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onceuponamirror · 7 years ago

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heart rise above

///// CHAPTER 12

summary: It wasn’t an experiment with freedom borne of some Americana fantasy; rather, a road trip of purely logistical intentions. The plan was simple. Drive from Boston to Chicago for his sister’s college graduation. That’s it.

Or, he drives a Ford Pickup Named Desire.

Mechanic!AU

fandom: riverdale ship: betty x jughead words: 66k chapters: 12/19

[read from the beginning] [read the latest]

And you want to travel with him, and you want to travel blind

And you think maybe you’ll trust him

She wakes slowly.

Or, she becomes vaguely conscious of the leg slung over her own and the arm gently strewn across her bare stomach while still beyond in the land of nod, and her dreamless sleep takes a twist of dawning awareness as she hears a breath not her own.

Then the memory bubbles up, including the answer as to why there’s another person curled against her. Their bodies spent, him stretched atop her, breathing shakily, almost trembling, as she raked her fingers through his hair and held him against her chest.

When he finally looked at her, his eyes moving rapidly across every corner of her face, it was the first time in her life that she’d ever felt actually empty-headed, long, stretched-out-silence kind of speechless. And didn’t know what to make of that same quiet from Jughead, especially as someone who literally works for his words.

In the end, the only word she found was the very one she can’t get used to: stay.

Later, trying to sleep, she had a sinking feeling that she had no idea what they’d gotten themselves into, because whatever it was that happened between them, it wasn’t just sex. It definitely wasn’t fucking, which is probably what it was supposed to be—or at least something she might’ve been a bit more prepared for, as that would feel more in line with the idea of getting it out of their systems.

She hasn’t had a whole lot of partners in her life, but she’s had enough to know the first time with a new person often isn’t like that. It’s usually a lot more awkward, a lot less sensual, and with a hell of a lot less orgasms. But with him, it was ambient and reverent and a heady kind of all over good.

Now, in the touches of a new morning, she thinks she knows the word for what it was.

She bites down on the thought.

Her eyes open with a light flutter, at first on the wall of little pink rosebuds. Then she shifts slightly, careful not to move too much, and twists her neck in order to look over at Jughead. His face looks peaceful in slumber, as most do, but also somehow relieved to have found it at all. She memorizes the dark circles under his eyes and knows he’s not a person to whom sleep comes easily.

She allows herself the moment wherein she traces the wild brow down along the cut of his jaw and the curve of his lips, slightly parted with soft snores. He has a carved, strange kind of handsomeness, as one could find the sculptor’s thumb in the crease where his eye becomes cheek.

(She’s never quite been able to study it for so long, and she finds she loves that little line.)

Betty doesn’t know what she expected to feel, looking at him, but it’s probably not this: the catch in her heart that she feels all the way into her throat. She digs her teeth into her lip and almost feels like crying, because this feels painfully like goodbye.

Which is ridiculous, because he’s literally asleep on top of her, and has known her body in one night as much as anyone before took several tries. And he’s everywhere here already; his light blue jean jacket tossed haphazardly onto her desk chair, his pants carelessly on the floor, the smell of him on her skin, sheets, and room—but faraway, in the part of her mind that knows where to hiss, he’s already gone.

She’s busying herself by playing with hovering fingers, dancing them just barely above his arm, swaying a rhythm from end to the other. She doesn’t want to wake him, doesn’t want to move, but wants to get as close to touching him as she can.

Eventually, she feels him move slightly and she looks up. His eyes are open on her, and she doesn’t know how long they’ve been that way. The softness there makes her think it might’ve been a while.

There’s a lot of blue in the dawn.

“Hi,” she whispers, breaking into a smile despite herself.

“Hi,” he returns, in what is dangerously becoming a pattern. She hears the crinkling of sheets as he moves closer, kissing her firmly, and she feels him already half-hard against her leg. She’s not sure if it’s just because it’s morning or if she has anything to do with it, but she may deepen the kiss and rut against him slightly to test the theory.

“Fuck off,” he laughs happily against her mouth, once he realizes what she’s doing.

She giggles as he rolls them, both of his arms wrapping around her now. “Good—fucking—morning—to—you—too,” he mutters jokingly between kisses, but she still agrees wholeheartedly. She’d thought their little domestic charade on Friday morning had been the pinnacle of such a concept, but as their hands move across one another and their lips mold, she realizes she had been wrong.

She has calloused hands where his are soft, but unlike her past partners, who had found it disconcerting that the sweet blonde thing they’d asked out to dinner actually had the hands of someone who dared to do their job, Jughead seems like it. He pins them overhead as he kisses her, rubbing at the rough pads of her hands with his own, lacing and unlacing their fingers while they move lazily against one another. The sun rises mutedly beyond.

The whole room smells so heavily like sex that she’s not sure what’s the work of her body right now or lingering from before, but when one of his hands disappears from her back and reemerges at her clit, his fingers run so smoothly against her that she knows the musk is not just from last night.

“God, you’re good at that,” she hisses, as two fingers curl within her.

“It’s all those years of bowling,” he teases, eyes dark. “You hold the ball just like—”

“You are so not talking about bowling right now,” she interrupts, laughing, though it quickly breaks off into something else as his thumb comes into the fray, almost as if to prove a point. He grins as she whines, and as lovely as his fingers feel, she wants much more. “Get a condom,” she instructs breathily, which seems to surprise him, as he knows she hasn’t come yet.

He practically falls off the bed in his haste to lean over to where his pants are strewn on the floor, but eventually he maneuvers a way to reach the pocket where the condoms are without his legs leaving the bed, or her.

Upon return, he does that thing again where he’s clearly trying to slow her down, and she wonders if this is him trying to tell her something. But in the end he gives up trying to distract her and lets her stroke at him. He mutters something indistinct and drops his head into her neck. It’s not quite power she feels a rush of, but something strong still. Pride, maybe, as he hitches against her.

“Okay, keep going and that condom is going to be useless,” he mumbles shakily as he nips at the flesh of her breast. She’s far too wound up for him to start doing that, so she rips at the foil and they roll it on together.

She hopes that the idle morning sun, now streaming brightly through the window—and the fact that they’ve now done this once before—and that the stakes aren’t quite as high—will be enough to keep this light between them. She doesn’t know if she can handle another round of the kind of slow, quixotic sex-that-isn’t-quite-sex that laid a raw little thought on her chest like the ghost of a kiss.

But that’s what happens. It’s morning sex, after all, which is always lazier and something more intangible anyway. He slides into her and maintains an almost agonizingly unhurried march onwards, as if he’s actively determined to draw this out as much as he can. And it feels so good and full that Betty can’t find a reason to flip them over and set her own pace, especially when his mouth moves around a pebbled breast and a hand is exploring the other.

“Tell me what you want,” he asks, but he can’t want that answer.

“More,” she whispers instead. It’s not a lie until, “Faster.”

She’s never understood the phrase “fooling around,” as it always seemed like an almost silly way to describe such casual attempts at something so intimate. But she gets it now. She feels foolish, this was all foolish, this was an idea that’s winding them down a path she doesn’t know and yet would never want to stray from.

She looks him in the eye and doesn’t know what she hopes to see there, but his forehead drops against hers, fringes of his black hair obscuring her view.

This time, they come together. She triggers it, she thinks, clenching around him, back bending off the bed, him high on his knees as if in worship.

After the less flowery parts of sex are taken care of—peeing, cleaning up, tying off condoms and disposing of them—they slide back under the sheets wordlessly.

He pushes her hair back from her face, like he was once tentative to do. She has no idea what time it is, nor does she care to. He settles onto his back, and she nestles against his chest and catalogues the freckles there, while his hands weave absentmindedly through her hair. Eventually, his stomach rumbles, which brings her back into the moment.

“You are literally always hungry,” she murmurs fondly, slipping her legs between his and moving a foot up and down his calf. She’d be happy to stay in bed all day, but even she’ll have to eat soon. She waits for him to make some terrible joke about working up an appetite, but instead he just sighs heavily.

“Yeah. Hungry,” he says, scratching at his nose.

It’s an odd shift in mood, so she shifts in order to look up at him. “Juggie?”

He glances at her for a moment before his eyes bounce up to nothing in particular. “I mean, you crave something long enough, and it never comes, it manifests in other ways.”

She smoothes a palm against his chest, considering this. “What do you mean?”

He almost looks like he’s about to say never mind, but, after some visible warring with himself, he folds to defeat. “My mom took off when I was fourteen. I somehow don’t blame her, because I think she was right to get away from my dad. He’s not a bad person, but they never are. He’s an alcoholic who dragged us through a lot of hell. I mostly just wanted her to come back for my sister, and me. Wanted her to want us. Craved it. Right around the same time, I shot up five inches and started eating for ten. Coincidence, or maybe not.”

His eyes briefly fall out of focus, as if searching a memory. But then he breaks it, turning back to her and trying to smile. “Or, that’s the analysis my psych-major sister dropped on my doorstep completely unprompted, anyway. I’m pretty sure she uses me as the guinea pig for most of her psychosomatic theories. Personally, I think all the food is about fifty percent habit, at this point.”

“Oh, Juggie,” she says softly, not sure what else she could possibly say. She knows he’s trying to play it off already, so she sits up in order to lean over him, grasp his face with two hands, and kiss him with what she hopes he knows is reassurance: he’s wanted.

(That’s never been the problem.)

After she pulls back, he lets out a long breath, and doesn’t look away from her. She notices his hand is still in her hair, cupping at her ear, his thumb swiping against her cheek.

It seems like the kind of thing he hasn’t talked about a long time, by the way his mouth curls around the words and how they come from somewhere wrought beyond him. She wants him to know how much it means that he trusted her with that kind of secret, but doesn’t know where to start. There’s a lot moving behind his eyes, too fast to catch it all.

“So apparently, I’m great at pillow-talk,” he announces finally, his arm coming around her shoulder, guiding her back down into the crook of his side. “How was your childhood, in 150 characters or less?”

She laughs. “Google type-A and that’s most of what you need to know, if we’re going for brevity. Or, we could play twenty questions?”

“Compromise, good, this is good,” he says, and she can hear him forcing the merriness, because that’s the one book she wrote. But she thinks he might need this, so she plays along. “Uh, any pets? A goldfish I don’t know about lurking in this room, currently very traumatized?”

“We had a little orange cat named Caramel when I was a kid. I named her, of course,” she says, which makes his eyebrows shoot up.

“We had this big, stupid, drooling sheepdog I had the utter gall to name Hot Dog, so no judgment,” he offers.

“Seems we both had a thing for food names,” she tells him, something that makes his eyes soften at the corners. “I guess my next pet will have to carry on the tradition. I always thought Polenta was cute as a name.”

“Polenta?” He repeats, scoffing. He adjusts so that they’re facing, a hand under his ear propping up his head, as the other one leads lightly up and down her hip. “We can do better than that, come on. What about…Burger. Burger the dog, that’s kind of cool.”

“I’m not naming my hypothetical pet after something you can find on the menu at Pop’s, Juggie,” she insists. “Broaden your horizons a bit.”

“Yeah, well. Fine. I’ll keep that one for myself, then,” he says, rolling his hand further down again, so that it cradles her ass and pulls her more flush against him. His voice drops into a murmur. “But you don’t get to start complaining when I show up with this super cool dog named Burger who gets all the attention I usually reserve for you.”

“I’ll try not to hold my breath,” Betty drawls, trying to drown the lingering thought that by the time he’d ever get close to a dog, he’d probably be far from her life.

He smiles, and nods at her. “We got off topic. Your turn.”

The game continues for a little while longer, but soon they both agree that they can’t get through a single question without a ten minute tangent, so eventually, the conversation just drifts into a debate on the worth of historical accuracy in books.

Jughead is a purist and a realist, by his own definition, and argues that romanticizing the past as a place that wasn’t as harsh and as cruel as it was demeans the value of modern rights advancement. He says that right as his hand finds something to do along her backside, and points out that even seventy years ago, she wouldn’t have had the social freedom to openly do what they’re doing.

She rolls her eyes and, in return, explains that it doesn’t matter, because people look to historical fiction for escapism, and want to feel represented by what they see. She points out that as a straight white guy—which she clarifies first, not wanting to assume after all those years of watching Veronica and Cheryl fume over bisexuality erasure—he’s automatically slated to appear and that he doesn’t know what it feels like to try to scrape to relate a character with the basest similarities.

He raises his eyebrows at that, acquiesces to her point, and then whispers that she’s way too smart for him. He kisses her then, with something new, but before she can start to wonder what it is, she hears noises that sends her heart into a flurry: the measured shutting of the front door, and the vague, bouncing laughter of children. Oh, crap.

She forgot.

Betty sits straight upright, which forces Jughead to jerk back in surprise, lest he be whacked in the face by her shoulder.

“Shit,” she hisses, rolling out of bed and nearly tripping as her foot snags on the tangled sheets, draped halfway onto the floor. She can’t believe this slipped her mind so completely, because Polly has a key—Polly has a key and she’s downstairs, and she’d forgotten all about the barbeque.

“Shit!” She says again, as Jughead pushes himself up on one arm and watches her scramble around the room and hop madly into the first pairs of moderately clean underwear and jeans she can find.

“What?” He says, like he’s been repeating it, and for all she knows, he has been. “Betty, what’s wrong?”

And then he seems to hear it; the sound of murmuring and moving around downstairs. Betty forcefully tugs a blue cotton shirt over her head, her hair flapping in her face with the blunt force of it. She blows it off her forehead and says, simply, “Get dressed, Juggie. My sister is here.”

That seems to propel him into motion, as his eyes widen and he hurls his legs over the side of the bed to pull on his boxers and pants. “I forgot, I can’t believe I forgot,” Betty huffs, pushing her palms into her forehead to keep them from curling into fists. “When it’s nice out, my sister and her husband’s family always have a barbeque on one Sunday of the month, and we’re doing it here today because our mom is out of town. Ohh, I was supposed to make potato salad!”

She feels a step past frustrated, veering dangerously into panicked, and Jughead seems to notice. He crosses the room towards her, still sans shirt, and rubs circles at the back of her neck. “It’s okay, everyone forgets stuff.”

“I don’t,” she insists. “I just…my thoughts have been kind of elsewhere.” She gives him a look, because elsewhere means him, and she hasn’t decided if what she’s feeling is fond exasperation or just the regular kind.

Then it all sets back in: her sister downstairs, the dishes she didn’t do, the food she failed to make, the fear of disappointing everyone when it becomes obvious she had completely forgotten they were coming. Oh, how could she have— Her breath hitches, and Jughead’s arms immediately wrap around her.

“Hey, hey,” he says softly. She leans into him, briefly allowing a moment of the stillness against the running list of mistakes she’s made in the past two days, which feels like more than she’s made in the past two years.

“I said to get dressed, Juggie. You’re still not wearing a shirt,” she says. She means for it to sound scolding, but it manifests as a giggle, because she can hardly complain when her face is buried into his bare chest and counting the fluid scats of jazz in his heartbeat.

“I can’t find it,” he admits, releasing a sound that’s almost a scoff, but far too tender to really be classified as one. “I think you threw it somewhere into the incessantly pink void last night.”

“Mm-hmm,” she tuts suspiciously, looking up at him. But she glances around, and doesn’t spot it for a few moments, until she sees the white, ribbed tank undershirt camouflaged on top of her equally white lampshade. She points at it, and he untangles himself in order to retrieve it. She hates how much she misses him immediately.

“I’d invite you to stay for the barbeque, but—” Meeting the family would be decidedly relationship-y, she thinks. “—I don’t think you deserve the full brunt of meeting my sister-in-law Cheryl for the first time in these circumstances.”

Jughead’s expression twists just as he’s pulling on the shirt, covering his face, so she doesn’t see it for long. It’s something that makes her hesitant, wondering if he wants to be invited to stay. The look on his face last night when she’d whispered the request into his ear makes her wonder it twice.

“Betty?” Polly’s voice floats upstairs. “Are you up there?”

“Yeah, Pol!” She shouts, not moving but to throw her voice through the house. “I’ll be down in a sec!”

Stay, she tries to will herself to say, but it’s still the one word she’s most afraid of.

Jughead looks at her as he loops his arms into his jean jacket, almost as if he can hear the thought echoing through her head. He seems to be waiting for her to say something. Maybe the sex changed things.

Didn’t it?

But she’s not wrong about Cheryl, who would be merciless if she knew what’d happened upstairs, and in her childhood bedroom, no less. Even Polly, in her way, would try to embarrass her. She definitely can’t subject a guy who doesn’t want anything more from her to that—and even if she’s starting to question that, now isn’t the time. So Betty gathers her breath, grabs his hand, and tells him she’s going to sneak him out.

She peeks her head out the door suspiciously before leading him silently down the stairs. “I’ll call you later, okay?” She whispers, when they’re at the front door. He nods mutely and she kisses him in a quick goodbye, but then he gestures at something over her shoulder.

Shoes, he mouths, and, shit, he’s not wearing them. Betty turns to gather the pair for him, but is greeted by none other than the approaching presence of Cheryl Blossom in her signature venomous red.

“Oh, don’t bother trying to smuggle him out, Bettykins. We already knew he was here,” Cheryl says, a hip jutting out and sifting through a bowl of cherry tomatoes, fresh from the fridge.

Jughead freezes, blinks, and meets Betty’s gaze, who feels just as confused as he looks. Cheryl sighs wearily and points at the large, scuffed, black, very out-of-place-looking pair of Jughead’s sneakers, lined up innocuously by the coat rack. “Unless Alice Cooper is vying for a transformation into the other Alice Cooper, we guessed you had a special friend over.”

Cheryl rolls her eyes when neither says anything. “So stick around, you pleb. Obviously. I’ve got some questions for you anyway. And Betty, you might want to check your sex hair before saying hello to your darling little niece and nephew.”

Grinning, she pops one of the cherry tomatoes into her mouth. Betty sees the moment where it squishes beneath her pearly teeth, and then she’s spinning around, her sharp red heels clacking away. Blushing madly, Betty quickly smoothes down her hair and whips the little elastic off her wrist in order to sweep it up into a messy bun.

“Tell me what to do, I guess,” Jughead says, meeting her eyes again. “Do you still want me to go?”

Not at all, she thinks. She thinks she might need him at her side to get through Cheryl’s interrogation, in fact. So Betty says stay and relishes the fact that his shoulders seem to relax in relief.

She checks herself in the mirror by the front table, and can see how this tangle of blonde would scream sex hair if it was down. She does her best to tuck in the stray curls into her bun, but quickly gives up. “Don’t worry, Debbie Harry. You look beautiful,” Jughead murmurs, pressing a kiss against her cheek.

Betty catches his eye in her reflection as it happens. They widen just slightly, as if almost realizing the casual intimacy of what he’s just done. But she liked it, though that feels like the understatement of the year. So she just twists around, cups his jaw, and returns the kiss onto his lips, if albeit more briefly than she’d like.

Then she rolls her eyes. “Okay, come on.”

Polly, her long blonde hair pushed back by a blue headband, is already husking corn in the kitchen. She spots Jason heaving a bag of coals for the grill into the backyard, and the kids must be causing chaos somewhere out there too. Cheryl is slinking around behind Polly, draped up against a cabinet in a red blouse and matching shorts and looking far more like an ageless lounge singer than any aunt at a family barbecue.

She swirls the iced tea in her hands when she spots Betty and Jughead, so forcefully that her ice cubes clink loudly against one another. It’s clearly an announcement to Polly that they’ve entered the room.

“Betty!” Polly greets cheerfully, her lips pressed together in a smile that Betty recognizes as a futile attempt at not looking mischievously gleeful at the sight of Jughead. “Who’s this?”

It’s the exact kind of thing their mother would say, in the exact opposite way. Alice Cooper would straighten, demure, and tilt her head as she said it, thinly veiled as an accusation. (So, logically, Betty finds a new reason to be grateful she’s not here.)

“Um, Polly, Cheryl, this is Jughead, a friend of mine,” Betty says, one hand on Jughead’s arm. He shifts forward in order to shake her sister’s hand once she’s finished wiping it against her apron. Behind her, Cheryl’s eyes threaten to roll backwards into her head and stay there forever.

“I’m sorry, did you say his name is Jug-head?” Cheryl intones, as if this a bad joke.

“Play nice, Cheryl,” Polly says warningly, before turning back to them. “It’s nice to meet you, Jughead.”

He surveys Cheryl skeptically, but at least seems to smile normally at her sister in response. Betty finds his closest hand and gives it a little encouraging squeeze, which makes him stand up a little straighter, as if perhaps realizing he’s actually meeting her family.

“By the way, Betty, you had left some dishes out, so I washed a few for you, and put the rest in the dishwasher,” Polly says, dropping her attention back down her work with the vegetables. She says it with an innocence that someone unfamiliar with her sister might not catch, but Betty knows her too well for that.

It’s a blatant teasing, because what she’s saying is, you left a huge mess in the kitchen to go have sex and I bet you don’t want me to tell Mom.

Which would be an understatement, considering that exact scenario is probably their mother’s very worst Faustian nightmare.

“Thanks Pol!” she replies, in her equally perkiest, most innocent voice. It seems to ring Jughead in on the game, because he throws her a dubiously amused look. “Oh, gosh, I think I forgot to make the potato salad, too,” she adds, putting her hands on her hips. “I was just so busy last night. Praying.”

Jughead, who had been stealing a chip from a bag on the counter, immediately coughs and sputters around it. Polly ignores this, putting down an ear of corn and delicately folding her hands over it. “Mom will be so proud,” she says, with total conviction.

“Oh, good lord,” Cheryl mutters dryly from the back of the kitchen. “We get it, we get it. Little Miss Easter Hunt found the bunny. Hashtag-yas-queen, hashtag-Betty-glows-up. Let’s move on.”

“Glad to see you’re in one of your usual good moods today, Cheryl,” Betty says pointedly, crossing into the kitchen and opening the fridge. She sticks her head in and pokes around at what’s available. “I did forget to make potato salad, though. I think it’ll take too long to soften up the potatoes, so why don’t I switch it to pasta salad instead?”

“That sounds good,” Polly says, dropping her share of the act.

Betty pulls a few things she needs from the fridge and gets to work setting up her prep space. Jughead sidles up to her, his voice by her ear, “You’d warn me if I was about to be descended upon by the Holy Matriarchy, right?”

“She’s still out of town,” Betty assures him, laying a hand over his. “She’s been really obsessed with these small-town-journalist conventions lately. She’s away for a week about every other month now. Polly thinks she has a secret boyfriend.”

“Or girlfriend,” Cheryl pipes in sharply, clearly eavesdropping.

“Right, or girlfriend, but—”

“But even Gaddafi would have a hard time torturing information out of Alice Cooper, so we’ll probably never know,” Cheryl cuts in again to add. Jughead raises an eyebrow at Betty, and she confirms this with a look.

“Gotcha. So, clue me in on the joke from before. Is your mom religious, or something? I don’t see any crosses looming around.” He asks, bumping her with his hip so that she can make room for him to help her. She passes him a knife and a spare cutting board and directs him to the tomatoes, which all feels very familiar, almost as if they’re stuck in some kind of time loop.

“Only when appearance demands it, which is kind of the point,” Betty explains. “She’s just…well, she’s a little better now, but when we were kids, she was very strict. She wanted us to present the right kind of image.”

“Ah,” Jughead nods, taking a bite of the tomato cube he’d just cut. “Explains the pink wallpaper, then.”

She tilts her head at him. “Meaning?”

He shrugs. “It just kind of seems like an idea of you. Not something you’d actually pick out for yourself,” he says casually, not realizing that Betty has stilled next to him. She’s had that thought so many times throughout her life—but not once has she ever heard it reflected back at her.

She feels it again; that deep-set, heavy sense of speechlessness, weighing her throat down like a stone. It’s a moment that feels hard to describe, but if she were to give it her best shot, she’d say she feels understood, in a way that is vulnerable and stripped down and more naked than she’s ever been around him, even considering what they did this morning.

She feels seen.

When the moment passes, Betty tries to throw herself back into cooking, though it’s hard with Jughead at her side, helping her chop and salt. His presence is distracting, heat practically pouring off him, and she wishes they were alone so she could show him how much that one little sentence meant to her.

She bites her lip, shakes her head, and attempts to focus on pasta salad. Pasta salad for your sister. Pasta salad for your very pure little niece and nephew, who very much don’t deserve to be exposed to the things you’d like to be doing. Which is to say, shoving Jughead up against the kitchen counter and making him feel everything she is.

Focus.

And eventually, she does. They move in tandem again, Betty passing him tomatoes as she washes them, him depositing the slices into the bowl she seems to shift to him just at the right time. It continues through shelling the peas and chopping the onions and it’s rhythmic, simple, and something they’re wordlessly on the same page about.

It’s not until Betty retrieves the dried bow-tie pasta and says, “Can you—” and Jughead nods, turning around to get a large pot, that they both seem to realize they have an audience. Polly and Cheryl gape at him, and he freezes, the pot in his hands, looking somehow like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

Cheryl breaks the silence. “You two are scary.”

After the pasta salad is finished and the vegetables are prepped, they all head outside onto the backyard patio. Jughead has been snacking his whole way through the afternoon—and finally gets to the worked up appetite joke she’d been waiting for—but just as he’s joined her at a chair with her requested lemonade and a plate of chips for himself, Cheryl materializes behind him, practically arriving in a cloud of black smoke. She pokes him forcefully in the shoulder.

“You. Get up,” she instructs. Jughead stares at her, and then at Betty for help, who feels the need to protect him from the warpath Cheryl appears to be on.

“Cheryl…”

“Don’t Cheryl me, Elizabeth Cooper. I merely have a few clarifying questions for Beetlejuice over here, regarding his little friend.” She clasps her hands together with the kind of air that implies resistance is futile, and Betty might agree.

She smiles at Jughead, but with the corners tipped down as if to say you might have no choice here, so he begrudgingly puts down his snacks, brushes off his hands, and follows Cheryl into a corner out of earshot.

Betty gets up from her lawn chair and attempts to distract herself by adding a few garnishing touches to her pasta salad. She tries not to watch them as they talk, but even a quick glance gives her a pretty clear summary of the conversation. Jughead’s arms are crossed, wearing an expression that straddles the line between overwhelmed and pissed off, while one of Cheryl’s hands moves rapidly over her head.

So much for sparing him.

“So, that’s Veronica’s ex,” Jughead says ten minutes later, appearing at her side and glancing around quickly to make sure Cheryl’s not eavesdropping in a nearby shadow before adding, “I can see why they broke up. Kinda seems like an immovable object vs. an unstoppable force type-situation.”

“Which one’s which?” She asks, smirking over at him.

“Loaded question. I’ll save that one for Nietzsche, when I meet him in hell,” Jughead sighs.

“We have learned that Veronica really likes redheads, though,” Betty points out, making him snort.

“She did ask me if I wanted to give her some kind of lecture about not breaking Archie’s heart, but now I’m thinking I might have to warn him about someone breaking his kneecaps,” he muses. “She’s definitely not over Veronica.”

“She said that to you?” Betty asks, surprised. This would be…well, monumental of Cheryl to confide this in anyone, but especially to a stranger.

“No, that was the impression I got,” Jughead sighs. “I don’t even know how she knew I was Archie’s friend, but she just kept pressing me for details. She’s not very subtle, that one.”

“This sounds dramatic, but she does have eyes all over town. And she did this to the last one too, poor girl,” Betty says, frowning. “It’s been over a year, but I’m not really sure what the appropriate time is after a breakup in a relationship like that to be over someone. They were really intense together, but it was mutual, in the end. But…I always got the impression that Cheryl thought they’d get back together eventually, which would keep anyone from moving on. Or she just might be a swan. I hope not.”

“What do you mean, she might be a swan?” He asks, glancing over at her. His lips curve upwards.

“Swans mate for life,” she explains. “When I was little, there was this pair of them who would always swim up Sweetwater and into the little canal downtown with the ducks. I fed them with my sister and grandmother every Saturday morning. One day, one of them was just…gone. It never came back, so something must’ve happened to it. I thought about that a lot for a while.”

Jughead is silent besides her, and she wonders if the conversation might’ve veered a little too closely to home. Eventually, he says, “What happened? To the other swan, I mean.”

She shrugs. “Not sure, really. My grandmother died that year, and we stopped going.”

“Huh.” He makes something like a grimace. “Sad.”

“Gee, don’t blow me over in one breath, Faulkner,” she teases, hoping it’ll break a bit of the tension. It works, because he releases a puff of air, rolls his eyes, and draws her against him, grinning goofily down at her.

“You’re so hilarious,” he drawls, his arms looped at the small of her back. One of his hands is dipping dangerously low into her jeans pocket, which she catches and brings back up to place.

“Juggie, my sister is like, twenty feet away,” she admonishes, but thrilled all the same. He’s gotten bolder and bolder with touches as the minutes tick by and she won’t lie, she’s getting dangerously used to it.

“She already knows what happened upstairs,” he murmurs lowly, his eyes on her lips.

“Yeah, but her children don’t,” which is all she needs to say for him to sigh and try to pull away. She hooks her own arms around his waist and drags him back. “I didn’t say you had to let go, just…maybe don’t grab my ass at a family barbecue.”

“Okay, well there’s a learning curve. Pun more or less intended,” he says, which makes her smile in spite of how bad the joke is. He only makes his deliberately worst quips when he’s feeling comfortable.

She shifts, tucking herself into his side, with one of his hands at her hip. They indulge to stand like that for a little while, wrapped up in one another and not saying much, both watching Arthur and Rose running through a sprinkler, Jason making Polly laugh as she turns over a couple of hot dogs on the grill, and Cheryl lurking around in the background, as usual—but on the opposite side of the backyard, glaring darkly at a rosebush.

It makes Betty frown. The redhead always has been known to slink around behind the scenes by her lonesome, but among family, she’s typically been more engaged, at least with her brother or the kids.

“I think I should go talk to Cheryl,” she says, clicking her tongue. “She looks miserable.”

“I figured that was the way she always looked, prepared to strike for the Iron Throne,” Jughead muses, and then nods. “But she wasn’t too pleased when I wouldn’t offer up anything that pointed to Veronica secretly hating Archie this whole time, so maybe.”

“I’ll investigate. Go mingle while I’m gone,” Betty advises him, running one hand along his jaw. “Jason really likes murder mysteries, you can try talking to him about yours.”

Jughead makes a sound that borders dangerously on a whine, but she just raises her eyebrows and he ends up nodding and mumbling something that sounds like I’ll give it a shot.

As they untangle and separate for their targets, Betty is struck with the thought that, for a guy self-described as not one for relationships, he seems to be making something of an actual effort to make a good impression on her and her family. If he were anyone else, she might’ve assumed it’s because he wants to keep getting laid for as long as he is here, but that just doesn’t seem like him.

She pauses, halfway to Cheryl, and looks back at him over her shoulder. Because, then again, how well can she really know him? It’s only been a couple weeks. But, still, the sex-that-wasn’t-quite-sex offered a lot left unsaid. She can’t let herself think that word aloud, describe what it was in such plain terms. But it felt like he was trying to tell her something, and she wished she had the courage to ask what it was.

Still—there was a secret there. The indecipherable stream of consciousness he dropped onto her skin like kisses, thoughts of beauty and thanks that were so mumbled together she hardly knew where one word began and another ended. The way he moved above her, in short, swift, sweet bursts.

The way he wanted to be sure she would come with him, in the end.

“Oh, it’s you,” says Cheryl when she notices Betty at her side. “What? Is the food ready, or something? Your little boy toy Snorlax finished consuming everything in sight and actually saved some for the rest of us? Great. Message received.” Betty blinks, and Cheryl’s eyes bulge warningly. “You can go now.”

Betty almost does. Almost throws her hands into the air and storms off, to join Jughead by the grill and forget she even tried. But she knows that Cheryl is her most dismissive when she’s in desperate need of company, so she decides to hold her ground. “You can’t…” She swallows around the words. “You can’t treat me like that, Cheryl. I’m your friend.”

“Are you?” Cheryl scorns, puncturing a watermelon sharply with her plastic fork. “You’ve always been Veronica’s friend most of all.”

“Well, yeah, she’s been my best friend since we were fifteen,” Betty says slowly. “But you’re family, and you know I don’t want to take sides.”

An acidic little scoff bubbles out of her. “Please. You’ve got the monochromatic eyesight of a dog, Betty Cooper. You always pick one side. This or that. Good or bad. Black or white.”

“That’s not fair.” She sighs, losing the will to argue. “I…okay, maybe I do, sometimes. But…losing my dad made me realize I needed to appreciate the time I had with my family. And that’s you, Cheryl, for better or for worse. You seemed like you were upset, so I came over to talk to you. But I’m not going to stick around for you to bite my head off at everything.”

She turns to go, and then hears, faintly, “Wait.”

Betty pivots back, and Cheryl is fidgeting, eyes on her fruit salad. “You’re right. I was upset. Trying to extract gossip out of your little sideshow boyfriend was like trying to pull his teeth out with a pair of drug-store tweezers, and it made me frustrated.”

He’s not my boyfriend sits heavily in the back of her throat, but Cheryl seems to be gathering her courage and it’s probably not the best time to correct her. “It’s just so hard, seeing her moving on,” she says finally, her voice very low. “I don’t know why I can’t.”

“Maybe…” Betty inhales. “Maybe it’s because you keep thinking Veronica wants to get back together.”

“Well, whose fault is that? When she told me she couldn’t handle things anymore, she…implied that maybe one day, if I’d ever gotten help—”

“She told you she loved you and always would,” Betty summarizes simply, sighing. “That would be hard to hear in a breakup, I get it. It would make you hold onto things. But you know what she meant—she just couldn’t keep going the way things were. And you agreed with her. You guys just had bad timing, and—”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Cheryl interrupts, narrowing her eyes. Betty shoots her a confused look. “Timing, you brought that up last time. What does that have to do with my problems?”

“Well…” Betty pauses, unsure how to find the words. “I mean…you guys just didn’t get together at the right time of your lives. That’s why it didn’t work.”

“Oh, come on. What does that even mean? You’re not about to tell me you believe in fate, now are you? What about the tooth fairy, Betty? You believe in her too?” Cheryl suddenly inhales, as if catching herself. She shakes her head a little, to show she’s apologizing. “Timing is just another word for destiny, which doesn’t exist, and I know a smart girl like you doesn’t believe in that. Right?”

“No,” Betty says slowly, after working through the words. “I don’t believe in destiny. I think we’re all looking for too much agency in our lives already to start questioning some sort of master plan at the same time. But…”

“Veronica and I didn’t break up because our moon charts were out of sync, Bettykins. We broke up because she couldn’t handle…you know. My moods.” What she doesn’t say is bipolar disorder, but Cheryl’s never been quite good at speaking clinically. Betty opens her mouth to tell her that she shouldn’t be ashamed, and that—

“Don’t bother trying to make me feel better, we both know I’m right. She asked me to get help for years and I didn’t want to until I lost her because of it. It was for the best, in the end, because then I didn’t do it for her. I did it for me. And if you’re not getting help because you want it for yourself, you’ll never hold onto it. According to the therapist I’m paying ridiculous amounts of money for, anyway. So it’s possible she’s just saying that to keep me coming back.”

“But breaking up with her left you to deal with it alone,” Betty says softly. She’s always been more on Veronica’s side of things, being her best friend and seeing first hand how much things wore on her, but at the same time, she still felt bad for Cheryl to not have a rock through therapy.

“I wasn’t alone,” Cheryl says firmly. “I had Jay-Jay, and Polly, and even you, somehow. And I had myself, and we both know I have enough personality for three people. And spoiler alert, I made it out just fine.”

She releases a long breath, glancing over at Jason, who is talking to Jughead. Based on Jason’s mimicking of a swinging baseball bat, Jughead is probably struggling through a conversation about sports wherein she’s sure he’s just regurgitating things he’s heard from Archie. It makes her feel all the more endeared to him, as he must be really trying.

Cheryl’s voice pulls her back. “You can’t put all your problems into one person, anyway. Especially not if you love them. That was the real fight, between Veronica and I. I put too much on her.”

“Yeah,” Betty agrees quietly, running that over in her thoughts. Cheryl’s right, of course.

“So it wasn’t timing, it was a choice. You either decide to work on what’s wrong, or you go your separate ways. Find a way to make it work, or call it quits.”

They’re silent for a long time. Betty stares over at Jughead, and wonders if there’s a choice to be made here. She says she doesn’t believe in destiny, but she’s been sitting here, blaming bad timing and accepting that he’s going to get into his truck and roll away out of her life forever, without ever planning on telling him that’s not what she wants. Isn’t that passively putting things into the hands of fate—which, if it doesn’t even exist, is just giving up before the fact?

The thought sits heavily on her chest.

Finally, as if forcing herself away from that little spot of fear, Betty remembers her promise. “You know, if want to try to get back out there, that girl Toni Topaz won’t stop asking me about you. She really wants to know you, I think.”

“Her? Oh, I know. She once liked a couple Instagram posts from two years ago,” Cheryl sighs, biting off a grape from her fruit salad. “She’s cute, I suppose, if you like the whole dressed-down-Nicki-Minaj-pink look.” Cheryl shoots her a sidelong look. “You really don’t think V and C are slated to reappear?”

“Well, it doesn’t help when you refer to yourself in the third person, but…no. I think she’s looking for something a lot less…combative right now. You guys butted heads a lot, even at your best. And she’s about to move across the country, right?”

Sighing, Cheryl nods. Straightens, shakes out her shoulders, and meets Betty’s eye. “Alright, fine. Give me Jem and the Hologram’s phone number and I’ll maybe think about it. Maybe.”

A little while later, just after they’ve all settled down onto the patio picnic table for their lunch, Betty gets a text from Toni.

omg, cheryl just texted me and said u gave her my number! we’re gonna get dinner next week. ty!!

And then, a second later, embellished with two little smiling devil emojis: now I don’t have to tell Kev I saw ur boy buying condoms AND flowers yesterday

You’ve got a real soft spot for blackmail, Betty types back. You two are going to be a match made in heaven.

lmao well ur one to talk! he looked like he wanted to die, so he must really like u to suffer the embarrassment of buying both those things at once ;)

Betty quickly shoves her phone into her pocket, her face flushed with warmth. Cheryl sits next to her, cutting up a hot dog into little bites, sans bun, and glances at Betty out of the corner of her eye.

She mouths Toni? at her, and Cheryl returns a shamelessly smug roll of the eyes and looks away, leaving Betty to glance around the rest of the table. Polly and Jason are chatting about the upcoming camp schedule for the kids, Rose has her face pushed into a hand-held video game, and Arthur is shoveling a burger into his little mouth with aplomb. She feels full and happy and for the first time in a long while, strangely at peace.

She meets Jughead’s eyes over a spoonful of pasta salad. He wiggles his eyebrows at her, grinning. She returns the smile, feeling something rise into her chest.

His eyes are very blue with something indescribably soft. Toni’s words settle down deep in her toes.

He must really like you.

#bughead fanfiction #bughead #betty x jughead #betty cooper #jughead jones #fics #another 8k word dump for you all #it was actually going to be LONGER but i moved a big scene to a later chapter #this fic is ruining my life omfg #i say that lovingly i promise #but also a lil bit of bitterness #but mostly lovingly #like #95% lovingly #5% bitterly #also i think i ruined bowling for myself forever #and the meme goes #'congratulations you played yourself'

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midgardianweasley · 4 years ago

Note

Oh please may I request a Natasha X fem reader where Natasha comes down with the flu & reader takes care of her. At first Natasha is in denial & stubborn about being sick but Reader is having none of it, especially for the woman she has feelings for. So reader carries Natasha to her room. For a week reader does her best to make the red head as comfy as she can. Then one night when Natasha is high on medication, confesses her feelings for reader. Just pure fluff! I will forever be grateful! ❤️❤️

of course! i hope you like it <3

Take care of you

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary/request: Natasha comes down with the flu & reader takes care of her. At first Natasha is in denial & stubborn about being sick but Reader is having none of it, especially for the woman she has feelings for. So the reader carries Natasha to her room. For a week the reader does her best to make the red head as comfy as she can. Then one night when Natasha is high on medication, confesses her feelings for the reader.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 3.8k

Message/ask if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

Requests are open

It was another day in the compound, the early sunrise started to make its way into your window, dimly lighting the room and beginning to make you stir awake.

A quiet groan escaped your lips, arms and legs automatically stretching before relaxing immediately afterwards. You’d just come back from a mission a couple of days ago, it had been exhausting and cold. So, so, cold. So it was a relief to get into pyjamas and your blanketed bed with the heating up so the room was warm, but not a furnace.

Standing up, your toes curled into the fluffy rug as you picked up a grey jumper that had been discarded beside the bed, throwing it over your figure, falling just below your thighs which were covered with loose sweatpants.

You made your way out of the bedroom and towards the communal kitchen belonging to everyone that belonged on your floor, Tony had made an all girls floor for us, apparently we need the space to deal with our 'girly stuff', that man has a way with words. Tony stayed with Pepper on their own floor and the male Avengers had been split up in small groups across other floors.

Expecting the kitchen to have a few people inside either eating or just chatting, you were surprised to see that it was empty for as far as you could see. However, it was obvious that people had been in beforehand, with the odd plate and mug lying around next to the sink.

‘Must be in training’ you thought.

Before you could walk to the kitchen island and begin to make something to eat, you heard a sneeze coming from the doorway a few steps behind you. With a small jump, you turned to see an assassin whose nose was currently the same colour as her hair.

“Sorry for scaring you.” She snuffled. Obviously the cold hit some people a little harder than others.

“It’s alright, you okay though? You sound a bit snuffly.”

“Yeah, I'm fine. Just allergies.” Pulling some Frosties from the cupboard below her, exposing her side a little as her top fell forward.

You knew she was lying, she’d told you ages ago that she didn’t have any kind of hayfever or anything when you walked around the compound with antihistamines constantly in your back pocket during the spring time last year and she was making jokes about how screwed you would be if the Avengers had to fight against pollen. You weren’t impressed.

You decided to leave it be for now, let her keep up her little facade, even though you knew, and she did too, that you could read her like a book and you knew she was sick.

“Right. Allergies.” You nodded directly to your friend and teammate, walking towards her to make yourself some cereal too, smirking to yourself slightly whenever you heard her try not to audibly sniffle.

The thing about Natasha that you'd always found so bittersweet, was her stubbornness. She always stuck to her guns, always made a deal to let it be known she was correct, however it was never in a malicious way, or to make anyone feel bad, she just liked to make her point. While you admired her confidence and certainty in her words, it was also incredibly frustrating when she was determined she didn't need any help.

Back in the days when she was hesitant to trust all those around her, she wouldn't let anyone help her heal her wounds from missions she'd been hurt on. Always brushing it off with an 'I'm fine' or 'I can do it myself'. She's grown a lot since then, she even occasionally let's you braid her hair when it's fallen out or she just needs to relax a little and while you know it's mainly for practicality, you still pride yourself on the fact that she chooses you to do that for her. To help her.

"Achoo!"

You just wish she'd have that same trust in you to nurse her a little.

"Doing okay over there?" You directed to the redhead who now sat curled up into the corner of the sofa by the windows, slowly munching on her cereal and taking short, mouthy breaths

"I'm doing" sniffle "great" She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, it slowly appearing more red and irritated by the action.

You internally sigh, wondering how long it'll really take for her to fess up to you that she was coming down with something. Continuing to make your cereal and tidy up afterwards, you pick up the bowl and make your way over to Natasha.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?"

"Sure, but not too close"

"Why not?"

"Because i.."

"Because you're…?"

"Sneezing all over the place! I don't want to sneeze on you. You know how it is with your hayfever"

In her years of being a highly trained assassin, a black widow, you think that that has to have been the worst lie she's tried to pull off.

"I do, but I don't think you would"

"Huh?"

"You don't have hayfever, Nat. You're sick."

"I'm no-" she was interrupted with another sneeze, grabbing a tissue from the box sitting on the table beside her.

“Bless you.”

“thank you” she mumbled, soon beginning to realize that with every minute, her story begins to crumble and her ill health becomes more obvious.

“come on, i’m taking you to bed”

“you’re not even gonna ask me on a date first? classy.” she joked, although congested, her wit remained just as quick and just as sassy.

It was moments like these, where she made those flirty comebacks or comments that made you wonder if the feelings you’ve harbored over the past months are reciprocated. you’d always put it to the back of your mind when you’d occasionally see her and Bruce cosying up, or what appeared to be a loving gaze shared between her and Steve. You decided to put your feelings to one side, not willing to not only ruin something for Nat, but end up being hurt in the long run. It was best to stay friends.

If only you knew.

A playful glare was sent her way upon hearing her words, trying to silently communicate that try as she may, she isn’t winning this one. It felt like you were staring at each other for hours, realistically it was only a matter of seconds, minutes at a push, before she threw her head back in defeat and audibly groaned at the fact she’d lost.

“Okay. okay, fine, I surrender”

You rolled your eyes at the dramatics, all of this for some bed rest, meds and soup. Standing up from your spot, you lean down and swiftly lift the redhead up bridal style in your arms, cereal being long forgotten. One of the perks of attending Steve’s training sessions, you build up a hell of a lot of strength because that man does not go easy on you.

It was a short walk to Nat’s bedroom, her room only being at the end of the hall down from the kitchen. She was practically half asleep in your arms, her head had found its way burrowed into the crook of your neck, minutes away from falling asleep.

“Hey FRIDAY, can you unlock Natasha’s room please? Hands are kinda full.”

You heard a small click noise before the door opened slightly allowing you to gently kick it open fully so you could walk in.

“Miss Romanoff’s door is unlocked, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Thanks F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

Walking in, you already had an idea of what her room would look like, having been in once or twice before. Natasha liked to keep her things tidy and in order, clothes laid away, bed made, floor clear. So to see her bed covers ruffled into a ball, tissues in the bin and scattered around and laundry in a bundle in the corner, it took you by surprise. She must really be unwell.

You took her over to the bed, laying her down gently before pressing the back of your hand to her forehead, she felt like an oven to the touch.

‘Okay. definitely a fever.’

She was in between being asleep and being awake, so you decided to leave her covers off and tidy up some of the mess in her bedroom. You discarded the tissues, hung up some clean clothes that were yet to be put away and replaced the space in the basket with her dirty laundry. Turning back to see if the assassin had fallen asleep or not, you really took in her appearance.

Her clothes were just slightly on the big side, but you could still see a faint outline of her figure, hair was tied back into a loose ponytail, letting the odd few strands escape and frame her face. Her eyes were practically fully shut, but you could still see the tint of green in them, slightly covered by her long, dark eyelashes. ‘It’s unbelievable’, you thought, ‘Her body is literally shutting down, and she still looks angelic.’

You’d be riddled with envy if you weren’t so entranced by her. Times like this, you wonder how you manage to keep your feelings to yourself.

“What” cough “what are you doing?” A raspy voice asked.

“Oh, I was just tidying up your room a bit, I know you like it to be tidy and-”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. I wanted to.” You ensured.

“Thank you.” It wasn’t obvious, you had to squint to see it, but she attempted a half smile.

“I’m just going to put this stuff in the wash, do you need anything brought back for you?”

“I’m just too warm.”

Looking around the room, you looked for ways to cool her down. There was the obvious option of windows, but they were full length except a tiny rectangle at the top which wouldn’t be enough air. You racked your brain for another minute before an idea came to mind.

“Wait here, I’ll be back in a second.”

“I’ll time you.”

If you weren’t in a rush to get back as soon as possible, you would’ve made a comeback to her comment. You took the washing to the laundry room, quickly throwing it all into the machine and putting on a boil wash before dashing to your own bedroom. Eyes scanning all over the room, it didn’t take long before they landed on the desk fan sitting on top of your wardrobe. Reaching up and grabbing it, thankfully it was a small wardrobe otherwise it would’ve been an incredibly embarrassing fall, you made your way back to Nat’s room.

Entering her room, you could feel it getting warmer as time went by. The woman hadn’t moved from where you left her, still sprawled out among the sheets. You set the fan down on her bedside table, plugged it in and switched the ‘on’ button. Over the quiet whirring, you heard a faint gasp of relief leave Nat’s lips, her body visibly relaxing at the cool breeze.

“That feel better?”

“Mhmm” She murmured, shifting in her bed to get as close to the fan as possible.

“How’s your hayfever now?”

“Hmm”

You chuckled at her sudden calmness that overtook her, glad to have been able to help her out a little.

It wasn’t long before she fell asleep, the last of her energy disappeared within seconds and soft snores emitted from her. Pushing her hair back off of her forehead gently, you whispered a quiet ‘sleep well, love.’ before walking out to do some other things around the compound, reminding yourself to come back in an hour or so to check in.

You didn’t notice the affectionate smile that had made its way onto Nat’s face at your gesture.

__________________________

“Miss Y/L/N.” Friday suddenly announced, making you drop the wooden spoon you were using to stir the soup you’d made for Nat. You remember her mentioning a dish called ‘borscht’, something she used to have in Russia, it was one of her comfort dishes. It was either this, or pizza. The soup was probably the safer option.

“Miss Y/L/N?”

“Yes, sorry F.R.I.D.A.Y., what’s wrong?”

“Miss Romanoff is awake and asking for you.”

“Oh, thank you! Could you let her know I'll be through in a minute?”

“Of course.”

And with a chime, F.R.I.D.A.Y. went off to pass on the message. You hastily got a bowl out of the cupboard behind you, spooning a generous amount of the soup in and covering the pot up afterwards.

The room had considerably cooled now, the fan had been on full speed since you left, the only difference was the curtains were now shut and the corner lamp was on, dimly illuminating the room.

A small ‘hi’ could be heard, although muffled, still audible. You knelt down beside her bed so you could be at the same eye level and tugged the blanket covering half of her face down.

“Hey sleepy.”

“Did I sleep for long?”

“Only an hour. Don’t worry.”

“An hour?! Ugh. I said to Clint that i’d train with him today. I’ll get dressed.” She attempted to sit up, and while successful, she looked as though she’d just got off the twister ride at the funfair. You shook your head, putting your hands on her arms and lightly pushed her back, raising your eyebrows in response to her playful glare.

“I spoke to Clint, he said he’ll catch you when he feels better. He didn’t feel up to dragging your passed out body off of the mats today.” She rolled her eyes.

“I’d be-” She sniffed, well, tried to, and looked around the room curiously before her eyes landed on the bowl beside her and then darted between it and your face.

“Did you-” She pointed towards the food “make Borscht?”

You looked down sheepishly.

“I tried. I remember you saying you used to eat it and I thought it might help. But if you don’t like it then-”

“I’m sure I will.” She reached over for the bowl, hand clasping the tea towel I slid underneath it so as not to burn her hands.

Settling with her soup, she blew on her spoon, cooling the substance before eating some. You watched anxiously, hoping you hadn’t messed up too bad, you’d only made it once before when she taught you the basics of it, so this was the first time you’d made it alone.

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding when you saw her smile, looking at you adoringly.

“I love it.” She rasped

“You do? Is it okay?”

“More than. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You smiled, making small talk here and there while she ate.

“Do you want me to set up a movie for you?”

“Sure.”

You walked over to retrieve her laptop, getting ‘Grown Up’s’ up on the screen. She’s recently been into Adam Sandler movies, it was a nice and easy movie to watch, it was really lighthearted. You nudged the laptop over to her, angling it so she could still see it properly when lying down. When you got up to leave, you felt a weak grip on your wrist, encouraging you to turn and meet those shimmering, slightly droopy, green eyes.

“Need anything Nat?”

“Can you stay? Please? I like your company.”

Your stomach suddenly became home to a zoo full of butterflies, as it often did when you spent time with Natasha. You’d both spent time together before obviously, but it was usually due to missions or as a group, only occasionally getting the chance for it to be just the two of you. So to have her openly request your company, it was heartwarming. Unbeknown to you, Natasha had the exact same feeling in her stomach, and it wasn’t because of the Borscht.

You gave her a nod, trying to hide the smile trying to force its way onto your face as you settled yourself down next to her, in the meantime missing the smile she was giving you, the kind where you smile with both your mouth and your eyes with a slight sparkle in them.

You looked up eventually, causing her to snap her head back towards the screen, a smile still clear as day on her face, only getting larger as you maneuvered your arm so it was behind her neck, allowing her to get closer, which she did. So close that you could feel her ragged breathing on your chest.

If you had to use one word to describe how you’re feeling right now?

It’d be warmth. The air may have been cold, the bowl left on the side will inevitably be the same. But all you can feel, is the warmth of the blankets spilling over the bed. The warmth from the laptop. The warmth radiating from the one who you admired so dearly beside you. And most vital of all, the warmth running through your entire body, making your heart feel full. If you had the chance, you’d bottle this feeling and treasure it forever.

__________________________

A week went by, and Natasha was almost fully recovered, just having to take her medicine and rest when she can, but she’s now able to walk around the compound more often. However, although she’s had this freedom returned, she doesn’t appear to long for it as much as she did a week ago.

When she woke up in the morning, she’d roll her eyes when you’d told her she couldn’t go and train, she had to stay in bed. Unimpressed with not being able to go about her day as usual, she’d try and convince you that you were being dramatic.

'I don’t need to stay in bed.'

'You're worrying over nothing!'

'Let me leave my bedroom.'

'I’m perfectly able to go and train.'

She wasn’t, and was soon proven wrong as she collapsed back on the bed with a cracking headache.

But now, after the last 7 days of eating with you, watching movies with you and just generally indulging in conversations until she fell asleep with you, she started to feel like she didn’t want to feel better, she wanted this time with you to last forever. If she didn’t have feelings for you before, she most definitely did now. Or more so that she recognised it more now. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Maybe it was the way you took the time to make her favourite foods, or maybe it was the way you always made sure to check in with her and how she was feeling. Although, it also could’ve easily been the way your eyes lit up at the funny scenes in a movie, similar to the way they did whenever you made eye contact with her.

“Nat? Earth to Nat?” Lost in her thoughts, Natasha blinked a couple of times to focus back on the girl in front of her, smiling as always.

“Sorry, daydreaming.” She chuckled, her face feeling warmer as a blush appeared on her cheeks.

“Don’t worry” You laughed. “I was just letting you know that I'm gonna go and get your Nyquil, it should help with the headache and sore throat.”

“Ah, so I'm getting the good stuff now?” She winked

“I think you deserve it, plus, you’ve blown through the last of the ibuprofen.” You gave her a playful glare, both of you knowing that you’d have to go and buy some more, but you didn’t mind, you’d have gone to all 50 states for it if you had to.

“What can I say? I’m sick” Pulling the puppy eyes, not being able to last a minute without bursting into a grin, which you responded with a dramatic faint for an exit out of the room, leaving to go and get the Nyquil.

Getting her to take it was easy enough, dealing with a sleepy Nat, not so easy.

“Y/NNNN”

“Yes?”

“I don’t like this movie.” She grumbled, pushing her face further into the pillow as her sign of protest.

“What’s wrong with this one?”

“It’s stupid.”

“You love this movie!”

“No.”

“Right, what would you like instead?” You asked, already clicking out of the movie to go and pick another one for the fourth time.

“I don’t wanna watch anything anymore.”

“Okay. I’ll turn it off then. Still want me to stay?”

“Please”

“Alright.”

You shut down the laptop, putting it to the side and lay down next to the redhead who was trying to fight sleep. You reached forward to put some hair that was in her face, behind her ear, trying to ensure she was comfortable. It must’ve worked because before you could pull your hand away, her face nuzzled into your palm, eyebrows easing from their furrow.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” She whispered so quietly that if there was any other noise in the room, there’s no chance you would’ve heard it.

“It’s my pleasure Nat.”

She opened her eyes fully now, instantly meeting yours, they were cloudy with sleep. There was a comforting silence surrounding the both of you, neither one of you daring to break eye contact, I hadn’t taken any medicine yet I was still falling asleep with how peaceful it was. I woke up more when she started to murmur again, this time, it was incoherent.

“What was that?”

“I like you.”

“I like you too, Nat.” You smiled warmly

“Noo, as in, I like you.”

You could’ve sworn you felt your heart stop. Is she actually- Is this- what?

“You’re just tired, love.” She shook her head

“m not that” Yawn “tired.”

“Tell you what, get some sleep and then tell me in the morning when the meds have worn off, okay?”

“m’kay. I will y’know”

“I believe you” You were hesitant with her words, unsure about whether this was a moment she’d forget tomorrow and it’s not her true feelings, or if it was true and the circumstances had just convinced you otherwise.

But, true to her word, the next morning when you woke up, still groggy from the sleep, she was laying there almost wide awake with a toothy grin.

“morn-“ And before you could finish your word, her lips were on yours. They felt like the perfect fit, moving against yours at a gentle pace, though still not enough to let you process what was actually going on.

“Morning” She pulled away.

“That enough confirmation for you?”

more than enough.

taglist: @the-dumbass-that-throws-knives

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julek · 4 years ago

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a humble offering to @west-moor and @kueble, for bringing this post to life. they’re very dumb, your honor. | read on ao3

It starts at dinner one night.

They settled in a few days ago, bringing the ice cold from the mountains and the snow with them, after trudging up the Killer for two weeks. They sit at the wooden table and before them stands Vesemir’s famous roast, the one Geralt had told Jaskier all about.

Geralt helps himself to some potatoes, and gestures to Jaskier’s plate. “You want some?”

Before Jaskier can nod, Lambert cuts him off. “Darling,” he says with a pointed tone.

Geralt turns to him, an eyebrow raised in confusion. “What?”

“You seemed to have forgotten you were speaking to your bard, there,” Lambert quips, and sits back with a knowing smirk. “Just wanted to help you out.”

Geralt blinks. “Uh.”

Jaskier notices the way he’s frozen in place, and gently touches his forearm, ignoring Lambert’s non-sequitur. “I’d love some, Geralt. Thank you.”

“Uh,” Geralt repeats, and doesn’t take his eyes off Lambert as he fills Jaskier’s plate. “Sure.”

Jaskier pads into the kitchen the next morning, eyes still fuzzy with sleep and an old, worn woolen sweater hanging off his shoulder. Geralt looks up from his bowl of kasha and smiles.

“Morning,” Jaskier mumbles, and sits down at the table.

“Good morning.”

The shout comes from the pantry, followed by the unmistakable sound of pans and cups clattering. “Morning, honey!”

Jaskier narrows his eyes, and looks at Geralt for help. He shakes his head. “Um. Hi?”

Out of the pantry walks Lambert, hands full of baking ingredients, a flour scar crossing his cheek. “How’d ya sleep, sweetheart?”

Jaskier decidedly does not blush a bright shade of red. He doesn’t. “Well, that’s just— thank you, Lambert, for asking. I slept well, even though this keep’s freezing cold and my bed was entirely too big for one fragile bard such as myself.”

Lambert frowns. “What do you mean, too big? You’re not sharing with Geralt?”

Geralt chokes on his kasha, momentarily. Jaskier snorts and shakes his head. “No, I’m staying in the east wing.”

“Ah,” Lambert says, a wolfish grin on his face as he ties the apron behind his back. “That’s… interesting.”

He shoots Geralt a look that’s there a second and gone the next, and Jaskier would’ve missed it, if not for the developed skill of observing Witchers and their fleeting emotions. Still, it’s a look he can’t decipher, a mix of amusement and mischief. Best not to find out, he decides.

“So, Lambert,” he starts, a touch louder than he should. “What’s that you’re making?”

Geralt had warned him, Jaskier thinks in retrospect, that Lambert was a bit weird. An acquired taste. And he is, Jaskier won’t deny it, but he’s also incredibly unpredictable — his gruff demeanor and rough disposition always, without fail, betray the sweet words that leave his mouth.

He’d been brushing the horses down when Lambert ruffled his hair and called him dear. Geralt nearly dropped his sword one morning, when Jaskier walked out onto the courtyards and Lambert called out hello, sunshine. On their way to the library to get absolutely smashed, a gentle touch to his elbow and little bird.

They’re all incredibly sweet, incredibly unexpected delicacies, and Jaskier doesn’t know what to make of them. Sure, Lambert isn’t horrible to look at in the slightest, what with the entire lean-body, scarred-face look he has going on, with the playful teasing and easy smiles he gets out of him. He’s objectively handsome, and funny, and kind, when he has to be, and Jaskier has let him know, many times. He hasn’t been exactly subtle in feeling his muscles through his linen shirts and sending looks his way whenever he’s said something salacious and tempting — signs so clear even the brother of one of the Continent’s most oblivious Witcher could read them. Which is why it’s so infuriatingly confusing, the fact that name-calling is all Lambert’s got for him.

And it’s not lost to him at all, the way Geralt frowns and fiddles with his medallion whenever Lambert lets a honey-sweet pet name slip. He doesn’t miss the way Geralt stubbornly looks straight ahead, focused on absolutely nothing at all, nor the way his mouth twitches, almost, almost resembling a pout.

It’s amusing, to say the least.

“Well, I’m off to bed, my wonderful friends,” Jaskier announces one night, after playing a few annoying renditions of Toss a Coin, until he got Eskel to break and beg him to stop.

The wolves say their goodbyes, and just as Jaskier’s about to leave the Great Hall, Lambert calls after him.

“Night, love,” he says, offhandedly, and continues his conversation with Eskel, as if nothing had happened.

Jaskier scans the room, and his eyes fall on Geralt, who’s trying very hard to remain seated, even when his knuckles are white and his leg is bouncing wildly enough to propel him into the night sky. His amber gaze follows Lambert’s movements and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say Geralt was about to throttle his brother.

“Hmm.” He murmurs. “Goodnight, Lambert. Goodnight, Geralt.”

Jaskier smiles sweetly and leaves the room at a leisurely pace. He can feel Geralt’s eyes on his back.

One particularly chilly afternoon, Jaskier’s leaving the library when he hears voices that carry through the hall.

“Well? Gonna explain yourself?”

Oh, the middle-aged woman that lives inside Jaskier’s heart and loves to gossip jumps up and down in joy at the prospect of what seems to be a very interesting conversation. He slips out of the room and presses his back to the wall, even when he knows the Witchers could sense his presence. It’s more fun if there’s a risk to get caught, he reasons.

Lambert’s voice is low, and Jaskier can hear his smug smile as he says, “Well, you weren’t doing anything about it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Geralt’s voice echoes.

“It means, you thick-headed idiot,” Lambert drags the words out, like he’s speaking to a child. If Jaskier’s quiet, he can hear the way Geralt’s blood boils in his veins. “That you’ve been walking in circles for too long. Jaskier’s here.” At the mention of his name, the bard perks up.

“I know that, Lambert. I invited him. What’s that got to do with this— this sweet talking thing you’ve got going on? It’s weird. Creeps me out.”

“What? I can be decent when needs must!” Comes Lambert’s offended retort. “What I’m saying, pretty boy, is that he’s a good thing, the kind that Witchers never get to have. Not that you own him or anything— it’s just. He’s good, and he’s obviously waited for you to make a move, sometime in this past decade. He’s here, for fuck’s sake— in an old ruin in the middle of fucking nowhere, holed up with four Witchers and a goat, nothing else. Ain’t exactly a walk in the park.”

Jaskier stands very still, his heart beating out of his chest.

“Hmm. I still— I don’t deserve him.”

Lambert laughs. “Well, too bad, then. You can’t come to me with that self-deprecating shit, I’m not Eskel. But, fuck, if you don’t deserve him, who the fuck does? Certainly not me, but— I need you to listen very closely— he won’t wait forever. He might even settle for me, if you don’t make a move soon.”

“Ugh.”

“Yeah.”

Geralt’s footsteps echo down the hall, moving closer to Lambert, Jaskier thinks.

“You’ll stop with the pet names, then?”

Lambert laughs, again. “Absolutely not. It’s too fun seeing you get all hot and bothered.” He steps out of the room, thankfully, in the opposite direction, and calls out, “Don’t fuck it up!”

Jaskier lets out a breath and slides to the floor, gathering the new information in his brain. Geralt wants him. He wants him, and worst of all, thinks he’s undeserving — damn him and his humility. He lets out a laugh in disbelief.

Geralt wants him.

The next morning, when Jaskier walks into the kitchen, he’s greeted by a blushing Geralt.

“Hi,” Jaskier says, an amused smile curling his lips, and sits down at the table. “How are you this morning, dear?”

Geralt pushes a bowl in his direction, a bit too strongly. “Good.” He coughs. “Uh, I’m good… Sugar face.”

“Huh?” Jaskier stops mid-bite. He quickly regains his composure. “Um— that’s good, I’m glad, yeah.”

Geralt grimaces, and an awkward silence follows. Jaskier digs into his breakfast with more enthusiasm than necessary, until Lambert walks in, firewood under both arms.

“Lambert! Thank the Gods— I mean, uh, it’s so good to see you. It’s a bit chilly this morning, isn’t it? I’m sure you agree, what with coming straight from the great outdoors and such— I’m going to the library, if anyone needs me, uh, just,” he rambles as he washes his bowl, “just call. You know. My name. Jaskier the bard, ha— that’s me! Anyway, see you.”

He makes haste to leave the kitchen, and as he walks down the hall, he hears Lambert clicking his tongue.

“Fuck, Wolf, it’s not even mid-morning.”

Jaskier stays in the library until the sweet aroma of Vesemir’s stew reaches the room and his stomach rumbles pleasantly at the thought. Given the way he’d fled the kitchen, he wouldn’t be surprised if no one called him to lunch — they probably thought he was having some sort of stroke, with his word-vomiting and hurried escape. He’s just opened a new book when he hears a knock.

“Come in,” he says, voice steady.

The door opens, and sure enough, Geralt’s standing at the doorway, a sheepish smile on his face and a terribly endearing flush creeping up his neck.

“Hey, love,” Jaskier says, because it’s difficult to call him otherwise. “You okay?”

“Hmm.” Geralt walks over to his chair, and stands there awkwardly until Jaskier gestures to a bench next to him. “We’ll have lunch soon.”

Jaskier smiles. “I was just thinking about that. It’s stew, isn’t it? Oh, Vesemir spoils me so.”

“Thought you’d be hungry,” Geralt says, looking at his hands. “You left breakfast early.”

Jaskier pales, then lets out a nervous laugh. “Oh! Yes, well, I had suddenly remembered a book I just had to examine more closely, and—”

“Jaskier.”

Geralt’s looking at him now, and Jaskier closes his mouth, choosing to look back into his amber eyes and wait for whatever comes. Nothing does, for a while — they just stare at each other, waiting for the other to speak up. Finally, Geralt does.

“I invited you up here, to spend the winter with me,” he rasps, “because I couldn’t bear the thought of not being close to you, Jaskier, I— I can’t stand it.”

Jaskier’s heart breaks a little. “Geralt.”

“I should’ve asked you to come up here years ago. I wasn’t brave enough. Thought you’d hate the idea.” He grimaces.

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeats. “When you asked me to come here with you— you have no idea what it meant to me, knowing you still wanted my company. I couldn’t have been happier.”

Geralt sniffs and gives him a weak smile, his white hair falling on his face.

“I’m not good at this,” he says, and gestures vaguely at the space between them. “The whole…”

“Calling me disgustingly sweet and somewhat alarming pet names?”

Geralt nods.

“I know, dear heart.” Jaskier takes Geralt’s hands in his own. “I know, and I don’t expect you to.”

“I’d still like to call you something, though,” Geralt says, the tiniest hint of a pout on his lips. “Can’t let Lambert best me.”

Jaskier snorts. “So it’s all about honor, then?”

Geralt shakes his head. “It’s about you.”

And oh, he sounds so sincere, so open and fragile, Jaskier can’t find it in himself to tease him any further.

“You know what I loved the most about traveling to Kaer Morhen with you?”

A tiny frown knits Geralt’s brow. “What?”

“‘T was when we stopped in those hamlets, the ones that aren’t even on maps,” he murmurs. “Where you gather your supplies, where people know you and call you by your name. You know why?”

Geralt shakes his head.

“Because,” Jaskier whispers, bringing their foreheads together, “whenever they asked you about me, about who I was, your answer was always the same.”

He’s my bard, Geralt had said to the horse trader when they bought a mule. My bard, he’d answered, when the chatty shopkeeper had inquired about the colorful fellow trailing after him. My bard, he’d said with a shrug and a fond smile, as Jaskier and the tailor entwined themselves in an argument about fabrics and the season’s colors.

My bard.

“You always called me yours.”

Jaskier closes his eyes when he feels Geralt’s lips on his own, a soft, gentle thing. They move slowly, simply exploring — when they part, there are kisses being pressed to his cheeks, his brow, the corner of his mouth and his jaw.

Geralt smiles at him, and Jaskier smiles back, aware that they probably look like two lovesick fools staring at each other, but far too gone to care.

“I don’t need flowery names or honey-soaked terms of endearment,” Jaskier assures him. “Being called yours is more than enough.”

Geralt presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Hmm. Can’t go around claiming you as mine, though. ‘S a bit archaic.”

“Mm. You’re right. Love of my life, my moon and my stars should be enough, then. Rolls off the tongue, even.”

Geralt growls. “Jask.”

“Dearly beloved— no, that’s too formal— I’ve always been fond of Angel, though I doubt I’ve earned that title.”

Geralt kisses him again, and Jaskier half-suspects it’s less about the tender gesture and more about shutting him up.

“I’ll think of more, you know. You can’t distract me with kisses forever.”

Geralt huffs a laugh. “Okay.” He pecks his cheek. “Bard.”

“Yours,” Jaskier says smugly.

Before Geralt can open his mouth, the library door swings open.

“Fucking finally, Geralt! We’re all so very happy for this revelation, way to go, and all that.” He clasps his hands together. “Now, you both need to get your asses to lunch, otherwise Vesemir will kick you out. Jaskier, baby, please be grossly in love with Geralt later.”

Geralt groans. “Fuck off, Lambert.”

He leaves with a cackle. Jaskier smooths out his doublet, gets up and holds his hand out to Geralt. He grins.

“You coming, sugar face?”

#mywriting #geraskier fanfic #geralt x jaskier #fair warning this turned out way softer than i intended. it's geraskier tenderness hours #also it largely does not make sense #like. at all #hope y'all like it still!#this was fun #also yes there are only two locations at kaer morhen they’re the kitchen and the library. no i do not take criticism

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justthehiddleswrites · 4 years ago

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Accidentally Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 6 | Having a bit too fun with our charming Captain America?

A/N: Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed). It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will. Keep your hate to yourself.

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt. Tom has an idea to solve all their problems. Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts. Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else. In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: As Molly and Chris become friends, Tom becomes jealous and makes a terrible mistake.

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of: child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED! THANK YOU FOR READING!

Tom came home carrying an enormous bouquet of lilies and roses he purchased on the way home. He bubbled with anxiety and excitement. His talk with Benedict had done him wonders. Until he opened the door to an empty house. He called out for Molly a few times but got no response. There was also no note. He slumped in a kitchen chair. His phone buzzed.

I’m on my way home. Sorry I didn’t leave a note. Hope you aren’t worried. I promise I’m fine!

Tom smiled at the message. He didn’t know why, but something gnawed at the back of his mind. He scrambled to his feet as he overheard the door opening.

“Tom?” Molly yelled into the house.

“In the kitchen, darling!” He fidgeted with the flowers behind his back. As he stared at the floor, a wide grin grew on his face.

“Molly, I…” His face fell as Evans walked in behind Molly.

“Look who stopped by and took me to lunch!” Molly squeaked.

Chris slung an arm over Molly’s shoulders. Tom’s fist clenched around the flowers behind his back.

“I hope you don’t mind me stealing your girl, Tom.” Chris smirked. “She said you were out to lunch with Benedict.”

“Not at all, Chris.” Tom lied. “I’m glad you could keep my wife company.”

“Pleasure was all mine, pal. She is,” Chris gazed down at Molly with a look that made Tom want to leap across the kitchen counter and strangle Chris. “a pretty special girl.”

“Chris!” Molly smacked his hand. “You are too kind. Thank you for a lovely lunch.” She squeezed his torso.

“And don’t forget about tomorrow. We will find decent margaritas in this city if it kills us.”

“You’re on. But you know I have discerning taste when it comes to my liquor.”

“That makes two of us.”

Molly and Chris giggled. “Let me show you out, Chris.” Tom offered.

Molly smiled over at Tom and noticed his hand behind his back.

“What’s that, darling?”

“What?” Tom’s brows knitted.

“Behind your back.” Molly strolled towards him and peeked around Tom. “Are those for me?”

Tom pulled the flowers out. “They are. I thought you might want them to brighten up the house.”

Molly gasped at the beautiful arrangement. “They are stunning, love.” She wrapped an arm around Tom’s neck and pecked his lips. “Thank you. I love them.”

Tom leaned down for another kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth when Molly sighed.

Chris cleared his throat and hooked his thumb towards the front of the house.

“I’ll just see myself out.”

Molly pulled back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Tom trailed kisses down her neck, tickling her skin. She giggled as Chris waved and walked away.

“What has gotten into you?” she teased as she pushed Tom back.

“Just selling the relationship. We are newly married.” Tom commented, kissing her cheek.

“Oh.”

Tom’s answer disappointed Molly. Somewhere deep inside, that place she never admits to having Molly wanted Tom to want her for more than just a PR stunt. She wanted him to love her as much as he pretended to. But it seemed clear Tom was content on keeping things professional.

“That is the plan, after all?”

“Yeah.” Molly shook her head. “So how was lunch with Ben?”

“Good. You’re going out with Chris again?” Tom’s heart sank further down as he shelved plans to tell Molly how he felt. Evans ruined that.

“He is staying in town for a few days and with you doing auditions and meetings tomorrow, Chris thought I could use some company.” She went to grab a vase for the flowers.

“I bet he did.” Tom muttered.

“What’s that?” Molly twisted her head around.

“I said how nice of him.”

Molly smiled. “It is. He is so funny too! The stories he tells.”

Tom inhaled sharply. “Think you can pry yourself from the Captain to go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?”

“Anything for you.” She cupped his cheek. “Now what would you like for dinner tonight?”

“Whatever you would like, love. I don’t have much of an appetite.”

Molly marched over to him and placed the back of her hand on his forehead. “That is the second time you have said something like that. Are you sure you’re not sick?”

Tom pulled back. “I’m fine. There’s no need to fuss.”

Molly pursed her lips. “After you drove me to urgent care, filled my prescriptions, let me sleep in your bed, and took care of my every need for three days, you can bet your sweet ass I’m fussing.” She touched his forehead again. “Hmm. I can’t tell if you have a fever. Go lie down in the living room and I’ll bring you dinner.”

“But I…”

“Go!” She jabbed a finger at the door. “I will not have you getting sick on my hands.”

Tom held up his hands in defeat. “Yes, ma’am.”

Molly came in with a steaming bowl of a beef stew she whipped up with leftovers in the fridge and on the side some thick slices of a crusty bread she picked up a few days ago. A heavy slash of butter on top. She arranged it on a tray for Tom.

“Arms and knees up.” she commanded. Tom complied, tucking up his knees. Molly set down the tray and then settled into the spot once occupied by Tom’s feet. “Eat up.”

Tom blew onto a spoonful before taking a bite. He moaned as he swallowed. “That is exquisite, Molly. What is it?”

“Leftover stew.” Molly took a bite herself.

“You made this with the leftovers?”

“You learn to get creative with the spice cabinet.”

“Foster care?” Tom asked quietly, teeth crunching through the crust of the bread.

“College. Financial aid only goes so far. I couldn’t let food go to waste. I became famous or rather infamous in the dorm freshman year with what I could with a microwave. A modern witch, they called me.”

“You have certainly bewitched me, darling.” Tom commented without thinking. “With your cooking.” he covered. “You are a genius in that kitchen. I will have to learn some of the recipes before year’s end.”

Molly gazed up at him, pained. He was already talking about when all of this was over. Tom quickly changed the subject.

“Tell more about college. I imagine it was rather different from my experience.” Tom ate another spoonful of stew, warming his insides.

“Where did you matriculate?” Molly teased in a haughty tone.

“Cambridge.”

She let loose a low whistle. “You really are Mr. Fancy Pants.”

“With a degree in Classics.”

Molly giggled. “And I thought a tourism degree was useless.”

“Enough about me. I’m boring. Tell me about you.”

They talked about college, about how hard summers were when the dorms closed and Molly would couch surf while working summer jobs.

“I had amazing friends.” she whispered. “I am forever in their debt.”

Tom reached over and pulled her to his chest. “I am so sorry you had to go through that.”

“I’m not.” She snuggled against him. “Our experiences make us who we are. The good and the bad. I would have preferred an easier life. I would prefer not to freeze every time someone raises their voice, but that’s not me.” she sighed and the tears fell onto Tom’s shirt.

Tom smoothed down Molly’s hair. “I’m sorry to upset you. Let’s talk about happy things.”

“What are those?” she chuckled softly.

“How about this?” He stared down at her tucked under the crook of his arm. “Tell me about some of the craziest things you’ve seen as a bartender in Vegas?”

Molly laughed. “How about the one about the guy who peed on a blackjack table?”

“This I must hear.” Tom chuckled.

Tom woke up on the couch that next morning. Molly’s messy bun tickling his chin.

“Molly…” He groaned as he sat up. “… I have to get up, darling.”

Molly burrowed deeper into Tom’s chest and he couldn’t help but wrap his arms around her. He kissed her temple. She hummed and sighed. Tom’s stomach clenched.

“Time to wake up. I need to shower.”

She slowly woke and stared at Tom, realizing the compromising position of their bodies. Molly scrambled away, blushing.

“So sorry.” She sat up. “I don’t want to keep you waiting.”

Tom cleared his throat. “I still have time.” Tom sat up and fiddled his hands in his lap. “You could always come with me. We could grab some lunch. You can see all of my ‘hard work’.” Tom gazed at her hopefully.

“I…” Molly pondered the offer. “can’t. I would only be in the way. And I have plans with Chris.”

“Chris, right.” Tom stood abruptly. “We wouldn’t want you to miss that.”

Molly gave a strained smile. “I already committed. But we are still having dinner?”

“Dinner, indeed. I’ll meet you at the restaurant at 6:30 p.m.”

Molly stood and hugged him. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

There was a knock on the door exactly when Chris said he would come by. Molly opened the door to find Chris leaned against the frame in jeans and a henley. A devastating combination.

“Hey babe, I have an Uber and a list of five Mexican restaurants with great promise. Ready to find the perfect margarita?”

“I am.” She stepped out with a smile. Chris slung his arm over her shoulder. Molly leaned in for a bit. Just long enough for a camera to click.

“That first place was awful!” Molly howled in the back of the Uber as they made their way to the next place.

Chris laughed next to her. “I never knew they could make tortillas out of rubber.”

Molly’s phone buzzed. It was Luke. She switched off the phone.

“Anything important?” Chris leaned over to glance at the screen.

“Just Luke. Tom’s publicist. It is probably just something about an upcoming event. I’ll ring him back later.” Molly shrugged before tucking the phone back into her purse. “Now an important question.”

“Which is?”

“Strawberry or Lime?”

“Lime all the way.”

“A purist, I like that.”

Chris burst into laughter.

Tom struggled against his sour disposition through most of his auditions and lunch. It wasn’t until he got to the restaurant for dinner Tom listened to Luke’s voicemail. Which led him to googling himself for the first time in years.

“Fuck!” He hissed louder than he wanted to, drawing the attention of a nearby couple. He forced a smile and gave a small wave.

Molly slipped into the chair. “Sorry, I’m a bit late. I lost track of time and then traffic.”

Tom’s fists clenched. “Having a bit too fun with our charming Captain America?” He spit at her.

Molly blinked at him. “What do you mean by that? I was with Chris. He seems like a nice guy.”

“And you are such a friendly girl.” Tom continued to speak in a clipped tone.

“Tom, what’s wrong?” She reached out for Tom’s hand, but he pulled it back.

“This is what’s wrong.” Tom slid his phone over to her.

Molly scrolled through the pictures with increasing horror. The headlines read: Hiddleston Marriage on the Rocks? Tom’s New Bride Steps Out with Captain America Himself.

“I… I…” Molly sputtered, handing the phone back. Hot tears hit her cheeks.

Tom threw his napkin down. “We’re leaving. Keep a smile on as we leave and when we get home. No need to give the paparazzi more fodder.”

Molly stood in a daze and Tom snatched her elbow roughly to lead her out of the restaurant. As they walked outside, Tom leaned in.

“Wrap your arm around my waist and laugh like I said something funny.”

Molly snaked her arm around him and Tom pulled her tight against him. They both threw their heads back in laughter until they got into the taxi, where Tom’s expression fell into a cold mask.

Molly sniffled with stifled sobs the entire way home. Tom took no effort to sooth her. He was… cold and detached. They repeated the charade from the restaurant up the stairs to the front door. Tom had to hold back from slamming the door.

“How could you have been so stupid?!” Tom hissed, slamming his keys onto the table.

“Don’t call me stupid. I was just going out with a friend.”

“A handsome movie star!”

“Not unlike my husband! In fact, Chris called you a close friend.” Molly raised her voice.

“He would say anything to take you from me!” Tom yelled.

Molly froze and her head dropped, shoulders hunching forward. “Please don’t yell at me.”

“How else am I to make you understand, Molly?!” Tom continued to shout like someone crazed. He gestured wildly in the air. “You are forbidden to see him.”

“I want out.” Molly sobbed.

“What?” Tom snapped out of it. He glanced at Molly, only to see the damage he had done. Molly was all but curled in on herself. She sobbed freely, shoulders shaking. “Molly, I…”

“Don’t touch me.” She turned from his hand, reaching out to her. “Why is Chris different from your sister?”

“Because Emma isn’t trying to steal you from me.”

Molly chuckled. “You’re fucking jealous?! How rich! Chris is a nice guy! I used to say the same about you. I used to…” her voice trailed off.

“Used to what?” Tom sniped, tears of anger and hurt filling his own eyes. “Take pity on me? Poor Tom with shit taste in women?! Has to pay a girl to pretend to be his wife for the papers?!”

Molly reared back and slapped him. Tom held his cheek.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Molly screeched. “I’m leaving. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you back.”

“Molly, please…” Tom begged.

“Fuck off, Tom!” Molly pushed past him. “I thought we were…” she sobbed. “But I guess not. It’s my own fucking fault.”

“What’s your fault, Molly?” Tom asked. “What’s your fault?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Molly cried, defeated. “I was clearly wrong about you.”

“Wrong how?” Tom’s heart shattered as she walked away, returning with a small bag.

“Goodbye, Tom. Don’t worry, I’ll be discrete. Wouldn’t want to tarnish your good guy image?” she sneered before heading to the door.

“Where will you go?” Tom grew more desperate as the reality of his actions set in.

“Away from you. Other than that, I don’t much care.” The front door slammed behind her.

Tom collapsed onto the couch and his head fell into his hands. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK!” he screamed into the void of his empty house.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston angst #accidently married

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yourtamaki · 4 years ago

Text

a kind dream, a cold reality

keigo x f!reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: angst, hurt no comfort, neglect

there was peace in stability. when exciting beginnings morphed into routine, safe knowing exactly how your days would pan out.

there was also distance. when love declarations became monotone, more habit then heartfelt and kisses become another chore to check off a list.

when did domesticity become purgatory, doomed to repeat actions until all sparks of life had been drained away?

you stood in the kitchen, preparing dinner nearly on autopilot. you didn’t have to look at the time anymore, you’re own internal clock telling you there was 30 minutes until it was done, perfectly timed for when keigo came home from work.

for when he’s supposed to come home at least.

you tried to not think of how many meals had gone cold while waiting for him to return from wherever it was he decided was important to be then with you. at least the neighbours loved you, accepting the countless dishes that would otherwise have gone to waste. you wondered what lie you should tell them today. that you had made too much? that you were trying out a new recipe? you had plenty of time to decide.

setting the table was now a mindless activity, each plate and piece of cutlery placed just so across the dining table. when everything was in its rightful place, you brought out the pasta dish, setting it in the middle in a large bowl with tongs propped up inside. you could never guess how much keigo would eat on any given day so it was always best to let him serve himself. with nothing left to do, you took your seat before the empty plate, staring blankly ahead at where keigo was supposed to be.

you used to love this table. it had been the first thing you and keigo had bought together when you first moved in together. not a bed or a couch. a dining room table from a second hand store he insisted you had to go to because, “we need something alive with memories, songbird.”

you remember how you had both spotted it at the same time. tucked away in the corner, legs scuffed to hell but with the most beautiful dark oak surface you’d ever seen. you hadn’t realized how small it was either until you both sat down for the first time with shitty takeout because neither of you had thought to buy cookware. it was impossible for your knees not to bump into keigo’s, for his thigh not to end up between yours. you both loved the table too much to return it so you had to learn to adjust. now, it was your favourite aspect about the table, the added feeling of closeness as you shared a meal with the love of your life. it set the tone for the rest of your house, turning it from somewhere to live to a shared home.

these days, you had more space then you knew what to do with, your legs could swing under the table unobstructed. you hated it.

your stomach growled, the sound quickly swallowed up by the vast silence. you didn’t want to eat. not yet, not while there was a chance he showed up and you wouldn’t ruin your first meal together in who knows how long just because you got a little peckish. you could wait.

and wait you did.

you plated up a portion for yourself as the setting sun darkened the house, eating mechanically until your fork had nothing left to pick up. the next part was almost a ritual at this point. storing the food away in tupperware, cleaning the dishes, wiping down the kitchen so come morning you could start the cycle once more. you had perfected the routine down to every last detail. there was nothing left to do but get ready to sleep and lay in bed, idly playing with the crimson feather that hung around your neck.

you could refrain from touching it throughout the day but you couldn’t stand not holding it when you were alone in the too wide bed. you were supposed to be surrounded by hundreds of these feathers. you missed the way his wings would wrap around you during the night, pulling you into keigo’s chest. sleep wasn’t the same without them but you had no choice but to make do with the lone feather.

was this going to be the rest of your life? cooking meals no one would eat, cleaning an already spotless house, sleeping cold and alone? this isn’t the future keigo promised you when he got down on one knee, tears already streaming down his face. you weren’t naive, you knew there would be hard times in your marriage. it couldn’t be sunshine and roses all the time. you just thought he would be by your side when those times came.

a tapping at the window had you shooting up in bed in fear, head whipping towards the sound. an all too familiar outline was hovering outside, waving for you to open the window. you carefully made your way across the dark room. you’d unlatched the large window so many times it had become muscle memory and soon enough, your husband was flying through, landing lightly on his feet.

for a brief moment, a warm burst of love filled you. he was home, just an arm’s length away. you knew you’d forgive everything, everything, if he wrapped you up in a tight hug. the one that hurt your ribs and left your feet dangling in the air as he swung you around. the one where you felt his laugh more than heard it, you were pressed so close to his chest. that’s all you needed to remind yourself what you were fighting for. just one hug.

keigo walked past you without a word and the moment died. you think a piece of you died with it. an important piece. it would remind you of the better times, when you weren’t a wife but a girlfriend. when you were a priority in his life, when you could count on him dropping everything if you needed him. the piece that kept you together, kept you whole was gone and in its place was not emptiness but indifference.

“you’re really not going to say anything?” you didn’t understand why your voice came out so hoarse until you realized it was the first time you’ve used it all day. keigo didn’t pause as you broke the silence, continuing to undress with his back to you.

“‘m tired, songbird. can we do this later?” can’t he feel it? the precipice your relationship is on the edge of, threatening to fall and shatter into a thousand pieces at any moment? it dawns on you, watching him yawn and stretch, shaking out his feathers, that no. he doesn’t.

“keigo.” he turned to face you, blinking at the use of his name. always kei, never keigo. “i think i need a break. ”

he huffed out a confused laugh. “break from what?”

“a break from us.” you never knew silence could be so cold. so cold it left you shivering in its grasp. that’s the only explanation of why you were shaking so hard you had to clench your teeth to stop them from chattering.

“that’s not funny, dove.”

“i’m not joking.”

“why?” it was your turn to laugh, a broken, shrill thing that hurt your ears.

“you can’t think of one reason? one reason i’d have to be unhappy in this relationship?”

“look, i know i’m not around much these days but-“

“days? try months.” you felt nauseous at the sight of him, pale faced and eyes that darted around like a cornered animal looking for an escape. distantly, you realized this was unfair to him. you had ambushed him, gave him no preparation for what was quickly turning into a fight. but the hurt that had been growing inside you, gnarled and twisted with thorns that wrapped around your heart and shredded it with every beat demanded to be heard. you could flood your home with all the pain you housed.

“i’m sorry, songbird but i’m a hero. i work the hours commission tells me to. i can’t be here all day with you and you knew that when we first got together.”

“don’t try to make me sound unreasonable for wanting to spend time with my husband. i’m alone, keigo.”

“i know.”

“no you don’t! i am alone. i don’t have friends cause they all used me to get close to the number two hero. i had to sign a contract that said i wasn’t allowed to tell anyone where we lived. i don’t leave the house cause i’m terrified of someone recognizing me and using me against you. i am alone, keigo. with not even myself for company cause i don’t know who i am anymore outside of being your wife.”

he bowed his head, shoulders shaking though you didn’t know from what, his wings curling in as if to protect himself from your rant. “do you still love me?”

you sighed, your mouth opening and closing trying to think of how best to phrase what you felt towards him, “if i didn’t love you, i wouldn’t be telling you all this. i would’ve just left.”

“then stay. please. we can work through this. i'll be better, i’ll cut my hours. please, y/n. i can’t lose you.”

“i love you, kei. but i don’t think i was ever meant to be your wife.”

he was openly crying now, teary eyes meeting your dry ones. you didn’t know when you’d moved past that stage of grief but you were beyond grateful. it gave you the strength to power through this for the both of you. you owed him at least that kindness.

“that’s all you wanted once.” he whispered.

“the dream was kinder to me than the reality.” the truth of your statement was a punch to the gut. you’d wanted nothing more then to marry him, had daydreamed about it long before he popped the question. it felt like an inevitability. an intrinsic truth. the sky was blue. grass is green. you would be keigo’s wife someday. but love alone wasn’t enough to keep you two afloat. not when you’d been left alone to man a sinking ship. “i’ll take the couch and pack in the morning.”

“no! please if… if this is the last time…”

“it’s not forever, kei. just until i remember who i am outside of these walls.”

“still, can i hold you? please? just for tonight.”

you never could refuse him.

your bodies fit back together as though no time had passed since they’ve last held each other. despite the air still tense with emotion, you felt your body relax in his grasp, conditioned to associating the warmth of his chest against your back with safety. you knew in the morning, you’d wake up happy. the memories from tonight would be slow to trickle back in. but that was a problem for the future. tonight, you would savour the bliss of falling asleep with the person you loved most in the world. and you did love him. loved him so much it hurt. loved him enough to take this step back so he wouldn’t blame himself when he woke up one day and realized his wife had become a shell of herself.

#hawks x reader #hawks imagine #bnha x reader #bnha imagine #keigo imagine #keigo x reader #mha x reader #mha imagine #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo imagines

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sagefzy · 4 years ago

Text

PART FOUR: POPCORN AND GREEN TEA

perfectionism | prev | next

You tapped your foot on the pavement, anxious to finally meet the eyes of your old friend. The feeling of excitement was almost overwhelming all your senses, the only thing you could focus on was the plain, faded brown door in front of you. Quickly, you sent Suna a text to let him know of your arrival, however in the corner of your eye, you suddenly noticed two figures approaching. You shrugged it off, thinking that it was just two guys passing by on a walk, but rather than walking past the house, they stepped up the driveway slowly drawing near you.

Hearing Ennoshita's words in your mind about being aware of your surroundings, you discreetly glanced back observing the two. But, much to your surprise, it was the exact two guys who bombarded you at the supermarket yesterday. Well, actually, more like the one blond who smashed a shopping cart into your heel, blubbering apologies and looking away, while the other one stood there and watched the whole incident play out.

You watched them for what seemed like forever. Could they possibly be Suna's friends? No, the whole thing seemed too coincidental, surely that couldn't be the case. Not willing to take the chance, you took out your phone once more in hopes to get Suna to clarify that those were, indeed, not his friends. Unfortunately for you, it appeared that the universe had decided to make you a pawn in its game because the two of them were, indeed, his friends.

You let out a heavy sigh, you could already tell that the next few hours would be nothing but awkward stares and embarrassing conversations. Not wanting to ruin your one day of freedom- the one day where you didn't have to listen to your dad's constant yells, telling you how much of a disappointment you are- the one day where you didn't have to sit in front of the piano all day just to feel some sort of gratification. It was then that you decided to just ignore the situation, and pretend as if the blond wasn't the reason that the back of your foot was wrapped in a bandage. For all Suna knew, this was you guys' first encounter, so be it.

Right as the door opened, your eyes were drawn to the tall green-eyed boy who you used to spend every day with as a young kid. "Y/N, so glad you're here!" Suna smiled, as he went in for a quick hug. "Those two behind you are Atsumu and Osamu." He introduced, pointing to the two that were now directly behind you. The blond looked absolutely horrified, stealing brief glimpses at the bandage that hugged your heel, the other one, however, stared back with a nonchalant smile. "They may have almost the same face, but the one with the ugly piss-colored hair is Atsumu, and the normal looking one is Osamu."

You grinned back at the two, showcasing your brightest smile, hoping that they'd get the message to not bring up the fact that this was not your first encounter. You were going to introduce yourself to the two, but the blond seemed to beat you to cut. "How come Samu is the normal one?" He whined.

Suna snickered, "Because Osamu doesn't act like a dramatic brat who needs his hand held every damn second of the day."

Suna's blunt words made you softly chuckle, there was something in friendly banter that just made it so pure and innocent. You looked up at the two, noticing that the blond's expression had softened after hearing your giggles. With the brief moment of silence at hand, you decided to take this as the moment to introduce yourself. "I'm Y/N, it's nice to meet you Atsumu and Osamu."

"Well now that we got introductions out of the way, why don't we go inside and find something to do," Suna suggested.

"Rinny, can we watch a movie?" You asked excitedly. The last time you had watched a movie was when you hung out with Nishinoya, Tanaka, and Ennoshita before leaving Miyagi, and your dad hardly ever let you engage in anything other than school work or piano, making it a rare treasure.

Suna nodded, "Watching a movie it is."

As all of you entered the house, you couldn't help but hear the blond, Atsumu mutter to his brother, "If I called 'm Rinny I think he'd punch me on the spot."

A smile quickly reappeared on your face as you heard his brother respond, "I don't know, I'll give ya one thousand yen to put it to the test."

"No, I think I'll choose life," He giggled.

You found your way to the couch and swiftly pulled out your phone, eager to let your friends know your current situation. The whole scene sounded like something straight out of a book.

You clicked your phone off and turned your attention to the aroma that seemed to be emerging from the kitchen. The familiar scent, caramel popcorn and green tea, jogged an almost forgotten memory of your childhood. An unlikely duo, yet even as a child you couldn't get enough of the weird combination. No one would've ever thought to put the two together, but it just worked.

You almost laughed at the sight. Suna walked out of the kitchen juggling three bowls of caramel popcorn, three bottles of energy drinks, and, of course, your mug of green tea. Since he had such little grace, you got up and lent a helping hand. "No, no you're my guest and you're injured go sit back down," Suna scolded.

"Well it's too late, I'm already here, so I'll just take some of that off your hand," You said while grabbing the mug of tea and the three energy drinks. You walked over to the twins and handed them each their bottle.

"Say what happened to yer foot over there?" Osamu asked with a smirk on his face.

"Oh yeah you never told me what you did to your foot, Y/N," Suna added as he placed the remaining bowls on the side table.

"It's not a big deal I just scraped myself with glass while unpacking," You blurted. You hoped that the lie was convincing enough, but to be honest, scraping yourself with glass sounded way more believable than being run over with a shopping cart.

"I see, sorry to hear that," Osamu responded in an almost surprise-like manner. You thought that maybe he expected you to call out his brother, however you decided to stick with your initial decision of ignoring the situation to save your night from awkwardness. His expression only got more surprised as he realized the unusual food combination you were eating. For only eating caramel popcorn with green tea, he looked as if you were committing a crime against food.

"Green tea with caramel popcorn?" He asked.

With no shame you nodded your head. "Don't knock it until you try it, it's my favorite combo in the world. I can never get enough of it."

Suna sighed, "Yeah, it's no use to convince her otherwise it's been more than a solid seven years since i last saw her and she still likes it."

The night ended almost as quickly as it started. Although you were initially worried about it being awkward, your worries were soon rested once Osamu started explaining his love of cooking. You both talked endlessly about all sorts of sweets and savory foods you both enjoyed indulging in. However, his twin, on the other hand, barely talked as he aimlessly played around with his phone.

Your eyes noticed the time on the nearby clock, the numbers displaying that it was near midnight. Your stomach instantly knotted, if your dad wasn't asleep, you for sure were going to get an ear full when you arrived home. You picked up your phone, and smiled at Suna and Osamu who's chest softly rose up and down as they slept.

You stood up quietly, getting Atsumu's attention. You didn't expect him to do or say anything since he'd been quite dull the entire night, but it seemed like this was a night of surprises. "Yer not planning to go all the way to the bus stop by yerself now are ya?" He asked.

"Well I'm not waking either of them so they can escort me if that's what you're asking," you responded "But, you're more than welcome to join me if it'll put your mind at ease." You fully expected him to not care, however he grabbed his jacket next to him and stood up, walking over to where you stood by the front door.

He quietly opened the door, careful to not make a creaking noise. "After you," He said as he directed you out of the house. The crisp winter air hit your face, your whole body jolted from the sudden change of temperatures. "Don't suppose yer cold now?" He asked, probably noticing your shivering. You replied by shaking your head and continued on the trail to the bus stop.

The rest of the walk was mostly silent, neither one of you knowing what to say. This was definitely uncharacteristically of Atsumu, anyone who'd even slightly know him would expect him to be chatting your ear off with overdramatized commentary. However, things seemed to be different in this situation, there was an eerie feeling about you that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Of course, it didn't help that your first encounter with him was him, in fact, running a shopping cart into you, but it wasn't just that. Maybe it was the way you presented yourself, in an almost sickening sweet-like manner. It all felt artificial, like a facade.

"Well this is it," you said, snapping him out of his thoughts, "Just in time for the last bus, thanks for walking with me." You turned around to enter the vehicle but before you could, a hand made its way to your arm. You immediately flinched at the contact, pulling away at the light hold he had on you.

"I'm sorry I just- i um," He started, trying to find a way to word what he wanted to say. "I wanted to say that 'm sorry for yesterday, it was kind of a shitty thing to do, and 'm also sorry for not really talking all that much today, ya seem really nice and I'm usually not this bad when it comes to meeting new people. And, I totally ruined the night by ignoring you I-"

You lightly laughed, "It's alright, plus any friend of Rin's, is a friend of mine, and you didn't ruin tonight at all, I thought it was perfect." You both smiled back at each other, not saying anything for a moment. You cleared your throat, "Um, I'll see you around, have a good night, Atsumu."

He watched as you entered the bus. A small smile made it on his face as he watched you wave goodbye from the bus window. He waved back and muttered under his breath, "Good night, Y/N."

The bus ride was only about ten minutes. Anxiously, you opened the door to your house, hoping that by some miracle your dad would be sound asleep. The old door slightly creaked, you peaked inside and all your worries flushed away as you saw your dad passed out on the couch. Granted he was passed out drunk, at least that's what you gathered by the four bottles of empty beer that laid at his feet.

Even for you, life wasn't as perfect as it seemed. As much as you wanted it to be, as much as you led people on to think that it was, it just wasn't. The worst part of it was that deep down, you felt accountable for it all. Maybe if you would've been just a little better at piano, you could've achieved your perfect life.

You reached your bedroom and exhaustedly plopped down on your bed. You glanced at the picture of your mother on your bedside table. Her long hair glided down her lavender dress, her face gleaming with a smile. In one hand she held her violin and the other held an award deeming her the best violinist in the nation. She was talented, beautiful, intelligent, and made your dad happy. She was absolutely everything you weren't, and your dad made sure to remind you everyday.

Life before she died was perfect. You could never recall a memory of you being sad around her. Before you closed your eyes, you whispered, "I wish I was perfect like you."

fun facts !

Whenever Atsumu doesn't know how to address a situation, he just goes on his phone and plays angry birds.

If you're ever bored, Osamu will talk forever about all the different ways you can cook the same recipe.

Suna can never stay awake during a movie night, he always falls asleep somehow.

Before getting into volleyball, the twins' mother tried to get them into violin, however that quickly failed once Atsumu broke his bow on the second day of lessons.

perfectionism ©

smau written by @sagefzy

tagist: open just send an ask :)

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tigerseye46 · 3 years ago

Text

A Hero Is Born (Red Shark/Sand Au)

Summary: After being dismissed by Guanyin after centuries under their teaching, Red arrived at the city to live a normal life, hiding his identity and powers. He has spent four years in the city and works at Culinary Cicada, content with how he is now. He didn’t expect his life to change one day.

A/N: Finally got this done. There are going to be rarepairs but aren’t the main focus for this chapter so I didn’t tag it. Sun Wukong’s alias is Sun Hàoyú 昊瑜 meaning “vast and limitless excellence.” Zhu Bajie’s alias is Zhu Xiùliàng 秀亮 meaning “refined light.” Sorry if these aren’t good aliases. I know Sha Wujing’s staff can’t control water, but in this au, it can. He learned how to do that after the journey. Also I want to say thank you all my anons and others who put in ideas for this au! It made it really fun! Anyway enjoy!

AO3 Link

Red would admit he didn’t care much for the legends as other people did. He had been a small part of those legends so they weren’t extraordinary to him (not that he had revealed that information to anyone).

But Mr. Sun and Tang always loved to talk about them, especially the latter, so he listened to the elders. Today was one of those days. A special day that would change his life forever.

“The thing you need to understand, bud, is that the old legends are never finished. While there may be no pages left to turn, there is always more. Years ago, the Spider Queen and her army attacked. No one could stop them, no one except… Sha Wujing. Using his crescent moon spade, he trapped the Spider Queen under a mountain. He made it so no one else could wield it and he trapped her forever.”

“With the battle won, Sha Wujing… disappeared and was never seen again. It is said that the spade remains there, preventing our world from being destroyed. Because of him, civilization was able to prosper into the awesome world we see today. All thanks to Sha Wujing!”

Red hummed as he leaned against the counter. “That’s cool I guess.”

Mr. Sun scoffed. “Just cool? You know how many people would love that story?”

“I’m just not that impressed by it.”

“How dare you. You always react to the stories that way. Thought that one would bring more excitement.”

“Well, I’m not your audience. You’re not putting on a play for me.”

“At least you listen anyway.”

“That I do. I do think Sha Wujing is more impressive than say the Sun Wukong or Zhu Bajie.” At least he didn’t attack him as much as the others.

Sun appeared as if he was offended by the statement. “He is impressive… I like the Monkey King better,” he muttered. “Anyway, you know the deal. One peach soup.”

“Yea, yea. You got it.” He attempted to pass the bowl but it was quickly taken away by Tang.

“Not so fast. You left out so many details, Hàoyú. No extensive details of how he defeated the Spider Queen? He’s a hero! He deserves a better explanation than that.”

With an eye roll, Hàoyú responded, “Whatever.” He made grabby hands at the bowl. “Can I have my soup now?”

“No. You’re a scholar, tell the story accurately or I might go to your rival.” Sun huffed at the mention. “I could do better, better than those stupid depictions of Sha Wujing, no one can really capture his handsomeness, huh?” He cleared his throat, the small blush on his cheeks fading away. “Anyway, Red, you have orders to take out. Get to it!”

“I was about to take my break.”

“Break? You've been taking a break all morning. How is Culinary Cicada supposed to flourish if you’re slacking off?”

He began pushing Red, rumpling the other’s lotus print shirt. He shoved takeout bags in his hands then sent him out. The human heard a slurp behind him. He spun around to see Sun had stolen the soup back. Furrowing his brows, he suggested, “How about you tell an actually good and detailed story about Sha Wujing and you keep the bowl?”

“You just love hearing about your crush. Alright, it’s a deal.”

————

Red entered an abandoned construction site, whistling a tune under their breath and focusing on their phone. He paused when he heard a voice. “It’s amazing that you’ve finally done it! Are you ready, you two?”

A nasally voice replied, “For the last time, Goliath, we’re almost done.”

“Sorry, Syntax! I’m just so excited!”

“You can’t blame uncle Goliath’s excitement, dad.”

“Hmph. Well, try to hold it in for a bit longer.”

The demon hid behind some rocks. He spotted three spiders and a human surrounding a mountain.

One spider towered over the group, he fiddled with his fingers nervously, indicating that despite being the giant, he was probably the most gentle one out there.

Another had his hands behind his back, tapping his feet impatiently.

The third was tinkering with an invention, a device strapped to his back. The human was beside the third, he had a purple bandanna with two green marks, almost like eyes, wrapped around his forehead and a black coat with white fur.

“Because of you two, we can lift Sha Wujing’s spade!”

Red moved higher up and looked at the glowing object. The duck beside him quacked out of surprise. What was a duck doing here? Whatever. It wasn’t important.

“Sha Wujing’s spade,” he whispered.

“The spider clan will be restored!” Goliath’s shoulders briefly bounced up in surprise. “Huh?”

Huntsman was on top of the mountain and started reaching for the weapon. “Huntsman,” Syntax yelled. “Don’t do that!”

“Whatever, nerd.” He gripped it and instantly got zapped by it which sent him crashing into a wall.

Syntax stood over him. “Idiot. This is the hundredth time you’ve tried this. You think you would have learned your lesson by now. We’ve clarified that he made it so only someone worthy would wield it.”

“Which is why we have this.” The human gestured to the power glove. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

“Hmph, brat.”

“Go ahead, Xiaotian.” Syntax pulled Huntsman up, their cheeks becoming green for the slightest second before they focused on the kid.

Xiaotian strolled up to the weapon and pulled on it with the glove. Sparks danced until he was able to rip it off. He held it high in the air and shouted in triumph, “Look at what I did!” Goliath and Syntax applauded him while Huntsman huffed.

“I could have done it,” he mumbled.

Xiaotian went back up to his family with a smile and waited a second before asking, “Wait, why isn’t anything happening? Are you three sure this is the right mountain?”

Syntax scoffed. “No, Xiaotian, I think it’s the other one.”

The mountain rumbled and cracked in the center. The Spider Queen destroyed it and crawled out with a cackle. “I’ve returned! The queen is back!”

Red’s eyes widened. Oh no. The queen was free. What should he do?

The duck pecked his hands as he was pondering. “Hey!” He attempted to shoo the duck away. “Shoo! It’s rude to peck at people’s hands!”

The four bowed to her with heads hung low, the human placed the crescent moon spade aside. “My queen,” Huntsman started. “We’re glad to have you free.”

“My clan,” she cried. “Wait, where are the rest of you?”

“I’m sorry. We’re some of the few spiders left.”

The Queen’s fist clenched, her happy tone at being freed slipped away. “I see. It’s all Sha Wujing’s fault. Now introductions are in order for the new members.”

“Well, there’s me, Huntsman. Then there’s Goliath and…”

“I can introduce myself, brute. I’m Syntax, my lady, and this is my son, Qi Xiaotian.”

If Red wasn’t so focused on the situation, he would have thought, Son? Those two look nothing alike.

“Son?” Her majesty questioned.

“Yes, he is my biological son. I wasn’t born a spider but I would say those details are for another time.”

“Alright. How did you all manage to free me?”

The human stepped forward with a spring in his step. “I did it, my queen! I managed to harness its power to make it our-” Her majesty loomed with a glare. Xiaotian nervously chuckled. “Our power,” he finished.

With a scoff, the queen congratulated him reluctantly, “Good job… for a human.”

Ignoring the human comment, he beamed. “Thank you! Now, we, the Spider clan, can rule the world!”

The duck continued to peck at the demon. The demon flapped a hand to get rid of the sting while the bird focused on the other one and made him fall right onto Qi Xiaotian.

Red held up the bag of food. “Hey… did someone order food?”

Huntsman and Syntax stared at Goliath. “What? I didn’t order anything.”

Xiaotian shoved him. “Get off me, dumbass! You ruined my moment!”

Spider Queen focused on the intruder. “Well, well, we’ll, an eavesdropper has fallen into our midst. It’s a shame to crush such a tiny, insignificant thing like you as my first act but, oh, what can you do?” She was about to crush them when she was interrupted.

“Wait, my queen.”

Ugh, the human. She rubbed her face. “Yes?”

“You don’t have to waste your energy. I’ll handle it! Allow me to prove myself!”

“Fine. Go ahead.”

Red muttered, “Maybe I can go now.”

“You’re fortunate, grocery boy. It’s not every day someone is crushed by the Spider Clan! You should consider yourself-”

The demon’s ears picked up a sound, his gaze drifted to the staff. “Sha Wujing’s staff,” a voice whispered.

Xiaotian growled, “You’re not listening! I, Qi Xiaotian, will not be disrespected! You’re toast!”

The human attempted to punch him with the glove but he blocked it… blocked it with the crescent moon staff. Fuck. “How did you?”

How did he? He could have used his fire to block it. Why didn’t he? Well, his identity was a secret and he barely used his fire since he became Guanyin’s disciple so that was understandable. But to grab the staff, what was he thinking?

“That’s scientifically impossible,” Syntax said.

“I don’t understand what’s happening but I don’t care. That’s ours!”

“I was supposed to be on my break! Dang it, Mr. Tang!” The weapon activated and whacked the human and the spiders (save the queen) away.

“This can’t be,” her majesty muttered in disbelief.

“That was not what I expected.”

Huntsman hissed, “That doesn’t belong to you. Give it to us!”

“Ummmm… no?” Then suddenly he was launched into the air by the weapon. “AHHHHHH!”

“He can’t leave with the damn thing!”

“I was trapped under a mountain and suddenly, a thief takes it!”

Xiaotian bowed. “Allow me, your majesty. I won’t fail again.”

“Fine! Go!”

The human grabbed his technological staff and made off in his motorcycle to give chase.

-------

Red took in deep breaths to calm himself down as he landed on the ground. Xiaojiao snapped a picture of herself with her sword and motorcycle outfit. During the picture, she used her magic to create sparkles. “Nailed it!” She pocketed her phone and put the sword away.

“Xiaojiao!”

“That was a cool game of tag! You looked like you were having fun! I wanted to join in too!”

“I almost died.”

“But you didn’t! We should go to the arcade! Invite your new friend!”

“He was trying to kill me.”

Her face turned dark. “Where does he live? I’ll handle him.”

“Red Son! Where are you?” Tang stormed up to them. He showed his phone to reveal a zero-star rating. “I got a zero-star rating because of you. Would you like to explain yourself?”

“I think what happened is-”

Xiaojiao giggled. “Congrats, Tang! It’s better than nothing!”

“No, it isn’t! You know you would be in trouble if this happened to my magic shop, missy. Now, Red, you’re-” Tang searched around. “Where did he go?”

Red slipped past him. “Mr. Sun!”

“Hey! Come back here!”

Ignoring him, the demon ran into the shop. “Mr. Sun!”

Hàoyú was in the middle of his bowl. “Yea?”

“So, remember the story you told me this morning? About the Spider Queen?”

Tang and Mei followed him. “Red, we weren’t done talking.”

“Yea, that’s great, Mr. Tang.”

Sun sipped his soup, completely disinterested. “Yea? What about her?”

Red got close to his face. “She’s back! Sha Wujing’s staff was removed! We have to find him! He has to save-”

Sun pushed him back and held his bowl protectively. “You’re getting spit in my soup. Calm down. Who knew that would be the story you get wrapped up in? Relax, it’s just a story.”

“It’s not just a story.” He showed the spade. Hàoyú pursed his lips, contemplating the possibility or holding back from saying something snarky, Red wasn’t sure.

“Wow, Red, you found a stick!”

“No! It belongs to Sha Wujing!” The three burst into laughter. Red growled, his fists briefly flamed but no one noticed except him. “Listen to me! The Spider Queen is out there. I’ll prove this belongs to Sha Wujing.”

Sun raised a brow. “Okay. How?”

“Ummm…” The spade wobbled, it grew then stabbed part of the wall, causing a crack before shortening.

Sun gasped and he was about to get a closer look when Tang pushed him away. Tang grabbed the arm holding the spade and hoisted it up towards the sky. His eyes twinkled. “Sha Wujing’s spade! I knew it! His awesome weapon that he used to seal evil! Wait… why do you have it? And where is the queen now?”

“She’s at a fashion store,” Mei responded.

“What?!”

“I hope this isn’t one of your puppy videos, young lady.”

“There’s always time for a puppy video, Tangy, but no. Look at what’s trending. Hashtag Spider Queen!” She showed a video of the Spider Queen robbing a fashion store with Qi Xiaotian. The queen used some device to absorb a one-of-a-kind item.

Tang panicked when the video ended. “Okay! We have to do something! Get in the truck!” He shoved them in the truck while they shouted out of surprise.

The group yelped as Tang drove like a madman through the streets. They were squished in the car, Red rasped out, “This is a little uncomfortable.”

“Tang! Can you slow down? You’re going to kill us,” Mr. Sun told him. He couldn’t die but he knew it would be unfortunate if the group got into a crash.

“Yea. We need to get to Sha Wujing without getting injured in a crash.”

“Guys! The Spider Queen moved downtown! She’s destroying the mall!”

“We need to get to Sha Wujing fast. The only problem is we have no idea how to get there.”

“Ugh, you’re right. How do we get there? Do we just keep driving?” Tang asked in a frantic tone.

Mr. Sun replied, “Well, if you would have let me talk before you pushed us in here. I know someone who could get us there!”

“Really?”

“Yep! An old friend of mine. The greatest, excellent, glorious Zhu Xiùliàng. Now drive there, Tang!”

“Drive where?”

“Uhhhh… oh, yea, you need directions.”

-------

The group watched kids climb on the tall pig like a jungle gym while others were in the corner conversing or doing other activities. Wukong had a big grin on his face at the scene.

Xiùliàng chuckled and cautioned, “Careful, little ones.” He gently put them down, they frowned and he reassured them, “You can play later. Grandpa has to talk to these people first.” They reluctantly agreed and began breaking away to do their own things.

Sun blushed as the light hit Xiùliàng in a way that illuminated his beauty. Tang whispered to him with a smirk, “Oh, now I know why you brought us here.”

Xiaojiao teased, “Wow, Mr. Sun. We have to save the world and here you are trying to pick up a guy. I see you.” Sun shot them both a glare.

The pig didn’t hear them, he instead focused on beaming at the kids as they walked away. A hand was placed on his hips and he turned to the group with a “Sorry about that. That’s a lot to take in.”

“It most certainly is, old friend. I was hoping something like this wouldn’t happen,” he muttered.

“I was hopin’ that too,” Xiùliàng muttered back. A child with black hair tied up in braids and a blue headband with a flower ran up to the pig with a drawing in hand. “What is it, Yǎshuǐ?” He picked her up so she rested on her arm.

“I made you a drawing, grandpa!” She waved it in front of the pig’s face then looked towards the group. Her eyes briefly widened in surprise before she gave a wave. “Hi, yéyé!”

“Hi, hon,” he greeted.

“Oooo, yéyé. Didn’t know you had grandkids with him,” he teased. “Why didn’t you invite me to your wedding and why didn’t the paparazzi cover it?”

“Shut up, Tang. It’s for respect, you know that.”

“Mhmm…”

Red shook his head. “Disregarding Mr. Sun’s love life,” he murmured. “Mr. Zhu, we need your help to find Sha Wujing.”

Xiaojiao got on her knees, bringing her friend down with her and pleaded, “Yea, we could really use your help.”

Red sighed. “Please help us. The fate of the world is at stake.”

“Alright,” he answered. “Really?”

“Of course. Anything for Sun.” The two cheered. “I’ll just drop these kids off then we’ll go.”

“WOOOOO!”

------

Tang hummed as he walked along the path, trying to contain his excitement. “See, this isn’t that bad,” he said then a trap sprung out of nowhere. “Eep! Never mind! Stupid Sun, stupid Zhu, why did we let them stay behind?”

“Because you said they could.”

“Careful, Tangy. I wonder why Sha Wujing chose to live here.”

“I don’t know. Good thing it isn’t Sun Wukong’s home or we would have to go pass the Flaming Mountains. They actually had to borrow my m- Princess Iron Fan’s fan to-”

A cackle came out of nowhere. Syntax appeared. “If it isn’t you three.” Syntax used the glove to pound at the ground, sending it up.

“Hey! Be careful, kids!”

“I’ll be taking that spade.”

Red held the weapon up. “This is Sha Wujing’s. You are not taking it.”

“You’re just a bunch of broken metal, can’t even make anything useful.” “What? Oh, whatever.” He charged at the spider who caught the spade with glove.

He was launched and heard the distant cry of “RED” as he blacked out.

------

The demon woke up on Sha Wujing’s mountain. “I’m… I’m here?” He stood up and started walking. He spotted a house and peeked inside but found no one so he continued onwards. There was a handmade statue of Tripitaka and Sha Wujing. “Wow.”

The sound of a twig snapping caught his attention. He saw the very person he was looking for glancing at him with a frown. “Huh?” Then the figure ran off.

He followed quickly and reached a river, a single fish. “A fish?” The fish jumped out of the water, a blue light surrounded it. “Ack!” The older demon appeared. “Sha Wujing?”

“It’s been a long time, Red Son or should I say, Red Boy?”

“You know it’s me?”

“You literally just switched the Boy to Son. No shit. Surprise your little friends haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Yea, I haven’t told them yet.”

“I know. Anyway, where’s my spade?”

“Oh… ummm… I’m sorry! I lost it. I was trying to bring it to you and-”

Wujing laughed. “I know. I’ve been watching you.”

“What?” He flashed back to some of the animals he saw. “That was you?”

“Yep. I need something of you, kid. I need you to be my successor.”

“What? Are you sure? Has your brain short circuited?”

“No,” he replied annoyed. “My brain is fine. You’re going to be my successor. Look you came all this way and were fine.”

“Because I’m a demon!”

“Regardless of that, you still made your way here and you’re experienced in fighting. Be a hero.”

“What about the Spider Queen?”

“What about the Spider Queen? Take it as a trial or a warmup.”

“But I-” He sighed, he was hoping he could lead a normal life but he supposed he had no other choice especially since the elder had no intent on helping. The elder was changed, certainly different from the demon who was considered more calm and rational.

Sha Wujing grunted. “What are one of those bullshit quotes I can give you? Oh, right. Believe in yourself and you’ll be fine. The spade was taken from you! Get it back!”

“Alright!” He zoomed off.

Wujing whispered, “Hope this makes you happy, master.”

-------

Xiaojiao was about to use her powers when Red Son crash landed. Red dusted himself off.

“Kid,” Tang yelled.

“Red,” Xiaojiao shouted. “You’re alive! We saw you blast off! We thought something happened to you! Where did you get the jet? You crashed it already! Did you find Sha Wujing?”

“Yep!”

Tang questioned as he looked around frantically, “Where is he?”

“He said it’s up to me, to all of us.” Sun and Zhu exchanged glances.

“What?”

“That’s anticlimactic.”

“How are we meant to fight that?” Sun motioned to the Spider Queen’s humongous form.

“We believe in ourselves. You clean the streets while I stop her… somehow.”

“The jet would have been useful.” She kicked the broken pieces and a speed bike was revealed.

“That works.”

“You can do it, pal!”

Red drove off and approached the queen. “If isn’t the thief trying to ruin my big moment.” She attempted to squish him when he dodged with the bike.

“Where is it? Where is it?” He squinted at the device the queen had been using to absorb objects, the spade rested in the middle. “Here goes nothing.” He ran into it.

Xiùliàng covered the group. “I’ve won! The clan has been restored!” She stumbled. “Huh?” Red emerged with the weapon. “Sha Wujing?”

“Nope. Just Red.” Red punched her. Spider Queen tried to blast them, they dodged with taunts, “Nice try! You missed! Almost!” They pushed her down with the spade then used it to cut half of a building. “Here we go!”

As he was about to trap her, the Queen roared, “I won’t let this happen again!” She destroyed it, the younger demon was sent backwards. “Sorry, doll. Good luck trying to trap me again. I AM THE QUEEN!” Red’s gaze shot towards a body of water. “You might have that idiot’s staff but you are not Sha Wujing!”

“No, I’m not. I’m Red, his successor!” He lifted the spade up, water swirled around it and he sent it to attack the queen. “It’s time for your reign of terror to end!”

The queen gasped and her powers waned, she turned back to her normal form. “That’s impossible!”

“Nothing is impossible if you believe.” Xiaotian raged, “This isn’t over! You wouldn’t be so mighty with your precious powers, sand boy! Come fight me!”

Red was about to do when a web entangled him. The three spiders showed themselves. “Nice try. We know when to leave the party. We’ll see you,” Huntsman said. Syntax threw a smoke bomb and they disappeared.

The group cut Red free. “You can’t run when I’m about to win! Hmph.”

His friend hugged him. “You kicked SQ’s butt! Without us the city would be toast.”

“I couldn’t have done it on my own.”

Xiùliàng hugged them. “You did.”

“You’re the new Sha Wujing now I guess.”

“I’m proud of you, Red,” Tang said. He was proud of his kid but he couldn’t understand why Sha Wujing had chosen to hand his weapon to a random kid. He’ll think about it later. “I’m really proud.”

“What do we do now?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Red perked up. “Yea! We could bring justice to the world! Go after bad guys!”

Sun suggested, “Or we could eat.”

“Let’s go with that.”

The group discussed their recent adventure while Sha Wujing watched from a building. He frowned, shifted to a duck and flew off.

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lyallblacklupin · 3 years ago

Text

Deaf and Blind

The First Wizarding War is saturating the air with doubts and terror, making it difficult to love or trust just like it has become difficult to breathe. Love and Trust; are they the same things? Because Sirius doesn’t trust Remus, neither does Remus trust Sirius anymore. Both live under the same roof yet their secrets are keeping them miles apart, until one day Remus leaves, but Sirius chooses to believe that he will come back, so he waits in agony. Do they still love each other?

Chapter 1

Call him a Black or egocentric; they are the same thing. You’d imagine that after everything that has happened exactly the way Sirius yelled at Remus’ face, he’d be living in utter contentment.

“I just can’t stand you anymore!” Remus jerks up from his chair to flee the kitchen, aiming his way to grab his coat.

“You think I can!?” Sirius retorts back, louder than Remus, “You are a liar! Selfish git who would do anything to hide his pathetic secret! Because you prioritize yourself over us! I would die than let anything happen to you all! Do you think I’m full of myself? Why don’t you take a moment and analyze what you are becoming! What the war is doing to you! You are a coward, Lupin! I don’t want to be with a coward like you!”

Despite the invisible daggers thrashing onto his chest, Remus is still walking to the door in frantic, trying to gain composure over his trembling limbs.

“You go! Walk away! Like a coward you are. But I tell you this,” Sirius follows him to his pace in the corridor. It is quite a long corridor they have. He grabs Remus by his forearm which yanks him away. Those amber eyes glistening, wearing agony caused by the words of his best friend, his lover, his everything, “I’m not going to care! Just like you don’t! You never did, when you disappear for weeks and tell me nothing where you went. You’d just sit in your cloud of melancholy as if the world is harsh to you only. Can’t you see? You are ruining other people’s peace, breaking their hearts, causing them pain by your mere existence!”

Sirius knows he is out of the line but his body feels liberated as if his chest is opening, becoming weightless. The blood that has been racing in him has adept his body, consolidated in every corner of his body. This felt different, and not in an agonizing way. He is staring hard at Remus’ face, and he emphatically ignores to read him.

Nevertheless, he is taken aback by a major change in Remus’ expressions. He looks tired. He is not frowning. He is looking behind Sirius, lost somewhere. And suddenly, Sirius is out of words. He thought he has won, but when Remus slowly advances, speechless since forever, and walks past Sirius, to the bedroom, it doesn’t feel like winning at all. Sirius does not utter a word—more like he cannot utter a word.

Remus sighs, and retrieves a duffel bag from their wardrobe. Sirius’ blood runs cold because he sees him extracting a glop of his clothes and socks and stuffing it in the bag. He also goes into the bathroom to fetch his toothbrush and potions. Sirius stands there still like a sculpture, remorse gushing in him already. Remus has no anger lingering on his eyebrows, no anxiousness in his movements, and no semblance of mercy on his face, just despondency.

The sound of zipping the bag, throwing the keys in the bowl, and a gentle click of the door closing, and Remus has left. Little does Sirius knows, this is the start of his breaking point because his lungs constrict, his throat has tears, and the opening that has been made in his chest is widening. He doesn’t want to believe that Remus has left with his possessions, so he keeps up with his sanity by pretending that his Remus is just out for a walk, and then he would return when he is done being angry. He wants to believe that Remus will come back, and they will kiss and make up. But he doesn’t come back.

One week. He is not back. Sirius drinks and fights the death eaters.

Two weeks. He doesn’t come back still. Sirius drinks and owls Dumbledore that he is sick to go on a mission.

Three weeks. He doesn’t come back at all. Sirius lets himself live in agony and ceases his floo network to stop James from barging in.

A month. Sirius is asked to be the secret-keeper.

“He must be in Wales at his parents’ house.” Says Lily Evans, stroking Harry’s newly grown hair. Sirius is finally at the Potters, and it feels bittersweet to be here. The Potters are going into hiding. He is losing everyone, one by one. It is worse than losing himself.

“His parents are dead.” He says sharply, arching his eyebrows to sound as acrimonious as he can be, “And why are you telling me this?”

Lily studies him with hard eyes and shrugs in exasperation. He knows that everyone is tired of him. James doesn’t laugh. Nobody does, except Lily which doesn’t fit well because she should be allowed to stay miserable or, mourn the prophesied death of Harry Potter in exchange for the life of the darkest and the most powerful wizard of all time, Lord Voldemort.

Sirius sees James who is stirring the batter of coffee, while his eyes are focused on nothingness. He bit his cheek to suppress the pain in his chest. He walks up to James who takes notice and smiles barely. Sirius returns his smile gently and stands close to him. He doesn’t want to admit but they are all about gentle brotherly touches, and soft smiles, unlike before when they used to be loud cackles, stupid jokes, and fierce hugs. A lot has changed.

“You okay?” James asks as he pours milk in four cups.

“No, you?” Sirius says nonchalantly which earns him a smile from James.

“I have to be.”

“But you are not fine?” Sirius makes it sound like a confirmation than an actual inquiry. James finally looks at him with resigned facial expressions, and then returns to his stirring, “Care to tell me why you have four cups instead of three? Isn’t it too early for Harry to start consuming caffeine?”

“Ah, I asked Wormtail to come.” James murmurs dejectedly, glancing at the wall clock, “I guess he won’t come…”

“Speaking of Wormtail…I have something in mind, and I’d like to talk to you both about it…” Sirius has James’ full attention now as he escorts him to their living room where Lily has Harry asleep in her arms. She frowns on the tensed aura that Sirius knew he was radiating. James sits with him, both of his hands clasped together as he focuses on his breathing.

“I think I am an obvious choice…” Sirius begins.

“What do you mean?” Lily whispers.

“I mean I shouldn’t be the secret-keeper.” As he senses the perplexity overshadowing their faces, he continues, “Don’t get me wrong, I’d do anything for you three. If you don’t agree with me then we will go exactly by your plan.” After what feels like a decade, he sees reassurance in James’ eyes. “I think it would be very obvious to have me as the secret-keeper. Everyone knows I’m Harry’s godfather, and if there’s anyone Voldemort would be after, is me. So…I think we should make Wormtail as the secret-keeper.”

Sirius who has been looking down, wishing for a positive response with bated breath, looks up to find Lily Evans with the ugliest frown and tears in her giant emerald eyes. James reaches out her hands, and she quickly intertwines with his. He takes his spectacles off, rubs his blood-flecked eyes. It breaks Sirius’ heart to see them like this. Suffocated with death, surrounded with fear, clouded with ambiguity.

“Whatever you say…We trust you…” James says as if he is ready for any outcome, either if it saves him or swallows him. Sirius never thought he would see James Potter retired from the dedication that resided in the depths of his heart. He remains on the armchair which used to be reserved for Remus to read storybooks to Harry who would not have a clue what dear Moony was explaining, yet would admire how musical he sounded.

They all allow the silence to sink in, still with the atmosphere of uncommunicativeness, before Sirius gets up and kneels before the two of them, grasping each hand in both of his. James smiles weakly at him. He suddenly says something Sirius would never have anticipated because it turns his world upside down. He does everything in his power to compose his internal mourning, to keep himself from screaming.

“Talk to Moony…”

He nods, plants a kiss on Harry’s forehead, cups Lily’s tear-stained cheek for a few seconds, and hugs James, before apparating back to his flat.

When he feels the ground touch his feet, he is greeted by a figure standing with their back facing Sirius, a scarred hand clutching a goblet quarter-filled with fire whiskey. Despite the thunderous hammering in his chest, Sirius walks into the living room.

Chapter 2 is coming soon!

#wolfstar #wolfstar supremacy #wolfstar fanfiction #remus x sirius #sirius black #sirius x remus #fiction #harry potter #hp marauders #post hogwarts #james potter #lily evans #james x lily #moony x padfoot #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs

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frostedfaves · 4 years ago

Text

Sharp Edges

Masterlist

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: “They say home is where your heart is, but what if my heart is six feet underground with you?”

Warnings: heavy angst, grieving, major death, depression, brief mention of implied vomiting, funeral at the end

A/N: sorry if you came here for a good time, but this is not it! based on these Sad Sunday and Fluff Monday blurbs! I’d recommend reading them first since they’re referenced in this, but not entirely necessary. anyway, excited to hear your thoughts! also I meant to post a request today and save this for next week but I started writing this during work and couldn’t stop. so I’ll work on getting requests out next week since I’ve got Sad Sunday tomorrow!

marvel requests?

Wanda Maximoff misses you.

When the news broke that you’d died from your injuries before she could get to you, her body collapsed on the spot. Her mind instantly recalled the memory of the last time she’d seen you truly happy.

For a week straight, your hands were covered in clay. Due to your lack of a childhood, you’d never gotten to experience normal things like attempting pottery in an art class. When you finally discovered it, the team never heard the end of it. You’d annoyed Tony into buying a kiln after coming home with enough clay to build a small village and got to work.

You worked a while on making tiles and carving winter trees and flowers into them, eventually moving onto dishes. You’d perfected plates and bowls but couldn’t figure out mugs, which only made you work harder to the point where Wanda had to drag you to the kitchen and bed each day.

On that seventh day you’d run into Wanda’s room, tackling her into a pile of laundry she was sorting because you were just that excited. You’d finally made a mug worth putting into the kiln, and a celebratory kiss was in order. She’d helped you pick out colors to paint it with, sporting a proud smile and eyes full of adoration.

She pressed repeat on your ecstatic screams echoing in her thoughts, hoping to drown out the cries of pain she’d heard over the phone. You’d been taken by an enemy from her very last mission, someone who had no knowledge that when Wanda disappeared months prior, she left you behind. They could only assume that you would be the easiest way to find her, not aware that you were just as in the dark on her whereabouts.

She’d listened with tears streaming down her cheeks as your captor made you beg, packing her belongings frantically while each whimper of her name turned her stomach a bit more. The regret of leaving her Lovely behind was immense, and she wanted nothing more in the moment than burning her enemy alive and bringing you into her arms forever.

There was a mixture of emotions in everyone when Wanda finally reached the compound, much slower upon receiving knowledge that your body rested there. Broken spirits lay behind defeated and tearful eyes, but looking into Steve’s nearly sent her crumbling to the floor again.

They were cold and dark, as they earned the right to be. The eyes of a man who comforted his best friend for weeks, day and night, when the love of her life deserted her in her sleep. He was no stranger to your heavy sobs in the shower, overheard when he put sweaters in the dryer and left them in the bathroom because you shivered constantly. Your lifeless eyes at the dinner table when he forced you to leave your room. Sitting with you in the medical wing after breaking your wrists on the punching bag.

As far as Steve Rogers was concerned, Wanda deserved every bit of pain she felt.

This thought mixed in with the flashes of his memories of your suffering is what sent her to the floor, gasping for air with a wet face. Through Natasha and Tony’s legs as they approached her she caught him walking away, and it only made it harder to breathe.

Your funeral came days later, and Wanda spent the entirety of the time in your room. The scent of your favorite lotion on her hands pulled her into a nightmare filled sleep, and she found comfort in it knowing that her reality upon waking up was far more painful. After taking a shower and checking with FRIDAY on Steve’s location in the building, she found herself staring at an empty space in one of the kitchen cupboards.

“Wanda, what’s going on?”

She turned at the sound of Pepper’s voice, heart clenching painfully at the sight of her formal dress. “Where’s her mug?”

“She smashed it.”

“What?” She wanted to ask why, but stopped herself in fear of the answer.

“She used it for the first time a month after you left. When she went to wash it, she saw where you’d painted on the bottom ‘Lovely’s Mug, Do Not Use’ and threw it against the nearest wall.”

Wanda pushed past Pepper and sprinted to the closest bathroom, not even caring if anyone walked past and heard the violent act of everything she’d held back spilling out. Gentle hands came a few minutes later, one rubbing her back and the other wrapping any loose hairs around her poorly formed bun. When she’d finished, the toilet was flushed for her and a half empty bottle of water was shoved into her shaky grip.

“Rinse.”

She blinked in surprise at the stern tone, turning her teary gaze to meet eyes much softer than days prior. She stood on shaky legs after following his instruction and using the water, her confusion only growing as he helped her lean against the sink for support.

“I thought you hated me,” she voiced her concern into the quiet room, and Steve sighed.

“I want to, trust me.” He took the bottle from her and used his free hand to scratch at his beard nervously. “I loved--love her like family and when you left, it felt like she left too. Just when I thought I was getting her back, she was taken from me for good. As much as I want to hate you, I can’t. Especially knowing that until her last breath, she loved you.”

He stepped forward again, pulling Wanda into a warm embrace as tears rolled down both of their cheeks. The air grew still, heavy with emotion and silence punctuated with their sniffles.

“I hate that I ruined something she was so proud of making. Everything I touched of hers, I destroyed. Her mug, her heart. I wish I’d never left, and sometimes I wish I never met her. She would’ve done much better without me.”

Her next sniffle was cut short when Steve pulled away just enough to make eye contact.

“You may have made a small part of her life hard, but you spent much more time making her happy. Because of you, she stopped being so afraid of nighttime storms, instead associating it with time to spend close to you. She tried new things and worked harder on missions to help create a safe future for the two of you to exist in. And if anything, she’s inspired me to do the same, for you and all of us.”

Wanda remained silent as she mulled over his words, continuing to do so as she got dressed for the worst event of her life, only tied with Pietro’s funeral. She sat in the front row between Steve and Natasha, a numbness taking over as she listened to everyone speak so highly of you. Her arms held tightly to Tony in comfort as he cried in the middle of his speech, allowing Pepper to take over as she took his place in front of everyone.

“This is--for the second time--the worst thing I’ve ever had to do, but I’m not here to talk about me. I want to talk about my best girl, the one I only ever referred to as Lovely, from the moment I met her. In fact, I’d like to talk directly to her, if you don’t mind.”

She turned her gaze directly above the crowd toward the sky, smiling a bit when a bird crossed her line of vision.

“Lovely, I’m so sorry I left you behind. I thought I was protecting you from the monster I believed myself to be, but instead I just made everything worse. I should have stayed. We never got to finish that show we were binge-watching, and I don’t think that I ever will. Not without you.”

She paused for a moment to breathe, also taking the time to clear space on her cheeks for the next round of tears.

“I should have stayed to be around for the next thing you got into after pottery. You deserve to be that excited about something again. I loved the way you’d say my whole name with that shiny look in your eye that just made me love you so much more, and I remember you telling me that if you weren’t so afraid of annoying me, you’d call me by my full name all the time.”

Her eyes blinked as tears clouded her vision once more, allowing them to fall as she turned to your picture beside your covered body.

“I want to say thank you for being an amazing friend and even better girlfriend, Lovely. I didn’t deserve to have you, but I’m glad I was gifted with being a part of your life anyway. I hope that wherever you are, you’re as happy as you made me, and I want you to know something that will forever be true.”

She cleared her throat as her emotions began to choke her there, hands coming to wrap around the pendant of a necklace you gave her as her final words came out in a whisper.

“Wanda Maximoff misses you.”

Tags: @littlegasps @imnotasuperhero @creepingwolfberry @marie-03

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x fem! reader #avengers x reader #avengers #avengers fanfic #avengers imagine #the avengers #avengers x you #avengers x fem!reader #marvel x reader #marvel #mcu x reader

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sagewritesmore · 4 years ago

Text

PART FOUR: POPCORN AND GREEN TEA

perfectionism | prev | next

wc: 2108

Suna snickered, "Because Osamu doesn't act like a dramatic brat who needs his hand held every damn second of the day."

"Well now that we got introductions out of the way, why don't we go inside and find something to do," Suna suggested.

Suna nodded, "Watching a movie it is."

As all of you entered the house, you couldn't help but hear the blond, Atsumu mutter to his brother, "If I called 'm Rinny I think he'd punch me on the spot."

A smile quickly reappeared on your face as you heard his brother respond, "I don't know, I'll give ya one thousand yen to put it to the test."

"No, I think I'll choose life," He giggled.

You found your way to the couch and swiftly pulled out your phone, eager to let your friends know your current situation. The whole scene sounded like something straight out of a book.

"Say what happened to yer foot over there?" Osamu asked with a smirk on his face.

"Oh yeah you never told me what you did to your foot, Y/N," Suna added as he placed the remaining bowls on the side table.

"Green tea with caramel popcorn?" He asked.

With no shame you nodded your head. "Don't knock it until you try it, it's my favorite combo in the world. I can never get enough of it."

Suna sighed, "Yeah, it's no use to convince her otherwise it's been more than a solid seven years since i last saw her and she still likes it."

He watched as you entered the bus. A small smile made it on his face as he watched you wave goodbye from the bus window. He waved back and muttered under his breath, "Good night, Y/N."

Life before she died was perfect. You could never recall a memory of you being sad around her. Before you closed your eyes, you whispered, "I wish I was perfect like you."

fun facts !

Whenever Atsumu doesn't know how to address a situation, he just goes on his phone and plays angry birds.

If you're ever bored, Osamu will talk forever about all the different ways you can cook the same recipe.

Suna can never stay awake during a movie night, he always falls asleep somehow.

Before getting into volleyball, the twins' mother tried to get them into violin, however that quickly failed once Atsumu broke his bow on the second day of lessons.

smau written by @sagefzy

taglist: open just send an ask :)

@shephard17895 @art-junkie-13 @vhsryuu @qualitygiantshoepsychic @everytimeswift @kritiiiii

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supernatural-jackles · 5 years ago

Text

Owe You One - Part 4

Title: Owe You One - Jefferson’s Starship

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 7,067

Warnings: Minor Angst, Sexual Harassment, Self-Loathing, Anxiety, Fluff, Smut, Friends with Benefits

Summary: Dean Winchester has been your best friend and neighbour for the last year. A year of finding comfort in random drop ins and casual conversations, but neither of you know the pasts that the other has. Not fully. Pasts that come back to haunt you, and ruin everything you want in life. Can you find what you’re seeking in a couple of favours and a good time between the sheets or is history doomed to repeat itself?

Owe You One - Masterlist

Squares Filled: Bartender!AU ( @spndeanbingo) FWB Relationship ( @spnfluffbingo)

A/N: Part 4!! I hope y’all enjoy this part!! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!! Happy reading!!

You stirred away at the pot you had on the stove, getting dinner ready for yourself. It was Friday night, and you had just gotten home from work about half an hour ago. You changed into your comfortable pyjamas before deciding to cook yourself a nice dinner. You were going to curl up on the couch for a little while and maybe turn in early. You had nothing extensive planned. Nothing but your PVR and previous episodes of The Walking Dead to catch up on.

You reached for a bowl in the cupboard next to you, placing it on the counter before pouring your pasta into it. You heard three loud knocks at your door, pulling you from your meal for a moment. You placed it back down on the stove before heading over to the door, opening it up. You rolled your eyes with a smile when you found Dean standing there with a smile playing on his lips. You walked away from the door, letting him walk in without protest.

“You want something to eat? I made enough pasta for two,” you pointed out. “Four cheese.”

“Oh fuck yes,” he nodded, taking a seat at your counter. You reached in the cupboard, grabbing another bowl before pouring some into it. You took two forks out of the drawer, bringing Dean’s bowl over first before your own. You hopped on the chair next to him, looking forward to tasting your meal.

“Thank you for this,” he smiled, taking a forkful.

“You’re welcome,” you beamed, taking your own bite.

“So what are you up to tonight?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Stuff,” you answered smuggly. “What do you want?”

“How do you know I want something?” he claimed, his voice went up half an octave.

“Because you didn’t call or text before coming over tonight. You usually do if you just want to hang out for the night. So I’ll ask again, what do you want, Winchester?” you chuckled.

“Okay, I have a huge favour to ask and seen as how you’re wearing your cute comfy pyjamas, I know you aren’t doing anything tonight. I also know for a damn fact that you would never let any guy see you in those so you’re not getting laid tonight.”

“Thank you! I get the point,” you scoffed playfully, taking another bite.

“I need help at the bar tonight. Sammy’s gonna be late and all I’ve got is Benny. You’re the only one that I can trust,” he stated. “I’ll pay you, of course. And whatever tips you make are yours.”

“So you want me to bartend at Jefferson’s Starship tonight and I get paid?” you chuckled. “Actual money?”

“What, you think I’m going to pay you in sex again?” he laughed, shaking his head. “‘Cause I can if you want me to. A little touchy touchy-”

“Shut up, Dean,” you giggled, shoving him a little. “How late do I have to stay?”

“Just until Sam gets in,” he assured you. “Not all night.”

“Alright, let me eat. Then I’ll go get changed. You’re lucky I like you,” you side-eyed him.

“I owe you big time,” he breathed out in relief. “Like huge, sweetheart.”

“I’ll take you up on it at some point,” you winked. “Really though, you don’t owe me anything. Remember, you helped me out of a very low point. That isn’t easy.”

“I still owe you a little. You literally never go out to the bar,” he pointed out with a sad smile.

“You are more than right. Remember that,” you winked. “How was your day anyways?”

“Eh, it was okay. Pretty busy as usual. I kept to myself at my station. My dad worked on what he needed to do. I fixed up a couple of cars and got all my paperwork done so I don’t have to do any this weekend. Fresh start Monday morning,” he explained to you. “How was your day?”

“It was okay. Boring as hell, but that’s my job for you,” you shrugged.

“So you were going to use this time to unwind, huh?” he said sheepishly. You could see the guilt he felt sores across his features. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, De. I should probably try to get out more anyways. Sitting at home alone isn’t going to do me any good,” you breathed out.

“I mean, you’re not entirely wrong. Sometimes alone time is what you need. But in this case, you’re coming out. Not to mention, I own the bar,” he smirked.

“Yeah yeah,” you tried not to smile.

You managed to eat your pasta in record time. You figured you’d do the dishes in the morning after your breakfast. You knew Dean had to be there soon, and you didn’t want to leave him or Benny screwed. This was a job for you and you were going to work with professionalism.

You grabbed something comfortable and presentable to wear to the bar. A pair of dark skinny jeans with a rip in the knee. You pulled on one of your white shirts and threw one of your red flannels over it to keep with the Winchester look. After that, you grabbed your comfortable boots and your bag, heading out the door with Dean by your side.

Dean opened up your door for you and you slipped inside. There was a part of you that wondered if this was a good idea. After all, he and his brother owned this bar; his family. Last you knew, his family hated you. All but Dean. You didn’t want Sam to walk in and kick you out or worse, yell at you in front of everyone. You didn’t want to ruin their business. This was important to both of them because they started it together. You weren’t going to be the one to come between them. You were simply going to help your friend out and go on your way home. If Dean wanted to join you later, that was fine. But you weren’t supposed to mix business with pleasure.

Dean parked in his designated spot out the back of the bar. There was a spot for him and a spot for Sam. No one else had access to park back here. You kicked your door open, circling around the car to the front. Dean motioned for you to follow him to the doors around the front of the building.

The second you walked into the empty bar, you smiled to yourself. This bar wasn’t like any of the bars you had been in and you had been in many of them during your college days. They wanted their place to feel like home in some sense. There was a jukebox in the corner that played only classic rock. Lots of room for people to dance. Enough tables for people to sit. Booths for those who had bigger groups. Couches and chairs set up around the tv. By the actual bar, he had stools set up all around and a tv up on the wall so people could watch from there. He had all his liquor on display and coasters stacked, ready to go. All his glassware was branded with the bar's name, and a cowboy hat. This place was something to be really proud of, that was for certain.

“Well well, look who it is,” Benny smiled. “I’ll be damned if it isn’t miss Y/N walking in for the first time in forever.”

“Hi Benny,” you grinned

“Hiya darlin,” he beamed. “What can I get for you tonight?”

“I’m working tonight,” you told him, circling around the back of the bar. “Boss needed and extra set of hands.”

“If you need help with anything, Y/N, just let one of us know. I know you know what you’re doing,” Dean nodded.

“You’re damn right I do,” you said confidently. You grabbed an apron from the shelf beneath the cash register. You had a notepad, a pen and a cloth in there, ready to get to work. It had been a long time since you had stepped foot behind a bar, but you were sure you were going to snap right back into it pretty quickly. “Let’s do this.”

It wasn’t long before people flooded into the bar. Some people just getting off work, having a drink to wind down. Others coming in in groups. The three of you worked in a perfect sync with one another. Pouring and mixing drinks the fastest you could get them to the customers in a timely manner. In record time, you had about fifty dollars in tips. The night was just getting started.

You glanced around the room as soon as the first rush died out. Everyone was distracted in some way. A group of guys watching a game on the couch by the tv. A few women sitting at a table, gossiping about their week and their husbands. Then there was a few loners sitting at the bar, sipping away at a beer or a glass of whiskey. Trying to unwind after the week. You wiped down the counter top.

“Hey there,” a man greeted you, taking a seat at the counter right in front of you. His smile was wide as he placed his hands on the countertop.

“What can I get for you?” you asked, taking a deep breath as you tucked your cloth back in your apron.

“Your phone number for starters,” he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows twice. You wanted to scoff but you were working. You weren’t about to ruin Dean’s business because some guy decided to hit on you. Not to mention, he wasn’t that cute. A man like him would be just like the rest of them. They’d get off and you’d be left finishing yourself off in the shower. You weren’t doing that again.

“Your drink order, sir?” you corrected him, trying to keep your tone in check.

“Whiskey neat,” he stated. “And that phone number.”

“Whiskey it is,” you declared, putting the glass down on the napkin in front of him. You reached for the bottle of whiskey behind you, knowing full well he was staring at your ass. He was treating you like you were easy and that wasn’t okay with you. You weren’t doing that anymore. No more shitty guys.

“Don’t play hard to get, baby,” he frowned. “I saw you eyeing me the second I walked in here tonight.”

“Enjoy your drink,” you said, your voice void of all emotions. You walked away from him, taking your cloth once more before heading out to the customers area to begin cleaning up empty glasses and bottles. Dean and Benny were still working behind the counter, serving people. It had slowed down a little more. They still had the odd person come up to them.

You wiped down every table, gathering all the empties. You snapped back into bartender mode pretty quickly. It was something you had done for years during your college years. Dean ran a really nice bar. Everything was really clean, but you also had a feeling that his brother had something to do with it. You took note of what needed replenishing to bring it out during your next trip. You gathered up what you could, placing it on the bar to move to the back when you had the chance to. You wiped down your last table before heading to the back. You could feel the creepy guy’s eyes on you and that told you to move quicker.

“Baby c’mere,” he cooed, standing up. Your heart began to pound in your chest. You needed to move quickly.

“Not interested,” you stated clearly, backing away from him. He was a big guy now that you saw him compared to you. He was tall and had a strong build. His hand made its way down to your ass, tugging you into him against your will. You tried your hardest to shove him off of you, but he barely budged. “Get off of me!”

“Hey! Hey!” Dean shouted, making his way around the bar. “Hands off of her. Now!”

“We were just getting to know each other, right baby?” He smirked, tugging you in once more. Hearing him say those words only angered you more.

You pushed him once more, successfully getting him off of you, but not getting as far as you would have liked. “Get the fuck off of me.”

Dean stepped between you and the douchebag, getting in his face a little more. You could see it in the way his jaw clenched that he was pissed. When Dean was pissed, no one wanted to be near him.

“House rules. Respecting others, especially women is the second on that list. Sexual harassment is unacceptable. Get the fuck out of my bar,” he warned him, “I’m not going to ask you again.”

“Whatever, she’s a cheap piece of ass anyways,” he scoffed, throwing down a bill on the counter before grabbing his jacket, heading to the door.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Dean asked as he turned to face you. His hand came up to the side of your head.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“You want a drink,” he offered you, smiling softly.

“No thank you. I’m good,” you smiled before heading around the back of the bar to finish cleaning up. You also knew you’d be safer behind the bar and that was where you wanted to be.

“You sure, darlin’?” Benny raised his eyebrow. “I can make you a mean drink.”

“I’m sure. I don’t drink,” you stated, placing the empty bottles in the bin.

“Since when?” Dean furrowed his brows. “We got drunk together a few months back.”

“Since whenever,” you shrugged.

“I feel like there is more behind this then you’re leading on,” Benny side-eyed you with a bit of concern.

“There is, but we’re dropping this now, okay?” you smiled, heading over to the counter to serve the next customer.

As you handed the customer their drink, Sam walked into the bar. His hair was a bit of a mess and he looked to be in a bit of a rush. You stiffened a little. After all, Sam had to know all about you now. His mom had to have said something to him. He had always been nice to you, but that was back then. There was a whole other side to you and your family now. Sure, Sam was nice, but he wasn’t going to be happy you were here if he knew anything.

“Hey,” Dean greeted his brother. “How’d it go?”

“Good,” he smiled to himself. “Place is picked out and booked. We officially have a date.”

“Don’t leave me in suspense, Sammy. Wedding date now,” Dean chuckled, wiping down a glass.

“September 15th,” he grinned widely, reaching his hand up to the back of his head.

“I’ll save the date,” he nodded with a big smile. “Congratulations, little brother!”

“Thanks, De,” he shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal.

You stood behind the bar awkwardly, not knowing if you should say something, or go do something else. You didn’t want to be in the way of him. This was his business too. You pulled your cloth back out, and decided to head back out to the floor to wipe down the tables again.

“Dean, what is she doing here?” you heard Sam say.

“She’s helping us out because I asked her to,” Dean stated.

“Dean, you know-”

“Sam-”

“No Dean, if mom or dad was to walk in right now, you’d be in so much shit,” he stated. That was your queue. You weren’t welcomed and you weren’t going to ruin a family business. You had no idea why you even agreed to in the first place. Mary told you that you were never going to be good enough for her family. Why did you think you’d be good enough to work at her son’s bar?

“Sorry,” you breathed out, as you untied your apron. “I’m- I’m gonna go, Dean. I don’t want to ruin your business or your relationship with your family. You don’t have to pay me for tonight.”

“Y/N, wait,” Dean called out as you began to walk away.

“Dean, it’s cool,” you nodded, assuring him it was.

“No, it’s not cool, Y/N. I invited you here tonight,” Dean declared, walking over to you. “My mom and dad don’t own this bar. Sammy and I do. I’ll tell you again. I don’t care who your mom is or was to my parents. I care about you and who you are to me. If Sammy has a problem with it, then he can stow it for tonight. You are welcome in this bar.” His hands made their way to your arms, holding you in place.

“Dean, I’m not worth the trouble, okay?” you smiled weakly, pulling the few bills out of your pocket, handing them to him. “This is yours.”

“No, they are yours. You earned them tonight. All tips are yours,” he stated.

“Y/N, please stay,” Sam called out.

“Please, sweetheart,” Dean pleaded, holding his hand out for you to take. “You’re off the clock. Just hang out with us for a little while. You said you needed to get out more.”

“You want a drink Y/N?” Sam offered, grabbing a clean glass from beneath the counter.

“Okay,” you nodded. “Water would be great.”

“W-water?” Sam furrowed his brows.

“She doesn’t drink,” Benny added in.

“Ah, okay,” Sam nodded.

You walked around the bar, taking a seat on the stool behind the bar. Sam placed a glass of water with a few ice cubes on the counter in front of you, giving you a soft smile. You knew he was trying to keep a smile on his face to keep you around for the night. It was forced at best.

“So, no guy in your life right now, Y/N?” Benny questioned you. “You usually have someone-”

“Nope, I don’t. Not right now,” you smiled at him, bringing your water up to your lips. Great, even Benny knew you got around, you thought to yourself.

“You want someone? ‘Cause you know, I’m single and you’re-”

“Benny, knock it off,” Dean warned him. “She doesn’t need another guy hitting on her tonight. House rules.”

“What? ‘M I not good enough for you,” he teased playfully before serving the next customer.

“You’re not my type,” you giggled. “My track record states that I only go for dicks. You’re a nice guy.”

“So Y/N, I gotta ask,” Sam started, taking another stool, sitting close by. “I know you grew up with your mom-”

“Sam,” Dean called out, his voice laced with a bit of anger.

“It’s okay Dean,” you assured him.

“Was it just you and your mom or was your dad ever around?” he questioned. You knew he was curious, and he didn’t seem to want to cause any harm to you. It was a simple question. Nothing you hadn’t been asked a hundred times before.

“No. It was just me and my mom. I never knew my dad, in fact, I’ve never met him or know his name for that matter. My mom always told me he didn’t want anything to do with me and that was why he wasn’t around. He didn’t want me and that’s why it was the two of us. I have no idea who my dad is, or if he’s even alive at this point. I never knew anything about him,” you shared with him.

“Were you ever curious?” Dean added in, stepping closer to you and Sam.

“Yeah, of course I was. I grew up without a dad. The kids at school were terrible to me because I didn’t have one,” you began. “I mean, look at me now. I’m a mess ninety five percent of the time. I just wish my mom would’ve been straight with me. But at the same time, my mom slept around a lot. She had a new boyfriend every month. I doubt she even knew who my dad was.”

“Do you think she was hiding it from you?” Sam brought up.

“In some ways, yeah. I asked her when I was eighteen, before I left for college and she said there was no point. My dad was probably dead.”

“If you ever wanted to find out more, Y/N, I’m sure I could do a little digging for you,” Sam offered you. It was a kind gesture but it wasn’t worth it.

“I’m not worth that kind of trouble, Sam. I don’t want to cause any more issues with your family than I already have.”

“Your mom’s issues weren’t your fault, sweetheart,” Dean reminded you.

“Dean’s right, Y/N. What your mom did in the past has nothing to do with you. It bugs the hell out of my mom because you look like her. It’s still wrong that she treated you the way she did. You’re nothing like your mom,” Sam said with a sad smile. It was really nice to hear those words coming from Sam. Especially now that you were here. You didn’t want him to hate you like his family did.

“Okay,” you breathed out. “I’m giving you the okay to take a look. It can’t hurt to find out my family history. And I’m curious as to what my mom hid from me all my life. But I don’t want to make any contact if we find out who it is.” In reality, it was probably good to find out in case you had a family history of cancer or something like that. It was too late now to ever have a father daughter relationship like you dreamed about when you were ten.

“Deal. You are always welcome to change your mind later on, okay?”

“Thank you,” you smiled softly at him. “Means a lot to me that you want to do this.”

“Well well, look who decided to show up for work,” Dean greeted the two people as they walked in.

“I thought you were short tonight, De?” you furrowed your brows.

“Chuck and Cas work later so we can go home at a decent hour,” he told you. Both of them walked behind the bar, settling their stuff underneath the cash.

“Hey,” a man with curly-ish hair greeted you. “I’m Chuck.”

“Y/N,” you waved at him.

“So uh, how you doin’?” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Chuck,” Dean warned him, shaking his head.

“Oh shit, sorry. Is she your-”

“No she’s not my girlfriend. She’s my best friend,” he stated, earning a chuckle from both you and Sam. Dean was very protective over you, and you actually kind of liked that he was.

“Oh god, that’s worse,” he breathed out sheepishly. “It was very nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“You ready to head out, Y/N?” Dean offered with a smile.

“God, yes please!” you beamed, hopping off your stool.

“I’ll grab your number from Dean,” Sam nodded, giving you a wink. Dean grabbed his jacket as you circled around the bar for the last time. You couldn’t wait to go home and change into your pyjamas. You couldn’t wait to be in the privacy of your apartment so you could finally unwind for the night.

Dean followed behind you as you lead the way to the impala. It was just after eleven when you looked at the clock in the impala as Dean started her up. It was a long night, and some parts of it sucked, but for the most part, you were glad you did it with Dean there. His friends were also nice people to be around so that certainly helped.

“You did good tonight,” he smiled at you as he turned out of the parking lot.

“What can I say, I’m an ex bartender,” you chuckled. “Thanks for asking me to come out tonight.”

“You’re welcome,” he nodded.

“If you’re up for it, you wanna hang out at my place for a bit?” you asked him. “Only if you want to.”

“Yeah, I’d love to,” he agreed.

It was almost eleven thirty by the time you arrived at your front door with the keys in your hand. Dean stood right behind you, keeping a close distance. You figured after that creepy guy at the bar tonight, he was keeping you close in case something was to happen. You really did enjoy how protective he was of you. He had been ever since that day the two of you made up. It was nice to have someone want to keep you safe from harms way.

You threw your keys on the counter as soon as you walked in. Dean locked the door behind him and kicked off his shoes on the front mat. You leaped onto the couch, flopping down on your back, earning a laugh from your best friend.

“Long night, huh?” he said as he sat down next to you.

“Very! I love being hit on by creepy guys. It’s my favourite,” you joked, moving up to a sitting position to give him more room on the couch. Your couch was big enough for two people to sleep on, but Dean just had to sit close to you.

“You used to enjoy guys like that,” he teased you.

“Eh, I wouldn’t say I enjoyed them. I prefer guys with a little more respect. Not guys that grope my ass in a crowded bar while I’m working,” you breathed out. “I don’t know. Lately I haven’t been interested.”

“In what?” he cocked his head to the side, looking over at you.

“Dating. Men in general,” you shrugged, leaning against the arm of the couch. “Too much to focus on and I’m a mess most days.”

“Not even sex for you?” he questioned.

“Eh,” you smirked. “I’ve got my own ways of handling things in that department. It’s not like any of the guys I slept with before knew what they were doing. I’m just not wasting my time.”

“Good,” he grinned. “You deserve better than that.”

“What about you, Winchester? You’re nearly as bad as I am for taking random people home,” you pointed out.

“Not as of recently,” he confessed, looking down at his hands. “Part of it is how busy I’ve been. No one has really caught my eye. Everyone these days are dating, and settling down. After Cassie, I don’t really want to date right now. Especially since she left things open for when she gets back.”

“I don’t blame you,” you nodded. “Would you get back together with her if she were to show up at your door right now?”

“Deep question there, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from her since we broke up. Not even an email. If she were to knock on my door, I don’t think I could just settle back in like nothing happened.”

“That’s understandable,” you nodded. “At least you’ve moved on a little. We slept together.”

“You’re the last person I slept with,” he admitted.

“You’re my last too,” you nodded. “We’re doing awesome. Although, I certainly can’t complain. You were damn good. You kept up your end of the bargain beautifully.”

“Well, technically I owe you one for tonight,” he joked with a smirk. “I know how to drive a good bargain.”

“I’m down if you are,” you wiggled your eyebrows with a soft smile.

“Actually?” he cocked his eyebrow.

“What’s the harm?” you shrugged. “Not like we haven’t before.”

“I’m definitely in if you are,” he nodded. “No pressure at all. Only if you want to.”

“You’re too nice to me, you know that?” you smiled at him as you moved over. You threw your leg over his legs, settling down over his lap. His hands instantly reached for your waist as his eyes went wide.

“I wouldn’t say nice,” he breathed out. “I just care ‘bout you is all.”

“Well, thank you. I really appreciate that you care,” you smiled. “I care ‘bout you too.”

“Alright, this is getting too chick flicky for my liking,” he stated, leaning forward. He captured your lips with his in a soft, heated kiss that had you instantly craving more. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders tugging yourself closer to him as your tongue slipped over his bottom lip.

His hands reached beneath your flannel, pushing the material over your shoulders in record time. You had a feeling this was going to happen fast. It was late after all, and you both had been working since nine this morning. It was going to be a quickie at best and that was more than okay with you. A quick fix to make you both feel good and that would be enough to put you to sleep right away.

“You’re sure about this?” Dean asked you, pulling away a little.

“Yes, more than sure,” you breathed out, pushing his flannel over his shoulders. “No foreplay this time.”

“Got it,” he nodded. “Just a quickie?”

“Quickie then bed,” you smile at him.

“Roger that,” he agreed, tugging the hem of your shirt up your body, throwing it to the floor. You did the exact same to his, tearing it off of him as quickly as you could. He bucked his hips up to yours, and you could feel the bulge of him already. The thought of having him once more sent heat pooling in your core.

You climbed off of his lap, toying with the button on your jeans before shoving them down your legs along with your panties. Dean unbuckled his belt, making quick work of removing his jeans and boxers, pushing them down his legs. His hard cock standing proud between his legs. Fuck, was he perfect.

“Condom?” you asked him.

“Wallet,” he nodded, reaching down to his jeans, pulling out the leather pouch. He opened it up, taking the foil packet from his wallet. You stepped forward, straddling him as he opened the packet with his teeth, taking the rubber out. You watched as he took his cock in his hand, rolling the condom down over himself. You reached behind your back, removing the final article of clothing from your body to reveal yourself to him once more.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he smiled softly at you.

“Dean,” you grinned, shaking your head.

“You are,” he shrugged. “I like that I’m the one you went home with tonight after all the guys that hit on you.”

“Thank you,” you half smiled. “You’re sexy as hell.”

“Hell doesn’t sound all that sexy,” he teased you.

“Shut up, Winchester,” you giggled. “Do you want me to fuck you or not?”

“Please,” he chuckled.

“Then ask me nicely,” you played, wanting to test him just a little.

“Y/N, will you please let me put my dick inside you?” he let out a laugh, not able to keep a straight face through the entire sentence, making you laugh along with him.

“I can’t believe you actually asked,” you cackled.

“Shut up,” he shook his head, trying not to laugh more than he already had. “The things I do for you.”

“Hey, the way to a girl’s heart is through humor, Winchester,” you pointed out.

“Yeah yeah,” he scoffed. “Alright, I’m going to touch you now. Make sure you’re ready for me.”

“By all means,” you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. His right hand came down between your legs, his middle finger brushing through your folds to see if you were ready enough for him. You knew you were more than ready to take him. The mere sight of him had you ready to go. The kissing certainly helped you get there too. He was a damn good kisser.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “You’re sure?”

“I am,” he agreed. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You balanced yourself on his shoulders, moving up his body to get ready. You reached one of your hands down, taking his cock before lining it up with your entrance. Your eyes met with his as you positioned the tip in place. He nodded his head, not daring to break the eye contact you held. You let yourself sync down on him, slow and steady. His eyes fluttered shut as you surrounded him in your heat.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathed out as he bottomed out inside you. You could feel him twitching a little as your walls grew accustomed to him. He finally opened his eyes, meeting yours as a smile played on his lips. He slipped his hands around your back, ready to help you move on him.

“You feel amazing, De,” you told him, leaning forward, pressing your forehead to his.

You made yourself more comfortable before beginning to move on him. He repositioned himself beneath you, making it easier for you to ride him, and for him to meet you halfway. As you sank down on him, he thrusted upwards. His grip was tight on you, keeping you close to him. He felt amazing inside of you. Hell, almost better than he did the first time. From this angle, his cock brushed over all the sensitive spots, getting you there a little bit faster than you were expecting him to.

His lips trailed on your neck, making your fingers curl in his shoulders. Your walls fluttered around him at the sensation. You brought your hand up to his hair, carding through his soft locks as you continued to bounce on him.

“Shit Dean,” you cried out.

“Feels so good,” he muttered, pulling away from your neck. “So close.”

“Faster,” you urged him on.

His hands slipped down to your ass, pulling you closer to him. He shifted quickly, your back hitting the couch as he fit between your legs. He snapped his hips against yours, picking up the pace to get you both there. One of his hands reached between your bodies, toying with your clit to heighten your pleasure.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” you moaned. Your grip tightened around his shoulders, desperate to grab onto something to keep you grounded. You were panting profusely. You felt the tightness growing in your abdomen. You were so damn close.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he urged you on. “Let me feel you.”

Your walls came crashing down around him as you let out a wanton moan. Your eyes fluttered shut as you threw your head back, letting the pleasure course it’s way through your body. Your fingers curled into his back, trying to hold onto something to keep you from floating away. Your vision went white and your body began to shake just enough for you to notice.

“Atta girl,” he encouraged you as he bucked his hips into yours. You knew he was damn close to the edge. He just needed that final push.

“Feels so good, De,” you whispered, trailing your shaky hand up into his hair. “Come for me, Dean.”

“Shit-” he growled, picking up his pace just a little more. He gave three hard thrusts before his cock twitched. His seed filling the condom before he collapsed on top of you, letting out a breath.

Your hand carded through his hair, playing with his soft locks as you both came down from your highs. You turned your head, looking at the time on the clock above your tv. It was just after twelve fifteen. You knew you had to get up and get ready for bed.

“I just realized we did that with the curtains open,” you giggled, glancing over at the big open window.

“Well shit,” he let out a laugh. “I hope they enjoyed the show.”

“We should get up,” you told him. “Get ready for bed.”

“Yeah,” he breathed out, shifting himself up. He reached down, grabbing the base of his cock to remove himself with care.

You were the first one off the couch, leaving your clothes on the floor. You headed into your bedroom, going straight to the bathroom. Dean wasn’t far behind you, throwing the used condom into the trash in your bathroom.

“Uh, you’re welcome to stay if you want to,” you offered him. “Or you can go, whichever you want to do.”

“Whichever you’re more comfortable with. I don’t want to overstep,” he stated, taking a step back.

“We literally just had sex,” you reminded him. “I don’t know what would even be considered overstepping at this point.”

“True,” he chuckled.

“Well, if you’d like to stay, there is an extra toothbrush in my drawer and boxers in the top drawer in my bedroom,” you told him with a soft smile. “I’m going to shower to get the smell of sex and alcohol off of me. If you want to do the same, you know where the towels are.”

“Alright,” he nodded, turning towards the shower. You watched as he turned the nozzle, setting it on hot. “You shower first and I’ll clean up out there.

Dean was out of the bathroom, giving you a bit of privacy. You shut the door a little, giving yourself the comfort of being alone to do what you needed to do. You went to the bathroom before slipping into the shower.

The water was the perfect temperature for you to clean yourself up. You were just going to have a quick shower to wash your body. You could wash your hair in the morning. You just wanted to feel clean. You had the feeling Dean was staying with you tonight, and you weren’t against it persay. You didn’t want him getting the wrong idea. You weren’t looking for a relationship. You hoped it was just sex for him. That you could handle with ease. You didn’t want to do the whole ‘feelings’ thing. Not with your best friend. Sleepovers were normal for friends. Two friends could have sex without it being weird. There was nothing wrong with casual sex.

You washed your body quickly. You could feel yourself getting more and more tired the more you stood under the stream. You just wanted to get out, brush your teeth and head to bed. Nothing more.

The water shut off and you stepped out onto the mat you had set out. You wrapped your towel around yourself, making sure it was tight. The mirror was all steamy, and you could barely see. Not that it was going to stop you from brushing your teeth.

“Dean, you’re good,” you called out, reaching for your toothbrush. The bathroom door opened, revealing Dean in his boxers and nothing else. He was quiet as he went about, gathering what he needed to shower. You tried your hardest to keep your eyes off of him while he moved around.

He hopped in the shower as soon as you finished brushing your teeth. The mirror was just starting to clear when you turned away, giving Dean the privacy he deserved. You noticed as soon as you were in your bedroom that Dean had thrown your clothes in the laundry hamper. His clothes were set on the chair in the corner of your room, folded nicely.

You grabbed the first pair of panties from your drawer, and an oversized shirt to wear to bed. You could feel yourself starting to overthink this. You didn’t want anything to change between you and Dean. You didn’t see him as anything other than your best friend. You didn’t want to date him. You didn’t want a boyfriend or a serious relationship for that matter. You didn’t want him to get the wrong impression.

You got dressed quickly, throwing the comforter back, slipping beneath the sheets. You heard the water turn off, which meant it was only a matter of time before he was joining you in bed. You lay on your back, adjusting the covers over your chest.

Dean emerged from the bathroom in a pair of clean boxers, shutting the light out. He circled around the bed, following the same steps. He joined you in the bed, resting on his back, looking up at the ceiling.

“You tired?” he asked you.

“Now that the lights are out, not really,” you chuckled. “You?”

“No not really,” he let out a laugh. “That was fun.”

“It was. And I’m not usually for being on top,” you admitted with a half smile.

“Why this time?” he questioned, turning his head to look your direction.

“I don’t know. I guess I feel a little more comfortable around you. I’m not as nervous about some things, like the way I look for example,” you confessed.

“You’re beautiful,” he said with a laugh. “Hell, I wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

“What, like that?”

“That. And sex in general,” he shrugged. “I’ve got what is probably not a good idea. But you said that you’re not looking to date anyone. I’m not ready to date anyone. We’re best friends and speaking from previous experiences one and two, sex is great between us. You’re comfortable with me, and I’m comfortable with you. Why don’t we continue sleeping together? You know, get each other off, try some new things?”

“Like a friends with benefits kind of thing?” you inquired, furrowing your brows.

“Yeah I guess so,” he breathed out.

“How is that going to work, Dean?” you turned to face him. “It literally never works. There are too many rules, and someone always gets hurt in the end.”

“Not if we don’t let it,” he reminded you.

“Fair point. If we’re going this, and that’s a big if, Dean. I don’t want stupid rules and shit, okay? Friends who have sex, try new things; whatever. Nothing about our friendship changes,” you declared.

“Done deal. I can agree to those terms,” he nodded.

“Good. I’m all for sex, but as soon as something goes sideways, of gets complicated, I’m out, okay?” you breathed out.

“More than okay,” he smiled at you. “Now, are you going to deny me after sex cuddling?”

“We had sex like half an hour ago,” you scoffed playfully.

“Friends are allowed to cuddle, you know,” he reminded you. “It’s not going to hurt you.”

“Fine,” you shook your head. “You’re big spoon though.”

“Turn around then,” he smirked.

You turned over, trying to make yourself comfortable on your side of the bed. Dean slipped his arm around your middle, his chest pressing against your back. You let yourself melt into him, feeling safe in his hold. You knew for a fact that he was going to keep the nightmares away tonight.

Maybe after sex cuddling wasn’t so bad after all.

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

Part 5 coming Tuesday!

Did you like it? What was your favourite part? Any theories? Please share your thoughts with me via reblog, reply or send me an ask! Nothing is stupid! I WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU! Your response is the ONLY thing keeping me sharing this story!

Dean Babes

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