to know – especially not Agent Asshole Hopkinson. What happened in a motel room stayed in a motel room. Always.

A cute crinkle appeared in Steve’s eye as he gave the answer you already knew.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t. Of course, it’s fine.”

More than, whispered his gaze, so you averted it and busied yourself with gathering the wet parts of your tent, clearing your throat.

“Good… that’s good. Thanks. I really appreciate it, Steve.”

“Any time, Lee.”

You could feel his gaze on you, the warmth of his smile like a soft blanket on your back. It was going to be a long, long night.

Part 2

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

I hope you enjoyed reading 🤭 if you did, please consider leaving feedback and reblogging💕

I hope July has been kind to you!

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #captain america x you #steve rogers fluff #essie’s summer lovin’ 300 follower celebration #summer lovin’ celebration #essie’s 300 follower special #anika ann #a series of unfortunate events

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santaasi · 9 months ago

Text

☾ – smut; ☁︎ - angst; 𖤓 - fluff

JJ MAYBANK

☁︎ shadows (x routledge!fem!reader) – 2.3k

summary: when emotions take over and shadows are swallowed up, all you need is to find a person who will become your light (based on shadows by sabrina carpenter)

☁︎ 𖤓 dance with me (x dancer!fem!reader) – 5.9k

summary: jj maybank loves the sea, the sandy beach of north carolina and the warm sun. new york is the exact opposite of all this. and he hates it. but she... she changes everything.

☁︎ 𖤓 violence (boxer!jj maybank) – 4.7k

summary: jj maybank wants to put the whole world at her feet, but the only way he knows in this life is violence

☁︎ 𖤓 hate to be lame (fwb!jj maybank) – 4.3k

summary: you hate to admit it but you might love jj maybank (inspired by hate to be lame - lizzy mcalpine, finneas)

☁︎ 𖤓 iris – 3.9k

summary: jj maybank struggled all his life just to finally find his home in your arms (inspired by iris - goo goo dolls)

☁︎ 𖤓 die with the smile – 3.9k

summary: a love once haunted by nightmares finds solace in a sunrise, where promises of healing and hope turn dreams of a future into quiet, steady certainty.

☁︎ story of my life – 2.8k

summary: what are you willing to do for the love of your life?

☾𖤓 enjoy the now – 3.2k

summary: left alone in the car, the tension grows by the second… and none of you are ready to resist it

𖤓 moonstruck – 2.6k

summary: who could have known that jj maybank would steal your first kiss beneath the stars, all to evade the pursuing police?

𖤓 santa doesn’t know you like i do – 5.4k

summary: in the warmth of christmas, amidst love, healing, and a new beginning, jj and you find your imperfect paradise, where home is wherever you're together

justice (fbi!jj maybank) – ongoing

↳ renegade – 1.9k

summary: your first day in the criminal investigation division introduced you to a partner who had already made up his mind — he didn’t like you, and he wasn’t hiding it

↳ 𖤓 top secret – 1.3k

summery: you and JJ are the best FBI agents who went undercover at a charity dinner to catch a dangerous criminal. but JJ can't concentrate on the case at all, because all he can see is your smile

JAMES POTTER

𖤓 raison d'être (x shy!reader; muggle au) – 2.3k

summary: james potter never thought that the most terrible day of his life could give him a new reason for existing

☾𖤓 moth to a flame (x black!reader) – 3.7k

summary: what could be more forbidden than loving your brother's best friend?

☁︎ yours: forever and always (ex!james potter) – 1.6k

summary: even after betrayal you're still ready to accept James in your heart.

☁︎ waiting for you (x bsf!fem!reader) – 1.4k

summary: loving james potter has become the biggest mistake of your life

↳ stay (part 2) – 1.7k

summary: james potter’s life doesn’t make sense without you.

☁︎ walking in the wind (rockstar!james potter) – 2.4k

summary: when you no longer have the strength to fight, you need to find a light that will help you move on

✧ latest update: 23.12.24 ✧

#– santi’s mastelist 🪐#jj maybank x fem!reader #jj maybank fic #jj maybank x y/n #jj mayback imagine #james potter x y/n #james potter fic #james potter x you #james potter x reader #jj maybank x reader

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honeyncherry · 3 days ago

Text

Through the Looking Glass - One

Rafe Cameron x Reader

content: drinking, tension (rafe likes to look at you)

word count: 6k

prologue

The last time you set foot in a new school, you were nine years old. Your father had sent you off to a prestigious boarding school halfway across the country. Though it wasn’t a school, not really. It was more like a factory, cold and unyielding, designed to shape children from high-profile government families into the next generation of leaders and operatives. The halls were filled with future politicians, intelligence agents, and power brokers. Each was more intense, more cutthroat, and more determined than the last.

Breaks were a luxury you couldn’t afford. The instructors were strict to the point of being merciless, expecting perfection and punishing anything less. The curriculum was relentless, grinding you down and reshaping you into something sharp and efficient. There were no sleepovers or giggling with friends, no carefree afternoons in the park. Just drills, evaluations, and endless expectations. You learned quickly how to suppress your emotions, to quiet the part of you that wanted to cry or rebel.

You became what they wanted: disciplined, composed, and ready to take orders. But walking onto the University of North Carolina’s campus felt like stepping into another universe.

The differences were staggering, almost surreal. Where the boarding school had been rigid and sterile, UNC was alive, teeming with energy and freedom. Some students sprawled out on blankets under monstrous oak trees, laughing and playing games of spikeball in the sunshine, while others sat in their own study groups more focused on gossiping about who was interested in whom than working on their essays.

The buildings, their brick facades draped in ivy, stood proud yet inviting, as though welcoming you into a new chapter of your life. It was a world you’d only ever viewed from a distance, in movies or fleeting glimpses during missions. It felt chaotic, free, and utterly alien to you.

UNC wasn’t just one of the country’s top business schools; it was also renowned for its vibrant social scene. Greek Row was the epicenter of it all, alive with parties that raged late into the night, music spilling into the streets. On game days, tailgates transformed the campus into a sprawling festival, with canopies, kegs, and mini grills crowding every open space. Each weekend brought something new to celebrate, another excuse to gather and let loose. It was a world you could barely imagine fitting into, let alone navigating by yourself.

But you didn’t have to imagine. You’d been preparing for this moment for nearly a year. From the second the case file landed on your desk, you’d immersed yourself in everything UNC had to offer. You memorized its culture, its traditions, and even its most recent scandals. You knew which bars on Franklin Street were the most popular on Thursday nights, which fraternity houses held the most exclusive parties, and which sororities had the most influence. You even learned the best shortcuts through campus, routes that would let you avoid campus police or slip away unnoticed.

Your apartment was a short ten-minute walk from the heart of campus. On the surface, it seemed ordinary: a modest brick complex tucked away on a quiet, tree-lined street. But as you approached, the details stood out. The doorman, Johnny, was the first clue. He wasn’t just a friendly face stationed at the entrance — he was part of the agency, placed there to keep an eye on you. Whether his presence was meant to protect you or monitor you was unclear, but it didn’t matter. Either way, it offered a small sense of security in an otherwise unsettling situation.

Johnny greeted you with a polite nod as you entered, his expression neutral. You returned the gesture with a tight smile, the kind that didn’t reach your eyes. It wasn’t personal; you simply couldn’t afford to let your guard down. Not here. Not yet.

The elevator ride to the third floor was quiet, the soft hum of the machinery filling the space. When the doors slid open, you stepped into a hallway lined with neutral-toned carpeting and soft overhead lighting. Your apartment was at the end of the hall. The space was small but well-appointed, with sleek, modern furniture, warm lighting, and a fully stocked kitchen. It looked nothing like the cramped dorms you’d read about in your research, where freshmen shared tiny rooms and whispered secrets late into the night.

You set your bag down just inside the door, taking a moment to absorb your surroundings. This was it. Your new life. For the next semester you wouldn’t be the girl forged in the cold, unyielding halls of your past. You’d become a confident, ambitious, college girl who blended seamlessly into this bright, chaotic world.

The girl who walked into this apartment was no longer a government agent’s daughter or a product of a childhood spent in the shadows of high-stakes operations. She was a girl who went to all the football games and studied on the quad. Someone who danced under neon lights at Sigma Chi parties and laughed too loudly with friends in the library.

At least, that’s who you needed to be.

You crossed the room and pulled open the blinds, letting the golden light of the setting sun flood the space. From here, you could see the edges of campus. Students moved in clusters, their voices carrying faintly through the evening air. Somewhere out there, Rafe Cameron was waiting.

You’d seen his face a hundred times in the photos tucked inside his dossier. From the cocky smirk, the piercing blue eyes, the sleek buzzed blonde hair, it was all etched into your memory. You knew his routines, his weaknesses, his tells. You’d studied him like a final exam, preparing for the moment you’d meet him in person. Yet, as you stared out at the campus, a knot of unease twisted in your stomach.

Because no amount of training could prepare you for what came next. This wasn’t just another assignment you sat on the sidelines of, watching every move, critiquing every wrong step. It was your very own assignment. The decade long case you were meant to crack. And this was Rafe Cameron, the key to the entire operation.

You let out a slow breath, your fingers gripping the edge of the windowsill. The world outside seemed so vibrant, so full of life, but you knew better than to get swept up in it. This wasn’t about fun or freedom. It was about the mission. The stakes were too high to let anything distract you.

You turned away from the window, the sound of your sandals clicking softly against the polished wood floors as you moved back toward your bag. Somewhere deep inside, a flicker of doubt tried to take hold, but you pushed it down. You couldn’t afford doubt.

Brooke O’Brien was UNC’s very own Barbie doll. The kind of girl who seemed almost too perfect, her presence glowing with an effortless charisma that felt more polished than natural. Maybe it was her blonde curls and doll-like hazel eyes, or the way she lit up every room she entered with an energy that was both magnetic and overwhelming. Either way, she was someone people both admired and envied in equal measure.

To you, Brooke was… a lot. Too much, maybe. But that didn’t matter. She was your way in. If there was one person you needed to befriend, it was Brooke O’Brien.

When you saw her crossing the quad toward you, waving enthusiastically, you braced yourself. Her dazzling smile and quick pace made it seem like nothing could stop her.

“Wow!” she called out, her voice ringing through the crowd. “It’s so great to finally meet you!”

Before you could react, she had thrown her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. Caught off guard, you hesitated for only a moment before hugging her back. If she was this excited, then so were you. Or at least, that’s what you had to make her believe.

“Totally,” you said, pulling back with your best gleaming smile. “Everyone here already seems so friendly.”

Brooke’s laugh was light and airy, the kind of laugh that made you want to laugh along even if you didn’t know what was funny. “Oh, honey, you don’t even know! UNC is, like, the friendliest place on Earth. You’re going to love it here, I promise.”

She slipped her arm through yours without hesitation, as though you’d been best friends for years, and began guiding you across the quad. Her energy was infectious, and you found yourself grateful for how easy she made it to keep up the act.

“So,” she said, turning her head to study you, “first impressions? Be honest.”

“It’s... a lot,” you admitted, your gaze sweeping over the bustling campus. “But in a good way.”

Brooke beamed. “That’s what I like to hear! College is supposed to be a lot. It’s all about finding yourself, you know? And trust me, UNC is the perfect place for that.”

You smiled politely, wondering if the line about "finding yourself" was something she said to everyone or if she actually believed it. Still, it was hard not to be drawn in by her enthusiasm.

As she gestured toward a row of buildings, pointing out the arts building and student union, she glanced at you curiously. “So, tell me about your last school. What was it like?”

The question was casual, but your stomach tightened all the same. You’d been preparing for this, practicing your answers until they felt natural, but it was still unnerving to hear it aloud. “Oh, it was... fine,” you said with a small shrug. “A lot smaller than this. Not as lively.”

Brooke tilted her head, her curls bouncing slightly. “Really? Where’d you go again?”

“Uh, Hawthorne College,” you said, dropping the name of the small liberal arts school the agency had assigned to your cover story. “It was nice, but it didn’t really feel like the right fit.”

Brooke nodded knowingly. “Oh, I totally get that. Sometimes you just need a fresh start, you know? That’s what I love about UNC — it’s, like, impossible not to find your people here.”

You nodded along, grateful that she didn’t press further. “That’s what I’m hoping for.”

“You will,” Brooke said firmly, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “College is all about reinventing yourself. I mean, when I got here, I was, like, so shy. Couldn’t even raise my hand in class without turning bright red.”

You raise an eyebrow, struggling to imagine Brooke as anything less than radiant and self-assured. “Really?”

“Okay, maybe not that shy,” she admits with a laugh. “But still, this college changes you. In the best way. You’ll see.”

As she leads you through the quad, Brooke chats non-stop, pointing out landmarks and weaving in bits of campus gossip like it’s second nature. You nod along, doing your best to look captivated while mentally filing away the information that might actually be useful.

Brooke’s warmth was disarming, a sharp contrast to the cold precision you’d been trained to embody since becoming a pre-teen. For a moment, you wondered if it was genuine or if everyone here wore their own kind of mask. Either way, letting your guard down wasn’t an option, not even with the sweet and charming Brooke O’Brien. Not with so much riding on this.

“That’s the library,” Brooke says, gesturing toward an imposing brick building covered in ivy. “You’ll spend way too much time there during finals. Oh, and over there—” she points to a cluster of tables shaded by oak trees, “—that’s where the serious study groups hang out. They’re, like, terrifyingly intense. But if you ever need help with a project, that’s the place to go.”

You nod, making a mental note. “Good to know.”

Brooke stops suddenly, spinning to face you with wide eyes. “Wait! I have to introduce you to my favorite place on campus.”

Without waiting for a response, she grabs your hand and pulls you toward a small café tucked into the corner of the quad. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hits you as soon as you step inside, and you can’t help but feel a small pang of appreciation. For all her energy, Brooke seems genuinely excited to share this with you.

“Isn’t it cute?” she gushes, gesturing toward the mismatched chairs and cozy lighting. “I swear, their iced caramel macchiatos are life-changing. And if you ever need a good place to study, this is it.”

“Noted,” you say, allowing a small smile to slip through. It’s hard not to truly warm up to her enthusiasm, even if you’re supposed to be keeping people at arm's length.

The two of you grab drinks before heading back outside, and as you settle onto a bench near the quad, Brooke leans in conspiratorially. “Okay, so now that you’ve got the basics, it’s time for the fun stuff.”

You tilt your head, feigning curiosity. “Oh?”

“My friends,” she says with a grin. “You’re going to love them. Well, most of them.”

She launched into a detailed rundown of her friend group as the two of you sat and enjoyed your drinks. You had to admit, the coffee rivaled anything you’d had in the city.

“Okay, so first there’s Maddie, she’s my best friend. She’s super sweet, but, like, don’t get on her bad side. She’ll smile while ripping you to shreds, and you won’t even realize it until it’s too late.”

You chuckled, making a mental note of Maddie’s name.

“Then there’s Sabrina,” Brooke continued. “She’s the fun one. She can make anyone dance, even if they swear they don’t dance. Seriously, she could probably convince a statue to do the Cupid Shuffle.”

You smiled, appreciating the way Brooke’s tone shifted slightly with each new person she described. It was obvious she genuinely cared about them.

“And then there’s Liam,” she said, her voice softening slightly. “He’s... complicated. Kind of a wild card, but in a good way. He’s always down for an adventure. Like, last week, he tried to convince us all to go skydiving. At midnight. I don’t even think that’s legal.”

Your brows lifted. “Sounds interesting.”

“Oh, he is,” Brooke said with a knowing grin. “But don’t worry. He’s harmless.” She hesitated for a moment, her expression shifting slightly. “And, um, Chase. We’ve been... talking. Kind of.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips quirking up slightly. “Talking?”

“Okay, maybe more than talking,” Brooke admitted, her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. “He’s cute, but, like, he can be so frustrating sometimes. He has this thing where he just disappears for days and then texts me like nothing happened. But whatever. It’s not serious.”

The slight edge in her voice suggested otherwise, but you didn��t press. “He sounds... nice?”

Brooke laughed, rolling her eyes. “He is. When he wants to be.” She paused for a moment, her expression shifting. “And then there’s Rafe.”

Your heartbeat quickened at the mention of his name, but you kept your face carefully neutral. “What’s he like?”

Brooke hesitated, as though searching for the right words. “He’s complicated too. Intense, definitely. But once you get to know him, he’s one of the most loyal people you’ll ever meet.”

She took a sip of her drink, her brows knitting together. “Lately, though, he’s been in a mood. Something about a girl he was seeing. But he won’t talk about it. Anyway, he invited everyone to a sports bar tonight, so maybe he’s trying to shake it off.”

You nodded, keeping your expression casual even as your thoughts raced. A girl? That wasn’t in the file. Who was she, and what did she mean to him?

Brooke’s face brightened again, and she reached out to squeeze your arm. “You should come! It’ll be fun, and you can meet everyone.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said, feigning reluctance. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Are you kidding?” Brooke laughed. “You’re not intruding. You’re with me now, and trust me, they’ll love you. Besides, I’ll pick you up, so you have no excuse.”

You let out a small laugh, unable to resist her enthusiasm. “Okay, fine. I’ll come.”

“Yay!” Brooke clapped her hands together. “This is going to be so much fun. Text me your address and I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.”

Later that evening, after carefully choosing an outfit, you stood by the window. The campus nightlife flickered to life below, a vibrant pulse that felt both foreign and inviting. When Brooke’s text came through, your breath caught for a moment before you grabbed your bag and headed down.

She waved excitedly as you approached, her pristine convertible parked at an angle, music thumping from the speakers like it was an extension of her energy.

You climbed into the passenger seat with a bright smile and as she pulled away, she launched into another flurry of conversation. This time, it was all about classes, professors, Chase, and her favorite spots on Franklin Street.

“I swear,” she said, shaking her head, “Professor Klein is the worst. Like, don’t even bother trying to win her over. Just turn in your essays on time and pray for a C.”

You laughed, relaxing slightly as Brooke’s chatter filled the car. For all her energy, there was something undeniably comforting about her. It was easy to see how she’d become the center of her friend group — and why she was exactly who you needed on your side.

When the sports bar came into view, its neon lights glowing against the night sky, Brooke turned to you with a grin. “Ready to meet the crew?”

You nodded, your stomach tightening with anticipation. “Let’s do it.”

The moment you stepped inside, the bar thrummed with life, a cacophony of laughter, clinking glasses, and thumping bass. The mingling scents of fried food and beer created a sensory overload that left you slightly off balance

This was nothing like the polished, controlled environments of stuffy dinners with your father and his colleagues. Here, the chaos was unfiltered: crop tops and cutoff shorts replaced formal evening wear, discount beer flowed from taps instead of martinis, and greasy nachos piled high replaced hors d'oeuvres served on silver platters.

Brooke led the way, weaving through the crowd like she’d done it a hundred times before, her confidence a beacon in the chaos. You followed closely, trying not to bump into too many shoulders as you glanced around, taking it all in. Groups of students laughed loudly, some leaning over the tables to shout above the music, others already swaying slightly from one too many drinks.

“Over here!” Brooke chirped, pointing toward a table in the corner where three people were already seated. As you got closer, you could make out two girls and a guy, all of them mid-conversation and laughing.

“This is them!” Brooke said, practically bouncing on her toes as she gestured to the group. “Guys, this is the girl I was telling you about.”

The girl with dark, pin-straight hair was the first to look up, her sharp look flicking over you before her lips curved into a welcoming smile. “Hey! I’m Sabrina. Nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” you said, returning the smile as she reached out for a quick handshake. Her grip was warm but firm, and she had this effortless confidence that instantly put you at ease.

The guy beside her leaned back in his chair, his grin easy and a little mischievous as he said, “I’m Liam. You must be the new girl Brooke’s been hyping up.”

You laughed lightly, glancing at Brooke. “I guess so.”

“Don’t worry,” Liam added, raising his beer. “If you can survive Brooke, you’ll fit right in.”

“Shut up, Liam,” Brooke said with a roll of her eyes, though her smile didn’t falter. “And this,” she added, gesturing toward the last girl at the table, “is Maddie.”

Maddie’s sharp gaze flicked over you, her crossed arms and measured tone making it clear she wasn’t quick to warm up. “Hey,” she said, her words as neutral as her expression.

“Hi,” you replied. Maddie didn’t smile, her silence sharper than words, and you couldn’t help but feel like she was sizing you up.

Brooke patted the seat beside her, breaking the moment. “Come on, sit! I’ll grab us drinks in a second.”

As you slid into the booth, the group’s chatter flowed easily around you. Sabrina asked about your classes, Liam cracked jokes that drew groans from Brooke, and even Maddie softened slightly, her dry humor slipping through now and then.

But as the night went on, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something, or someone, was missing.

“Where’s Chase?” Brooke asked suddenly, leaning closer to Sabrina and Maddie.

Maddie smirked, tilting her head toward the bar. “Over there. He’s with Rafe.”

Your stomach tightened as you followed her eye line, scanning the crowd until your eyes found them. Chase was easy to spot, leaning against the counter, his grin wide and animated as he chatted with the bartender. He was exactly as you’d seen in the photos: open, carefree, the life of any conversation.

But the man beside him was a different story.

Rafe Cameron was the kind of person whose presence you felt before you saw him. His presence preceded him, tangible and charged, like the static before a storm. He stood at ease, resting his arms on the bartop, his sharp features caught in the dim light that carved shadows along his jawline. When his eyes found yours, it wasn’t a question, it was a statement: I see you.

The air shifted. The sounds of the bar faded into a dull hum. His intensity sent a ripple through you, one you couldn’t quite name. You hadn’t expected this — not from a man you’d studied for months, memorized through pages and pages of official documents. Yet here he was, impossibly real and entirely unsettling.

There was no smile, no casual acknowledgment, just a quiet intensity that felt like it was meant to see past every carefully constructed layer.

“He’s looking at you,” Brooke murmured, her voice low and tinged with amusement as she leaned in closer.

You blinked, breaking the moment as you turned to her. “Who?”

She smirked knowingly, her view flicking back toward the bar. “Rafe. I told you, he’s intense.”

Your pulse quickened as you stole another glance. Rafe was still angled toward you, though his focus had shifted momentarily to Chase, who was speaking beside him. He didn’t respond to whatever Chase had said, his attention half-turned as though occupied by something else entirely.

Brooke’s playful tone broke the spell and you turned your attention back to the table, willing yourself to focus. But even as you smiled and joined the group’s chatter, Rafe’s gaze lingered in your mind like an unfinished thought.

“Okay,” Sabrina said, breaking through your thoughts. “So, tell me… what’s your major?”

You blinked, grateful for the distraction as you turned toward her. “Communications,” you replied, the answer smooth and practiced. “I was studying it at my last school, so it made sense to stick with it here.”

“Smart choice,” Liam chimed in, resting his elbows on the table. “You could probably out-talk all of us, huh?”

“Definitely me,” Brooke interjected with a grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lose an argument, Liam.”

“That’s because I don’t lose,” he said, lifting his beer in mock celebration.

“Oh, please,” Maddie cut in, her tone dry. “You lose all the time. You just don’t know it.”

The group laughed, and you found yourself smiling despite the underlying tension still buzzing in your chest. Sabrina drew closer, her curiosity apparent. “Why communications, though? What’s the endgame?”

You hesitated, the question catching you off guard. “I guess I like the idea of... connecting with people,” you said carefully. “Understanding how they think, how they move and work. How to utilize that to your advantage. It’s fascinating.”

Sabrina nodded, her smile genuine. “I get that. Honestly, it sounds way more interesting than my major. I’m stuck in econ.”

“Econ’s useful,” Liam said, shrugging. “You’ll be the one bailing us all out when we screw up our taxes.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what economics is,” Maddie muttered, though her lips twitched into a small smile.

The conversation flowed easily after that, with Sabrina asking about your transition to UNC and Liam tossing out lighthearted quips that kept the mood buoyant. Even Maddie seemed to loosen up a bit more, though her sharp watch still flicked toward you now and then, like she was assessing your place in the group.

Just as you were beginning to relax, you felt a shift in the air, subtle but undeniable. The energy at the table changed, the noise around you seeming to dim as two familiar figures approached. You glanced up instinctively, your breath catching as Rafe and Chase came into view.

Chase was the first to speak, his grin wide and easy as he set a tray of drinks on the table. “Miss us?”

“Finally!” Brooke said, clapping her hands together. “What took you so long?”

“The line’s insane,” Chase replied, sliding into the booth beside her. “Be grateful we didn’t give up and just grab water.”

Rafe didn’t say anything as he followed, his movements measured and calculated. He placed a glass in front of Maddie before taking the last empty seat across from you. The table suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker, as his presence settled over the group.

Brooke leaned into Chase, nudging him playfully. “So, are you just going to ignore our new friend, or...?”

Chase’s eyes flicked to you, his grin widening. “Oh, right. You’re the transfer, right? I’m Chase. Welcome to the chaos.”

“Thanks,” you introduced yourself, your voice steady despite the way your pulse had quickened again.

“And this,” Brooke said, gesturing to the man sitting across from you, “is Rafe.”

His name lingered in the air for a beat too long, the unspoken weight of it making your chest tighten. Rafe’s gaze met yours again, the intensity in vision eyes sharper now that he was closer. His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, more of an acknowledgment, as he nodded once.

“Hi,” you managed, your voice softer than you intended.

“Hi,” he replied, his voice low and smooth, carrying an edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

The table filled with chatter as the others picked up where they’d left off, but you barely heard it. Rafe’s watch didn’t waver, fixed on you in a way that felt deliberately unnerving, as though he wanted you to squirm. It wasn’t hostile, but it wasn't welcoming either. It was something else entirely. A silent challenge, perhaps, or a test you weren’t sure how to pass.

“So,” Chase said, drawing your attention to him. “How are you liking UNC so far?”

“It’s... different,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “Bigger than my last school, for sure.”

“Better parties, too,” Liam added, raising his drink in mock toast.

“Oh, absolutely,” Chase agreed. “Stick with us, and you’ll see the best this place has to offer.”

“She’s already stuck with us,” Brooke interjected, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’ve claimed her.”

“Possessive much?” Maddie muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in her tone now.

The laughter at the table felt like a reprieve, a momentary distraction from the way Rafe’s presence filled every corner of your awareness. Even when you weren’t looking, you could feel his eyes on you.

As the conversation continued, you risked another glance at him. He was sitting back slightly, his arms crossed over his chest, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. When your eyes met, his brow arched just slightly, as if to say caught you.

You looked away quickly, your cheeks warming despite the chill in the air-conditioned room. The tension was almost unbearable.

“Another round?” Brooke suggested, breaking the moment as she reached for her empty glass.

“Yes, please,” Sabrina said. “And get me some fries while you’re at it.”

Brooke stood, tugging Chase up with her. “Come on, you’re helping.”

Chase groaned but followed, leaving the rest of you at the table. Liam immediately launched into a story about some party mishap the night before, pulling laughter from Maddie and Sabrina. Their energy was light and easy, but your focus drifted. The conversation faded into the background as a quiet tension hummed in the air.

You absently toyed with the straw in your drink, the condensation cool against your fingertips. It wasn’t the story keeping you distracted, it was a feeling, steady and insistent, like the faint pull of a current just beneath the surface.

Your eyes flicked toward Rafe, catching him mid-motion. He leaned forward in his seat, his fingers resting lightly around his glass. His expression was unreadable, but when his eyes met yours, something shifted. His expression shifted slightly, almost imperceptibly, like he was inviting you into a silent exchange you weren’t sure you were ready for.

Before you could think better of it, you asked, “so, does he always let her boss him around like that?” You nodded toward the bar, where Chase and Brooke were deep in conversation with each other.

Rafe’s lips curved faintly into something between a smirk and a smile. “Only when it’s easier than arguing.”

His voice was low, smooth, and somehow it cut through the noise of the bar as if it were meant just for you. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he added, “Besides, Brooke likes to think she’s in charge. No harm in letting her believe it.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “Generous of you.”

He tilted his head, studying you with a casualness that felt anything but. “And you? Do you let people boss you around, or are you the one calling the shots?”

The question caught you off guard, the weight of it settling in a way that felt heavier than the words themselves. You played it off with a shrug, your voice light as you said, “I guess it depends on who’s asking.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his regard was steady and unflinching. The space between you felt charged, as though the brief exchange had opened a door you weren’t sure you wanted to walk through. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the tension shifted. Rafe leaned back again, his attention flicking to the table for a moment before returning to you.

“Fair enough,” he said simply, his tone neutral but laced with something that made your pulse quicken.

The conversation broke as Liam’s voice rose in laughter again, drawing your focus back to the group. You turned away from Rafe, but the weight of his words, and the way he’d looked at you, like he was turning over some unspoken thought, lingered in the back of your mind.

Chase and Brooke returned a few minutes later, Brooke balancing a tray of drinks with the practiced ease of someone who could do it blindfolded. Chase trailed behind her, a basket of fries in one hand and a triumphant grin on his face.

“Fries are here, ladies and gentlemen,” Chase announced, sliding the basket onto the table with exaggerated flair. “You’re welcome.”

“And drinks,” Brooke added, placing the tray down and handing out glasses. “Okay, who’s ready to have some real fun?”

Sabrina immediately perked up. “What kind of fun are we talking about?”

“Dancing, duh,” Brooke said, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she looked at you. “Come on, you’re coming with me.”

You returned her smile easily, “lead the way!”

Brooke’s grin widened. “Now that’s the energy I like! Let’s go.”

The group cheered enthusiastically as Brooke grabbed your hand, tugging you out of your seat with surprising strength and pulling you toward the dance floor with a playful urgency. The music grew louder as you wove through the crowd, the bass thrumming beneath your feet and mingling with the laughter and chatter around you. It was vibrant, intoxicating, and all too easy to step into.

The moment you reached the dance floor, you fell into the rhythm naturally. The beat pulsed through your body, every movement intentional but fluid. This was the game you were built to play, slipping into the moment, owning it, and making it look effortless.

“See?” Brooke shouted over the music as she spun to face you, her hands grabbing yours. “Isn’t this amazing?”

You laughed, matching her energy. “I get it now. Totally worth it.”

Brooke twirled herself dramatically, her curls bouncing with the movement. “I knew you’d fit right in. Seriously, I’m so glad we met. It’s like, you were meant to be here.”

Her words carried a warmth that felt genuine, even though you knew you couldn’t take them at face value. Still, you played along, letting your smile widen as you leaned in. “I’m glad, too. This is exactly what I needed.”

“Same,” Brooke said, her expression softening for a moment. “You don’t even know. You’re like... the missing piece. It’s been forever since I clicked with someone this fast.”

The sincerity in her voice struck you more than you expected, and you squeezed her hands briefly before letting go, your movements falling effortlessly back into the music.

“You’re making this way too easy!” You teased.

“Good!” Brooke laughed, tossing her head back, “that’s what friends are for.”

The crowd pressed in around you, bodies swaying and shifting with the beat, but you held your space with ease, your movements a blend of precision and spontaneity. Brooke’s laughter rang As Brooke spun you, you caught a flicker of movement near the table. Rafe leaned forward across the table, murmuring something to Chase.

His hand moved absently to the edge of the table, fingers drumming once, twice, before stilling. Chase laughed, gesturing animatedly, though it was clear Rafe’s attention wasn’t fully on him. There was a restlessness to his movements, a little pull that made your focus longer than you meant to let it.

“Don’t look,” Brooke began a second later, leaning in with a grin that was both teasing and knowing, “but Rafe had been staring at you for, like, five minutes straight.”

You blinked and turned to Brooke. “Really?”

Brooke gave you a playful nudge. “Uh, yeah. It’s not exactly subtle.”

Your stomach fluttered as you glanced back toward the table, this time catching Rafe’s gaze. His fingers rested lightly on the table’s edge now, his posture easy yet fixed, as though he was aware of exactly when you’d look. The corner of his mouth curved slightly, not quite a smile, but enough to leave you wondering what it meant.

“Told you,” Brooke said, leaning closer. “You’ve got his attention.”

Your heart raced, but your exterior stayed calm. You held his focus a bit longer before turning back to Brooke with a playful shrug. “Maybe I’ll let him keep it. He’s cute.”

Brooke gasped and twirled you dramatically, her laughter ringing out above the music. “Oh, I like you! You’re dangerous.”

You grinned, letting the energy of the moment wash over you. The weight of Rafe’s attention only added to your focus, sharpening every movement, every smile.

The song shifted and Brooke leaned in again, her voice warm and truly genuine, “I mean it. I’m really glad you’re here. You’ve made this semester so much better already.”

“Right back at you,” you said, matching her sincerity.

But even as you spoke, the weight of Rafe’s fixation clung to you, impossible to ignore.

You glanced back at the table, catching his focus once more. His expression hadn’t changed, but something in his eyes made your chest tighten. A heat spread through you that had nothing to do with the dancing.

He wasn’t just looking. His stare lingered, sharp and probing, as if peeling back layers you hadn’t meant to reveal. It felt deliberate, practiced. Like a skill honed over years. This wasn’t just attention. It was control.

And Rafe Cameron knew how to hold it. Everyone was aware of it. He was the kind of guy who turned heads effortlessly, who drew people toward him whether they wanted to be near him or not.

For a split second, you’d doubted if you were the one setting the trap — or if you’d already stepped into his.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron angst #rafe obx #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron au #rafe cameron fanfiction

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arcane-vagabond · 1 year ago

Text

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Four

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Trigger warnings: Language, talk of courting and mating, FBI, mentions of murder. Think that’s it.

Word Count: 3.87k

A/N: Here is Chapter Four! A whole lot of setting up what's to come, I think, but hopefully y'all still like it! If you're feeling kind/generous, please consider buying me a ko-fi! As always, reblogs, comments and likes are greatly appreciated! Asks/requests are always open! 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond where I also post my updates!

Series Masterlist

“Are you still feeling alright, honey?” Susan asked you, checking you over. You gave her a small smile as she gave you a once over. Her green scrubs contrasted against her blonde hair, and the wrinkles around her eyes were more pronounced as she frowned at you worriedly. “You’re still taking it easy, right? Remember what Dr. Carson said when he checked you out the other day.”

“I’m fine, Susan. I promise,” you reassured the older nurse. She studied you for a second longer before turning to fix her coffee.

“You know, it’s a real shame about that Morris girl,” she continued. “She was always such a sweet girl. Wasn’t she in your class, Bobby?”

“No, she was a year ahead with Reuben, Nat, and Jake,” he muttered through a mouthful of Cheerios.

“That’s right,” she nodded.

Bob swallowed his mouthful and peered up at his mother. “Are you going to tell us what’s been going on?”

“You know,” she sighed exasperatedly, “I could have sworn I had told you. Or at least I would have if you bothered to answer your phone every once in a while.”

“You could tell me now?” Bob said sarcastically. Susan glared over at him.

“Tone, mister,” she warned before letting out another sigh and leaning against the kitchen counter. “I suppose it’s been a little over two months now since they found the first body. Everyone thought it was just an accident since it looked like a drowning. But then a couple of weeks later another body washed up, and then another one a couple weeks after that. They were all young women about the same age, and they all appeared to have drowned. Maverick was worried that there was a serial killer on the loose, so he called in a favor to Tom. You remember Tom, don’t you, sweetie?”

“Yeah, I remember Mr. Kazansky, Mom,” Bob nodded. “He was only the my baseball coach for most of middle school and high school.”

“Such a sweet man,” Susan nodded with a small smile towards you. “We were all sad to see him leave, but when the FBI offers you a job, what person in their right mind says no?”

“So he and that other guy are here because of this serial killer no one told me about?” Bob asked her, eyebrow raised.

Susan scowled at him, but let out a sigh. “Tom and his partner, Agent Simpson, got here about two weeks ago when the last body was found. I was talking to Tom the other day, actually, and he told me that there were signs of a struggle, which is why they got called in.”

“Should he be telling you that?” Bob frowned. She shrugged, sipping from her coffee mug.

“I think they’re holding a press conference today to discuss everything. He wouldn’t have told me if they weren’t already planning on telling everyone, I’m sure.”

“A serial killer,” you hummed, frowning. “That’s really scary, actually.”

“It is,” she agreed, eyeing you. “Which is why I want you to promise me that you won’t go off on your own at night, alright? You should be fine during the day time, especially with the summer crowds, but I want you to make sure you have somebody with you after the sun goes down.”

“I will, Susan,” you smiled.

Bob peered over at you from over his own coffee mug. “I promised Dad that I’d take the boat out with him today. I don’t suppose you wanted to tag along?”

“No,” you told him, shaking your head. “Nat actually texted me last night and asked me if I wanted to go and hang out at the boardwalk today, and I told her that I did. You’ll be okay without me, yeah?”

“‘Course,” he snorted, moving to take his dishes to the sink. “Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve ditched me for other friends.”

“If you’re talking about that time in sophomore year when I went with Abby and Rachel to the football game after you insisted that you would be a fourth wheel even though we all told you that you wouldn’t be, then this is not the same situation at all.”

“I beg to differ,” he laughed, heading for the back door.

“You can beg all you want, but it’s the truth,” you giggled. “Oh, wait!”

You got up from your own chair, moving to follow him.

“I think I left my bag on the boat last night,” you told him. “I’m going to grab it before I head out.”

The two of you walked down the stone path until you reached the small strip of sand that led out onto the dock.

“You know I’m not ditching you, right?” You asked him, suddenly worried that your best friend really did think you were trying to leave him behind. Bob snorted and looked over at you with a quirk of his brow.

“Of course I don’t,” he said, making a beeline for the boat that bobbed up and down with the waves. “I don’t expect you to tag along with me everywhere. I’m actually really happy that you and the gang are getting along so well.”

“Okay,” you trailed off. “Good. Because I really like hanging out with them.”

Bob chuckled as he stepped onto the boat, turning to face you. “I know. Stay right there and I’ll grab your bag, yeah?”

You nodded, turning to watch the waves as he disappeared towards the back of the boat. You glanced down when a shine of light danced in the corner of your eye. Sitting on the wood of the dock was a collection of more shells and pearls, and you immediately crouched down to take a better look at them. A couple of sand dollars were added into the mix this time and even more pearls of various shapes, sizes, and colors were mixed in with the lot. You picked each one up gently, inspecting them. Your favorite was the beautiful black pearl that rested in the center of the grouping. The oily colors on its surface danced as you inspected it, and you felt your skin prickle in delight.

Your gaze shifted to the breathtaking conch shell that rested near the edge, and you gingerly lifted it up to get a better look at it. It truly was a marvelous sight. One of the best specimens you had ever had the privilege of seeing.

“How much crap do you carry in this thing?”

You whirled around to see Bob grimacing as he made his way towards you with your simple hobo bag.

“I carry just what I need in it,” you replied to him, reaching an arm out to take the bag.

“What are you doing crouched over here?” Bob asked you, brow furrowing as he handed it off to you. He stopped short when he saw the collection of ocean treasures at your feet. He inspected them before moving his eyes up to meet yours.

“Look at these!” You grinned, gesturing down at them. “These are more spectacular than the last bunch! Have you ever seen such amazing specimens? And these pearls!”

“Yeah,” Bob said uneasily, eyes shifting to look out at the water. “They’re pretty great.”

You stood up suddenly, turning to fix him with a small glare.

“What is up with you?” You demanded, hands on your hips. “You love things like this! You’re the one person I know who gets more excited about this shit than I do, and you’re over here looking like someone just told you they were planning on kidnapping me. You did the same thing yesterday!”

Bob’s eyes widened at your outburst before melting into a sheepish expression as he looked away. He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck before letting out a sigh, looking back at you with an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he sighed. “The shells are great, really. I guess I just have a lot on my mind with the murders and all that.”

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you, replacing the annoyance. Your hands moved to pull him into a hug, one he returned.

“Nothing is going to happen to me, okay?” You told him, squeezing him tight. “I’ll be extra careful to not be by myself at night, so you don’t have to worry about me, yeah?”

Bob didn’t say anything for a moment. He pulled back to look at you, a fond smile on his face as he regarded you.

“I’m always going to worry about you, you know,” he smirked, something serious behind his eyes despite the teasing tone he used. “You’re like the little sister I never had.”

“Bob,” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m literally three months older than you.”

He grinned at that.

“Semantics.”

The street was busy as people walked back and forth along the boardwalk, taking in the different rides and stalls as the excitement for summer festival began to grow. Several decorations littered the pathways, all of various sea creatures and more than a few mermaids. You watched the different families, friends, and couples run around to the different events, and you let out a sigh as you checked your phone once again.

Sorry, Skip! Mom needed help with some things at the shop so I’m running late. Give me half an hour!

That had been thirty-five minutes ago, and you hadn’t heard anything. Sighing, you wiped the sweat from your brow, deciding to take a break from the overwhelming heat. You spotted a familiar, little shop and began walking towards it.

The bell above the door rang out as you stepped inside, letting out a breath of relief as the cool air washed over you. The shop hadn’t changed much in the days since you had last been in. There were new novelty items scattered about, but for the most part, Mrs. Cambroni’s shop was still quaint and cheesy.

The old woman appeared from the backroom, giving you a warm smile as she gave you a once over. Her eyes landed on your neck, an eyebrow quirking as she took in the raised skin that still shone in the light.

“My, my, dear,” she hummed, leaning against the counter. “What happened there?”

“Oh this?” You asked, resting your hand over the mark. You suppressed a shiver as a oddly pleasant feeling washed over you. “I had a bit of an accident the other day. I fell of a boat and washed up on shore.”

“Oh, how terrible!”

“Yeah, but I’m okay!” You chirped. “The doctor checked me out and said I was fine, just a little bruised. Said I was really lucky that nothing worse happened.”

“I’m sure you were,” she murmured, eyes still locked on your neck.

“But I guess I must have hit my neck pretty good on some rocks because the bump hasn’t gone away and the algae practically looks like it’s a part of my skin now,” you joked. Mrs. Cambroni blinked at you.

“The…algae?” She asked. You nodded, and she threw her head back in a fit of laughter. You stared at her in confusion until she calmed down, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

“I’m sorry, dear. I don’t mean to laugh,” she said through bouts of giggles. “What brings you by my little shop?”

“Oh!” You cried, moving closer to the counter. “Nothing really, I was just waiting for a friend, but she’s running late. So, I thought I’d pop back in and say hi after I got dragged out of here the other day.”

Mrs. Cambroni gave another hum, a knowing look on her face. She took a sip from the cup of tea she held in her hands.

“Have you found any interesting seashells along the beach since I last saw you?”

“Actually, yes!” You smiled, digging through your bag to pull out the collection you were beginning to compile. “I found these over the last couple of days. It’s strange though, none of these were on the beach. I found a pile of them on our boat and then another pile on the dock this morning. My friend said it must have been the current-”

Mrs. Cambroni’s eyes widened as she coughed up her tea, nearly choking on it as she fought to regain control over her breathing. You reached out a hand to soothe her, and she gave you a grateful smile.

“The current, you say?” She said, barely hiding her amusement. You nodded self consciously, and the old woman shook her head with a chuckle.

“Seems to me like you’ve caught the eye of a sea person, my dear.”

Now it was your turn for your eyes to widen. “What?”

“I’m surprised no one’s told you yet,” she mused, setting her cup down and examining the shells and pearls. “It’s part of the courting rituals for their kind, after all. Just like that intention bite on your neck.”

Your blood ran cold, recalling how your first reaction to the raised skin was that it looked like a bite mark.

“But it’s not-”

“Oh, but it is, dear child,” she smiled, no hint of malice to it, just understanding. “I’m not sure why no one is telling you the truth. Perhaps it’s because you aren’t a local, and they don’t know if you can be fully trusted yet. Or perhaps it’s because you were chosen in a moment of frenzy. Choice is such an important piece of the courting ritual, after all.”

“Is that why you’re telling me all of this?” You asked her, brow quirked. “Because you think I should have a choice?”

“Precisely. How can you make an informed decision without all of the pieces?”

“Alright, then,” You started, deciding to amuse the woman before you, “what is it you can tell me?”

“What is it you want to know?”

“Tell me more about the courting rituals. What are they? What does it entail?”

“Well,” she smiled, “that certainly is an interesting first question. It’s simple really. It starts with the bite mark on your neck. What you have right now is called an intention bite. This bite is to let other sea people know that you have been marked as the intended mate for someone. As long as that bite remains on your neck, every sea person who lays eyes on it will know that you are spoken for. If that wasn’t enough of a hint, it changes your scent as well.”

“Are you saying that I smell different?”

“Oh, yes,” she nodded. “But not in an unpleasant way, dear. And as long as that’s the only bite mark that remains on your neck, it’ll fade after a few months along with it. The intention mark is only meant to be a placeholder for the permanent mark.”

“And what is that?” You asked her. Mrs. Cambroni turned her serious gaze to your face.

“That would be the mating mark.”

“And what does that one do?” You murmured, voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure why you were entertaining this conversation, to be honest. Maybe it was your longstanding fascination with mermaids that kept you rooted there, listening intently. Or maybe it was because a part of you, one that you were trying your best not to acknowledge in that moment, believed her.

Before Mrs. Cambroni could respond, the bell above the door chimed again, and you both turned to see Nat red faced and out of breath as she looked at you.

“There you are!” She smiled, relaxing as she let out a sigh of relief. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Sorry!” You exclaimed, gathering your seashells and giving Mrs. Cambroni an apologetic smile. “I was getting really hot and I thought I’d stop in here for a few minutes.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Nat said, watching the older woman with a suspicious frown. “I lost track of the time after I texted you.”

You waved to the shop owner as you followed Nat out the door, the sun bathing you in its warm rays. You peered over at your friend, a mischievous smirk on your face as your eyes lowered to her neck.

“Wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with that huge hickey on your neck, right?”

Nat’s hand flew up to her neck, cheeks flushing as she tried to splutter out an excuse.

“So,” you chirped as your friend continued to recover her speech. “Which of the boys is it?”

“What makes you so sure it was one of them?” She muttered, the red on her cheeks growing more pronounced.

You ignored her. “My money is on Javy.”

“How did you know?” She shrieked, earning a couple of stares from passersby. You laughed at her expression.

“I didn’t until just now.”

Nat let out a long groan, hiding her face in her hands. You rested a hand on her shoulder to try and comfort her.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you said. “I think the two of you are really cute, and I don’t think the others have figured it out yet. I just see the way you two look at each other when you think no one else is. I wish someone would look at me like that.”

Natasha peeked out from behind her fingers, an oddly thoughtful look on her face as she studied you. Before you could ask, she was straightening up, a smile replacing her embarrassment.

“Do you think you could hold off on saying anything?” She asked you. You nodded, holding out your pinky to her. She wrapped her own around it, and the two of you shook on it.

“Scout’s honor, Nat!”

“Good!” She giggled, peering around the boardwalk. “What do you want to hit first?”

After Nat convinced you to take a ride on the tilt-o-whirl, you were sure you’d never walk straight again. You groaned as you fought to stay upright, nearly crashing into a man as you passed him. Your shoulder bumped his, and you turned around to look at him.

“I am so sorry!” You cried, hands reaching out to steady him, but stopping when you noticed that he was just fine. And staring at you. You gave him a sheepish smile, but the look on his face remained impassive. If the world wasn’t still spinning around you, you might have said that the green in his eyes glowed in the summer light. Natasha laughed beside you, throwing out another apology to the man as she dragged you off.

“Never again, Nat,” you said, suddenly feeling nauseous.

“I’m surprised you managed to make it without hurling!” She cackled, leaning you against the wood railing so you could catch your breath.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” you muttered, leaning over the side.

“Natasha!”

The both of you turned to see the weathered face of the FBI agent and his partner strolling up to you.

“Oh! Hey, Mr. Kazansky!” She called out with a wave. You turned to face them just as they stopped in front of you.

“C’mon now, Nat. It’s Tom, you know that,” the older man chuckled, eyes moving to you. “And who is this?”

“Y/n,” you introduced yourself, reaching out a hand to shake his. “But everyone just calls me Skipper these days.”

“Ah! You must be the young lady Susan was telling me about the other day,” Tom smiled. “It’s good to finally put a face to a name. This is my partner, Agent Beau Simpson.”

“A pleasure,” the other man said as he shook both of your hands.

“So are you two enjoying the festival so far?” Tom asked, smile still on his face. “This small town isn’t too boring for you, is it, Skipper?”

“Not at all!” You assured him, shaking your head. “I think it’s quite a charming little place! And everyone has been so nice since I got here.”

“That’s good to hear,” he chuckled, eyes falling to your neck. “Where’s the lucky boy?”

You gave him a confused look, and Nat cleared her throat, stepping up.

“It’s so embarrassing,” she started, giving Tom a pointed look. “Javy and I have been seeing each other on the sly for a while now, and I didn’t even think he left a mark. I’ll have to tell him to be more careful next time.”

Tom glanced between the two of you, understanding dawning on his face. He gave another smile.

“Young love is such a wonderful thing, don’t you agree Beau?” He asked his partner, who just smiled in agreement. “Don’t keep it a secret for too long, Nat.”

“Of course,” she smiled.

“You two are being careful, aren’t you?” Asked Agent Simpson. Nat’s face could have been mistaken for a tomato from how hard she was blushing. Agent Simpson seemed to have realized what he said and a blush of his own crept onto his face.

“With the murders, I mean,” he explained quickly. Tom let out a chuckle as Nat cleared her throat. “We just got done giving a press conference. No curfew yet, but we’re advising young ladies to not be out at night on their own until we can find whoever is doing this.”

“Oh, of course!” You said, nodding your head in understanding. “We’re being careful! It’s such a shame what happened.”

“You two were there, weren’t you?” Tom asked.

“Yeah, we were,” you trailed off, feeling the nausea return at the memory of the girl’s body as it lay in the sand. You suppressed a shudder. “It was awful.”

“It was,” Beau agreed, giving you a sympathetic smile. “Which is why we don’t want to see anything happen to anyone else.”

“You don’t have to worry about us,” Nat said, a determined smile on her face as she looked at the two older men. Tom chuckled, eyes moving from her to you, still studying the mark on your neck.

“No,” he said finally. “I don’t suppose we will.”

You couldn’t help but think back to your conversation with Mrs. Cambroni.

As long as that bite remains on your neck, every sea person who lays eyes on it will know that you are spoken for.

“Well,” Tom started, eyes looking over your shoulder now, “you two ladies have fun! We won’t keep you any longer.”

He made to move, and Agent Simpson made to follow after him. The dark haired man stopped just after he passed you.

“Oh,” he said, “And don’t hesitate to let us know if you see anything suspicious, yeah?”

“We will!” Nat called after him as she started dragging you in the opposite direction. The whole exchange felt weird to you. Why had Tom asked Nat about who the lucky man was when he was looking at your neck? Why did he keep starting at it at all? What had he meant by not having to worry?

You took a deep breath, deciding that you were overthinking the matter and that Mrs. Cambroni’s stories had just gotten in your head. But even as you had made your mind up to ignore your questions, you couldn’t help but feel a pulse come from the base of your neck as if it were begging you to keep questioning.

#jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin imagine #top gun hangman #hangman top gun #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman #hangman fanfiction #hangman x reader #hangman seresin #hangman imagine #mmats #meet me at the sea

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vintagevict0ria · 1 year ago

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𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞

“You brush past me in the hallway…”

chapter 1

pairing: Adam Driver x f!reader

content: n/a

a/n: omg i am soooooo excited for this you have no idea. Its been so long since i posted and this idea has been stuck in my drafts since july and since im back in my Adam driver era- id thought id finish this. This is mostly inspired by Taylor Swifts song "I can see you" and each chapter will be based on a lyric! So i am no expert on how film/actor/movie stuff works so bear with me. Hopeful as this goes on, it will get better. Im planning on finishing this by the new year (who knows if that will happen) but since im on break i should take advantage of my free time. Ok long story short I will be writing this shit non stop since im on a writing high so who knows if the next chapter will come out tommorow! Hope you enjoy! Notes are greatly appreciated!!

Y/n, a famous actress known for her beautiful face and captivating personality but also her incredible acting skills. You had been nominated for over 50 awards and won 5 oscars. It had been a while since you were on a set nor a movie. The last film was a roaring success and the critics were crazy about it! The media begged for another film starring Y/N Y/L/N.

The first thing you heard when you woke up was the sound of your phone ringing. Your agent- Carolina, was calling. You quickly answered- yawning and hoping she wouldn’t hear it. “Y/n! Great news!” You sighed, not really understanding what was happening. “You got the job!” The job? what is she talking about? “huh?” You rubbed your eyes, laying back down. “The movie!! Adam Driver is in it too! Oh my gosh i can hear them now! ‘Y/n y/l/n and Adam Driver are co-stars in the biggest hit of the year!” Once you heard his name, you sprung up “Wait what?” “Yeah! They want you here in LA by tomorrow morning. I’ve already booked you a flight to leave in..5 hours! Bye!” She hung up before you could say another word. You glanced over at the clock- 9:35. The flight was at 2:15 and it would take a while to pack and get ready. So, being the smart woman you are, you got up and started the day. Showering, packing, and of course- stopping to get starbucks.

Once you arrived in LA, you headed to the condo where you would be staying for a majority of filming. That morning you woke up and started getting ready for the day. Showering, and making a coffee before you headed out to the table read. You threw on a pair of leggings and a tshirt. It was late autumn so you took a jacket on the way out. At the studio you said hello to the crew and a huge thank you to the casting director. “Y/n!” It was Carolina- she ran up to you and embraced you in a tight hug. “How was the flight?” You smiled at the redhead girl “Great.” Carolina jumped up and down with excitement and handed you sheets of paper. On the cover was the name of the film, the name of the director-JJ Abrams- and your name. “Heres your script. You need to go ahead and head in there! Bye!” She walked away, the sound of her heals clicked across the floor. You quickly skimmed through the pages while walking and not paying attention. You soon enough ran into someone, your coffee spilling over you and the floor along with your script- which was on the floor…covered in coffee. “Oh gosh Im so sorry!” You apologized while picking up your script, wincing at the wet paper. “You might want to watch where you are going next time.” The voice was soft but stern. You looked up and realized it was Adam Driver.

He was wearing all black and his hair was messy. He glanced at you with a subtle stare. “Im so sorry!” You stood up, brushing yourself off. “No worries, happens to the best of us.” He rolled his shoulders back and popped his neck, closing his eyes. Damn he was attractive. ”You headed in?” You asked, trying to keep your composure together. Adam simply just nodded.

The first day of the read consisted of going over the aspects of the film and the time line of production. After the read through, filming would start, then the movie premiere would take place after filming and production in Hollywood, but that was a whiles away. When the read was over you walked out with another co star. Heading to your condo, you received a text from Carolina. "Girl, just talked to JJ and he just gave me word that there is a sex scene between you and Adam 😁" The stupid emoji at the end made you cringe. Carolina giving you this news shot your nerves through the roof. As if you weren't already nervous enough about working with Adam, having to film a intimate scene made it far worse. Kicking your shoes off and falling onto your bed, you opened instagram, an attempt to get your mind of the situation at hand, it didn't work.

#Spotify #adam driver #adam driver x reader #actor au #smut #fluff #angst #adam driver smut #adam driver fluff #adam driver angst #taylor swift #i can see you

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trulybetty · 2 months ago

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october | 21 x acorns

pairing: frankie x f!reader word count: warnings: none, as always un-beta'd. summary: Despite knowing what getting into a relationship with Frankie would entail, the reality is not always so easy. ao3: linked

{ x. series masterlist }

author note: prompts are not in chronological order, the story is told throughout the life span of the relationship. once all are posted, I'll post a list of the prompts in chronological order.

12 x Acorns.

The longest stretch Frankie was stationed at a base before serving with Delta, was almost two years in Virginia. It was also the first time you’d lived outside of military housing. It had been a big deal, Frankie giving you the reigns to pick somewhere after moving states in quick succession before this assignment. So with enthusiasm, you’d spent your nights alone while Frankie was deployed, searching rental listings before settling on a house ten minutes from the base.

He’d leant over squinting at your phone, “It's close to base?”

“Ten minutes. You could probably shave it down to eight,” you replied with a small smile.

Frankie had timed it to the second. Ensuring that he could reach the base as quickly as possible. In the backyard stood a large and towering oak tree. It was large and imposing, its branches reaching over the house, almost like it was cradling the house.

The rental agent had mentioned something about acorns being a symbol of fresh starts. Considering Frankie’s new posting and you’d taken it as a sign, already in love with the house, instantly imagining lazy summer afternoons in its shade and watching the colours transition to fall.

Frankie had been skeptical at first, you could picture him vividly, dressed in oil-stained overalls tied at the waist, eyeing the branches warily. “Gonna be a bitch to rake all those leaves come fall,” he’d muttered, but you’d caught the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

You never thought to question Frankie's sudden desire to move out of base housing. Just happy that you were in a place where he had promised roots for you both. You’d joked that the tree in the yard was symbolic in more ways than one.

What you hadn’t expected, almost a year to the day you’d moved in, as autumn painted the leaves in hues of gold and crimson, Frankie home early from base, with the news of a new assignment and the reality of what had brought you to Virginia in the first place.

“I've been assigned to a new training program,” he began carefully. “Delta. It's in North Carolina. Fort Bragg.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. “When?”

“I leave next week.”

You hadn’t missed the emphasis on the fact that only he would be leaving next week.

“Next week?” The shock rendering you momentarily speechless. “Frankie, that's—”

“I know it's sudden,” he interrupted, his eyes pleading for understanding, “but…” he trailed off

You eyed him suspiciously, “But what Frankie?”

Then that was when it all came out. Why Virginia, and why he was so resolute about living off base, knowing what was ahead for him already. He had put himself forward for Delta Force training and subsequently had passed, only a handful making it through the vigorous rounds. They’d kept him there in Virginia, playing a large role with their E Squadron, focused on aviation. Not long after, with several other successful recruits, they’d selected them for reconnaissance. Frankie, a ranked major, was assigned as assistant team leader.

Frankie’s voice had softened as he had explained. His eyes locked on yours, searching for understanding. “I wanted you to have something stable, something away from the chaos, the secrecy. I wanted to put distance between that and home. I wanted…” he trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

You could see the conflict etched in the lines of his face, the weight of his choices heavy on him. You held back tears as the realization sunk in.

“You knew,” you’d whispered, more a statement than a question.

Frankie had been silent in response.

Despite saying his move was a week away, Frankie was moved overnight to North Carolina—headquarters in what was now known as Fort Liberty. The process so quick that neither of you had the time to discuss anything more than the fact you would remain behind and follow him out at a later date.

Frankie left for North Carolina amidst a flurry of hurried goodbyes and unspoken apologies. You were left to pack up the house, coordinate with movers, and notifying your job of yet another relocation. Then on top of it all, with Frankie consumed with even more training, deployments and more, meant it was on you to handle the arrangements of a new home in Carolina.

On your last night in Virginia, the house empty having sent off its contents that afternoon in a moving truck. You’d stepped outside to the yard, stood underneath the impressive oak tree, in the dark its branches losing their comfort now only seemed to mock you with their permanence. Bending down, you picked up a handful of acorns scattered across the grass. Rolling them in your palm you let out a soft bitter-tinged laugh remembering the realtor's statement about putting down roots. You felt foolish for really believing that you were going to be settled there, would see out the rest of Frankie’s service.

The next morning, you caught an early flight to North Carolina, exhaustion pulling at every fibre of your being. As you shifted your bag on your shoulder as you descended the escalator from baggage claim, you spotted Frankie waiting near the exit. He gave you a small wave, uncertainty painting his features.

“Hey,” he greeted softly, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“Hi,” you replied, forcing a smile.

He reached for your suitcase. “How was the flight?”

“Fine,” you simply replied.

The drive to the new house was thick with unspoken tension. Frankie cleared his throat. “I set up the bedroom. There's an air mattress until the movers arrive.”

“Great,” you responded, staring out the window, watching the scenery pass by.

Pulling up to the new house, you took in the sight of it—a standard military rental, identical to the others lining the street. No character, no history, just another temporary shelter.

He glanced at you, worry creasing his brow. “I know this isn't easy.”

You sighed, finally turning to face him. “Frankie, we've moved three times in the past three years. Packed up our lives each time, started over in new places. I knew what a relationship with you entailed, but it's... it's just hard.”

“I never wanted it to be this way,” he said quietly.

You smiled sadly, “I know.”

Later, lying on the air mattress in the sparsely furnished bedroom, you stared at the ceiling. Frankie slept beside you, his breathing steady. You reached over, your fingers brushing his hair from his forehead. You knew what being with Frankie entailed, you weren’t naive and he had given you plenty of warnings. You’d thought you’d prepared yourself for all of it—but reality was different, much more challenging than either one of you could have imagined.

#frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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postmodernbeliever · 8 months ago

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Thoroughfare- Fox Mulder x Female Reader

Chapter Four: Best Gravy in Town

^^ guys if anyone knows a better way to make gifs than giphy or capcut let me know.. cant deal w this atrocious quality anymore

table of contents <3

if you’d prefer my ao3 | word count: 4,813

dedicating this one to @sp00kybas ;) <33

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

You’d stayed in your fair share of motels. You once road-tripped it with a few girls from college down to the Carolinas for spring break, and the few times you went with your father to visit your family for Christmas after moving out tended to stretch into staying at the dumpy Seafairer nearby to escape the week-long chaos at nights. You were aware of their atmosphere, the lack of amenities and comfort– but this motel was not like the others. This one felt like the room you watched horror movie protagonists stalk into suspiciously, where you scream at the television screen, “Don’t go in there, that’s clearly a trap, dumbass!” But here you were, in it anyway. Fox struggled to find the restaurant that Sheriff Hale recommended on the drive to the motel, so he dropped you off apologetically and set back out to find some food for you both. The agent helped you check in and he was kind enough to carry your bag inside for you, even he made a face at the vibe of your room, which was all the more disconcerting; but he promised he wouldn’t be gone long, and so you felt alright with being alone. You were a big girl, right? You could handle it.

Everything was going smoothly. You’d hung up the few spare suits and dress pants you’d curated for your first-ever go-bag, and you laid out your toiletries neatly in the bathroom. You placed Liane’s rock on the nightstand beside the bed. The Kansas sky was a deep black you’d never seen on the East Coast, so after admiring the clearest view of the stars you’ve ever seen, you flicked on every available light and tried to soak up the yellow warmth of the offputting space. You sat around for nearly forty minutes awaiting Fox’s knock at the door. You flipped through all the television channels, getting stuck on the adult videos for a minute before snapping yourself out of curiosity; when he still didn’t show up, you decided to step into the shower and rinse the day off. You triple-checked the lock on the door and shut yourself in the dingy bathroom, trying not to think about the last time it was really cleaned. There was dirt caked in the grout of the floor, and the mirror had all sorts of suspicious water stains, but the bathtub was clean enough and you tried not to nitpick. You stripped down, popped out your contacts, and cranked the faucet to the hottest temperature it would reach. The water pressure from the showerhead was abrasive, but you didn’t mind; it beat against your back like a drum, and for the first time all day, you were comfortable. You took your time massaging shampoo into your hair, which had shrunk into a frizz ball by the end of the day, and you took deep breaths, trying to push all images from work out of your mind. You would’ve succeeded at finally winding down if it weren’t for the tapping sound you heard, incessant against what sounded like glass.

You peeked from behind the shower curtain, finding nothing in the bathroom but your soiled clothes on the toilet seat. It was then that you gazed up and found a small window, barely a foot wide, stationed above the shower. There was no curtain covering it, no blinds, and you instantly panicked. There was no way to see out of it without standing on something to elevate yourself, and you couldn’t risk balancing on things in a running shower, so you rushed to turn off the water and wrap up in a towel. Tracking wet footsteps onto the shag carpet, you shuffled the spare desk chair from your room through the doorway and lugged it into the shower, carefully stepping onto the seat. You mulled over what to do when you did discover the source of the noise: if it was some peeping Tom, you’d have to get your gun, simple as that. If it was the wind, you’d probably laugh at yourself for being so easily afraid. If it was a branch, you would promptly feel like an idiot. But as you pressed up on your tip-toes and looked out the little window, you found none of your options. Instead, you found rain. Round, heavy raindrops battered the glass in droves, so hard in fact you feared they might shatter the window. You dropped your head in slight embarrassment because you should’ve known– heat frizzes your hair, but humidity turns you into the Einstein you resembled minutes ago. You ignored the most obvious sign. You hopped off the chair and pulled it out of the shower, trying not to beat yourself up.

After you finished the bathing that was so childishly interrupted, you felt much better. You shimmied into a fresh pair of pajama pants and an old t-shirt that donned your high school mascot and plopped on the creaky motel bed, running a comb through your hair. And finally, a shower and a scare later, a knock sounded on the other side of the door. You rushed to open it, only to find a drenched agent on the other side shielding a greasy brown bag beneath his suit jacket, duffle bag in hand.

“Oh, God!” you exclaimed, “Come on, come inside!”

“I wish I’d checked the weather forecast,” Fox groaned.

The man stumbled inside and you awkwardly wiped the rain from his cold shoulders, gratefully taking the paper bag from him. Your stomach was growling. Setting the food down on the desk, you rushed to tidy up after yourself. Your old clothes were still strewn across the bathroom, and you left a trail of tissues and wet towels behind.

“Do you, uh,” Fox paused, the squelching of socks in his shoes interrupting him, “Do you mind if I hop in your shower real quick?.”

Your lips turned down in a sympathetic smile. The agent was shaking. You could only imagine how cold he felt. “Of course, go ahead. Go warm up, I’ll get the food out for when you’re done.”

Fox’s eyes squinted in a kind smile and he shuffled through the room, trying to avoid dripping as much water on your carpet as he could. He locked himself in the bathroom, duffle bag and all, and when you heard the shower head creak, you went back to clearing the room of all your junk. You zoned out to the sound of the muffled water running, and every so often you’d hear a squeak of feet against the bathtub, and you’d blush. Fox Mulder is showering in my room, you thought, my work partner is naked in my motel room. You did everything to avoid the picture in your head as you ripped the brown bag open and spread it across the desk, creating makeshift plates to eat the food he worked so hard to procure. There were two double cheeseburgers, a big box of tater tots, a soup cup full of what looked like brown gravy, and about one hundred ketchup packets. You chuckled softly as you dealt the food out. You shoved the recliner by the front door over to the desk, beside the wooden chair you climbed on not long ago, so he’d have somewhere to sit. Resolving to finish packing away your things and find a place to throw your dirty clothes, you continued to not think about who was in your room, and what he was doing.

When Fox opened the bathroom door, soft curls of warm mist spilled out behind him, humidifying the corner of the room. He found you resulting to throwing your dirty outfit on the floor in a huff when you couldn’t locate a laundry basket.

“Woah,” the man chuckled, walking behind you and setting down his bag by the window across the room.

“No hamper!” You pouted.

“I wonder if I’ve got one next door. I left my clothes hanging over the shower railing, by the way, I hope that’s okay.”

You turned around to find your partner standing by the door in real clothes, regular ones, and it never crossed your mind he was a person, like you, until now. Fox had on a pair of sweatpants, likely old ones by the fraying at the knees, and a boxy blue hoodie missing its strings. It looked like it once fit him but now was too big. His hair was wet and spiky, and it fell haphazardly over his forehead– he probably wiped it with a towel before he came out, yet neglected to brush it, leaving it a mess. You wondered if he ever brushed through that hair, or if running his hands through it was enough. You also wondered about how often he looked like this; if he was this comfortable at home, or with his friends, or if you’re seeing a rare version of a man that tends to fall asleep in his dress shirts. You wished you didn’t pick him apart so often, but there was so much to see, and you were so unbelievably curious. His gaze softened at the sight of you in normal people clothes, too, and he hoped it didn’t show on his face. Since he met you he wondered if he’d get the chance to see you out of uniform at some point. He liked this you, the you with no lipstick or collars. You looked your age, with your glasses sitting just so on your bare face.

“Yeah, yeah, of course, that’s fine. I’m… sorry you got stuck in the rain,” you consoled, starting to feel vulnerable with just him in the room this way.

“It’s okay, it’s just a little water. Thanks for letting me clean up.” Fox’s eyes darted to the bag behind you, and he said, “I’m starving, how about you?”

“Oh, yeah. Me too.”

You moved to sit in the desk chair, but Fox tutted, “Hey, no, take the recliner.”

“Why? This chair’s fine,”

“Just sit in the comfy one. You still look tired.”

You didn’t really know what to say. Those two sentences seemed like different points, but something in his face connected them. He wanted you to relax, and you couldn’t do that in a hard chair. So you obliged his request and settled into the mothball-scented recliner, which creaked under the pressure of you. You tucked your legs into a criss-cross position and reached for one of the foil-wrapped burgers, fingers working fast to peel it open. You sunk your teeth in hungrily, which you were. You haven’t had a proper meal since yesterday. As you took another big bite before finishing the first, you caught Fox staring at you with a goofy expression, eyes wide.

You wiped the corner of your mouth where you felt burger sauce dribbling, and you asked, “What?”

“You can eat!”

You shrunk into the chair a bit, all of a sudden feeling the extra weight in your stomach and thighs like a brand. “I haven’t had anything today.”

“No, it’s not a bad thing,” the man added quickly, “I know you’re hungry. It’s nice to see you eat. Don’t hold back, please.”

You wanted to believe he wasn’t seeing you through the lens you saw yourself. With all the chaos of the past two days, you hadn’t had much time to ponder on how he perceived you. But you knew you weren’t stick-thin, and you knew you weren’t as pretty as half the women you passed in the J. Edgar Hoover building just on the way down to the basement. Fox had been nothing but kind, but almost too kind. Maybe he pitied you, or he knocked you directly into some category in his head where he stores all of the girls he could only ever see as the sweet one, the chubby one, the forever friend. You took a smaller bite of your burger as he shoved nearly half of his into his mouth at once. He had burger sauce on his lip, too, and when he looked at you, you motioned for him to wipe at it.

“Hm?”

“You’ve got a little something.”

“Where?”

“It’s- uh,” you moved to show him again, pointing at where your bottom lip curved. His eyes followed your finger, and he stared for a moment. “Right here.”

Fox wiped his lip with his thumb and then licked the residue clean off. He smiled bashfully. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

You took another small bite of your burger and watched him flip open the box of tater tots. He eagerly uncapped the gravy and made a starving grumble. “The lady said they had the best gravy in town, y’know. Swore we had to try it.” He gingerly dipped one into the cup and popped it into his mouth, and it took mere seconds for him to smile. “Oh, you’ve gotta taste this.”

You reached your palm into the box and picked a tot, and you dipped it generously into the gravy, counting on its good review. But when you took a bite, you tasted nothing but package gravy- maybe even worse than when you’ve made it at home. You scrunched up your nose and said, “This tastes like I got it at the grocery store.”

“I know it does.”

“Why’d you act like it was good then?”

“Because,” Fox giggled, “I don’t know, I thought it was funny.”

“You’re a dork,” you blushed, swallowing the tater tot and deciding you’d have them with ketchup from now on.

It took Fox about three more bites to finish the entire burger, and he dove into the box after that, plowing through the tater tots and shitty gravy he paid good money for. He ate like a teenage boy, dripping sauce and leaving crumbs behind, wiping greasy fingers on a napkin every two bites. It was a little gross, but it was endearing in a way, too. He wasn’t trying to come off any other way than how he was naturally in front of you. You wished you had the same freedom. As you nibbled at your food, Fox noticed how he’d scarfed down half the potatoes and you hadn’t even had another.

“I thought you were hungry.”

“I am,” you sighed.

“Then eat! Eat more! Come on, I saw you take that big bite before,” he chuckled, “What, is it not good? I can get something else if you don’t like it.”

“No, it’s not that. It tastes fine.”

The room fell silent for a minute, and Fox stopped himself from asking why. He graduated with a degree in psychology. If he thought for a second, it would be clear to anyone why you weren’t eating. He leaned back against the desk chair and opted for a soft, “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t care how you eat, or how much. You’re hungry, so you should eat the whole thing. I don’t care.”

You shifted anxiously in the recliner, twiddling with the foil wrapper. “Well, I-”

“This is about your weight, isn’t it? That’s what’s bothering you?” Fox pushed.

“I mean...”

“Put that out of your mind. You’re exactly what you should be, and if you looked any different, you wouldn’t be the girl who just got assigned to my shitty job. I like you as is.”

Truth was, he really did like you as is. A pound less wouldn’t be right. You took up just enough space. You were soft at the edges, and your suits looked pretty on you, and he couldn’t imagine you in any other form. To think you thought of yourself as undeserving made a switch flip in his chest.

“You know, nobody told me how nice you are,” you muttered.

“Yeah, well, I’m not really Miss Popularity around the office.”

Taking a bigger bite out of your burger, and making him smile, you asked, “What does that mean?”

“I find it hard to believe you got assigned to the X Files and nobody mentioned anything about me.”

“Well, they mentioned you were a bit odd , but I didn’t question it, I guess.”

Fox leaned back against the rigid chair and closed his eyes, wondering if it was worth going through it all again. He’s tried to explain himself before, but it always ends in confusion, misunderstanding, or worse. But you were going to learn about him whether it was by working alongside him or hearing gossip elsewhere; God forbid people start to lump you in, too, and misjudge your character or your beliefs simply by association. He would hate to see you get stuck in the basement of the FBI all because he’s distinguished himself as the resident loser of the institution. But what’s worse- to hear it from the source, or to find it out later than you wanted to, before you could change it? He didn’t want to take away your choice, but he also didn’t want to lose you. He just got you. Somewhere in his gut, though, there was an inkling, and it was on that that he acted.

“Well, y’know, the work I do on these unexplained cases runs pretty deep. You haven’t really had time to see the extent of the stuff I investigate. People don’t respect my work, they think it’s a waste of time and resources. That I’m some freak who runs around chasing monsters,” Fox began.

“Monsters?”

“Monsters, cryptids, spirits. Aliens. Every case file I have has some kind of element to it that reaches beyond the realms of what logic and hard science can explain. I’ve come across vampires, shapeshifters, people who possess unexplainable psychokinetic powers or seemingly religious divinities. I’ve shot men only to see them bleed green, and yet after all of these experiences, I still can’t seem to prove that it all exists. The trail goes cold or disappears completely, making me look crazy. And I know these things exist, the proof is in my work and the people whose deaths will never be reconciled, but they don’t exist on paper, and if I can’t submit it in a report then the bosses just laugh. There are so many dark forces you haven’t seen yet in my work, and I’m sure you don’t or won’t believe in them, but this is what I do, why I’m banished to the bottom floor.”

Silently, you polished off your burger. The agent sat across from you like a nervous wreck, eyes searching your face for some hint at how you took him. But all you did was wipe your mouth and hands and tuck your half-dry hair behind your ears. Once you mulled it over, you asked, “Why do you do it, then?”

Without hesitation, he said, “My sister.”

By the somberness that overtook him, you knew it was time to tread lightly. “What happened to her?”

Fox rose from the chair and tugged at his sweatshirt, walking past your chair and toward the window. You turned to lean against the back of the recliner and watched him stand before it, taking stock of how the rain smacked against the window like it wanted to take shelter inside the room.

“She was taken when I was twelve. Abducted.”

“By who?”

“Well, that’s where it gets tricky,” the man laughed, but it didn’t make you smile. There was a weight to it that sank in your stomach. “I believe- I know that it was aliens. Or people working with the aliens. I mean, I watched her get taken through our living room window. She was in her pajamas, and a blinding light burst through the house, and everything shook, and she just floated up into the air and… poof . She was gone. I’ve never been able to find her, no matter how hard I look.”

Resting your chin on the back of the chair, you believed every single word he said. You couldn’t understand why, but you just did. Maybe it was how his voice slightly shook as he confided in you, or how he kept his back to you so he wouldn’t have to see the judgment on your face. But you knew he was telling the truth, whether or not the events were fact. He believed it, so you believed him.

“I wanted to work on the X Files because I believe there’s more to what happened to my sister,” Fox continued, “I think somebody, somewhere, knows what happened to her. And I want to find out what that is. And if it really was aliens, which there is endless but intangible proof of, then who’s to say all the other highly contested beings humans have been dreaming up and swearing sightings of for thousands of years don’t also lurk in the darkest corners of our world, where they live in secret? Hiding in shadows, taking people, surviving in their own way? I need to give everyone a chance. I've had my story invalidated over and over, I can’t do that to other people. There are people out there who believe in ghosts and monsters, and who have lost family to circumstances that no one else will give the time of day, Ro. I can’t stand by and let these people suffer. I want them to be heard the way nobody hears me. I want to make people feel safe, to stop the monsters.”

If God was truly real, this would be the moment you believed He was at work- within Fox. He didn’t need to be as articulate or intelligent as he was to make you believe it. The man’s body glowed with his belief and devotion. His eyes were glistening with tears and the fear of letting you know what he stood for. You saw it in the way he shoved his hands in his pockets, how he looked at the ground, how his chest rose and fell like he’d just confessed to murder. That man was shouldering a burden beyond your comprehension, yet he gets up every day and helps other people who struggle as he does, all on top of being scrutinized by everyone in his field. You thought of a young boy who lost his sister, a young boy who needed help and spent the rest of his life ridiculed for searching for answers, and your eyes began to glisten, too. They glistened with a lot of things as you looked through him.

“You used the name.”

“Huh?”

“Ro. You called me Ro.”

Fox turned his back to the window, looking considerably more tired than he had before. “I guess I did.”

You untangled your legs and stood up, face hot, walking over to the window. Fox saw the raindrops in the reflection of the streetlights outside freckling your smooth skin, and he took a step closer to look out alongside you.

“What you do is important,” you affirmed. “You give people hope. You hold onto it even when you’re met with nothing at every turn. You’re not in the basement because you’re an outcast, you’re in the basement because they want to keep you down there where people can’t see the truth about you. You’re not somebody who takes orders, you give your own. You question their every move, don’t you?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, if you do, then so do I.”

Fox looked down at you, feeling that same fluttering warmth he felt when you set up your desk, and when you fell asleep on the plane, and when he almost crashed the car. “That’s a big commitment to make to a guy you met yesterday.”

“Well, I don’t know enough about aliens or vampires to chime in, but I believed in Santa until I was fourteen. And if you’re honest about everything you’ve seen, who am I to tell you that you didn’t see it? This is your world, Fox, I’m only just joining it,” you confessed. “And if they put me in the basement to stop you, they hired the wrong person. I’ve made a career out of chasing monsters, too.”

Your partner was at a loss for words. He’d never been in this position before, where someone met him halfway and promised to believe him. He was ready for you to tell him he was crazy and kick him out of the room; he was imagining a world where tomorrow he wakes up and you’re gone, back to Washington, begging to be reassigned to a unit where there aren’t psychopaths running the operation. But you were alone with him, comfortable, and you saw right through to his heart, just like you did the first minute you spoke to him. That was when he knew.

“Well, if I told you I have reason to believe the killer we’re out here looking for is harnessing some kind of biblical power, would you believe me then?” Fox proposed, a smile finally interrupting the stagnant look he held.

“I think I’d need a little more detail, but sure,” you nodded, “You know, it sounds like this job isn’t going to be boring.”

“What makes you say that?”

A loud laugh bubbled up in your throat, and it hung in the air like a drug. You leaned into his side in a moment of urge, and he held steady for you, pushing back with pressure. When your body began to run hot, you rocked back on your heels and shuffled over to the edge of your stiff motel bed, falling back-first onto it. Fox waddled over to the recliner and pulled it to the foot of the bed, collapsing into the cushion.

“Can I ask you something?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows and locked eyes with him. He had a tendency to make severe eye contact, but something about it was hard to resist. “Sure.”

“You handled a lot today. I mean, all that anxiety on the plane, the stress of starting your first case and meeting all those people. The crime scene. You just seemed so… I don’t know, overwhelmed by it all by the time we got back here. And now, after I gave you my spiel, it’s like you don’t have a care in the world. I would’ve thought you’d be completely overloaded.”

Tilting your head back to gaze up at the ceiling, you figured if he was going to be honest with you as he has, then you need to repay the gesture. Partners can’t hide things from each other.

“It’s been a lot, sure. I have issues keeping my anxieties under control. But you’re a calming presence, I guess, or at least you remind me I’m still in the real world when I feel like I’m losing my grip. And because of that, I guess I just… trust you.”

“You don't even know me,”

“You don’t really know me either, do you? Yet you just told me the purpose behind your life’s work.”

Fox grinned and slouched in the chair, throwing his feet up on the edge of your bed. “Got me there.”

“Hm,” you scrunched your nose in triumph. “Then again, maybe I shouldn’t trust you. Maybe you’re some weird, spooky guy that everyone thinks is crazy and really is. But I need a job, and I need someone to teach me how to do it, so I’ve got no choice.”

“Are you sure no one told you?” Fox gave you a suspicious glance at the mention of his very nickname.

“Told me what?”

“That they call me Spooky Mulder back in Washington. And you should know they’re gonna think you’re insane for working with me.”

“Let them,” was all you gave in response.

You couldn’t describe the expression on the man’s face, but you liked it. It suited him, to have his big eyes shining, and the apples of his cheeks dusted pink. You watched him get up and bustle over to the desk, collecting the discarded leftovers and swiping them all into the trash, Then, he pushed the recliner back over towards the door and swiped his bag.

“We’ve got work to do tomorrow,” Fox stated, “You should get some sleep.”

“God knows if I’ll fall asleep in this place,” you scoffed.

“Well, I’m right next door if you need me, Piglet.”

As he swung your front door wide, you pleaded, “Hey, can’t we go back to Ro? That was nice!”

Fox looked over his shoulder with a smile that made you thankful you were sitting down, and he silently vetoed your suggestion. “Goodnight.”

You pouted, but it just turned into a grin. “Goodnight, Spooky.”

He shut the door behind him in a hurry, so as not to flood your motel room, and you were left in a quiet space that felt starkly colder. You blamed it on all the rainy air he let in and fell back onto the mattress, hoping that by the time you woke up tomorrow, you would have shaken the gentle ache in your bones.

#fox mulder #x files #spooky mulder #the x files #fox mulder x reader #fox mulder x you #soft fox mulder #fox mulder x reader fluff #fox mulder fluff #tw religious themes #plus size reader #catholiscism

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queen-of-deans-booty · 4 months ago

Text

The Things They Carried: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Cole is back in Dean's life, not to kill him but to ask for his help. A worm is making its way through people and eventually through Cole, giving you the perfect opportunity to get the chaos you're craving.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

The room you've been trapped in is a bit lighter instead of being pitch-black darkness. There is enough light shining in to see that this room doesn't have any windows. How is the light getting in?

"Hello? Anyone there? Someone please help me," you yell.

In a fit of frustration, you send a ball of blue magic at the wall and it bounces off several before exploding at your feet. You turn and see a door with a small window on it that wasn't there a second ago. You've stared at this wall for several days and there hasn't been a door there. Now there is. Where the hell are you? What is going on? You walk over to the door and peer through the window. The window is small enough that you can't see much but then someone walks by and your heart soars in happiness.

"Dean! Dean! I'm in here! Hey!" You bang on the door to get his attention but all he does is walk back and forth in front of the door like he's on patrol. "Dean, please help me. I want to go home!" You keep banging on the door in hopes it'll get him to come over. "Please! Dean!"

Dean winces in pain and presses his fingers to his temples. His headaches are getting worse and if he thinks hard enough, he can hear you begging and crying out for him. No, he must be imagining things. He wants to imagine you near him. Your voice isn't real. It's all in his head. Through the pain of his headache, he gets dressed for the day and heads to the library where Sam is. The Bunker door opens and he pops his head into the war room to see you come down the metal stairs in last night's clothes.

"Where have you been all night?"

"You're not my mother. I don't have to tell you everything I do," you scoff.

"Hey, come check this out. I think I got something," Sam says from the library.

"A case? What case?"

"I thought you weren't interested in hunting anymore?" Dean asks as you two walk into the library.

"Well, I've got nothing better to do at the moment. Plus, I'm not interested in saving people. Hunting is a different story. I'll be in the car."

"You didn't hear what the case was about."

"I don't care," you say as you walk out of the library.

Sam shakes his head and hands over a tablet with an article about a soldier who has died.

"The vic was trained in Krav Maga and jiu-jitsu, and she still ended up with her organs drained, and the marrow was sucked completely out of the bones."

"Cannibalism? Are you thinking it's a rugaru?"

"Or a God, maybe."

"Give me ten and I'll meet you by the car."

After the long drive to North Carolina, you walk into the Fayetteville police station and are greeted by a group of police officers enjoying pieces of cake. The bell on top of the door rings and they all look at you. One of them sets his cake down and breaks apart from the group to greet you.

"Agents, l gather?"

Uh, was it the suits, or do we give off some sort of a Fed stench?" Dean asks.

"It's the suits," the sheriff stutters. "What can l do for you folks?"

"We are here investigating the death of Private Jackie Prescott."

"Sorry to waste your time, agents, but you wasted a trip. We wrapped that one up hours ago. We know the man who did it--Rick Willis."

"What makes you so sure it was him?"

The sheriff grabs the murder file and flips through the pages.

"His fingerprints were all over the storage room out on the base where he did it. He even left his dog tags by the body."

"Is he in custody?"

"No, the bastard drank a boatload of gasoline and then lit himself on fire. Helluva way to go, if I'm honest. He left behind a wife and baby. He's the third suicide we've seen in six months. Would you like some cake?"

"Yeah," Dean immediately says.

Sam stops him from grabbing it and Dean pouts slightly.

"No, uh, you know what? Uh, we're okay," Sam stutters.

"No, it's really good. My partner made it."

"It looks great, but we're alright. We do have one more question. Were there any bite marks found on the body?"

"No. The vic was killed with a Bowie."

"Thanks for your time."

You three leave and you let your hair down in soft waves. It hurts when you have your hair in a ponytail.

"Well, that's a waste of our time. I say we head to the beach," you grin.

"We're not leaving," Sam rolls his eyes. "No bite marks means a rugaru didn't do it. What are you thinking? A God?"

"I don't think so. The guy Molotov-cocktailed himself. That's bonkers. That's like demon-possession bonkers. We should talk to Rick's wife if she's up for it."

That's where you head next. You're waiting for them to royally screw this up. You're not interested in saving people. You're not interested in their lives. You're only interested in the chaos all this death is going to bring you. That's why you tagged along. If something tragic doesn't start soon, you're going to have to make your own.

Beth, Rick's wife, let you into her house to talk to her even though she doesn't seem in the right mind to answer questions. Sam and Dean handle all the questioning while you're off to the side looking at the many pictures she has of her and her husband. You're so glad you're not plagued by pictures of your past.

"Rick did it." You pull your eyes from the pictures and look at her. "I'm not trying to say that he didn't. I mean, he just got back from deployment and we've all seen what it can do to a soldier's mind. My Rick . . . when he's home and good . . . I have to kill the spiders, you know? Rick was a kind soul. He never took more life than he had to."

Did you notice anything strange or weird like violent mood swings? Or weird smells?" Sam asks.

"No, but Rick was so... He was thirsty."

"Thirsty for what?"

"Water. He'd spend half the day drinking from the garden hose. Then, one night, I caught him in the tub drinking the bathwater. When l told him to stop, it was like he couldn't even hear me. His skin got so dry it bled."

"Did he see a doctor?"

"I took him to the VA but he just got on a list to get on a list. Then, he stopped talking and just wasn't himself. I thought maybe it was PTSD," she cries.

You roll your eyes in annoyance. This is not the kind of tragedy you're hoping for.

"We're very sorry," Sam sighs.

"You said that Rick was recently deployed. Do you have any idea where?"

"No, that stuff is classified. They don't even let the wives in on it."

"Okay, we'll leave you alone now but if something comes up, anything at all, please give us a call."

Sam hands her his business card. You're the first one to the door, eager to get the hell out of here, but she stops you.

"There's one other thing. I ran into my friend Jemma at the supermarket. She's married to Kit Verson, a guy from Rick's team. She thinks Kit came back different this time. Kind of felt like we were dealing with the same thing."

"Thank you."

You three leave and you turn to the brothers.

"I don't remember hunting being this irritating."

"You're the one who wanted to come with us. This is part of hunting. Either shut the hell up or leave."

You glare at your husband but don't say another word about it. Jemma, once she knows you just came from Rick's house, eagerly lets you in to tell you her story. Much like before, you let the brothers handle the questioning while you're off to the side looking at pictures of her and Kit.

"Can you tell us more about Kit?" Sam asks.

"Kit's been going through some stuff for sure. It takes him a while to get back to normal, but he always does."

"What about you? How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay, for the most part. With what happened to Rick and Beth... it's been hard."

"May we speak to your husband?" Dean asks.

"He went out last night but he should be back any minute. You know, he comes back from these deployments and he needs his space."

"He's been out all night?" you ask.

"Yeah." Both brothers look at each other with knowing looks. "God. I can't even convince myself. I'm worried. This isn't like him."

"Has he been thirsty? Like 'drink out of the dog bowl' thirsty?"

"How did you know?" she gasps.

You look out the window and see Cole Trenton, the man who has been obsessed with Dean even when he was a demon. You lock eyes with Dean and gesture to him with your eyes, and he stands up quickly. You don't bother saying anything to Jemma as you leave her house, but Sam and Dean wrap up the conversation quickly. Cole is leaning against the Impala with his arms crossed.

"I recognized your wheels."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean asks.

"Jemma called me in. I've known Kit since we were military brats raisin' hell on the same base. He's a good man."

"No one's saying he's not."

"Oh, really, now? So, what are you three here for, Jemma's sweet tea? You want to tell me why you're really here?"

"You got a lot of nerve coming in and demanding answers," you glare and step up to him. "Watch yourself."

"Hey, stop," Dean whispers and pulls you away from Cole. "We're working a case."

"Kit's case?"

"Honestly, we're not sure just yet but it's looking like it."

"Says you."

"You really want to dial it back, hot shot," you smirk. You raise your hand and show off your powerful magic. It's only a wisp or two but it's enough to send a message. "Or you might not like what happens next."

"There's a murder-suicide in town. Your buddy Kit is in the same unit as the killer with the same whacked-out antics. Like it or not, we're not going anywhere. If you care about your friend, you'll let us handle this."

"Nah, I think I'm coming with you."

"The hell you are," you scoff.

"I got contacts. I can help. For example, a friend of mine works in military intelligence who owes me a favor."

"Would he know what Rick and Kit's mission was?" Sam asks.

"Sure, and he'd tell me all about it."

Sam and Dean look at each other before sighing.

"Fine," Dean rolls his eyes.

"No, it ain't. I'm going to make sure my friend comes home in one piece, okay? l know what you three are thinking, but we are not gonna hunt my best friend who happens to be a fucking war hero, by the way. We are gonna find him, and that's the difference."

"No, I was thinking how pretty your head would look like on a stick," you shake your head.

"Stop it. I mean it," Dean hisses in your ear.

"Listen, we're right there with you. Kit's a hero, but you have to prepare yourself. Kit might not be Kit anymore," Sam says.

Dean decides this is a good time to get some food so he takes everyone to the nearest joint that serves a good burger. Everyone gets something but you. You're not hungry for food. With Cole being here, it might raise the exact trouble you're looking for.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester angst #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural angst #spn #supernatural series rewrite #supernatural season 10

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