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on-maars · 3 years ago

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The Getaway

Just another buddie fic, 4k, hope you’ll like it :)

Read it on AO3

Eddie is seated on the couch, his eyes barely glancing at the TV broadcasting an old episode of Friends. He turned it on a few minutes ago, hoping it would take his mind off things. He’s probably watched that episode a dozen of times already but anything is better than the big, gaping hole in his chest and the turmoil of feelings banging against each other in his head.

It’s a quiet night. Christopher’s already in bed and Buck just left a few minutes ago. For his date. With Taylor. His new girlfriend.

And it’s fine. It’s great, even. The timing is just not right. Or maybe it is. Maybe Eddie’s just the one who took too much time to realize what was right in front of him. Maybe Eddie’s just the one who messed things up. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all. He’s used to it, by now. In fact, he only seems to get better at it as the years go by.

“Why are you looking so sorry for yourself?”

It’s his Abuela talking. She just came back from the kitchen with an herbal tea in one hand and a plate with a few biscuits in the other. It’s nice – Eddie thinks. Spending time with her. After everything that happened, it’s a relief to have a comforting presence in the house, aside from Christopher.

And Eddie told Buck it was fine. He told him he could take care of himself for a few hours while he’s on a date with Taylor but Eddie’s just glad his best-friend didn’t take no for an answer and called Abuela anyway. Because the truth is, it’s not fine. The truth is when nighttime falls and darkness slowly settles upon the living-room, nothing distracts him from the wormhole of fear and despair that is his mind.

“Nothing, Abuela.” He says. “Don’t worry about me.” He adds, and gives her the most convincing smile he can muster. But his Abuela’s no fool. Eddie can pretend alright throughout the day, tell easy lies, fake smiles, anything to avoid any awkward conversations, anything to avoid talking about what really matters, at heart. Eddie’s good at it. He’s been doing that for years, in fact. But the quiet of the night makes it harder to pretend.

Still, he says:

“Everything’s fine.”

“No it’s not, nieto.” His abuela answers, patting him a few times on the cheek. “Does it have something to do with that boy of yours?” She asks, and Eddie chuckles lightly, lowering his eyes to the ground. The tightness of his chest only intensifies, as it always does when conversations get too close to the truth.

“He’s not my boy.” He only answers, squirming uncomfortably on the couch, ignoring the way his shoulder screams his pain at the movement. He winces but closes his eyes fiercely, letting the warmth of Abuela’s presence comforts him.

“But you wish he could be.” She remarks and Eddie rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed.

He’s never been really good at it. Talking about his feelings. Talking about what’s inside him, about what’s important. And he doesn’t really know how Buck managed to bypass that shell, he doesn’t really know how Buck managed to weave its way into the cracks of the wall Eddie erected around himself along the years but it’s too late, now. He let him in. He let him in and Eddie’s never felt so vulnerable.

“It doesn’t matter.” He says after a few seconds. “He’s happy.” He adds, and looks down once again. “That’s all I want for him. To be happy. And if that means watching him with her, then I-” He sighs, and marks a pause. “It doesn’t matter.” He repeats.

He gets up from the couch and takes a few steps in the living-room, the cup of herbal tea long forgotten. He doesn’t go far, though. His abuela’s voice echoes in the house before he has the time to make it to the kitchen.

“Of course it matters, Eddito.” She says, her voice calm and soft. “You need to talk to him.”

“And what good would it do?” Eddie snaps, looking up at her. “To tell him?” He adds. “Look, abuela, I- I love you, alright? But let me handle this. Please.” He says, uncapping a beer and taking a sip, his back leaned against the kitchen counter.

“If I let you handle this, you’re just gonna bottle it all up and ignore it.” His abuela says and Eddie’s tight on his beer bottle tightens. “He worries about you, Eddie.” She adds.

Eddie whirls his head around and frowns. “He told you that?”

“On the phone.” She confirms. “That boy was ready to cancel his date to spend the evening with you, nieto. You’ll always be his priority. You and Christopher. You’ll always come first. Whatever he’s got going on with that reporter of his, it’s not gonna last.”

Eddie chuckles a bit at the dismissive tone of his Abuela. He shakes his head and puts his beer on the kitchen table. “Her name is Taylor, Abuela. She’s actually kind of n-”

The next few words die in his throat as he hears Buck opening the door, quietly, keeping the noise to a minimum. Buck gives him a warm smile and kisses his Abuela on the cheek before taking off his shoes next to the doormat and dropping his keys on the kitchen table like he always does. And that’s just another thing Eddie can’t help but notice; how comfortable Buck is around his house, wandering around and making this space his own, fitting in a way no other person did before. Not Ana.

Not even Shanon.

Eddie smiles back at him softly, and ignores the knowing look of his Abuela.

She takes a few steps towards him and pats him on the cheek another time, pressing a small kiss there. “Tell him.” She whispers against his ear before disappearing in the living-room.

---

Turns out his Abuela is right. If handling it means sulking and watching Buck as he gets more and more comfortable with his relationship with Taylor, then Eddie’s pretty sure he’s doing a great job. In fact, if the tightness of his throat and the tenseness of his chest occurring every time he sees Buck and Taylor together are any indication, Eddie would even say he excels at it.

“You know you don’t need to throw daggers at her every time she’s around.” Hen says quietly next to him one day, while they’re all reunited in the Grant-Nash household to celebrate his first day without a sling. “Like, I’m just saying. If you want to pretend like everything’s alright then at least be better at it.” She says.

Eddie sighs and starts scratching at the tag on his beer bottle. “What do you want me to do, Hen?” He asks. “He’s- he’s happy.”

Eddie looks up at Buck and watches him as he wraps his arm around Taylor’s waist, bringing her closer while he discusses something with Bobby near the barbecue, and from the way his hands keep motioning to the air around him, whatever his best-friend is saying seems to passionate him a lot.

A few seconds later, Taylor presses a small kiss to his cheek and moves away from them to join David and Michael. And Eddie doesn’t like it, the way she managed to weave her way into the 118 and their extended family in just a few months. He doesn’t like it but that’s just the jealousy talking so he sucks it up and plays it cool instead. He makes small talk. He laughs at her jokes. He’s polite. Maybe a bit too much, at times. But he’s trying. He’s trying while still making sure to keep his interactions with her at a minimum.

She’s not making it easy for him, though. No. She keeps coming. Over and over again like she’s trying to prove a point. And Eddie doesn’t know if her trying so hard comes from a place of real thoughtfulness or simple willingness to please Buck, but the thing still remains that she makes him happy. And if his best-friend is happy then Eddie doesn’t mind carrying the pain a bit while longer.

“Eddie?” Hen asks, her eyebrows raised and Eddie whirls his head around, bringing his attention back on his friend.

“Sorry.” He says apologetically. “I was- thinking.”

“I was just saying. It’s not gonna last.” She says and Eddie scoffs, remembering the words of his Abuela.

“Ditto.” Chimney adds, interfering in the conversation.

“You do sound sure of yourselves.” Eddie says, his eyebrows raised.

“Look, Taylor is awesome. But she’s not good for him. He’s different when he’s with her. Less free. Like he’s trying to perform.”

“Just like you with Ana, really.” Chimney adds, his mouth full of crisps. “Because you’re just two idiots who need to have everything spelled out for you.”

“Because you’re an expert in relationships, now?” Eddie asks sarcastically.

“Clearly I’m not.” Chimney answers. “But that’s just how embarrassingly obvious you two are.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie only says, throwing a crisp at Chimney’s head.

Hen looks like she wants to keep arguing but the next second, Buck jogs over them and takes a seat next to Eddie, pacing a comforting hand on his arm. Eddie smiles softly at him and nudges him playfully, finding comfort in Buck’s warm presence.

“You okay?” Buck asks, his voice soft. “How’s your shoulder?” He asks, worried.

“I’m fine Buck.” He answers. “Pretty sure they wouldn’t have removed the sling if I wasn’t.” He adds playfully.

“Yeah yeah I know.” Buck smiles at him and marks a pause before adding, more seriously: “Just wanted to be sure.” He moves his hand from Eddie’s arm to his shoulder and trace small patterns on his exposed skin with his thumb. Eddie’s heart soars in his chest.

“So Buck.” Hen starts and from the tone of her voice, Eddie knows she’s up to something. “Everything’s okay with Taylor?”

It seems like a harmless question, an easy one that should come with an easy answer. Something Buck could dismiss with just a few words. Especially with Taylor only a few feet away from them. And that’s why Eddie’s surprised to hear the next few words coming out of Buck’s mouth.

“Yeah I-” Buck starts but marks a pause. “I don’t really know to be honest.” He says honestly and Eddie frowns.

“How come?” Chimney asks, throwing a pistachio nut in his mouth.

“She’s great.” Buck instantly answers like he’s trying to prove a point. “She really is and I like her but I’m just not sure if we want the same things you know. She’s- She’s very focused on her career, it’s always- it’s always gonna be her top priority and I’m never going to get in the way of that, I think it’s awesome but… Well, call me old school but I- I want a family.”

“You do have a family.” Eddie finds himself saying without thinking. A small smile breaks in on Buck’s face and he chuckles slightly, lowering his eyes to the ground.

“You know what I mean, Eds.” He adds.

I do – Eddie thinks. And I want it all with you.

“She doesn’t want kids?” Hen asks, and Eddie can’t help but exhales a small sigh of relief as Buck shakes his head slowly, his shoulders slumped down. Because that’s a deal-breaker for his best-friend and Eddie knows it.

“And that’s okay you know.” Buck adds. “I’m not gonna try and change her mind. That’s her choice. But I just can’t pretend to want the same thing. I want kids. And I know there’s already Christopher but I- I want something real.”

“This is real.” Eddie says before he can stop himself. And maybe he said too much. And from the snort Chimney lets out the next second, he realizes that yes he probably did, but Buck is watching him with so much attention Eddie finds it physically impossible to look away or force his mind to focus on something else than Buck’s eyes, eyes that seem to pierce through his very soul.

They shuttle back and forth, as if performing an internal scan of his face, until something eventually seems to click in Buck’s head and a flash of realization crosses his eyes. And just when Eddie expects his best-friend to say something, reject him awkwardly or express his confusion, Buck just gets up from his chair and walks away. Which – okay, Eddie definitely wasn’t expecting that.

“Okay what just happened?” Hen asks.

“This was either the weirdest interaction I’ve ever witnessed or it’s just another one of their weird non-verbal communication.” Chimney answers.

“Well if it was, he was definitely talking to himself because I’m just as lost as you are.” Eddie intervenes, his eyes still fixed on Buck, watching him from afar. His best-friend whispers something against Taylor’s ear and she just nods, following him inside the house.

“Did they… Did they just leave?” Chimney asks, his eyes wide.

“Said it was an emergency.” Maddie nods, stepping outside the house, a confused expression plastered all over her face. “Looks like he had just seen a ghost.” She adds.

And this just leaves Eddie more confused than he was five minutes ago.

---

When Eddie goes back home with Christopher, it’s already quite late in the afternoon and Eddie’s now standing in front of the stove, trying his very best to follow his Abuela’s chicken soup recipe to the letter. Cooking’s never really been his area of expertise and he’s pretty sure he’s just going to mess it all up like he always does but he promised Christopher he would try, and it doesn’t matter how much his son grew, Eddie’s still unable to refuse any of his favors.

Buck would usually be the one cooking. Eddie usually just sits there, watching him and making sure he doesn’t forget a step from the recipe. Tonight is different, though. Buck’s been unreachable ever since he left that gathering and Eddie’s just too damn scared to take his car and drive to Buck’s loft.

“I don’t understand why Buck isn’t here, dad.” Christopher says, taking a few steps inside the kitchen. “He’s late and it’s movie night. He promised me we would finally watch the first Harry Potter movie. I even prepared the DVD. When is he coming?” He asks and Eddie lets go of the spatula, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“I don’t know, mijo.” He says.

“Well why don’t you text him?” Christopher asks and Eddie quickly takes his phone from his back-pocket, checking his messages for what might be the tenth time in an hour. Nothing.

“I did.” Eddie says. “But he’s not answering at the moment. He must be busy.” He adds, and his chest tenses. Because maybe Buck did understand what Eddie was trying to say back there. Maybe he did and maybe him walking away and leaving the house is just the way for him to make Eddie understand that nothing can ever happen between them. Maybe his Abuela, Hen and Chimney were all wrong, maybe Eddie did manage to ruin the best relationship he’s ever had in his entire life. Maybe that’s just another thing he can add to the list of all the things he failed.

Eddie shakes his head and takes a deep breath, biting his lower lip and holding back the tears already gathering in his eyes. “Get it together, Diaz.” He whispers to himself and stirs the soup that definitely doesn’t smell the same way than when Buck does it.

“But hey, it’s still fun if it’s just the two of us, right?” Eddie manages to articulate through gritted teeth.

“Yeah I guess. But he’s probably just late, dad.” Christopher says behind him. “He’d never miss a movie night.”

Or maybe he’s just not coming – Eddie thinks, but says nothing and nods weakly at his son instead. Christopher keeps smiling at him without a care in the world, his eyes fixed on their door, probably only waiting for Buck to finally step in. And that’s when Eddie realizes how badly he screwed up. Because he didn’t only ruin that relationship for himself, but most importantly he ruined it for his son. His son, who he knows sees Buck as another father figure. His son who loves Buck just as much as he does. What is he gonna tell him? That he was too weak to keep his feelings for himself? That he had to go and find a way to destroy the most stable relationship they’ve had in years? He can’t do that.

But just when his brain is about to spiral in endless direction, the door finally opens and Buck steps in, a huge smile on his face, the same cheerful, bright and sparkling attitude.

“Bucky!” Christopher exclaims, running towards him and wrapping his arms around his shoulders once Buck is squatted down in front of him. “You’re late.” He says with a reproachful tone.

“I know, I’m sorry buddy.” Buck answers apologetically. “I just needed to do something very important first. And then I went to the bookshop to buy this for you.” He adds, and Eddie watches him as he takes a book about space from his bag. “Look. The lady from the store told me it was a really good one.”

“Thanks Bucky.” Christopher only says, his eyes already scanning the different pages.

“I bought one for me too so we can discuss it together!” Buck says with a large smile and Eddie knows he’s just as excited as his son to start reading that new book and that’s enough to bring a small smile to his face.

“Dad was afraid you wouldn’t come.” Christopher says out of the blue and Eddie suddenly feels very small, and exposed. Buck looks up at him and smiles softly, ruffling Christopher’s hair before standing up.

“Are you kidding?” He says with his eyes wide, looking affronted. “I’d never miss a movie night with my favorite Diaz boys.

“That’s what I told him.” Christopher replies, nodding his head energetically. “But he can be very dumb sometimes.” He adds and Eddie lets out a small chuckle, his right hand gripping the edge of the table, so tight his knuckles go white.

His brain is working too fast for his head to catch up and he has no idea what’s going on but then Buck takes a few steps towards him and cups his cheeks with his hands to press a small kiss to his forehead and well – that’s enough for Eddie to lose all his composure. He wraps his arms around his shoulders and hold him close, burying his face into the crook of his neck, inhaling Buck’s aftershave. “I thought I had fucked up so bad I was going to lose you.” He whispers against his best-friend’s skin without thinking, letting out a sigh of relief when Buck only brings him a little closer.

“Yeah to be honest I didn’t really think of how that would look until I was back in my loft with Taylor.” He says and Eddie wants nothing more but to ask what that means but thinks better of it and quickly regains composure when he notices Christopher is still there in the kitchen, his eyes shuttling back and forth between the two of them. “You’re trying to cook, Diaz?” Buck eventually asks after a few seconds, his eyes falling on the soup still warming up in the pan. “Sure it’s a good idea?” He adds, his eyebrows raised.

“Shut up.” Eddie says, tapping him on the neck in a playful manner.

“It’s just that I don’t particularly want to die of food poisoning tonight.” Buck goes on and Eddie sighs, raising his hand in surrender and stepping aside to give him space to cook.

“I’m gonna prepare everything in the living-room.” Christopher says excitedly. “Buck, did you bring the popc-”

“In my bag.” Buck says without letting him finish his sentence.

“And the cand-”

“With the popcorn.” He nods and Eddie rolls his eyes at him, but his lips already start turning up at the edges. Christopher quickly disappears from the kitchen with Buck’s bag in his hand and Eddie leans against the kitchen counter, glancing at his best-friend from times to times.

The room is quiet now, without Chris. Buck is focused on the soup, stirring it and adding the spices, tasting it every now and then to make sure it doesn’t miss anything. Eddie would usually find it comforting, seeing Buck so at ease in his kitchen, but this time it fills him with a fearful anticipation.

“You know, we could have talked about it.” Buck says out of the blue and Eddie draws a sharp intake of breath, knowing what’s coming.

“Talked about what?” Eddie answers and Buck rolls his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief.

“This.” He simply answers. “Us.” He says, and Eddie starts peeling off the tag on his beer bottle. He stays silent for a few seconds, desperately racking his brain trying to find something to say but Buck beats him to it:

“You always do that when you’re nervous.” He says, and Eddie instantly looks down at his hands. “And then you always avert your eyes because you hate looking at people in the eye when a conversation gets a bit too close to the truth.” He goes on and Eddie sighs, putting the bottle on the table and forcing himself to keep his face neutral.

But still, he can feel Buck’s eyes on him and here it is again, the sensation that no matter what he does, no matter how much he tries to hide, Buck will always be able to see right through him.

“I just think it’s funny.” Buck says after a while and Eddie finally looks up at him, frowning in confusion. “You always say you’re not good with words, Eddie, but I never felt like you needed to be. Because your face always says all I need to know.” He adds and Eddie has to physically force himself to hold Buck’s gaze. It’s not easy, though, and he suspects his best-friend knows it because he smiles softly at him the next second, like he’s proud, or happily surprised.

“Yeah well.” Eddie says as an attempt to dismiss the importance of what Buck just said but his best-friend straight up laughs at him and Eddie cradles his chin with his right hand and forces him to look away. “Focus on that soup, Buckley.”

“I don’t think I can salvage your poor attempt at cooking this time, Diaz.” He teases him and Eddie simply rolls his eyes at him.

Buck stirs the soup a bit more and brings the spatula to Eddie’s face, his other hand placed under his chin, his fingers brushing past his skin. Eddie opens his mouth to taste the soup but is so taken aback by the gesture that he needs a few seconds to gather his thoughts.

“It’s- it’s good.” Eddie says, his voice low.

“Of course it is.” Buck answers, unimpressed. “It’s your Abuela’s recipe.” He adds. “It’s nearly ready.”

Eddie nods and lifts himself to sit on the kitchen counter, letting his eyes wander across Buck’s face. His best-friend seems very focused on the task at hand and as he opens the drawer to grab three bowls, Eddie thinks to himself that maybe it’s time for him to be brave as well.

“Maybe now’s a good time to talk about it?” He finds himself asking, with a trembling voice. Buck whirls his head around and looks at him, his eyes a little wider than usual. “Would- would that be okay?”

“Yeah.” Buck breathes with a smile. "Course it would"

“You think- you think that would work?” Eddie asks, his forehead wrinkled in concern. “Us?” He precises. “Is that- is that even a thing I’m allowed to think about?”

“I broke up with Taylor.” Buck blurts out and Eddie looks up at him.

“Because of what I said back there?” Eddie dares asking after a few seconds, his eyes filled with hope.

“Because of what you said.” Buck nods and takes a step forward. “I always know how to read you Eddie and yet until- until this afternoon, I was so far away from thinking that you might actually- that you might be-”

“I’m in love with you.” Eddie blurts out, cutting him off, and he knows he said the right thing when Buck lets out a small laugh and looks down at the ground, smiling sheepishly.

“Finally.” Eddie hears a little voice saying behind him. It’s Christopher talking and he sounds exasperated, and remarkably unimpressed. “I was wondering when you two would figure it out. Carla told me it would happen very soon but I wasn’t sure.” He says, pressing his hands on his face while a small sigh escapes his lips. “I guess she was right.”

Buck’s smile only gets a bit bigger as he watches Christopher in amazement. He shakes his head in disbelief but quickly brings back his attention towards Eddie and leans towards him to press their lips together for what is barely even a kiss because they’re both smiling too big and their teeth keep clanking together. Yet Eddie wouldn’t have it any other way. He brings Buck closer by putting his hands on the back of his neck and sighs in relief when Buck places his own hands on his lower back, tilting his head to kiss him with a better angle.

“I knew you’d be gross like that.” Chris says with a sigh and Eddie chuckles against Buck’s lips. “But that’s okay, I guess. As long as I’m still your favorite Diaz.” He adds, looking at Buck who only smiles a bit bigger.

“You’ll always be number 1, superman.”

“Dad is number 2, then?” Christopher asks and Buck shakes his head.

“Number 4.” He corrects him. “Pepa and your Abuela obviously come first.” He says, earning a small laugh from Christopher.

“Traitor.” Eddie mutters under his breath but Buck captures his mouth another time in a gentle kiss, and Eddie suddenly forgets how to think.

“If you don’t hurry, I’m starting the movie without you.” Christopher says while disappearing from the kitchen.

“Dinner coming right up, superman.” Buck instantly says, turning around to fill the three bowls with the soup, placing them on a tray afterwards. He looks up at Eddie and his hands motion to the air around him, chasing him out of the kitchen.

Eddie gladly accepts and as he takes a seat next to Christopher on the couch, he can still hear Buck busying himself around the kitchen and a bright smile breaks in on his face.

Yeah – he thinks. I can get used to that.

#it's kinda bad #but you know #i tried #buddie #buddie fic #buck x eddie #911 #9-1-1 #evan buckley #eddie diaz

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kuroos-babie · 4 years ago

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Falling in Love with a Single Mom

Iwaizumi x fem!Reader | Bokuto x fem!Reader | Ushijima x fem!Reader

[ Headcanons/MiniFic ]

Request: Can I please req headcanons for Iwaizumi, Bokuto, and Ushijima falling for a single mom? — anonymous

a/n: this one’s looong but i really enjoyed writing it pLS GIVE ME MORE like anything concerning babies id love that please thank u :’] I HOPE Y’ALL WOULD LIKE THIS ONE :D i’d love to make these a full blown fic if any of yall want that hehe

❀ aside from the hushed chattering of students waiting for the professor to arrive, the college lecture hall was fairly quiet

❀ that was until the high-pitched cries of a baby ripped through the room

“hey pipe it down!”

“who would even bring a baby to a lecture anyway?”

“can’t you just bring it outside jeez you’re interfering the class”

“class hasn’t even started yet”

❀ iwaizumi was the last one to speak, your classmates’ snarky comments annoying him more than the baby’s crying

❀ he saw you walk out the hall, pushing the stroller with your head low, muttering apologies

❀ letting out a sigh, iwa stood up with the intention of following you outside, but not before he shoots your classmates a threatening glare

❀ he finds you not too far from from the lecture hall, bouncing your 5-month old daughter on your hip as her wailing turned to quiet sobs while she laid her head on your chest

“there there, were you just sleepy?”, iwa doesn’t miss the soft but tired smile gracing your face

“uhh do you need some help with that?”, you jumped at his voice, startled

“oh no, we’re fine! thank you though...uhh..?”

“iwaizumi, i’m iwaizumi hajime, i believe we haven’t met before” he extends his hand for you to shake which you curtly did

“y/n! yeah i believe we haven’t”

❀ since that encounter, iwa would always sit beside you in class and glare at anyone who so much as attempts to make any unnecessary comments

❀ he’d often offer to look after your baby while you took class notes for the both of you

❀ it didn’t take long for iwa to grow fond of your blubbering baby and, of course, you

❀ he noticed how hard you worked; juggling classes, part-time jobs and taking care of your daughter and he admired you for it, so much so that he spent almost every weekend over at your place, insisting on helping you take care of your daughter

“y/n, i don’t want to seem rude but if it’s alright to ask, where’s her dad?”, he’d ask while holding your child, who was curiously pinching and smooshing at his face, as you prepared lunch

it was a question that’s been bugging him for so long, noticing that there was no sign of any other person in your small apartment except for you and your baby

“oh,” you started with a small laugh, “he left when i told him i was pregnant”

the amount of restrain it took iwaizumi to not curse in front of the baby is unthinkable but the bittersweet way you smiled dissipated his anger and he was filled with something he couldn’t quite comprehend

“it’s alright though! we’ve managed to get this far”, there was a wistful pause before you continued, “i’d love it if she grew up with a dad though.”

“then let me” with a voice so steady, unwavering, and as dependable as he was these past few months he continued, “i’ll take care of you.”

he didn’t even let your tears fall as he pulled you in his embrace together with your child, placing a soft kiss on your forehead,

and for the first time in so long, you’re comforted with the feeling that everything will be fine —and you believed that it will be, as long as he was there

❀ it was just another run to the grocery store with akaashi, him picking out everything on the list while bokuto sluggishly pushed the cart through the aisles

“akaashi what’s taking you so looooong? i want to go hooooome”

“bokuto-san we wouldn’t be spending so much time here if you regularly shopped instead of calling me for help when you’ve eaten the last bit of food in your house and you have nothing else to eat anymore.”

❀ the tall owl-like man deflated more, if that was even possible, as he followed akaashi around

❀ skimming through the snack aisle, he noticed something was tugging on his shirt, but when he looked down..

“daddy?”

AJDKDAFJHKSD DO I LOOK LIKE--

“uhhh akaashi???”

❀ the toddler clutched at the hem of bokuto’s shirt, tear-stained cheeks puffing out as he pouted

❀ bokuto picked the child up and held him in his arms with a bright smile

“what’s wrong buddy? are you lost? should we help you find mommy?”

“we should probably leave him at the security desk, bokuto-san”

“are you my daddy?”, the toddler asked again, teary eyed, ignoring akaashi’s words

“well do you want me to be your daddy?”, he grinned and the child nodded gleefully

“bokuto-san, no”

he turned to his junior, tears welling up his eyes, “akaashi, i’m a father!!”

“bOKuTO-sAN”

❀ the tragedy of akaashi keiji

❀ the rest of grocery shopping went by with bokuto picking out stuff for his “son”

❀ it was all fun and games right before you spotted them

“uhm, excuse me but i think that’s my son”

“mommy!” the child’s eyes lit up as he turned to you

“hi baby, let’s go home you’ve troubled this man enough.”

“mommy i found daddy!!”, he said while hugging around bokuto’s head, earning a chuckle from him

you laughed lightly, turning to the two men, “sorry he has a knack for trying to find a dad during grocery runs”

bokuto and akaashi gave each other a look before the latter spoke, “it’s alright you must’ve been worried, bokuto-san please give back her son”

“but akaashi--”

“give him back :)”

bokuto hesitantly placed your son in your arms, the both of them have matching pouts

your son nuzzled against your shoulder, stifling down his sobs and quietly whispered, “but i really wanted him to be my dad”

“maybe we can meet up some other time again so you and bokuto-san can play?”, you eyed the man pleadingly which earned you a giddy nod from both your child and him

❀ that was how you and bokuto started seeing each other regularly

❀ he’d visit your house every weekend, come with you to pick up your son from kindergarten, take you both out for dinner and even stayed over on some occasions

❀ your son loves him so much and always calls him “dad/daddy”

❀ bokuto calls him “buddy/kid”

❀ your son would often tease bokuto when he catches him stealing glances at you while you walked around the house, getting chores done

“you like mommy don’t you?”, he’d snicker

“i-- whAT? kid where do you get those ideas from?”

you peered through the doorway of you son’s playroom, “baby do you want some snacks?”

“yes please!” the both of them answered at the same time, bokuto turning beet-red while you just stifle down a laugh and went to prepare their snacks

when bokuto was sure that you were out of earshot, he whispered to your son, “kid do you still want me to be your daddy?”

“yes! yes!! YES!!!”, the little boy bounced on his heels happily

“okay good because i think i want to marry your mommy”

“wakatoshi-kun isn’t that y/n-san?”

❀ ushijima grunted as he had his eyes fixed on your form from across the room

❀ it was your high school reunion and even though you both haven’t met in a while, the former volleyball team captain still felt his spine tingling at the sight of you

❀ you’ve always been pretty, pretty enough to catch his eyes and fascinating enough personality-wise to keep his attention on you

❀ though he never spoke of these feelings throughout high school, it never really vanished even when you’re well on your adult years

❀ and seeing you right now, with the same pretty smile but seemingly tired eyes, he can’t help but yearn for you as he did when you were in high school

❀ while walking to the other end of the room to where you were, he thought of anything to try and hit up a conversation with you but he was pulled from his musings the moment you’re standing in front of him, a mere arms-length away

“y/n..”

“oh ushijima-san! long time no see, how hav--”

“mama!”, you were interrupted as your 5 year old child clung to your hips, “mama the scary man’s coming for me!”

“ᶦ ʷᵃˢ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵗʳʸᶦⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ˢᵃʸ ʰᵉˡˡᵒ“ :’/

“baby don’t be rude that’s just uncle goshiki, go on play with him” you urged your son with a gentle hand on his back

“no! his hair looks weird!!”

❀ rip tsutomu bb

❀ ushijima doesn’t know what to make out of the situation

❀ you have a child? does that mean you were married already? was he too late?

“i didn’t know you got married”

“huh? oh no! i didn’t..”, you were hoping he would get the hint but you remembered that it was ushijima wakatoshi in front of you, so you had to spell it out for him, “i got pregnant shortly after college, his dad left the moment i dropped the news though”

the laugh that came from you was humorless, and that didn’t go unnoticed by ushijima

“would it be alright if i took you out on a date, then?”

❀ with face flushed deep red, you bit the inside of your cheek and nodded, sheepishly squeaking out a quiet “yeah”

❀ you both agreed to meet the next weekend for lunch then take your son on a playhouse while you two catch up

❀ then came the weekend, everything was going well, except for one thing

❀ even at the playhouse, your son didn’t leave your side and instead opted for glaring at ushijima across the table in the parents’ waiting area

“baby it’s rude to glare at people, please go play with the other kids”

“what do you want to do with mama!”, he said pointedly at the mountain of a man

“talk?”

“what do you want to talk about with her!”

you couldn’t help but smile at your tiny little bodyguard acting so tough even with a man probably five times his size

“i wanted to know if she would consider marrying me”

at that, you whipped your head to look at the man across the table who was casually talking to your son, the prospect of marrying someone who you secretly pined for for all of high school sending a wave of hot blush on your face

“why?”, your son continued with the questions

“because i would like to marry her”

“why?”

“because i love her”

“since when??”

your face grew incredibly warmer every second that passed by but his answer dealt the finishing blow and you thought your heart would burst

“since all of high school”

1K notes · View notes

santigarcia · 4 years ago

Text

Knockout Blues

a 1940s mob au blue jones x f!reader fic~

word count: 8k

rating: m/e - for smut, canon typical violence for sucker punch and mob movies, some slight non con, themes of a abuse and a major character death - pls only read if you are 18+!

summary: You’re hired by the mob to sing at a nightclub, and you fall in love with the devilishly handsome nightclub host~

a/n: this one has been in my drafts for a long time, i’ve worked so hard on it!! i hope you all enjoy it!! thank you to @sergeantkane for this header!!!

The nightclub Knockout Blues is lively tonight. You walk inside arm in arm with your boyfriend Sam Miller. You’re greeted with the smell of smoke and alcohol and strong perfume. There’s a bar along the back wall. The floor is full of round tables with chairs. The stage is on the far right of the entrance. Waitresses are buzzing about, men in fine suits sit at tables as they drink. Scantily clad women dance on the stage, fringe dangling from their breasts and hips, as large feather fans tease the audience.

It was much quieter when you came in earlier this week to audition.

You’re a singer, and the owner of this club expressed interest in hiring you.

You know this club is a front for the mob. Your boyfriend Sam is one of them. You don’t know what it is that he does, but it scares you. You want to end things with him, but you’re too scared to leave. You aren’t sure what would happen to you if you were left to fend for yourself.

You can’t worry about that tonight though. Tonight is your first show.

You part ways with Sam to head backstage. He gives you a sloppy kiss and a smack to your ass on his way to the bar. A nearby patron smirks at you. You can only scoff. Your dreams of being a famous singer will not be ruined. You are determined. You might have to suffer some bad gigs before you’re able to move up the chain.

Tiptoeing backstage, you see a whole other world. Costumes, make-up, wigs, props of all kinds are scattered about. Performers are getting ready, women powdering their noses. You can faintly hear the cheering from the small audience, the sound is drowned out from the bustle back here.

There’s a man in a silky white coat kissing one of the dancers, his hand is grasping her ass and stroking up her thigh. You try not to stare, though you’re not exactly shocked – just intrigued. This isn’t what you were anticipating.

Wandering around like a lost child, you freeze when you see a door with your name scrawled on a piece of paper taped to it. The door is slightly ajar, and you nudge it open. You turn on the light switch revealing a small vanity with a mirror surrounded by lightbulbs. There’s a rack of clothes with a single red sparkly dress on it. There’s also a schedule taped to the mirror with your name circled on each date you’re to perform for the rest of the month.

“You have twenty minutes,” someone with a clipboard pokes in your room and tells you. You’d only just realized you didn’t close the door behind you.

You lock it, and frantically begin to undress and change into this dress. It’s a perfect fit and flattering to your figure. But it’s a little more revealing than you’d prefer.

There’s a light switch on the wall by the mirror and this turns on the bulbs, you flick it on and get one last look at yourself before you are to go on stage.

The same person with the clipboard bangs on your door and tells you to follow them. The dancers who were on stage earlier brush past you on your way up front. You stand on the side now, looking on stage.

The same man who was kissing one of the dancers is speaking, he’s making the crowd laugh. Then you hear your name from his lips. He’s announcing your performance. Nerves shoot down to your toes, and you’re not so gently nudged onto the stage. The man walks with more swagger than you’ve ever seen past you, he gives you a little wink when you make eye contact. His slicked-back black hair, thin mustache and gorgeous smile have you dizzy for a moment before you realize there’s an audience staring at you.

Some men whistle as you step forward to the microphone. When you nod the band begins to play, and you begin to sing.

The spotlight on you is just a little too bright for you to see out in the audience, you can only make out shapes of patrons at tables. There’s a thick layer of smoke high in the air also hindering your view.

You let your voice carry and it’s a release. Release from the stressors and fears. All apprehensions about taking this job are forgotten in this moment.

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

The setlist you’ve been given is short, with a promise of more songs the longer you’re here. You are content with this – a couple songs for your first night at this club isn’t bad at all. In fact, you’re quite proud.

There’s a spring in your step when you head back to your dressing room. You’re all smiles, proud of a good performance. The bustle backstage doesn’t bother you as you breeze into your room.

It’s there you’re met with a shock. The man from before, with the thin mustache and white silk coat. He’s sitting in the chair in front of the vanity, smoothing his eyebrow down as he looks in the mirror. He makes eye contact with you in the reflection. His eyes are dark, but then a genuine kind smile flashes across his face.

“Hey, sugar. That was a hell of a show!” He stands, spinning to face you. He straightens his tie and practically glides over to you. He’s quick to take your hand in his and he plants a kiss to the back of your hand. His eyes flick up to yours, and he grins devilishly at the shy look in your eyes.

“Thank you,” you manage to get out.

“I’m Blue. Blue Jones.”

“You’re the owner?” The double meaning of the word owner is not lost on him, but he shakes his head no with a smile.

“No, no, that’s not me. Demetrius Fontana is the owner, I’m what you’d call a ‘figurehead.’ They call me ‘Blue’ because I’m the host of the show here at Knockout Blues,” he said as if he’s said this speech a thousand times.

“Have you met him? Mr. Fontana?”

“Boss? Course I have. He’s the one who hired me, sugar. He hired you too.”

“Did he?” You don’t remember meeting any mob bosses at your audition.

“Tall guy? Quiet? Scar under his eye? He wouldn’t have spoken. Only smoked a cigar at one of the tables.”

You nod, you remember seeing this man. It fills you with a nauseous feeling.

“Don’t worry,” Blue smiles, reaching to touch your arm, seeing your obvious discomfort. “He must have liked ya or else he wouldn’t’ have hired you.”

You don’t know if that’s better or worse. Somehow you get the feeling it’s too late. You can’t back out now. Dating Sam is one thing, you don’t want to anymore. But this? One of New York’s most powerful and feared men knows your name.

“Should I be scared?” you whisper. You don’t know why you’re asking him this, but he seems to know all the ins and outs of this place.

“Nah. Just don’t piss ‘em off,” he winks. “You’ll probably owe him a favor though.”

“Favor?”

“Yeah. A favor.” He says it so casually, but you don’t like the sound of it. “You didn’t think you got this job just because of your talent, did you? I mean you are damn good and gorgeous. But sugar, when these people do something for you, they expect a little something back.”

If you weren’t filled with dread already, now you really feel sick. You can only imagine what your favor would be.

“So, do I need to take you home or call you a cab?” Blue keeps on talking, as if nothing he’s said is worth fearing.

“Oh, my boyfriend is going to take me home.”

Blue nods, “well it was nice to meet you sugar. I look forward to working with you.” Another little wink.

A tune is on his lips, he whistles as he leaves your dressing room. Then he’s gone.

It’s not long before Sam comes to pick you up. You’ve had time to change into your regular clothes. He comes in drunk and lipstick smudged on his mouth and shirt collar. Another woman’s perfume is heavy in the air.

“Did you even see my show?” you ask.

He must think about it as if he can’t remember. He pushes you out the door and into the hallway. You hit the wall with a grunt. Down the hallway you see Blue with another dancer. The last one was a red head; this one was brunette. But he stops kissing her when he hears you.

“There a problem?” he calls down to you and Sam. The woman is kissing his neck while his hands rub up and down her back. His eyes are checking to see you’re ok.

“No,” Sam snarls, angry that Blue is interfering. “Come on,” he yanks your arm and pulls you down the hall past Blue and the brunette dancer. She’s still kissing his neck, and her knee is sliding up Blue’s inner thigh. Blue looks at you over this girl and gives you yet another wink.

It makes your face warm. His charm and charisma are enough that you’re already looking forward to coming in again despite any apprehensions you might have about favors from the mob.

When Sam fucks you that night, you wish it were Blue. You think about those hands and his eyes. Maybe it’s a foolish fantasy. But fantasy or not – you’re already developing a very real crush on Blue Jones of Knockout Blues.

Weeks pass and your crush on Blue is growing. It’s become quite the infatuation. He’s always pleasant when he sees you, and his touch gives you a thrill. Maybe it’s the idea that you shouldn’t, or that he’s nicer to you than your actual boyfriend.

So, your Blue crush keeps you eager to come back. You come early to the shows now to catch him sing. He’s always the opening act.

And the more time you spend at the club, the less scary it feels.

You’ve even met the…owner. Briefly. He was at the bar one evening. You’d just finished a performance and you stuck around to get a drink. He gave you a nod and bought your drink before he left. You’ll take that as a compliment.

You spend more time here at the club than you thought. Your evenings are busy with performances, but even after you’re done you hang around. In the afternoons you stop by for the occasional rehearsal.

You’re always on the look out for Blue, and he’s always around. Always with perfect hair and an easy smile. You’ve become friends of sorts, he’s always friendly. But you can’t help but want more. You can only assume he doesn’t flirt with you because of who your boyfriend is, which makes you want to break things off with him even more.

At least you have some interactions with Blue.

Tonight, he pops into your dressing room while you’re finishing your makeup.

“You ready for tonight?” He asks picking up your tube of lipstick. He pops the cap and rotates the stick in and out.

“Blue,” you smile at him. “I need that.”

“May I?” he grins.

“Okay,” you shrug casually, but inside your heart is pounding.

With his thumb and forefinger pressing on your jaw, he tilts your head back and opens your mouth in one movement. With his other hand, he sweeps the red lipstick across your lips. Then he reaches in his silk coat and pulls out a handkerchief. He cleans the residue of the lipstick from the corners of your mouth. He folds the small piece of fabric and tucks it back in his pocket.

“It’ll stain!” You gasp, still flustered from how close he was to you just moments ago.

“It’s a souvenir,” he clicks his tongue with a wink. He stops then and his eyes linger on your lips.

“What is it?” you turn with a furrowed brow to look in the mirror.

“I’d love to kiss those lips sugar.” He stays, standing behind you. He’s looking at your lips now in the mirror, then he leans down to whisper in your ear. “I know you want me too.”

“Blue, I can’t!” You stand up to move away from him. “Sam…”

“What about him? He doesn’t treat you right. Let me take care of you.”

“I can’t. He- won’t let me.”

“Let you?”

“I have to finish getting ready Blue. Did you need something?” You sniffle, trying not to smudge your fresh makeup.

“I wanted to ask you; would you sing a duet with me tonight? I know we haven’t practiced but I’d love to sing with you sugar. I’ll pick a song you know.”

“Really?” you look at him, your sad eyes turning bright. “I’d love to!”

“I’ll see you on stage in a few then?” His hand cups your elbow gently, his fingers leaving a heat on your skin.

Then quick as a wink, he’s out of the room whistling cheerfully. He’s always in a good mood, and it’s infectious.

Can this be happening? Are you about to sing with him? You fell deeper in love when you heard him sing. Now to be on stage with him? Seeing his stage presence up close? Your tongue feels numb.

Buzzing, you finish getting ready and dart down the hall to wait your turn. When Blue announces your name, it feels more personal this time. He’s looking right at you when he says it. The way he’s looking at you right now sends a shiver down your spine, it’s carnal.

He offers his hand, and you walk on stage happily, your game face on. Your eyes and small are bright, and the spectators cheer when they see you, you’re a new favorite.

The song begins, and thankfully it is one you know well. You’ve not even practiced with him, but the rawness that comes from it works. He holds you close and twirls you around. It’s an intimate dance, your bodies and voices intertwine as if you’d be lovers for years.

His smile is devilish, and he holds you so close you shiver. There’s a heat of excitement blooming between your legs, especially when his hand rounds your ass for a squeeze.

The song ends too quickly for your liking – but before you can even turn to exit the stage, Blue pulls you to him. He dips you down low and plants a searing kiss on your lips. His tongue delves between your lips, and his mustache tickles your upper lip. Those watching seem to cheer even louder, and when he straightens you back upright, you feel dizzy. The lights and sounds are all a blur. You can only see Blue and that wicked grin.

He lingers on stage to announce the next part of the show, while you float back to your room. You don’t even remember walking in there. Your heart feels like it could pound right out of your chest. You dance, you dance in circles around the room. You wish you could bottle up this happiness.

A knock on the door pulls you from your daydream, and with a grin you turn. Expecting to see Blue. Only you don’t see Blue – it’s your boyfriend Sam. You can smell the alcohol on him from where you stand.

“Sam, I-“

“Nice show tonight. You been practicing that?”

“No. Sam-“ he takes a step closer to you and you back away, there’s an anger in his eyes. The anger burns, and with a backhanded swing his hand hits your cheek. The skin stings and you feel blood trickle down, a small cut left behind from his ring.

He leans back to punch you this time, but you duck out of the way. His fist crashes into the mirror, breaking it, the shards fall with a loud crash.

The sound brings unwanted attention, and in moments you see Blue. Fontana is behind him. When Sam sees who is standing in the doorway, he backs off. He ducks out of the room without an apology, but you’re glad he’s gone.

Blue is at your side in an instant. Fontana is quiet, he gives you another nod when he sees Blue is with you.

“Are you alright?” Blue looks over your face, shushing you when you fall into his arms.

“Get me out of here,” you sob into his shoulder.

Blue wraps his arms around you, shielding you from prying eyes as you exit the backstage door. You leave in such a hurry that you forget your change of clothes. There’s a chill in the alley, and your sparkly red show dress does nothing to keep you warm. Blue shrugs his silk coat and wraps it around your shoulders.

“Come on, sugar. I know where we can go.”

You don’t walk far before you’re at the large hotel near the nightclub. You never even dreamed of staying here it’s too expensive. But Blue walks right in. Several people say hi to him, and it’s the first time you realize how popular his performances are – and how many connections to the mob there are.

He doesn’t even stop at the front desk; he guides you over to an elevator and presses a button. He presses the button to the top floor as if it’s nothing, but he’s puffing out his chest a little – he’s proud.

“The top floor?”

“Fontana suggested it,” Blue shrugs.

“What kind of favor did you do to get this?” you ask with wide eyes.

“I hope you’re not afraid of me,” he looks at you, his eyes softening. You know he must have done something big to get a suite on the top floor, but you do trust him.

“I’m not,” you tell him.

“Good,” he reaches for your hand and squeezes. “This life isn’t what you think it is.” He sounds almost sad, and it tugs at your heart. “I don’t want you to see me as someone in the business.”

You shake your head. No, of course you don’t. He’s been nothing but kind to you and honest.

The elevator bell dings finally, and his hand is on your lower back guiding you to his room. He fishes for his keys in his pockets and smiles at you when he slides the key into the lock.

You gasp when you step inside the room. It’s big and beautiful. So much space! It’s bigger than your apartment.

“Feel free to make yourself at home,” he says warmly.

“You’re not staying?”

“I thought you would want to be alone,” he offers, taking a step towards you.

“I want you to stay.”

Trembling, you reach for his hand guiding his warm palm to rest on your cheek. His touch is soft, a whisper over the growing bruise on your face. Tears well up in your eyes, the gravity of the situation finally catching up with you.

“I won’t let him hurt you again,” he says smoothing his thumb over the bruise.

Feeling bold, you place your hand on his chest. His eyes flick down and he reaches up to hold your hand.

“What is it sugar?”

“I want you Blue, I need you.”

His eyebrow raises in question, you know what he’s asking. If you do this if you fall into bed with him there’s no going back. An affair of this magnitude will have consequences. But you’re ready to be rid of Sam, you want Blue.

When you close the gap further and trace your knee up his thigh, Blue pulls you in for a searing kiss. The flames lick at your body, his tongue a fierce passionate intrusion into your mouth. His hands are already working on the zipper of your dress, and he hums in delight when he feels the bare skin of your back.

He pushes your dress down then, exposing your breasts to him. You’re truly a sight. He pulls you back in for a kiss and his hand cradles the back of your head – leaning you down on the bed. Fingers dance along your body, his thumbs brush over your nipples as they pass by. He’s quick to slide off the rest of your undergarments, now leaving you naked in front of him.

He’s quick to undress himself, and you gawk as each part of his suit drops to the floor. His cock is aching with need, and he pumps himself lazily – his pinky ring catches the light, and you groan.

Blue crawls over you, kissing his way up to your mouth. His hands are everywhere. One hand cups a breast, the other teases your slick folds. His mouth is all over your neck and jaw and face. He nibbles your ear. His fingers bring you to pleasure embarrassingly quick.

“Sugar,” he bites your neck, “you did need me, didn’t you?” he purrs.

When he finally pushes himself inside after all the teasing, he whines in your ear.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck!”

Your hands slip into his perfectly gelled hair and pull. You kiss at his neck. He growls and thrusts harshly. His rich cologne is in your nose, mixed with a hint of smoke and sweat. His body moves on top of yours in strong fluid motions. You’re coming again quickly, just as he spills into you.

You groan together, the sweet music of you pleasure intertwining.

Blue makes love to you all night. Heated and rough. Slow and sweet. Passionate and electrifying.

You’re overly sensitive and have tear stained cheeks before the night is over.

It’s close to 5 am when you’re finally still and tangled in the sheets with your new lover.

“I want to run away with you.” You tell him. Your fingers tracing shapes on his chest while he holds you.

“I’d love that too sugar. But we can’t.”

“Why couldn’t we though?” you sit up. “Why couldn’t we just run away right now?”

“Too many obligations,” he smooths his hair back. “You know it and I know it.

“What? As a performer?”

“I can at least help you get away from Sam.”

You flop back down on the bed. You know he’s right. You can’t just leave, even though it’s what you want. But you’d never be able to rest, you know they have people everywhere who would find you.

So, you begin to plan. It won’t be easy to end things with Sam. It makes you nervous, and after such a good night with Blue, you can hardly stand to think about it. You fall asleep in Blue’s arms making plans for your future together.

When you wake, you’re alone.

The curtains are closed but you can see the sunlight trying to peek in. The clock on the wall tells you it’s close to noon. With a groan you sit up and stretch. There’s a note on the bed where Blue slept. The ink is dark blue and in perfect smooth cursive.

‘Meet me tonight, sugar. After your show. xx Blue.’

You hold the note to your chest and sigh happily. You collect your things to get dressed, but you pause when you see the giant bathtub in the bathroom. You draw yourself a bath and sink into the tub. You’re sore from last night, not just sex with Blue – but Sam hurting you. But you try not to think about that part.

Hunger and the water cooling pull you from the bath. You take a good long look at yourself in the mirror. There are hickeys and slight scrapes from a certain mustache all over your skin. But Blue was careful to only mark you up in places that would be hidden by your dress. Your bruise and slight cut on your cheek are healing, but still hurt. They can be covered with makeup, but your face is still a little swollen.

Tears well up in your eyes, you try to think about Blue’s tender touch instead.

You get ready as best you can, realizing you need to go back to the club to get your clothes. You’re sure it would be alright if you grabbed a meal then too.

It seems so different now to go down the elevator alone, and to walk alone in the daylight to the club. You make your way in the alley to the backstage doors. Two stagehands are having a smoke break, and the door is propped open. They don’t seem to notice or care that you trot up the stairs and disappear inside.

Returning to your dressing room after last night sends a sick feeling to your stomach. All your make-up is on the floor. The mirror is broken. It’s a complete mess. But you wipe your tears away and change out of your dress into your regular clothes from the night before. Carefully, you pick up the make-up from among the glass.

That’s when you hear two voices. They’re hushed, speaking right outside in the hallway. One of them is Sam. You feel sick. You quiet yourself so he won’t know you’re in here.

The other voice you don’t recognize. But what he says scares you.

“You have to do it tonight Miller. You have to kill him.”

“I know,” Sam hisses back. “I fuckin’ know.”

You can’t catch anymore because their voices fade as they walk down the hall farther from your room. You sigh to yourself, but bristle at the thought of who they are planning to kill. You need to tell Blue.

You forget to stop by the bar to get food, instead you ask around if Blue is in the building. No one has seen him, and you take no comfort in that. The thought of Sam seeing you here fills you with dread, so you make a hasty exit back to your apartment.

You’ll go back to the club early tonight. Warning Blue is all that matters. Even the promise of another night tangled in the sheets is pushed from your mind from the fear.

But you’re exhausted. Your entire night last night was full of emotions and physical moments. Even if your night had not been filled with Blue, you wonder if you would have slept after such a fight in the dressing room.

You sit down on your bed for a moment, and the next thing you know, you wake with a gasp.

It’s after dark.

Panicking, you grab your purse sprinting out the door.

You make it to the club, but you’re late. You gasp a little louder than you intended when you see Blue is alive and well onstage.

You make your way backstage and look for him when he’s done with his act. You see him entering your dressing room before you can catch up with him. You run, scared there might be a trap waiting for him.

“Blue!” you gasp running into the room only to see him standing in front of a new mirror smoothing down his hair. The room is completely clean, it looks nicer than it was before. There’s no evidence of what happened last night.

“Yeah sugar?” he turns with a smile. “Something wrong?”

“It’s Sam,” you run to him, hugging him tight. “He’s going to kill someone. I heard him talking.”

“Where is he?” Blue looks angry. He moves like a man on a mission out of your dressing room. You follow behind him as he makes his way out onto the main floor looking for Sam.

He’s at the bar having a drink. It’s all a blur after Blue grabs Sam’s shoulder. Punches are thrown left and right. You watch in horror as Sam gets his punches in. You don’t know if he’s supposed to kill Blue, or if he’s angry Blue has taken you away from him.

A few men pull Blue and Sam apart, and Blue tells you to go.

“Go to our hotel, wait for me. It’ll be alright.” He slips the room key into your hand, and tears well up in your eyes. “Go.”

As you’re leaving, Sam breaks away and goes at Blue again. A brawl is breaking out in the club. You leave with tears pouring down your cheeks. You’re scared for Blue’s life.

For the second time today you’re alone in that hotel. The walk there is a blur as you’re crying and shaken with fear.

Your hands are trembling when you unlock the door, you can barely get the key in. Being in this room after last night has you feeling comforted and frightened all at once. There’s so much Blue in the room, it feels like him. But what if he gets hurt? What if you don’t see him ever again? About a million thoughts race through your mind for the next few hours.

You grow sick with worry.

Where is he?

It’s late into the night when you finally hear a knock on the door. You jump out of your skin. You look through the peephole and your gasp hurt your chest. Opening the door, you see Blue- standing there with his hands covered in blood.

His white silky jacket is gone, and his shirt has bloodstains on it. His hair is a mess, and blood is splattered on his face. His hands are the worst though, completely red. The blood has long dried and he seems visibly shaken.

“What happened?” you gasp pulling him in the room. “Are you hurt?”

“Your boyfriend, Sam, I-“ he looks down at his hands, “I killed him.”

All the air is knocked out of you. Sam is dead? As in? D-e-a-d? And Blue is the one that did it? What could have happened?? What are you supposed to be feeling right now?

“I’m sorry,” Blue cups your face with his bloodstained hands. You feel the sticky drying blood on your cheeks, a reminder of the life that used to flow in Sam’s veins.

“What happened?” you grab Blue’s wrists, securing his hands to your face. You want to know. You did love Sam long ago, you think. But there’s been so much fear and pain, you’ve grown to despise him. You decide his death now means your freedom, and a future with Blue. You want to know what happened, every gory detail.

So, he tells you.

Blue tells you how he was mingling in the crowd after his performance, trying to act casual. Someone threw a punch at someone, then it was a big blur. That’s when Sam made his move for Blue.

“He was after you this whole time?” you gasp. “Why?”

“Sam was a fuckin’ mole this whole time. He was rattin’ on us, giving up secrets to rival mobs.”

Your hand flies to your mouth in shock.

“Why was he after you?” your lip trembles.

“Hey, shh,” he traces his thumb over your trembling lip. “Don’t tremble, sugar. I’m safe. See?” he spins around showing you that he’s fine.

He continues his story, painting an awful picture of Sam charging for Blue. He had a knife out, ready to stab Blue.

“And he almost did, nicked the sleeve on my shoulder. But I got to him first.”

“How?”

Blue pats his breast pocket, “I keep a small knife in here, you never know.”

Your rational mind tells you this is dangerous, that you should leave. But killing Sam wasn’t murder, just self-defense.

“Then what happened?”

Blue stabbed Sam. Then the mob does what they do, swept the whole thing under the rug.

“Is this our chance? Blue are we free?”

Blue sighs heavily. He turns from you, pacing back and forth in the hotel room. Now you notice the ripped sleeve on his shoulder, and just how much blood is on his white silk suit jacket. His arms and hands are deep red. You feel a little dizzy.

“Boss gave me a bigger job, they’re proud of me.”

That’s the last thing you hear Blue say before you pass out.

When you come to, you’re lying on the bed. Strong, rich cologne wafts into your nose, and you slowly sit up to see Blue. He’s sitting next to you on the bed, wearing a white robe with black trim. His hair is wet and slicked back. His hands are squeaky clean.

“There she is,” Blue whispers and leans down to press a light kiss to your forehead. “You alright?”

You nod, feeling a little dizzy.

“You’re in shock,” he tells you standing up. “Let me draw you a bath? Would you like that sugar?”

“We’re still stuck Blue. Stuck in this life!” You feel like you’re going to be sick.

“Sugar, hey woah, deep breaths for me. I’m in good with them right now, we don’t have to worry.”

“But what if you screw something up?” you gasp at your own words. “I’m sorry.”

His jaw ticks and he looks angry, but then you see a soft smile.

“I understand, I do. But right now, there’s nothing we can do. Let me draw you a bath.”

You know he’s right, so you let him. The bathtub is huge, and the water is the perfect temperature. He sits on the edge of the tub and you let him wash the blood off your face.

“Blue?” you blink up at him. “What if you kill the boss?” You’re too scared to even say his name, as if he could hear you in this room. With the mob, who knows. There could be bugs in here.

“How would that help?” Blue crosses his arms and leans back a little.

“I don’t know,” you shrug and look down. “I just thought, you’ve killed before why not do it again.” You whisper.

“Wait, wait sugar you might be onto something.” He sits up. “If I kill him then I could take over! Damn, sugar. How would you like to be a mob boss’s wife hmm? Oh baby,” he pushes up his sleeve and sticks his hand down in the water between your legs. “I would spoil you rotten,” he grits his teeth on the last word to emphasize, all while his fingers tease your sex.

He brings you closer to orgasm with his fingers while he fills your mind with promises of your future together.

“I’d kill for you, sugar. I’d burn the world down if I could give you what you want. Tell me, what do you want?” His fingers circle your bundle of nerves harder, and then he thrusts his fingers inside.

“You, Blue. I want you,” you moan as you reach your high. You whine, and he smirks. His eyes raking over your body in the tub.

When you’re done with your bath, Blue helps you out. He chuckles mischievously in your ear when he wraps a plush robe around your body. You surprise him then and nudge him back into the bedroom.

You untie his robe and shove him back on the bed. You shrug your robe and drop to your knees.

“Sugar- “

“Blue, let me. Let me suck the cock of the future boss.”

He lulls his head back at your words, and he groans even louder when you put your lips on him.

“The power you’d have,” you moan and kiss his thighs. “We could do anything we want,” you lick a stripe up to his tip and he jerks his hips. You mingle your praises with the actions of your mouth, teasing him.

He’s loud, desperate. The hunger for power and the hunger for his release have him writhing against your touch. He’s hungry, and he’ll take what he wants. He thrusts up into your mouth and comes with a loud moan.

When he sits up, his hair is disheveled, a wicked grin is on his face. You know the look; he’s got an idea.

“I know how I can become the boss.”

Blue is balls deep in your heat when he goes over the plan one last time. His thrusts are hard, erratic. You’ve come twice already and he’s nearing his end. Your thighs burn and your lungs struggle to catch a breath. This time it’s different, you both know.

Tonight’s the night.

Tonight, is the night Blue takes over the club and becomes the boss.

You’re nervous though. There are too many parts of this plan that could go wrong. But this is the only way that you and Blue will get your freedom – is if he’s in charge.

“No one,” he grunts, grabbing your hips, “Will hurt you again-“ He moans spilling deep inside you. Your walls flutter and you come a third time around him. The rush of knowing you’re going to be part of a murder scheme floods your veins. It feels so wrong, but Blue feels so good.

Blue lets himself collapse onto you, his mouth already seeking yours for a searing kiss. His tongue delves into your mouth and he moans, he twitches inside of you.

“Blue?” you purr and rake your fingers through his hair. “You getting hard again?”

“You’re all mine,” he growls and kisses all over your face and neck. “Don’t forget what I said. Be in the office right after the show ends.”

You want to stay with him, but he pulls out. There’s something on his mind. You wonder if he’s nervous about tonight.

“Stick to the plan,” he says.

The plan.

The plan is to do the show like normal. The boss will be there tonight. After the show, go in his office for a private meeting. Blue will follow behind and while he’s staring at your figure, Blue goes for the kill.

Should be simple enough right?

Wrong.

You’re trying to get dressed in the bathroom but your hands tremble. You just know you’re going to get something wrong tonight.

“I’m scared Blue,” you call to him. You’re looking at your reflection, waiting to hear his reply.

“C’mere sugar,” you hear him. He’s quick to greet you with a smile. His hands reach for your hips and he pulls down your hose. “You were right,” he growls. “I was getting hard again.” You look down between your bodies to see him stroking himself. Loose strands of hair are in his face, the veins in his neck pop from exertion as he jerks himself off over. His cum splatters all over your stomach and your bra.

“That’s my only one!” you gasp but moan, feeling yourself grow slick.

“Guess you’ll have to go without,” he smirks and buries his face between your thighs. His voice comes out in a gravelly whisper, “you’re going to be perfect, sugar. There’s nothing to mess up. You sing, and you look gorgeous.”

Blue’s mouth on your heat distracts you from the nerves. But only for a moment.

Even when you peel off your bra and clean off yourself your hand has a tremble. You can’t even apply your lipstick properly.

“Here, let me,” Blue sweeps in, swiping the red stick across you lips. “Remember this?” he grins affectionately. How could you forget? Though it seems like a lifetime ago.

Blue gives you a wink, an unspoken reminder that it’ll be alright. You want to believe him, you truly do. And you think on this on the short walk over to the club.

It wasn’t too long ago it was your dream to be a famous singer. Now you’re dating a man planning to kill and then become a mob boss. Your dream of fame seems meaningless now.

You remember that singing always calms your nerves, you hope it does tonight.

Your fingers tremble as you get dressed in your dressing room. These clasps have never been easy due to the tight nature of your outfit, but tonight it seems more difficult. Murder. You’ll helping to assist a man with a murder plot. This isn’t you. Or it wasn’t you. You look at yourself in the mirror and see the guilt and shame.

You picture Blue here. What would he say if he were with you? That Fontana is a bad man. He’s killed people. Hurt people. You’re doing the world a favor right?

Then you think about the promises Blue made to you. Being a mob wife, being spoiled with riches and affection from your doting husband.

Your face warms thinking about marrying Blue. You can picture what your wedding would be like. Him taking you somewhere fancy for your honeymoon.

Yes.

This is what you want. You’re going to help Blue with this. Besides, you’re not the one doing the actual killing. Blue has killed before, and he can again.

It’s almost showtime and you’re ready. As ready as you’ll ever be.

The backstage tech comes to get you, telling you it’s your cue. You give them a smile. This show is going to be killer.

You don’t make it a habit to look out in the audience when you perform, but you do tonight. Just to make sure the boss Fontana is there. And he is, sitting quietly near the middle.

You give it your all in this performance, it might be your last one for a while. You’ve not talked to Blue about it, but you wonder if that would be a bad idea.

You sing your heart out, and when the show is over you feel a rush of adrenaline as you head backstage. Blue is waiting for you in your dressing room with a big smile.

“You were fantastic, sugar,” he strokes your arm and gives you a deep kiss. “You ready for the second act? I’ll be right behind you, don’t be afraid.”

It’s hard not to be when you walk towards Fontana’s door. You’ve never been in here before. You take a moment to gather yourself. You smooth down the lines of your outfit and breathe. You knock on the door, and before you can even put your hand down – one of his guards is opening it.

The room is dimly lit and it’s hard to make out Fontana. There’s a window behind him. The shades are drawn but on the other side of the window you can tell is the bar.

You stand frozen, unsure of what to do when a guard puts his hand on your shoulder, pushing you back a little.

“Let her in,” you hear a voice.

It sounded like….

Blue?

As your eyes fully adjust to the light, you can see Blue sitting at the desk. He must have done it! He didn’t need you as a distraction after all!

“Blue?” You take a step forward. “Are you alright? Did you do it?”

“Do what sugar?” He chuckles softly and looks to the man standing to his right. It’s only then that you notice this man is Fontana. You gulp, you feel your blood run cold. Something’s not right.

“I thought-“

“You thought what?”

“Blue! Answer me!” You cross your arms over your chest. He’s not usually one for games with you like this.

“Sweetheart, no one tells me what to do.” He tuts with a frown that turns to a malicious smile. “But I suppose…I should explain to you what’s going on.”

A guard closes the door behind you with a click, and you hear the lock turn. You’re scared.

“You see, sugar-“ his voice sounds poisonous, not the one full of smooth honey and sensuality that you’d come to love. “We knew that Sam was the mole. We needed to get to him see? So I knew pulling you away from him would expose him.”

“You used me?”

He nods with another wicked smile.

“Oh, and I’m the boss. If you haven’t guessed that one yet. Always was. Did you really think they’d name a club after a random nightclub singer?” He laughs and so do his men. “Fontana here was my figurehead. And you fell right into my little trap sweet thing.”

“I-“ you feel betrayed. You were betrayed. You turn to leave, but a guard grabs your arm.

“I did NOT say you could leave. Sugar.” Blue yells and slams his hand on his desk. The action causes his perfectly gelled hair to flip down onto his forehead.

“What use do you have for me?” you feel hot tears pouring down your cheeks.

Blue looks up to Fontana with another wicked grin. “Well,” Blue starts and gets up, walking around the desk to face you. Two of his guards have their hands on you, keeping you still. Blue comes over to the front of his desk and leans on the edge looking at you. “You have two options.”

“Which are?” you sniffle and your lip begins to quiver.

“Aww, look at that lip,” he chuckles. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he claps his hands together and you jump. “You want your two options.” He sighs heavily and his thumb smooths over the edge of the desk repeatedly. “You can either marry me, be a mob wife. I’ll give you anything you want. Remember? When you were sucking my cock?” he chuckles and palms his dick through his pants. “You moaned sugar, you wanted to be my little mob wife. Well, now you have that chance!”

Tears are pouring down your cheeks, your face is hot with embarrassment and you feel like you could throw up all over the floor.

“But the second option…well, that’s not as fun. Since you’ve seen too much….well. I think you can guess your second choice.”

“I don’t-“ you sniffle again. You certainly don’t want to die, but what kind of life will you live if you’re Blue’s wife? Did he ever really love you?

“C’mere, sugar,” he beckons you over and the guards release their grip. You step over to him, he’s fully seated on the edge of his desk now. He reaches for you and smooths his hands up and down your arms like he has so many times. “You’re scared. I know. But you want to marry me right?”

“Did you ever?”

“Love you? No. But I did love fucking you,” he smirks. “It’d be a shame to give that up.” He pulls you forward and hovers over your lips with his own. “And remember, you owe me.”

“Owe you?” You pull back.

He hops up and goes to sit back in his chair. He looks through files on top of his desk and hands you a piece of paper. It’s the paper saying that you were hired by the club.

“I hired you. Yeah, your voice is good, but see we needed you. And hey! You got the gig!” he sits up and pulls you around to him. “But you OWE me.” He says pulling you down on his lap. You can feel him hard between your legs. “Feel that sugar? Do you wanna give this up?” He rubs himself against you and you want to pull away.

“So you’ve made your choice then?” he asks, grabbing your face to look at him.

“Blue, no-“

“You have.” He tsks and frowns. “Such a waste of good pussy. Ah, well. I can find another.” He reaches then in his breast pocket for the knife you know he keeps in there. He’s fast, you see it for a split second before he plunges it into your chest.

“Such a waste. She really was a knockout,” he strokes your cheek gently before you fall limp onto his desk. Your blood trickling over the fallen paper in your hand.

Blue stands and he motions towards his men. He snaps his fingers, “take care of this.” He turns looking out the window and he spots a waitress he’s had his eye on for some time. “Bring her to me, I have an itch I need to scratch,” he chuckles palming his hard dick.

Blue repeats looking at your lifeless body as the men carry you off, “she really was a knockout.”

ps....don’t spoil the ending for those who haven’t read it yet!!

tagging: @punkpascal, @sergeantkane, @pascalz, @wasicskosgirl, @tintinwrites, @velvetmel0n, @huliabitch, @mandoplease, @mylifeliterally, @shadow-assassin-blix, @bisexual-space-slut, @writefightandflightclub

#blue jones #blue jones x reader #sucker punch #mob au #my writing #IT'S FINALLY DONE

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all1e23 · 4 years ago

Text

Bad Habit [Pt.1]

Pairings: Biker!Steve x Reader

Series warnings: Drug use. Violence. Smut so 18+ please and thank – No smut this chapter. Sorry to disappoint

A/N: ��Part 1! 800 years later. I’m doing my best to get my wips finished by the end of the year so fingers crossed I actually do so. Un-beta’d. So, uh, yeah. Be prepared for that.

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!****

Two weeks it’s been since his mystery girl came into his life, and Steve hadn’t seen or heard from her since she bolted out of the clubhouse’s front door before the sun had cleared the trees. At the time, Steve was disappointed. He had plans. There was a burning need for waffles and bacon and syrup covered kisses, the exchange of numbers, or the very least names and a plan for next time. All those wants quickly evaporated along with the dust those tires kicked up during the hasty getaway. In hindsight, it was probably for the best that morning played out as it did. If Bucky had been there to witness a girl running from his room at first light, he would never hear the end of it. Before the day was out, Bucky would have the whole clubhouse believing he ran another girl off. Thankfully, the only person to catch the escape was Sam, and he was doing everything he could to convince Steve to forget about it. Sam told him nothing good came from chasing a girl that didn’t want to be chased, but Steve has this feeling in his gut, this time wasn’t like before.

Whoever you were, you were different.

Maybe you had him under some sorta spell, and that was why he couldn't forget you. It would explain a lot. You captivated him from the moment you stepped into the bar, and he still saw stars long after you ran out the front door and out of his life. He never really stood a chance if he was honest with himself; Steve knew he was in trouble from the first glance. Two things were apparent right off the bat, you were going to be a handful, and it would be hard, if not impossible, to earn your love. Still, Steve chased after you like a novice sailor following a siren’s melody. He had no problem admitting he was willing to follow you out to the middle of the ocean only to find himself unable to swim in the dark waters you lived in.

In the past, Steve had a bad habit of falling too fast, loving quick and fierce. You would be his last. He just had a feeling things would go his way this time--if he could find you.

As much as he wanted to see you again, he didn’t have any idea how to make that happen. He didn’t even know your name and had no idea where to start looking for you. Hell, he didn’t even know if you lived in Brooklyn. For all, he knew this could have been a stop on your way home where you already had someone waiting on you. All he had was the necklace you gave him, and that was a dead-end. It was just a one-night stand. He should toss the chain in a drawer and put that night behind him. Most men like him would. They would move on to the next girl and forget you existed. Steve, though, he’s stubborn (so says Bucky), and it’s a good thing he is because it’s always worked in his favor.

Steve ran his thumb over the gold pendant resting against his chest and grinned as he watched you move around behind the bar.

The one place he would have never thought to look.

"Well, I'll be damned,” Steve whispered to himself, still watching as you talked and laughed with customers.

Natasha mentioned she hired a new girl he hadn’t met yet a few nights ago, but without knowing his siren’s name, there was no way he could have connected the two. He had no idea that this Y/n was his Y/n. Now that he found you, he only had to get past the high walls you built up around your heart.

Steve parted the worn red leather stools to make room for him to lean against the polished wood, drumming his fingers impatiently along the bar top waiting for you to finish up with the man you were serving at the far end and finally notice him. You gave the stranger in dark brown leather a high squeaky laugh in return for the lousy pick-up line he threw at you. It wasn’t the same laugh, Steve knew. The laughter he memorized was light and airy, your whole body shook when it took hold of you, and it made your eyes sparkle in a way that could steal his breath like nothing else. Steve found that out early in the night when his beard tickled your inner thigh. The memory made him grin. He wanted to hate how fake you sounded right then, but it also meant you let him see a part of you you kept hidden from the rest of the world, and that was enough for hope.

You turned around and stopped short when you spotted Steve standing there, grinning at you, looking just as pretty as he did the last time you saw him. He trimmed his beard, but it was still thick only cleaned up a bit, and those pretty blond locks tucked behind his ears made him look like a young boy. The tattoos on his forearm peeking out from the rolled-up sleeves and the black leather kutte resting over the snug burgundy Henley reminded you he was no boy. He was trouble, and he was looking to drag you into his mischief. That wasn’t going to happen, no matter how pretty he looked. It took a second for your brain to remind your feet they needed to move. Steve slid around the bar as you made your way towards him.

"What are you doing here?" You asked quietly, refusing to look up from the IPA bottle you were cracking open.

"Came to see a friend of mine. His wife owns the place. I have to admit I thought it would be a lot harder to find you."

Shit. You stopped mid pour and set the glass down, half full of foam. That would need a re-pour.

No. This wasn't happening. Surely, he didn’t mean… No, no. No.

"Wait..." You needed to know before you said things you couldn’t take back. "Are you talking about Bucky?"

Steve tilted his head to the side. Now, that had his curiosity piqued. You could see him processing your question, and you knew exactly what he was thinking: Why did you know that Bucky was Bucky? It was rare that Bucky interfered in Natasha’s business at all. Everyone knew who her husband was and what he was, but it never went beyond James Barnes, Vice President of The Howlers. This sounded like you were… friends?

You should have kept your mouth shut and walked away the second you saw him.

"You know, Buck?"

Buck... Oh, god.

It suddenly all made so much sense, and you were such an idiot.

“Why me? What did I ever do to deserve this? I’m a decent person, aren't I?” You asked, looking up at the ceiling as if someone from the heavens would answer you. “This is so bad. Why do you have to be you?”

You groaned and dropped your head to the bar top. Your one night stand was Bucky's best friend. Club president. Your Steve was Steve Rogers. The Howler’s MC President. The man who went on the road for three years and no one knew why, the one who went nomad and only returned home a few weeks ago. This was why you never let tequila make your decisions. You always end up doing something foolish, like charming bikers that will break your heart.

“I think this necklace of yours might be my good luck charm. Led me right to you, firecracker.”

“Good luck or a curse?” You grumbled against the slick wood top. Steve hummed, clearly amused by the light chuckle that followed. You slowly lifted your head to glare at him, and he simply grinned back.

“Definitely good luck, sweetheart,” Steve assured you with a wink.

You refused to smile, and you certainly weren’t going to be the one that looked away first. You won’t give in to whatever he’s playing at. Steve settled against the wood and stared right back; his bright blue eyes glittered with amusement and something else that made your skin tingle and your inside burn with want. You recognized a young blond man from a night or two spent at Bucky and Natasha’s place strolled by the bar, only slowing down long enough to pat Steve on the back, but Steve didn’t even blink at the distraction.

Nothing could pull him away from you.

“Hey, Nomad. You comin’?”

Nomad?

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute Clint. I’ve got some business out here first.”

You could hear Clint cackling as he walked down the long hallway that led to Natasha’s office. You wondered what the club wanted here and how often the club— and Steve— would be hanging around. Natasha said there wasn’t any overlap between the two. There was a moment of uncertainty and fear when she first offered you the job. You didn’t know if you could work for her if her business was mixed up in club business. That was until she assured you the club didn’t interfere in her affairs. That put some of your worries at ease, not all but enough to give you the courage to accept the job. Your last run-in with an MC was why you ended up south Brooklyn begging Natasha for a place to stay and a position. That was how you ended up working at Red Star and sharing a pathetically tiny apartment with your new friend Wanda.

There was no one else, no other friends to run to if things go south again. This was the only second chance you were getting, and you couldn’t blow it on someone like Steve Rogers.

“Thought your name was Steve?”

Steve grinned.

“That’s my given name. These idiots call me Nomad when they aren’t calling me Prez or Cap. Stevie on occasion. Everyone’s got a nickname ‘round here.”

You’ve heard plenty about their nicknames and all the things they’ve done to get them.

“I think I prefer Charming,” you mumbled, walking down a few stools to finally hand over a fresh, less foamy IPA to the grump at the far end of the bar.

Every time you moved, Steve followed you, dodging the bodies sitting and standing, and there were several times you had to tell your heart to shut up and keep the flutters to herself. It was becoming increasingly evident that Steve wasn’t going to give up easily. Seeing as how he would probably be around often, you needed to put an end to whatever storybook ending he was building up in his head.

"You can call me whatever you want."

You rolled your eyes and slipped the neck of two bottles between your fingers on each hand.

“Can I have your name now?”

“No.”

Steve laughed. He just laughed as if there was something funny about what you had said. He didn’t seem annoyed or upset by your callus tone. If anything, he enjoyed it. Once your hands were free, he reached for you and circled his long fingers around your wrist, loose enough you could easily slip free if you wanted to, but you made no move to lose his touch. You didn’t want to draw any more attention towards the two of you than you had already. That was absolutely the only reason you were letting him touch you. It had nothing to do with how much you liked the feel of his warm, calloused hands on your skin.

“I could keep calling you my firecracker.”

“I’m not your anything,” you were quick to correct him.

“No, you're not,” Steve said with a grin. “We haven't even gone on a date yet.”

Yet! As if there is a chance it would be happening. He was sadly mistaken if he thought there was going to be another page to your story. You raised a brow, and Steve hung his head in defeat, but the smile on his face hadn’t changed when he finally looked back up. Something about this man made you want to hide in the safety of his arms and stop running long enough to see if fairy-tales were real.

That was why things between you would never work.

“Why won’t you give me a chance, hm?”

Because you're just like all the rest, pretty and dangerous, the harsh voice in your head screamed. It was probably better he didn’t know you thought he was pretty. He seemed like the type to focus on the compliment and ignore the rest.

“Mmm, I’ve played with bikers before. The ride is dangerous, dirty, and short-lived. The risk is never worth the reward.”

That made Steve frown for the first time since he walked into the bar and your heart-clenched at the look of concern on his face. For a second, you thought about taking it back. Telling him he could be different and maybe he was a good guy with a half-decent heart—even if you didn’t believe it.

“Sounds Like you're playing with the wrong bikers. My rewards are always well worth the ride, babydoll."

On second thought, with lines like that, maybe you were right from the start. You weren’t about to fall for the same overplayed words he’s used on every other girl to catch his eye. It would take a lot more than a cheap shot to get you back in his bed. You leaned forward, ghosting your lips over his and slowly pulled back, grinning when he chased after you. You were starting to like this game, and that was begging for more trouble than your heart could handle.

“All you bikers are the same,” you whispered, leaning across the bar practically nose to nose. “Sweet talk to get into a girl's panties, and then you’re over it. You all claim it’s love at first sight, but it never is. It’s about the chase, the high. It’s never about the girl.”

Steve sighed. It didn’t sound annoyed, genuinely unsettled by your words, but he wasn’t irritated. More importantly, he wasn’t aggravated with you, but you were sure he felt sorry for you, which bothered you more. When you dropped your gaze, he gently nudged your chin up with his knuckle until you willingly looked up to meet his eyes.“One problem with your theory, firecracker. I’ve already been in those pretty panties of yours, and I’m still chasing you. Did you ever think that maybe I’m not playing with you? That I actually like you?”

The knot wedged in your throat made it impossible to answer. So you shrugged instead and let your silence speak for itself; no, you didn’t think that, and you didn’t trust him. None of what he said proved anything. It didn’t mean he was different. It just meant his rules were. The high would end once he won your heart, and you would be tossed to the side while he moved onto a newer, prettier skirt.

Steve would get bored once he finally earned your heart and your trust, and that made him worse than the others. You would know. You pulled your chin away from his hand but stayed close enough to feel the heat from his hand.

"Go to dinner with me."

"Steve--"

"Y/n," Steve sighed playfully, grinning at the shock on your face. He knew your name, but he still asked for it? He shrugged, reading the question that was burning in your eyes. Natasha. She must have mentioned the new girl she hired, and Steve was smart enough to put two and two together. You weren’t sure you liked him knowing your name. He was that much closer to knowing all your secrets, and you couldn’t let that happen.

"Go. To. Dinner. With me. Please."

You hated how adorable he looked begging and pleading for only a few hours of your time. He was so cute, and you nearly gave in. Your head overruled your heart and reminded you exactly why you weren’t dating men like him. It only led to heartbreak, and you would very much like to avoid spending your nights crying over another beautiful biker who rode off with your heart.

"I told you, I don't want anything serious. I’m not looking for more than what we had."

"It doesn't have to be more than dinner, and I swear if you really don’t want to go on a date with this will be the last time I ask you. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to, but I am dying to get you back on my bike. Next Saturday night, if you’re up for it. You can even pick the place if you want to. I promise it will be dinner only. No strings."

"No strings?" you questioned, eyeing him for any signs of deceit as you did. There was none. Just an excitable puppy staring back at you, ready to give you whatever you wanted if you’d let him.

"Yeah, why not? We can be friends with benefits or whatever the kids call it nowadays."

"Are we friends?"

"We are if you say yes, darling."

You could feel yourself giving in, and you already hated yourself for it because Steve was grinning victoriously, eyes bright, and pleading with you to say yes. You held up one finger ready with your conditions, and Steve quickly grabbed your hand, pressing a kiss to the back, lost in the excitement of what he already knew was about to leave your lips.

“One dinner, and I’m not promising any benefits.”

Steve lowered your hand and tilted his chin an inch, so his lips were brushing yours when he whispered, “Good. I prefer to earn every one of those sweet whimpers.”

Someone behind you cleared their throat, and you quickly yanked your arm back, bumping into the wall of bottles behind you, causing the glass to rattle against each other. Bucky’s eyes flicked back and forth between you, and it didn’t take long for him to put it together. A slow grin stretched on Bucky’s face, quickly turning smug. He knew about your one-night stand, not in any detail but that you liked your mystery man far more than you should, and you assumed Steve shared his thoughts on that evening. You narrowed your eyes at the brunet when he opened his mouth, and it quickly snapped shut—grabbing the empty crates at your feet needing something, anything to use as an excuse to get as far away from both of them as you could. The fridge in the basement was the furthest you could get at the moment, and that was precisely where you were headed.

“Don’t even say it,” you hissed as you pushed past Bucky.

Bucky watched as Steve’s eyes followed you until you were out of sight, disappearing down the stairs behind the bar. He looked drunk, maybe a little high, and definitely a little lovesick.

“Gettin’ into trouble again, Stevie?”

“You could say that, Buck,” Steve sighed helplessly. “I’m getting into something. Not sure what just yet.”

Prologue // next

#biker!steve rogers #Biker!Steve Rogers x reader #Steve rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #Steve x you #Steve x reader #modern au #alternate universe #MC!AU #MC!Steve Rogers

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benedictscanvas · 5 years ago

Text

dizziness - aaron hotchner x reader

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Brief mention of serial killers and what they entail, appendicitis

A/N: Another one for my man Hotch! Thanks so much for requesting anon. Pretty sure a lot of us just love reading similar protective Hotch fics over and over...I know I do! By the way, if anyone wishes to be tagged in these, please do drop an ask. Hope you enjoy this one :)

---

(ways to say i love you) number 44: “i’ll drive you to the hospital”

You could feel the dizziness coming again and took another deep breath in through your nose, out through your mouth, even though you were being very careful to do it slowly and not alert any of the others around you to your abnormal breathing. Spencer in particular was sat right across from you around the table and you knew if he heard you he wouldn’t hesitate in asking whether or not you were okay.

Instead, you were confined to feel hellish all on your own just to avoid the overprotective instincts from your team.

This was a tough case, one where you felt as if you had been in Alabama for weeks instead of days, where each new body was mutilated beyond description and made even the toughest in your team falter when that sheet was pulled back at the crime scene. Overkill to the extreme. You, and most of the others, were getting sick of the fact that this guy held so much rage and yet still hadn’t made a single mistake that might help you catch him.

“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you blinked at him dumbly, cursing yourself. You’d been so focused on keeping your breathing steady so he wouldn’t notice anything was wrong that you’d spaced out, “You okay?”

“I’m alright, Reid. Just sick of this guy,” you sighed, hoping you were convincing enough for the team to continue their brainstorming session, but instead, all eyes turned to you.

“You don’t look alright, Y/L/N,” Morgan piped up, looking at you with concerned eyes and you scoffed at them all.

“Well, if I did look alright when this guy is still out there somewhere, there would be something wrong with me, Morgan,” you insisted, shooting him a pointed look. He held up his hands in surrender and turned back to the board where Hotch and Rossi were standing. You turned back to them too, now trying much harder to be alert, even though you were gripping your stomach with one hand and your seat with the other. Hotch paused a little longer, looking at you with a furrowed brow but when you just stared right back, almost challenging him to say something, he carried on.

You didn’t hear much of the discussion. Everything sounded distant, like you were all in a tunnel. Instead of trying to join in, you nodded at random intervals as if agreeing with people and tried not to close your eyes and let yourself cry out at the pain in your stomach. You felt ridiculous and weak and there was part of you trying not to cry.

Despite all that, soon you heard those familiar words that meant you could leave the room.

“I think we’re ready to give the profile.”

People began filing out, and you waited, pretending to flick through one of the files on the desk, doing a pretty convincing job even if you did say so yourself. Only once everyone had left did you stand up, feeling your body swaying on your feet. There was definitely a chance you might be sick. You held onto the table for support and closed your eyes as you tried to steady yourself.

“Y/N?”

Hotch was back in the room. You sighed.

“I’m fine, Hotch.”

“You can’t stand up,” he pointed out stoically. You hadn’t even noticed how doubled over you were. You pushed up with one hand until you were standing properly with only a tiny groan, feeling quite proud of yourself.

“There, see?”

“Walk towards me.”

His voice was hard. You knew he hated it when you did this, he’d told you so multiple times in the past. Your tendency to hide any and all pain, physical or mental, from those closest to you was one of your worst qualities in the eyes of the team, but you didn’t seem to be changing any time soon.

You glared at him, then took a couple of steps. The world spun and you faltered but he was beside you in an instant, arm around your shoulders as he helped you into a chair.

“Okay,” you said exasperatedly, “So maybe I’m a bit dizzy. But I’m fine.”

He ignored you and now you knew he was really pissed. Leaving you sat in the chair, he left the room and for just a split second you wondered whether he was really just going to leave you like this before he returned with the whole team behind him.

“Tell Reid your symptoms.”

“Hotch, this is ridiculous, would you all just leave me-”

You cut yourself off with a long, loud groan as you doubled over in the chair, the pain in your stomach flaring up suddenly. You were sweating now, not just from the pain but from the embarrassment of your entire team seeing you like this. Emily came over to you and rubbed your back soothingly which you were grateful for, even if your first instinct was to flinch away from her.

“Symptoms, Y/N.”

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth, “Pain in my stomach that gets worse when I walk on it and I’m lightheaded as hell.”

Spencer kneeled down in front of you with a worried look and gestured to your stomach. You nodded, leaning back a little as he reached out and gently pressed on your lower right abdomen, rearing back again when you yelped.

“Reid!” Hotch said sharply as soon as you cried out, stepping forward to do something but Spencer was already backing away from you with mumbled apologies.

“It’s appendicitis,” he said apologetically, once he was at a safe distance from you and you couldn’t hurt him when he told you. At his confession, you let out a laugh.

“No it isn’t,” you said, shaking your head, “I’m just being dramatic, seriously, I’m sure I’ll be fine in a few hours. Maybe I should just go lie down.”

“I’ll drive you to the hospital,” Hotch said, taking the few steps over to you and joining Emily in helping you stand up. Your knees buckled only a little, but Hotch was firm beside you, and his strong arm around your waist was enough to keep you upright.

“Are you joking?” you asked incredulously, “We’re working! If I have to then I’ll drive myself to the hospital or, I don’t know, get a taxi or something but I am not interfering with this case.”

“You guys can give the profile without me, right?” Hotch asked the team, to which he only received a series of nods. You shook your head.

“Hotch, you’re the leader of this team, at least send someone else.”

He didn’t even answer you. The rest of the team murmured their well wishes and patted you gently on the back as Hotch and Emily led you out to the SUV in the parking lot outside. Emily helped you into the seat and gave your hand a quick squeeze as Hotch took his place in the driver’s seat.

Before you really knew what was happening, you were pulling out of the car park and on the road.

“It’s only a few minutes,” Hotch said quietly into the silence of the car. You were still slightly doubled over, even if you were trying to hide it and you nodded in response, “I wish you wouldn’t hide this stuff from us, Y/N.”

He sounded a little defeated and you turned your head to look at him, but his eyes were fixed on the road. You looked back at your lap.

“I know,” you said softly, “I’m sorry. It’s not in my nature.”

You saw his lips quirk up in a half-smile out of the corner of your eye.

“I know, but will you try? I hate to think that you were in pain that entire time and felt you couldn’t tell any of us,” he paused but you could tell there was something else he wanted to say. You were a profiler, you could fill in the blanks. I hate to think you couldn’t tell me.

“Hotch, you know if I was going to tell anyone, I’d tell you, right?” you said with a small chuckle that you instantly regretted as you winced with pain again. He looked like he wanted to say something cocky in return but had changed his mind when he looked over and saw the state you were in.

“Just a couple minutes now, Y/N,” he said, his voice soothing as you leaned your head back on the seat, “Hold on a little longer.”

“Think I’ll just-” you drifted a little before you could finish your sentence, “Take a lil’ nap…”

You heard Hotch say your name a few more times, along with some other words you didn’t quite listen to, but the pain was getting too unbearable, so you closed your eyes and let yourself drift away.

---

“Did it burst?” you asked groggily as you woke up, not opening your eyes yet because it was just too bright. You didn’t really know if there was anyone with you, but you were really hoping Hotch was sat in the chair beside your bed, because you’d be disappointed to wake up to anyone else.

“No,” came the voice you so desperately wanted to hear, a little gravelly like maybe he’d not slept in a while, “It didn’t. But we got here just in time. Surgery went well.”

“So I’m appendix-less now?” you asked jokingly and heard him chuckle beside you.

“You are,” he said, “And we’re also case-less. They caught the guy, finally. Soon as you’re up and about we can go home.”

“Oh thank god,” you groaned happily, finally opening your eyes and blinking a few times before you focused in on Hotch’s face. He definitely hadn’t slept, “Hey.”

“Hi,” he gave a rare smile, one that you couldn’t help but return in full force, “How do you feel?”

“Groggy, but fine,” you said honestly, “Thanks for driving me. Don’t know what I’d do without you, sometimes.”

He looked a little taken aback by your little admission, but he recovered himself quickly, putting it down to whatever pain medication you must have been on.

“Only sometimes?” he asked teasingly and you laughed, even though it hurt like hell. You winced, wondering how long it would be until you could laugh freely again, when you felt a hand on your head, stroking a bit of hair out of your face, “Take it easy.”

His voice was soft, and his hand was soft too. When he began to retract it again, you panicked and reached out to grab his hand before it could get too far, bringing it back to rest on your face. Your own hand rested on top of his as you leaned against it, sighing happily, closing your eyes for just a second before you knew he would inevitably pull his hand away. He did so a moment later.

“I’m sorry-”

“We can’t, Y/N, it’s-”

You spoke at the same time, stopping each other mid-sentence. Hotch finished his sentence first.

“It’s not professional.”

“I know,” you said, frustrated, but not with him, “But our friendship in the first place isn’t professional. The amount of time I spend with you and Jack isn’t professional. The way I feel-”

You trailed off before you ruined everything when you saw the look in his eye. It was his turn to fill in the blank, and you knew he had. The way I feel about you isn’t professional.

“Y/N, we shouldn’t.”

You nodded sadly, trying to keep the tears that were threatening to appear at bay. You would not cry over this right now. You’d cry later, over a tub of ice cream in your tiny little apartment when you were back to being all alone again. Obviously.

“Aaron,” you breathed, wanting to say something else but getting stuck on looking at him, with those sad eyes and the face that didn’t give anything away.

Suddenly, without warning, he was surging forward out of his chair and his lips were on yours. It only took you a shocked second before you responded, pushing back against him and winding a hand into his hair, the other resting uselessly on his chest. You could tell he was being gentle with you, holding back, trying not to hurt you, and the warmth in your chest only grew at the thought. With one last chaste kiss, he pulled away, his hands retracting from your face again as he sat back down in his chair, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

Even when he sat down, he didn’t pull away too far, grabbing your hand in his on the bed and holding it tight. You looked at your joined hands then back to him.

“Not that I’m complaining,” you whispered, not wanting to disrupt whatever air was between you, “But I thought that was off the table.”

“It was,” he admitted, rubbing his neck, “But then you called me Aaron.”

Your eyes widened before a smirk settled itself on your face. You leaned over towards him on the bed as far as you could and lowered your voice even further.

“Glad you changed your mind-” you licked your lips, “-Aaron.”

His lips were back on yours before you could process his movements and, despite the pain in your stomach as you leaned up to kiss him deeper than before, you decided that you’d take any pain you had to if it meant he would kiss you just a little longer.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fluff #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch #hotch x reader

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destihellhound · 4 years ago

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We Write Our Own Destiny

Canon-divergent ending to 15x19, ignoring 15x20. Also on AO3 | ff

Tagging @destielintheimpala because she’s my best friend and @ineffable-cas because I remember seeing them asking to be tagged in any fix-it fics.

"I won't be hands on," Jack told them. "Chuck put himself in the story - that was his mistake. But I learned from you and my mother and Castiel that when people have to be their best, they can be. And that's what to believe in. Well... I'm really as close as this," he said, placing a hand over his heart. Then he raised his hand in a stationary, dorky wave. "Goodbye."

"Wait!" Dean said, as Jack turned to walk away. "What about Cas? Chuck pulled Lucifer out of the Empty, you can save Cas!"

Jack raised his hands, palms outwards. "I'm hands-off, Dean."

"But it's Cas," Dean growled, taking a threatening step forwards. "We can't get to him there, and it's not like the Empty is just going to give him back if we ask nicely." When Jack didn't seem at all inclined to change his mind, he tried a different approach. "You owe me."

"Uh, Dean?" Sam said hesitantly. "Maybe not a good idea to piss off the new... Him."

"It's Jack, Sam," Dean said, glancing over his shoulder. "The kid who killed our mother." He turned on Jack. "You said you wanted to make it up to me? This is how you do that!"

"Dean, I—" Jack's eyes glazed over for a second as his attention seemed to be focused elsewhere. "She really does have a soft spot for you Dean," Jack told him before disappearing in a burst of divine light.

Dean stared at the space where Jack had stood, just a moment before. What the hell did that mean? Had Amara persuaded Jack to change his mind, or was he still against interfering?

"Hello, Dean."

Dean froze at the familiar voice, almost afraid to turn around. The last time he'd heard Castiel's voice, it had been Lucifer. He swallowed around the lump that had formed in his throat. What if it was just another trick?

"Hello, Sam."

"Hey, Cas," Sam said warmly, and his brother's voice was enough to have Dean turning.

Cas was smiling at Sam, though still visibly confused as to why he was back on Earth. When he turned to Dean, however, his smile faltered.

Dean wished he could say something, anything, to wipe that insecurity off Castiel's face because the angel was back where he belonged. He was always better with actions than words, however, so he strode up to Cas and wrapped his arms around him, hands clenching in that god-awful trench coat.

"Dean," Castiel began, unsurely.

"Later, Cas," Dean murmured in his ear. "Let's go home."

Dean felt like a great weight had been lifted from him as the angel hugged him back; a weight he hadn't even realised had been dragging him down.

"I'll make burgers. You love burgers."

"Everything tastes like molecules to me."

"Not the point," Dean said, leading them back to the car. "You are a part of this family, Cas - don't ever forget it."

"Hey, Dean?" Sam asked, a sudden thought striking him. "Do you think Adam... Michael was destroyed, but do you think Jack brought Adam back?"

"I hope so," Dean said. "That kid deserves to catch a break. We'll reach out, make sure everyone we know is back, and put out the word that we're looking for him."

"Okay."

As they got nearer the Impala, Dean saw Miracle sitting patiently beside the rear door.

"Oh, hell no..."

"Do you think he's got an owner around here?" Sam asked, looking around.

"We're not keeping the dog, Sam."

"You've changed your tune."

"That was different, okay?" He'd just lost Cas. "It was supposed to just be us, and then there was this little miracle and—"

Miracle barked, as if recognising his name.

Dean sighed. Looked at Sam. Ignored his brother's puppy-dog eyes. Looked at Cas. Took in the angel's hangdog expression.

"Oh, for..." He trailed off in defeat. "I am not feeding him. I am not walking him. And I am not vacuuming the hair out of Baby! That's your job," Dean told Sam. "And if you don't keep her clean, I will shoot you, and then I'll shoot Mir— the dog!" He turned to Miracle. "And you are not riding shotgun!" He got in the car and slammed the door.

"Do you want to ride up front?" Sam asked Cas, failing to hide his amusement at Dean's feigned dislike of their adopted four-legged friend.

The angel responded by getting in the backseat with the dog.

As they began the long drive back to the bunker, Sam texted Eileen. His relief at getting a response was nothing compared to the relief and joy that wiped years off his face when she answered his video call and he saw her face.

His relief echoed the feeling flooding through Dean for getting Cas back, and he glanced at the angel in his rearview mirror.

"I love you," Sam told Eileen, doubling down on his feelings by communicating them through ASL as well.

"I love you, too," she said.

"Get a room, you two," Dean teased them.

Sam called him a jerk as he dug his headphones out.

Dean didn't think Sam had said those three little words to anyone since Jess, and Dean himself had never said them; could never bring himself to say them. He glanced at Cas in the mirror again, chest constricting at the thought of losing Cas again. He'd lost him too many times, and was terrified that he'd lose him again.

Sam arranged for Eileen to meet them at the bunker, but in the end Dean volunteered to take a detour to her house so that Sam could ride home with her. Thankfully he took Miracle, too, and Cas moved into the front passenger seat.

"Is it later, yet?" he asked, once they were back on the road.

Dean swallowed. He had meant later, once they'd eaten and he'd had a chance to figure out what the hell he wanted to say. "I guess it is."

Cas sat there silently, minutes dragging by, until Dean realised the angel was waiting for him to speak. Cas had said everything he'd had to say before the Empty took him, and now it was Dean's turn.

"Look, uh, I've never... Guys aren't something that... If you know me, then you know that..."

"I am a multi-dimensional wavelength of celestial intent," Cas reminded Dean patiently. "It is the vessel that I am possessing that presents as male." He squinted. "I could take a female vessel, if that is something you would—"

"No!" Dean exclaimed quickly.

Cas swallowed. "It's not my vessel," he realised sadly. "It's that my feelings for you are not returned."

"Dude, that's not what I'm—" Dean trailed a hand down his face. "Losing you, it hurts. It hurts as much as losing Sam, only it's different, and I don't know what that means."

"I think," Cas began carefully, "it means that you love me. But you need to decide what kind of love it is that you're feeling. Familial, platonic, romantic..."

"What?"

"Do you love me as family, as a friend, or as a romantic partner? I loved you as a friend, then as family, and I grew to love you romantically - but I don't love you because I have a desire for sexual intimacy with you. As an angel that would be as disappointing as eating - merely experiencing the physical and hormonal sensations without feeling the accompanying pleasure. Though if that was something you desired I would be more than willing to oblige, but I don't see that as being something you would have an interest in. At least, not in this vessel. Yet you are unwilling for me to change vessels."

"It wouldn't be you, then."

"I would still be me, Dean."

"I know, I just mean..."

"You've gotten used to seeing me as Jimmy Novak."

Dean coughed. "Way to make it weird, Cas."

"All I want is to spend your life with you," Cas told him.

"You've always been welcome to do that, Cas. But you leave."

"Or you send me away."

Dean swallowed, knowing that Cas was thinking about his time as a human - when Gadreel, pretending to be Ezekiel, had insisted that Castiel could not be around him. "I'm sorry," Dean apologised. He'd apologised before, and would keep apologising. "You needed me, and I should have been there for you."

"You made the choice you did out of your love for Sam," Cas acknowledged. "And that love is one of the many reasons that I love you. I would settle for living your life with you as your friend, as family, if that was all you desired. But I hope for you to desire more."

Dean frowned. "I thought you said you didn't want sex?"

Cas stared at him for a long moment. "Commitment, Dean. A promise to spend your life with me, faithfully."

And Dean nearly drove the car off the road as he realised that 'commitment' meant no more one night stands, no more casual flings. He was such an idiot... But the more he mulled over the meaning of Castiel's words, the more he surprised himself to realise that he was okay with the idea. Sure, sex was pleasurable and fun, but without a meaningful, emotional connection to the other person involved it lacked something that always left him feeling physically satisfied but otherwise empty.

"Would you ever have told me how you felt?" he blurted out. "If you hadn't been trying to save me from Billie?"

"I don't think so," Cas admitted.

"Why not?"

Castiel stared out of the window, looking away from Dean. "Because to hear you tell me that my feelings were not returned, or worse, for you to ask me to leave, is something that would hurt too much."

"The Empty's definitely not coming back for you, right?"

"No, Dean. Our deal was fulfilled."

"Then say it again, Cas."

Castiel turned to him, slowly, with hope in his eyes. "I love you," he said quietly.

Dean shot Cas a meaningful look. "I know."

Hurt momentarily crossed Castiel's face, before realisation dawned and he beamed. "I understand that reference."

Dean laughed, and pressed his foot down on the accelerator.

"So, what now?" Sam asked, once they'd all pushed their plates aside, stuffed full on Dean's homemade burgers.

"Everything we've ever done has been because Chuck wanted it that way," Dean said. "From before we were even born, Heaven was manipulating Mom and Dad into a relationship. Hunting has been my life, but I don't want the job title to define me."

"Job title?" Sam echoed, amused.

"Yeah. 'Hunter' - I want to be more than that."

"Such as?"

"A teacher," Dean said. "I was thinking about it on the drive home - the next generation of hunters are growing up fast, and they need help just like Bobby helped us. And you were doing good, running that network of hunters from here. That could be our future - making our own way. Not hunters, or Men of Letters, but combining that into something that is ours. From now on, we write our own destiny."

Sam nodded thoughtfully.

"And I want to retire. At least partially. I want to live a life. I want to live my life. I want to be a brother," he said, looking at Sam. "Maybe even a brother-in-law?" he asked, giving Eileen a look that caused her to blush and Sam to kick him under the table. "And a... partner," he finished, looking at Cas. He wasn't sure what the right word was to describe what he wanted with Cas, but he had time to figure it out.

Sam cleared his throat. "You cooked, Eileen and I will clean up," he said, gesturing at their dirty plates. "Why don't you and Cas go, uh, watch some Netflix. And maybe chill." He chuckled to himself.

"Sure, that sounds like a great idea," Dean said, standing up and dragging Cas out of his chair. He failed to understand what Sam found so funny. "Maybe we can finish Game of Thrones - I hear that show had a terrible ending..."

#Supernatural #Destiel #Saileen #spnfic #destielfic #canon divergent #fix it fic #SPN S15 #my fic

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ghostmartyr · 4 years ago

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So if you, like me, have nothing to do but wonder about the state of my inbox, you might rightfully be wondering how I plan to deal with the obscene backlog I have spent so many years failing to deal with.

If you have never wondered that, fear not, that doesn’t exclude you from finding out.

Today we’re just going to go through my entire slew of unanswered asks, and instead of answering them, I am going to provide excuses for why I didn’t do anything with them.

For added fun, several of the asks were in my Drafts.

I will not be cutting out the comments I started to make.

I will no doubt regret this.

Let’s have a time, shall we?

I don’t even know what year this is from. If I remember correctly, I didn’t get back to you because I thought about trying to reason out who would legitimately win, and there were too many points for both sides. I kept intending to come up with a proper answer, then time went by and this got buried.

Though the actual answer is probably “it depends on who gets the main character sticker at the time.”

...

Well.

I can tell you this is multiple years old.

We, as humans, aren’t equipped for time travel.

I didn’t answer this one because I didn’t feel like it was asking for one, and I’m only reproducing it here because it is really, really funny now.

Two years old. Plus change.

I think the entire reason I never replied to this one is that it cheered me up whenever I scrolled down enough to see it, so thank you.

You know, I entered the link at the time. Really, I did. But then came trying to come up with a comment and what can you really follow that with?

(Click the link.)

Okay then.

I still feel no need to respond to this, so that’s probably why I didn’t to start with.

Historia and literally anyone.

I don’t remember why I didn’t answer this, which usually means some combination of feeling tired and not being in the mood to scroll down to where it was.

Oops.

The thing is, this crosses dangerously close to being a fic idea. Fic ideas take time and effort. You can imagine the absolute dread I felt at having to engage with either concept.

It would have been a lot of fun to do, though. Hats off.

See, again. This is a very interesting concept that requires thought. I can tell you when I received it I was in no mood for anything that required anything of the sort.

I wrote a fic that is possibly never going to see the light of day now where they hang out in a kitchen with hot chocolate together and bond through unstated trauma and Frieda attempting to make things better.

That probably contributed to interfering with imagining how they would actually get along.

Anyway, I ship them slightly in that fic AU. Don’t @ me.

Oh dang. I remember this.

I actually really wanted to answer it, but the problem is that I wanted to come up with a good answer. Every character, tiered by their chances. A full Hunger Games edition of what went down and who killed who.

Then I didn’t.

Anyway, turns out the answer is that no one feels the need to chop of rocking chairs in a hurry, so she’d last a long time!

I didn’t answer this because I try to avoid responding with, “I don’t know.” My secondary answer would probably have been, “By being killed.”

Not that there’s anything wrong with those answers, but unless there’s been a tonal trend in asks, I assume that pithy answers that don’t actually have any meat behind them would not be appreciated.

I would stick to him probably being killed, though. But some signs do point to him being relatively immortal.

Hm.

Hmm.

I don’t know why I didn’t answer this, but I would guess it had something to do with me caring very little about Ymir’s thoughts on anything outside of her little clutch of people. And ongoing trauma of repeated dead/alive Ymir commentary killing off my desire to come up with a good answer.

Sorry?

I... have no idea why I didn’t answer this? Maybe I didn’t see it?

Anyway, yes.

There’s a longer version behind that yes, and I’m sure that might have contributed to never getting around to answering this. ...Assuming a past where I did actually see this one.

I have a confession.

I don’t really like crossovers.

There’s a sliding scale of degree, but that’s basically why this didn’t get a response.

Ah, we’ve landed on a recurring theme.

Sometimes, answers involve me thinking about the entire cast.

The usual consequence of that is I don’t have the energy for that, so nothing ever happens with these.

Oh, this one’s easy.

I had no fucking clue.

No ideas, head empty.

That didn’t seem like a good answer, so here we are, probably around a year later. I still have no clue. If I were forced to write a singing duo AU, I would probably just put some adjectives and nouns into a blender and flip a coin.

Names are hard.

I think I didn’t answer this one because I felt like I’d answered similar asks before. And I’m not really sure when this is from, but it’s possible canon complicated coming up with an answer that wasn’t distressed screeching.

Something something give Connie and Mikasa hugs, not partial about where they get them from.

Apparently not. Oops.

I can’t remember why I didn’t respond to this one. It’s possible the oodles of bad parenting proved too distracting to formulate such a post.

Sometimes I get an ask, and my immediate, gut reaction is, how the fuck should I know?

If I can move past that, the ask is answered.

If I can’t, the ask continues its descent through scroll hell.

I am sorry. There are no answers here.

Yeah, this is just the same as the above, just with I have no idea.

It’d probably be a Madoka Magic deal.

Huh. I don’t remember passing this one over. If I were to guess a timeline, I was probably too bitter over potential post-timeskip looks that I never got to be interested in focusing on the characters lucky enough to get good ones.

Go Connie for being less short, I suppose.

This clearly belonged to something that I was doing, but time has eroded the context, so I am simply left with failure and disappointment on all sides. Sorry.

Aw, we’re getting into the boring part of the inbox now, I think. Not because of the questions; you guys are always great. But I can’t think of a reason why I wouldn’t have answered this, which leads me to think that the reason was I was too tired to put words together.

That’s a boring reason, so maybe I should go into Drafts for the next few...

Yeah, still unfairly prejudiced against crossovers. I am no fun, etc. etc.

I have no memory of it, but I feel like I didn’t answer this because there was no way I could match this kindly anon’s enthusiasm.

You go, random internet person.

You have good ideas.

Oh no.

Uh.

See.

I know exactly why I didn’t answer this one.

I am so sorry, Anon.

I really didn’t care.

I am filled with affection for you because you clearly do, but uh.

...I basically put this on Read.

This has a very simple, ie boring, explanation. Any time someone asks about the cast as a whole, I want to think about the cast as a whole, and that takes a lot more thought than most of the asks I get. Cue putting it off. Cue it getting lost in scroll hell. On and on we go until we end up here.

Anything that opens with kilometers is something that requires more brain power than I have had in the past year.

Also I think I got this during a spoiler week, so I saw it, but I was trying not to look at it, and then it got lost in the post-chapter asks.

That happens a lot.

We might see it more soon.

If I can’t come up with words more than “-shrug-” I try not to answer.

...Good news, though!

The manga did my job for me!

I feel like I answered some variation of this. That might be why I didn’t answer this specific one.

The wiki does a better job keeping track of the timeline than I ever have. I probably didn’t answer this because it would involve trying to remember which volume actually name-dropped a number of weeks or months. Searching for lines I know a character said is pretty easy, but searching out lines I have a vague feeling of someone providing? That tends to hit the frustration button with the force of a truck.

But yeah, if you ever want to know how long something took, the wiki is absolutely your friend. They do good work.

Consider: “What if” questions are hard, and I am lazy.

This is actually one I really did mean to get to, sorry. It’s an interesting thought, and I miss Sasha.

...I clearly did a magnificent job answering your asks, friend.

Prediction asks are hard for me; I feel like I’m throwing darts randomly into the air and the dartboard is still deciding if it’s going to show up. So uh. I guess I just kept putting this off until it didn’t get answered.

This post is going to have so many apologies. Implied and otherwise.

I continue to be the No Fun Police who accidentally-on-purpose avoids crossover commentary.

I feel like I didn’t answer this one entirely because seeing it in my inbox gave me far too much joy to have it lost in a sea of posts.

This is what my inbox was made for.

I have no idea when this was from, but I see your emotions and appreciate them, Anon.

...Did I not see this one?

Hey, Anon who probably doesn’t remember sending this: This is a good ask and deserved some good attention, and I’m sorry I missed my shot at it. Good thoughts.

I didn’t answer this one entirely because I knew I couldn’t match the energy of it, and responding with anything less felt heretical.

That is one hell of a mood, Anon.

This is definitely from the era of, “Can’t think, brain empty.” Sorry about not getting back to you, I just really couldn’t organize my thoughts well enough to come up with an answer.

I feel like I didn’t know what this was continuing from and was too exhausted to ask.

LOOK YOU CAN SEE I WANTED TO ANSWER THIS BECAUSE IT’S A DRAFT.

Too many things, Anon.

I liked so many things about all of that. Trying to turn that enthusiasm into words wasn’t agreeing with me, so I put it in Drafts and told myself one day I’d do the most awesome post detailing everything.

Intentions, huh?

Every time I tried to take a normal screenshot with formatting Tumblr just laughed at me, so that might have been a contributing factor.

Dang, I’m really sorry. This is another one of those cases where I wanted to take my time with a response, and I took too long.

I, uh.

Am guilty of not being too interested in pondering Ymir’s thoughts on Levi or Erwin.

That’s it, that’s the explanation.

Yeah, I just couldn’t come up with an answer here? Or someone else asked? Or several of my friends decided to be annoying about lists on Discord? I don’t even know.

Presumably there could be a list.

There is not.

Honestly, I just couldn’t figure out how to follow that starting sentence up. A thought exercise on Armin, Historia, gender, and themes sounded really interesting, and I put it in Drafts so as not to forget it being interesting.

Then, you know. This post sort of paints the picture.

Ah.

Man, I really was looking forward to putting some proper thought into this. That’s the problem with having so many things I love in one place, I guess. Symbolism? Historia and Ymir? Mikasa? So many good things! Where do I start!

With paralyzing indecision that results in not a lot. Sorry, Anon. This really did light up my day when I got it.

Here’s the thing about me and writing:

I often fail to.

(I love both these ideas, though.)

Yes.

Do I know why I didn’t get around to answering this?

Absolutely not.

But yes, I’d agree with that.

GOOD NEWS!

The manga actually gave us some of them together in the future.

I occasionally giggled over their shared distaste.

It was a good time.

And this is another one I just do not know why I didn’t answer, whoops.

This never got answered because I couldn’t come up with an answer.

Broad questions are scary because they can go just about anywhere and I didn’t know how to handle that level of commitment.

I think I didn’t answer this one, A), because words are hard, and B), because mostly I just wanted to listen to more of your wondering and less of mine.

I probably could have answered this by saying I don’t have any, but that seemed rude, so I didn’t respond to it at all.

Yep.

Frieda is worthy of my time and effort.

Landing this in Drafts instead of my inbox.

Where the lighting makes it more obvious that hope has gone there to die.

I think about it so much too.

I find the answers fundamentally upsetting.

That is probably why I did not provide an answer here.

That is a lot of kids to make up headcanons for.

So I didn’t.

She’s eaten by dogs before she develops a personality.

Since that seemed like the wrong thing to say, I said nothing, and into Drafts this went.

‘I have no earthly clue’ seemed similarly unhelpful.

At this point, we understand that there is no mystery to my backlog.

This one hurts.

-sees the 112 reference-

Wow does it hurt.

As I hope is obvious, I really, really loved this question, and kept meaning to carve out time to work on it specifically. What went sideways was trying to put words to how EMA functions. I knew the feel of what I wanted to express, but every time I tried to write it, it came out wonky.

I’m very sorry I couldn’t do anything for this, because I was thrilled to spend time with it.

I didn’t answer this because Fuck Marley.

It’s nothing against you. At the time, I simply wasn’t in any mood to consider any version of Marley. Even the canon version was too much for me, so giving it my time in a roleswap AU had me hissing.

Roleswaps in general are amazing, and I love them a lot. A dedicated person could make a fantastic one based around Marley and Paradis. I think it would probably be cool af.

But I was so tired of Marley when I got this, I just couldn’t make myself think about it. Sorry. It’s a fun idea.

I didn’t answer this one because I kept trying to extend my response past, “I think he just really likes baseball.”

I think he just really likes baseball.

My feelings on that as a quality answer are derogatory.

Mm. The ones where I actually tried to get something started hurts.

Ultimately, this ask was a larger demand than I could make my brain work through at the time. I made sure to write down the tl;dr version of Sasha’s, because I found that desperately important, and not something that people talk about much, but the additional weight of trying to think of themes for multiple characters made it hard to progress.

Me, looking at the prompts: Hi my brain left me.

Sorry, Anon. Too many gears were moving for me to get a proper feel for what I wanted to do with this one, so I ended up ditching it. ...I was planning to finish it, though. Eventually. See, I even put the quote in the Draft version as a reminder of what I was doing, so I could get back to it right away.

Yeeeeah, this is just one more to the “I will give this wonderful thing all the time it deserves!” pile.

The pile is stored in the Failure Corner.

Perfectionism is the enemy of progress.

You guys really like crossovers.

I love that for you.

-spends two years ignoring you-

I mean, I just didn’t know what to do with the rainbows.

They sure are there.

They sure are pretty.

I sure couldn’t come up with a comment to add.

...I don’t know why I didn’t answer this. Possibly because I think it’s fine? I’m not too attached to it, and spent the whole manga period wanting to watch an anime version instead, then we got an anime version.

I’d guess that my general “meh” feelings interfered with responding here.

No idea why I didn’t answer this.

Yes, and good for you.

I support all thoughts on giving the Reiss kiddos personalities.

I think I didn’t get back to you on this because I wasn’t sure how to encourage you to keep going so I just sat awkwardly on my hands and felt weird about not saying anything.

...Thanks for sharing!

I love how it’s the little things that date these.

Unfortunately, we’re now at the point where 90% of the reason I didn’t answer was because I was too sick to muster up anything approaching enthusiasm.

Or because I’d just finished answering a bunch of chapter-specific things and was burnt out.

This felt pretty self-explanatory to me, so I felt like that gave me permission to ignore it.

Also, it mentions Marley.

I might be slightly petty.

Really though, I think what stopped me from giving a proper answer is that the question of what an author is trying to say throws me off a little. I work better thinking of it in terms of what the story is saying, with the author just happening to be the hands that wrote it all down.

I don’t know. This was probably another case of feeling like I should give this more of my time than I was able.

I couldn’t decide.

That’s it.

That’s the reason.

Everyone needs to give Mikasa a hug.

My blog title for a hug.

-the crossover snake hisses and consumes another-

I am so sorry.

This is fun.

I probably should have just gone with posting and saying so, because I am genuinely charmed by this. I tend to feel like I have to add something to asks to justify the post. That policy maybe didn’t need to be a thing.

I love my anons.

I want that to be clear.

Really, I do.

I especially love their willingness to embrace my crackpot logic.

Still.

Sometimes, the only response one can have to Schrodinger’s Ymir is to ignore its existence, find a pillow, and scream into it for the rest of time.

This replaces typing.

-looks at Armin-

-looks at Eren-

Yeah, don’t know why I didn’t answer this one, either. I blame tiredness? Sorry about that.

I feel like I didn’t answer this one because it felt like work.

This is where I start considering that making this post was a mistake.

I could have just agreed with you and gone about my day.

Probably should have.

Did not.

Another one for that, “had nothing to add so I just left it in a corner, abandoned and unloved,” pile.

There is an apology section at the end, but we’re not there yet.

This one I don’t think I noticed.

Alternatively, I did notice, and wasn’t sure “Yes,” would pass as a good enough answer.

--------------------------------------

Okay, time to really just get into it: I think for the remainder of my inbox, I didn’t answer because physically, I was just too damn exhausted, and I kept waiting for a point in time where I’d feel better. Sorry to put a limit on the personalization, but in the end, that’s all there was to it, and rephrasing it a dozen times will make me crazy.

And here we are.

Well.

Good grief, do you guys even have any clue how much I like all of you?

Obviously there’s a lot of guilt in the above, because I can’t tell you how much I wanted, each time, to give a great answer that would make you thrilled you messaged me. I am so sorry to all of these I didn’t get to. There were days when the alerts in my inbox were the best thing to happen to me, and I never wanted to let any of them go without acknowledgment.

I try to say thank you as often as I can in my responses, because that’s as close as I can get to reminding you all, constantly, that I am grateful for your participation. The only times I don’t say it is when I worry that it’ll look like it’s being done out of habit, not genuine gratitude. Or when I think you might take it the wrong way if I say thanks for a basic conversation. Because you provide me content and make me interested in things I might not normally look twice at.

There are so many instances of people saying hi, and thank you, and wishing everyone well here.

I haven’t been active in the larger fandom in two years, but I have always been so happy that you guys kept dropping by my space anyway.

You are a pleasure and light in my life, no matter how much snark I might throw about.

Thank you all.

#attack on asks #tl;dr #long post

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mish-tique · 3 years ago

Note

Would it be possible to request protective Alpha Dan over Omega Max?

ooh yas ofc! Fic drabble at the beginning and at the end there is some analysis on how I think it would show in their dynamics.

Daniel knows that Max is one independent guy, never letting himself be stopped by the fact that he's an omega. Neither of them believed in the stereotypes that came with the designation but that didn't mean they could always ignore their nature.

And there were moments that Daniel didn't want to ignore his nature. Because while Max was strong, one of the best ánd an omega, Daniel was an alpha but more importantly, his boyfriend.

also readable on my ao3 here or hit "keep reading"

Even if Max hadn't been his omega he still would've interfered because after watching the press swarm his boyfriend for ten minutes, his patience was gone. They had been pushing him, asking questions borderline rude and even the guys from Ziggo weren't doing the job they normally did.

So Daniel wrapped up his own interviewer, feeling somewhat apologetic because the press guy looked surprised and somewhat worried. He probably thought he had done something wrong, especially with Daniel's changing scent but he didn't pay it anymore mind.

He pushed himself through the masses of press and wondered why they weren't behind the fences or in their squares like they normally were. Max was close, he could smell it but he could also smell the distress mixed in it, the annoyance with a sharp edge of fear.

It was the last thing Daniel wanted for today, they were supposed to go home and enjoy their podiums and be together, not be absolutely hogged by the press. He finally found his boyfriend but Max hadn't noticed him yet and it took him a second to understand why.

The alpha in front of him, some dude Daniel didn't recognise, had been commanding him. It were no questions he asked like "how did you find your performances", no, the asshole went full "tell me how your race went" and it was impossible to disobey. Daniel could see internal distress but he ignored it, totally focussed on his boyfriend.

He placed his hand on the omega's shoulder, turned him around with a bit more force and then hugged him to his chest. Max had tensed up for the second that he hadn't realized it was Daniel who touched him, but Daniel could feel the moment Max relaxed.

"Come, let's go home," he said and dragged Max out of the crowd, making sure there weren't too many people touching them.

Max was still a bit muted when they came home and Daniel longed to see the prideful Max he knew. So he made a bath, nuzzled Max' neck and gave the omega some time for himself.

After half an hour Max emerged, smell mostly cleansed from all the unknown and unwanted but still distressed. This time Daniel didn't have to do anything; Max dropped himself next to Daniel on the couch and started nuzzling him.

"They had no right to swarm you like that," Daniel commented. They were racers but humans before that but sometimes it felt like they were zoo animals.

"That's not the worst," Max commented, "It's the fact that no matter who I will become in life, when an alpha demands something I will have to listen."

Max didn't cry but his scent did start to feel heavy with sadness and disappointment, almost stifling to Daniel. He really wanted to comfort his boyfriend.

So he took Max closer, laid next to him and kissed his forehead, his cheek, his nose before a soft kiss on the lips. "I will never command you," Daniel tried to reassure him, "And if I ever see them do it again I'll make sure they can never enter the paddock again."

It seemed to appease Max, though Daniel knew it wouldn't just be okay within a few hours. So he waited till he could hear the other sleep, took his phone from the table and called Zak.

"I need you to do something for me."

Overall I think Max will always try to manage himself first before coming to others. Due to his childhood, he learned to protect himself, to be able to save himself and technically not need any protection. But when he met Daniel and Daniel gave him a new perspective to help, to being vulnerable and having to depend on others. Max still has to learn from time to time but its getting better.

Hope this satisfied!

#please ask me!#maxiel #max/daniel #drabble #a/b/o dynamics #mishtique fanfics

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hibiscusangel15 · 4 years ago

Text

Why Tragedy Exists

An angsty @ichirukimonth 2020 fic this time.

Summary: When you spent your whole life fighting, what was there to do when you had nothing left to fight for? What purpose did Kurosaki Ichigo even have in this world anymore?

Ichigo’s life during the seventeen months without Rukia. For Day 7 of Ichiruki Month 2020.

Rating: Teen

(Belated) Day 7 Prompt: why are you full of rage? because you are full of grief.

Also crossposted to FFN and AO3!

When you spent your whole life fighting, what was there to do when you had nothing left to fight for? What purpose did Kurosaki Ichigo even have in this world anymore?

“Hey, bleached-hair kid! I’m talkin’ to you, asshole!” Another faceless thug snagged his collar. Yet another nameless gang gathered to back up their cookie-cutter character of a leader.

He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t want to be here. But where else did he have to go?

Another meaningless scuffle. Another bruise, another scrape, more blood to be cleaned later.

Flurried fists and tiny pocket knives and screamed obscenities never seemed so dull before.

Other boys his age often picked fights with him. Had done so as far back as he could remember. All over trifling, inconsequential matters that seemed so laughable to him now. His hair, his attitude, his existence was all wrong.

Only now he had the strength to take them all on by himself. Only now did he choose to fight them for no reason at all.

Chad interfered in one of these fights once. For a moment, they were a team again. They fought side-by-side without the burden of death or the balance of the worlds looming over their heads. This was just a brawl on the street. Nothing more, nothing less.

Once Chad called an ambulance for all the knocked-out thugs, he offered to treat Ichigo out to some food.

Ichigo said nothing. Didn’t even thank him. Just spat out coppery blood on the concrete and stalked off without looking back. Chad wouldn’t chase after him or insist, he knew. Knew all too well how to take advantage of his friend’s inherent kindness.

He never felt more disgusted with himself.

Time moved on. Everyone around him recovered. They all got over the horrors they’d just barely survived. Only he remained stagnant, falling behind, grasping at something forever out of his reach.

He never thought that saving the world would be so thankless.

Tatsuki once invited him to watch her karate team practice and give them a few pointers. None of the upperclassmen were all that stoked about it, but they’d heard about Kurosaki’s reputation. One of them even challenged him to a fair match to test his skills.

He nearly refused. Until the guy went on and on about how Ichigo’s only fighting experience came from fights in the street. How a punk like him couldn’t possibly have learned the discipline or technique a real warrior possessed.

Tatsuki told this smug upperclassman off, stabbing him with reminders that he didn’t even qualify for nationals last year. The upperclassman—Ichigo was never very good at remembering names—snapped something at her, and it was only then he stood up and accepted his challenge.

Ichigo took him down in a few minutes. Then another upperclassman claimed he cheated and demanded a match with him, and another one after that. Their pride as one of the top karate teams in the nation was staked on this.

Unfortunately, these guys were all weak.

None of them would last a day being a Shinigami.

They begged and begged him to join their team despite all their injuries. Despite how afraid of him they all were. To them, to normal humans, Kurosaki Ichigo was little more than a monster.

So he refused. Such things simply didn’t hold his interest anymore.

And then they offered to pay him.

Ichigo hadn’t had much need for money before. Though his father didn’t make much running the Kurosaki Clinic, his family lived comfortably enough.

Now those bills waved in his face meant something else. Something new to latch onto.

With enough money, he could move far, far away from Karakura Town. He could leave everything behind. Go to a university where no one knew him. Start fresh. Start anew.

Ichigo could forget last year ever happened. He could finally forget her.

He took the deal, but made his own conditions as well. This much would only pay for the week. He wouldn’t ever be considered an official member of the team, so they couldn’t ask him to participate in competitions.

They were not comrades. They were not friends.

Word got out about Ichigo’s “services” to the other sports teams at Karakura High. Soon enough, he found himself making weekly and bi-weekly contracts to help them out during practices.

It was a decent way to make money, he supposed. Looking into how much apartments cost outside the city, though, he knew it wasn’t enough.

He’d have to find another job soon.

Ichigo was out with the track team when he spotted Ishida alone in the park. No, not alone. He couldn’t sense the enemy, but the pocks in the grass and suspiciously trampled playground equipment more than spoke for itself.

He didn’t know what he was going to do when he took off. Instinct never really left much room for rationale, after all.

He leapt high over Ishida’s head, grunting in surprise when his foot connected with an intangible figure. The earth rumbled underneath as a plume of dust kicked up a few feet away.

Definitely a Hollow. A big one.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Kurosaki?” Ishida snapped. His arms were extended before him, holding a bow Ichigo couldn’t see anymore.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m helping you! The least you could do is thank me.”

Idiot! I’m not going to thank you! The echo of her voice rang so unbearably clear in his mind. He wished he could cast it aside, wished the memory of her would not linger in every little thing he did.

Ishida's eyes flickered away, and he leapt a distance much wider than any normal human would’ve been able to cover. A fist-shaped crater bloomed before him. Ichigo raised his arms to block the debris flying past, choking on the dust swirling in the air.

As a habit, he reached behind him for a sword that did not exist anymore. Would not exist ever again.

Fate was once again the millstone, he the grist. It turned relentlessly, endlessly onward, further away from her and back again.

Powerlessness. Normality. Both synonymous with complacency.

Both equaled death.

“You’re only getting in the way, Kurosaki! Just back off and let me handle this for once,” Ishida yelled.

Ichigo watched him mimic pulling an arrow back, deliberate and steady. Watched Ishida fire that shot above his head. There was no fanfare, no sense of accomplishment to accompany it. He didn’t even know where the Hollow was.

“Is it...dead?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Ishida lowered his arms. “Yes.”

“I see.”

Silence weighed in the air far heavier than any reiatsu ever could.

“Hey, do you ever feel bad about the Hollows you kill?”

Ishida frowned at the question. “What do you mean?”

It was pointless to ask him this. It was pointless to continue.

“Quincies completely destroy souls with their arrows, right?” Ichigo clenched his own shirt in a fist. He had to stop talking. “Don’t you ever feel bad that any random Hollow you killed might be some lost soul in pain?”

Ishida studied him for a wary moment then shoved his glasses further up his nose. “It can’t be helped. If it comes down to saving a Hollow or an innocent soul, I’d choose the innocent one without hesitation. Surely you’d do the same, Kurosaki.”

“I could save both of them.” The words were so quiet, so riddled with hollow confidence. “I’d save them both without even thinking about it.”

“Funny, you once said to me that you knew you couldn’t protect everyone.”

His friends didn’t always have the right words to say. He couldn’t expect them to understand.

And yet….

“But I did save everyone! I saved Karakura Town. I saved the entire damn world as we know it. What makes you think I couldn’t save two souls at once the way I am now?”

His chest ached. The strain was unbearable. He was drowning.

“Are you calling me weak? Do you think I’m so incapable of protecting anyone that you’d rather cast me aside than even let me try?”

Ishida looked away. “Quit putting words in my mouth, Kurosaki. I never said any of that.”

“Oh yeah? I’m in the way? I should back off?” He trembled with directionless rage. “All of you guys think I’m some weakling that needs to be protected. That I can’t fend for myself anymore. And I’m so fucking sick of it!”

“Uh, h-hey, Kurosaki, are you okay?” the captain of the track team asked behind him.

Any idiot would know he wasn’t.

Ichigo turned away. “I’m fine.”

The captain paled at the sight of his scowling face. “Um, you can finish your conversation with your friend—”

“We’re not friends.”

Ishida sucked in a sharp breath, but said nothing. Did nothing. Again.

“Kurosaki!”

Ichigo didn’t turn back. How could he? They’d all turned their backs on him. It only seemed fitting he return the favor.

The wheel continued to turn.

Finals were a pain to deal with, especially with all those remedial classes he had to take for missing so much school before. Though difficult and boring, they weren’t entirely unmanageable.

He hadn’t really talked much to the others in a while. Better to distance himself now. Better they all learn to let him go so he’d have no further reminders of the last year. Of her.

It was stupid to think they’d ever go so quietly, though.

“Ichigo!” Tatsuki called to him on the street.

He stopped walking but refused to look back.

Several sets of footsteps scraped along the concrete behind him.

“You’ve been avoiding us for weeks now, Kurosaki,” Ishida said. “But now that Finals are over, you can’t hide from us anymore.”

“I wasn’t hiding from any of you. We’re all in the same class,” Ichigo replied, keeping his tone unaffected.

“You know that’s not what we mean, Kurosaki.”

Fate was cruel in each revolution. In each turning of the wheel, he would always be crushed under its power.

“Kurosaki-kun,” Inoue piped up, her voice wavering just a bit. “You’ve been acting very strangely since...that day Kuchiki-san left.”

Her name. The mere sound of it dragged him down when he’d tried so desperately to claw himself to the surface.

He hadn’t said her name in months. Didn’t even dare to think it.

“Ishida-kun and Sado-kun and Tatsuki-chan told me everything that’s been happening with you. And...we’re worried.” Her voice bubbled and warped, and he was drowning again. “We don’t know why you’re pushing us all away, Kurosaki-kun.”

They didn’t know? They really didn’t know why he couldn’t bear to be near them?

“I can’t stand the way you all look at me.”

Such a disgustingly petty reason. Such a terrible excuse. When even he couldn’t stand to look at himself anymore.

“Ever since I lost my powers, you’ve all been acting like I'm fragile and useless!”

Enough.

“I can’t stand it!”

Shut up.

“I don’t want your pity!”

Please stop.

“I can’t wait to get the hell out of Karakura Town so you all can finally leave me alone!”

The rain would follow him, though. That cursed rain would always follow him.

He was drowning. Why couldn’t they see?

Tatsuki was the first to speak. “You’ve always been like this.”

“...What the hell did you just say?”

Even now he refused to look at them.

“What, does being mad all the time make you deaf, too?” she snapped. “I said you’ve always been like this, Ichigo. You don’t know any other way to express your grief outside of lashing out.”

“Is that right?” Ichigo stood up straighter. “And what makes you think I’m grieving, Tatsuki?”

“Don’t you dare act like I don’t know you, Kurosaki Ichigo!” Her voice rippled through the water. “We’ve known each other for so long—we’ve been friends for this long—and you couldn’t even bother to tell me what was going on with you from the beginning. I had to learn about all this Shinigami stuff after the fact! And not from you, either! From Orihime! From Chad and Ishida! But you didn’t tell me anything! Not when you left to rescue Kuchiki-san, not when you went to save Orihime…. I know you’re grieving because this is the exact same thing you did when your mother died!”

Ichigo finally whirled on them, eyes burning with so much fury it was difficult to look at him head-on.

Ishida stepped in front of her, arm outstretched like a shield. “So you’ve become the sort of person that would attack your friends over something like this? Do you think Kuchiki-san would be happy if she knew she’d left you in this sorry state?”

They kept saying her name so freely. As if she was so commonplace. As if his heart could bear that burden.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Didn’t she tell you she’d be watching over you, Kurosaki? Do you think she’d approve of anything you’re doing now? All your fights. Your rage. And for what?”

Ichigo gritted his teeth. “I don’t need her approval! I don’t need anything! I’m happy without her! I’m happy I’m finally normal!”

Ishida’s usual calm demeanor cracked, and his face twisted into a scowl. “What you’re doing isn’t normal, Kurosaki! Constantly picking fights with strangers, ignoring all of us, butting into simple Hollow fights—”

Inoue sucked in a breath. Clearly there were some things the others hadn’t told her.

“Does it make you feel strong, Kurosaki? Does it help you forget that, just for a moment, you aren’t completely pathetic?”

Ichigo punched him square in the jaw. His glasses flew off. A sickening crunch sounded under his foot when he took a bewildered step back.

Inoue ran to him immediately. “Ishida-kun!”

Tatsuki grabbed his arm, tried to pin it behind his back and get him to submit. Ichigo wrenched his arm out of her hold and turned to shove her away.

Chad stepped in between them. There was that awful pity reflected in his eyes again.

Ichigo wanted to wipe it away.

Chad took blow after wild blow to the chest, to his stomach, each one more frustrated than the last. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, but he did not move. The pity in his eyes did not change.

Ichigo shoved Tatsuki to the ground when she tried to intervene again. There was yelling. So much yelling. None of it was enough to pierce through the rain. It wasn’t enough to save him.

His hand suddenly bounced off an invisible barrier, bruising the knuckles and his pride all in one shattering blow.

“Kurosaki-kun…” Inoue muttered, her voice cracking.

She flinched when he glared back at her. That look on her face made him hate himself all the more.

It was the same look she wore when he first protected her with his Hollow mask. It was that look every other human threw his way.

Monster.

“Please...stop this.” Tears spilled down her face. Ishida wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders, and she folded into the embrace. “We’re your friends! So please….”

Ichigo couldn’t take it anymore. All his sorrow and grief and aimless rage collapsed around him and he screamed.

Chad caught him before he sank any further. “Ichigo!”

“I can’t…. I don’t….”

He couldn’t breathe. He was drowning. He was dying.

A steady hand squeezed his shoulder, another placed flat on his back. They held him above the water. They lent him their strength.

The rain still echoed around him. He still struggled to stay afloat. But maybe now he would rely on his friends to protect his heart.

A single tear crashed to the ground as bright as a falling star.

“I’m sorry.”

* * *

Quiet mornings were practically nonexistent in Karakura Town.

“Maaaaan, I can’t stand not talking about this anymore! Doesn’t it drive you insane?” Keigo screeched while walking alongside Mizuiro.

Mizuiro scrolled through social media on his phone, only half-listening. “I’m not sure what you mean, Asano-san.”

“Don’t you ‘Asano-san’ me again, Mizuiro! I’m talking about all the weird stuff Ichigo and the others did a while ago! I mean, I know Ishida and Chad and all the others said it’s better if we don’t talk about that stuff with him, but c’mon! How’re you not supposed to talk about ghosts and monsters and Shinigami after finding out they exist? It’s impossible!”

“Considering your track record, I’m surprised you managed to hold out for this long.”

“Now what’s that supposed to mean? I can be sensitive to others’ feelings!” Keigo insisted. “But it’s been forever. Ichigo might be okay if I talk to him about it now.”

“Might be?”

“Don’t make me second-guess myself, Mizuiro! I’m gonna talk about this so much, even I’ll get sick of hearing about it!”

Mizuiro finally looked up. “Everything that happened to us was pretty unbelievable. Sometimes I want to believe it was all some weird nightmare I had. But...I don’t really want to talk about it. There isn’t much left to be said anyway. Not if reminding Ichigo of it all will just depress him.”

At this, Keigo’s enthusiasm deflated. “Well, yeah, I guess. But don’t you wanna know what he thinks about Rukia-chan not coming to visit all this time?”

What a tactless idiot.

Mizuiro’s smile was more polite than genuine. “I think she’s the main reason he’s been feeling down.”

“What? So you’re saying that they—”

“I’m not saying anything, Asano-san.”

His cold facade nearly fell at Keigo's childish pout. Honestly, if he wasn't able to pick up on these things after all the time he'd known Ichigo, then there really was no hope for him.

Keigo didn’t get a chance to talk to him until lunchtime.

“I wonder what Rukia-chan’s up to.”

Ichigo nearly spit out his juice. “What’s Rukia got to do with anything?”

“I’m just saying, would it kill her to pop in and say hello from time to time?” Keigo flopped about on the floor like a fish. “Don’t you think it’s cold of her to not show her face even once since then?”

Yes.

“It’s not cold,” Ichigo replied.

Liar.

“She’s not in charge of Karakura Town anymore, so it’s completely normal for her to not hang around.”

Keigo squinted up at him. “You don’t miss her?”

More than anything.

“No reason to.”

He rattled off the same bullshit excuse he always did whenever anyone brought this up. He always wanted this slow peace. He didn’t need his powers anymore.

He didn’t need her in his life.

Before today, when was the last time he’d spoken her name aloud? When did Rukia become someone who never left his mind?

Ichigo stared up at the sky. Dark clouds blurred through a once-clear blue.

A black butterfly fluttered past. His absent hand trailed after it, chased it in the hopes it would perch itself on his finger. It flew up higher, further than he could reach, and he slowly let his hand fall away.

Fate turned on relentlessly. It would not falter, would not pause even for them. He had wished, foolishly perhaps, that he could go back to the moment Rukia disappeared from his eyes. Go back just to tell her everything he could not say.

He loved her.

He loved her with every fiber of his weak human heart.

The wheel kept spinning. The butterfly grew more distant.

Rukia would not come back to him.

The wind picked up, and he finally turned away.

I wonder if I can keep up with the speed of a world you’re not in.

#ichirukimonth #ichirukimonth2020 #Ichiruki #OTP: Black Sun and White Moon #Kurosaki Ichigo #Kuchiki Rukia #Bleach #my fanfiction

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daybreak-delusion · 4 years ago

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Chapter 4

Introduction: Whitney Goodwinson was planning on inheriting one of her deceased grandmother's properties, but not a little house off the coast of North Carolina. As she struggles to meet new people, fix up her new property, deal with troublemaker JJ Maybank, and perfect her grandmother's infamous lemonade she might just find that the Outer Banks has more to offer than it seems.

Series Masterlist

Yeah, it was just as awkward as I thought it would be. First off Rafe didn’t say anything for a while he was just texting someone on his phone. I was awkwardly sitting on the couch so I tried to envision myself anywhere else but here. I thought about the London flat and how it was probably going to be destroyed by Will’s outrageous parties. Becoming too overwhelmed that this was my life now I tried to start a conversation to distract myself.

“So, have you lived here all your life?” was my pathetic attempt to converse with a boy who seemed to have an intimate relationship with his phone.

“Um yeah, I have. Do you know the WIFI passcode there's no service in here,” was his pathetic response to my question.

“I actually just got here a few hours ago and haven’t gotten the chance to find it. Wanna help me look for it?”

“Uh sure,” he finally put his phone away and was looking at me like it was his first time seeing me, almost as if he hadn't realized I was a girl before, “Yeah it’s probably in the kitchen.”

We looked for a good ten minutes, but no such luck. That’s when things finally got interesting.

“Aye you wanted to talk to me, sunshine,” barged in Golden Boy from the back kitchen door, hitting Rade in the face in the process. It was the first time I had genuinely smiled that morning.

“JJ what the hell are you doing here,” said a red-faced Rafe. Ah so JJ was Golden Boys name. It suited him in a boyish way. No doubt that he was one of the most handsome boys I had ever seen. His golden hair and striking blue eyes were the main statements of his face. The boy was also blessed with good bone structure and full lips that girls at my boarding school would have killed for. Then there was his tall frame and strong arms. He was a classic hottie. Of course, this was just his looks, I didn’t know what he was really like and from the encounter I had this morning he wasn’t the highest on my list of boys I would date. But, I had gone out with douchebags with fewer manners than him.

“I could ask you the same question, Rafe,” JJ’s voice was laced with pure hatred. It startled me how quickly his demeanor changed from walking in.

“Rafe it’s okay, JJ mows the lawn and I asked to speak to him,” I said in a calming voice sensing dangerous tension. The last thing I wanted was a fight on my hands.

“Is that why it looks so shitty,” was Rafes’ response to this which put him even lower on my dating list. Grandmother wouldn't have hired just anyone to take care of her lawn so calling it shitty was an insult on her part. I quickly became angry.

“Hey man!” JJ said in a “hey I will fight you right now” tone of voice. The boys each were about to throw punches when I interfered.

“Rafe, hey,” I said stepping in front of Rafe with my hands up, trying to calm him down despite my anger, “It’s okay, how about you come back and pick me up for dinner, I just need to talk to JJ about the lawn and I’m sure you have things that you need to do before tonight.” I put as much sweetness I could muster up into my words hoping to calm him down and get him out of Grandmother’s house.

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll need to get your number so I can let you know when I’m coming back,” he said with charm into his voice. I swear I saw JJ roll his eyes, but I ignored and reluctantly put my number into Rafe’s phone.

“I’ll be by later Whitney, see ya,” and just like that Rafe’s sickening presence was finally gone.

When I came back into the kitchen JJ was sitting at the table drinking a beer.

“Excuse me where did you get that?”

“The fridge.”

“And who gave you permission to go through my fridge?”

“Sorry, Sunshine, this is just how Vicky ran things”

“Who is Vicky?”

“Your grandma, duh”

Vicky? My grandmother? A nickname? She was one of the most proper women on this Earth, I never knew she was a nickname kind of person. I must have woken up in Oz because apparently I’m not on this Earth anymore.

“Whatever, I guess official introductions are in order”

“Yeah, I’d like to meet the girl who was showing off her ass this morning.”

“First things first please delete that from your memory.” I quickly replied, turning away from the boy so he doesn’t see my face quickly turning red.

“Sorry Sunshine, can’t it’s burned into my brain.”

“Please stop”

“It’s like every time I close my eyes,”

“Please”

“It’s just there”

“Okay fine, just please refrain from telling anyone about it.”

“I’ll try my best”

“Thank you”

“Which isn't much if I’m being honest.” There he goes with that smile again, looking like he can see right through me.

“Are you always this infuriating?”

“I don’t know, do you always use weird words while insulting people?”

Ugh, this boy is impossible.

“Look, I really don’t want to argue with you, I am now your new boss and I need information.”

“Wow getting all official on me,” he said taking another swing from his beer, “what are you gonna do? Have you a special investigator look into me? I promise sunshine I’ll give you whatever you need.” he said with a wink while looking me up and down in a similar way Rafe was just moments early. But this time it was hot. Wait, what? Whitney, no. Boys are not what you are here for. But you were just ranking them on your “dating list”. Shut up logic.

“Alright first of all enough with the nicknames. Even though I am technically your boss, because we are probably the same age you may call me by my first name; Whitney.”

“God lady I didn’t know Vicky could have a granddaughter with a huge stick up her ass,” he said, setting his can down on the table. Right on the table no coster or anything like some animal.

“Excuse me? Don’t make me have you call me Mrs. Goodwinson,” I snapped back looking in the drawers for a coaster. Surprisingly I found one on my first try. Of course, it had little lemons on it.

“Ohh I sure am scared,” said JJ leaning back while placing his hand behind his head. I was starting to lose his focus and needed to get to him.

“Oh trust me you should be,” I threatened walking over to this boy, coaster in hand ready to start my test, “I don’t think you really understand what’s going on here,” I stepped closer to him leaning my hands on the table so I could get closer at the boy who apparently held Grandmothers trust, “This is my house now, my lawn, my beers, and my equipment. So enough with the snarky comments, the insulting nicknames, and any mentions of my ass, got it? I don’t know what you know about me or what you think you know about my grandmother, but all of that is going to change. All you need to know is that I could ruin your life. In 5 minutes I could have my family's lawyer on the phone, in an hour I could have a case against you claiming breaking and entering and sexual harassment, in a day a court set up, and by next week you could be in jail for 5-10 years. You really want to risk that,” I finished my statement by picking up his beer and placing my coaster underneath it.

Yeah I know I sound like a bitch, but with good reasons. This also wasn’t the first time I’d given this speech. Father had helped me memorize it when I was trying to get some guys to stop harassing me in middle school. I wasn’t necessarily trying to get him to fear me or anything I was just trying to figure out him out. Grandmother trusted this vulgar, rude, blond boy to take care of her yard and I know this sounds obsessive and weird, but Grandmother always said you could tell the most about a family by the way they kept their yard. Yeah, it was shallow, but was she wrong? Maybe, but I can’t disrespect the dead and I needed to know this boy would take his job seriously.

“I got nothing to lose...sunshine,” said JJ, smirking while taking a swing of his drink keeping eye contact with me the whole time. God, he was cute. What was that? Nevermind I finally had him figured out.

“Now I see it,” I said.

“See what?”

“Why Grandmother trusted you.”

“And why is that?” JJ asked leaning forward his face inches from mine.

“You’re fearless.”

a/n: Yeah i know Whitney kinda sounds like a bitch in this chapter, but i like making characters that have room to develop. The next chapter will make her a little more human, hopefully. Anyways the next update will be Saturday! Thank you so much for reading it means a lot! If you want updates on this fic message me and I’ll tag you. Thanks again!

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phoebehalliwell · 5 years ago

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Hi! I’ve recently fallen down the Charmed rabbit hole again and I fount your blog, which is amazing btw !! I LOVE YOUR CHARMED NEXT GEN FIC!!!! I also really enjoyed your thoughts about Phoebe's kid! I wish they would have lived in the actual show. How do you think Phoebe’s child living would have impacted her relationship with Coop? And the whole twice blessed prophecy?

!!!!!!!!!!! thank you!! and i’m so glad you like my fic (which i promise i am still working on)!!

as far as phoebe’s kid + the twice blessed prophecy, i have written on that au here, but i think if the baby really had been born it would not be the twice blessed but i do think they would still probably give that plotline to wyatt just bc. i also think that having a child and being a single mother would really further the need for coop bc dating as a single mom while still having a career is hard enough but dating while you’re a single mom with a full time job and a magical half demon baby who was lowkey the antichrist for the better part of the first trimester is a whole new can of worms. i think she still would have had a relationship with jason dean but i think it would be very short lived as i don’t think that he would be ready to commit to a family. and then by the time we hit season six and piper and leo have broken up and jason has left phoebe and yada yada yada phoebe would really be like huh. love isn’t real. we’re all gonna die alone.

and so she��s sitting at a cafe with paige at the end of love’s a witch and is completely ranting about how love is dead or whatever and paige is just like yeah. uh huh. yep. totally. yeah. yeah. i know what you mean. yeah. uh huh. bc it’s totally Not the time to bring up the fact that she has a date with richard on friday and phoebe’s just going on and on like “okay bc look at olivia! she was doing what she was doing out of love!! and she was killing people!!! just an evil, sad, lovesick, ghost. like me. you know cole was my longest relationship? that was like,,, the most successful relationship i had, and it wasn’t even remotely a success!! he turned me evil, paige. i became evil. because that’s what love does. it bring out the worst in people.” and paige is sitting there like jfc i think i need to bring in a shrink or something when all of a sudden the dude pulls up a chair at their table and is like “hi hate to interrupt but i couldn’t help but overhear and you’re wrong” and phoebe’s like who the hell are you and paige is like yeah fuck off buddy private conversation here and this guy’s like “look. love is the strongest magic we have” and paige is like “ehh i think other, stronger magic” and phoebe’s all like “okay, i don’t know who you are, but you don’t know me and you don’t know what i’ve been through okay so you don’t get to sit down here and try to talk to me about love. bitch.” and this guys just like “actually, i do. my name’s coop. it’s nice to meet you, officially.” and he holds out his hand for a handshake and phoebe’s looking at him like imma judo flip u motherfucker but then something catches her eye and she snatches his hand and flips it over, staring at his cupid ring and she’s like no. she grabs her coffee and storms out leaving coop and a Very Confused paige sitting at the cafe table. she turns around at the exit and gestures to paige like come on let’s go get out of here so paige grabs her croissant and purse awkwardly and leaves and coop’s like “i hope everything goes well with richard!” and paige is like????? so she pulls phoebe aside like Who Was That and phoebe’s like “that was the most annoying, pesky, interfering magical creature there is out there. that was a cupid.”

and later that night phoebe would be tucking her child asleep (who in this story is a little girl named prudence) when she hears “you love her, and it doesn’t seem to bring out the worst in you.” and she whips around to find coop leaning in the doorframe and she’s like “you better leave before i vanquish you” and coop sorta just laughs softly and he’s like “i get it. you’ve been burned before. but actively fighting love? it’s not you, phoebe.” and she’s like “tf do you think you know about me” and coop’s like “i know you believe in love. true love. the kind that takes your breath away, where it's the first thing that you think about when you wake up in the morning. you wanna know how i know that?” and phoebe just glares at him in a very defensive stance like yes i want to know but no i will not play into your stupid little monologue and coop’s like “i read your column. not many people could write like that. you help people find love every day, you help them reach out, take risks, open up their hearts-” “okay you know what i’ve had enough of your little sugar coated soap opera speech. go bug someone else.” and phoebe pushes her way past him and beelines for her bedroom, slamming the door and coop’s like :|

and the next morning phoebe’s eating cereal and by eating a i do mean just pushing wheaties around in a pool of milk while dency and wyatt play in the playpen and piper comes in with a mug of coffee like “good morning how are-” “am i a cold hearted cynic?” “...you doing this fine friday morning??” “i’ve got a cupid on my ass” “i’m going to hope you mean the magical kind and not some bad tattoo situation” “i mean, yesterday i was saying that love brings out the worst in people and now i’ve got this 6′2″ cupid with a square jawline following me around. but like,,, don’t i have the right to say that??? all love has done is hurt me. i’m allowed to bitch a little about it!! like! mind your own business??? goddamn! and you know-” “phoebe i just woke up save the onslaught until after 10am please” and phoebe just sorta pauses and goes back to pushing her cereal around and piper says “and i’m not calling you a cold hearted cynic but... you have changed” and phoebe’s completely ready to rant again like “pfft of course i’ve changed you think you can be married to the source of all-” “zp! not til after 10!” and phoebe slumps back and watches as dency draws a small pattern in frost on the tile floor and you can tell she’s sorta mulling over what coop said blah blah blah this episode is the vortex demon she gets knocked into a world based on her innermost desires and in it she’s happily married and in love in an apartment of her own raising her daughter and writing her column blah blah blah she takes one look at her finger that very much has a wedding band on it and is like “cupid!!!! cupid u fuckin bastard get down here!!! cupid!!!” and no response and she’s scowling like “coop??? coop!!!!!!!!” and he’s no where to be seen and she’s like wait shit i think this is the alternate whirlpool vortex things i gotta find my sister blah blah blah chris knocks paige into phoebe’s world and paige is like “okay what’s the catch” and phoebe’s like “what catch” and paige is like “you know, the catch! what makes this not reality. like in my world, magic was practiced openly, and everyone knew about it. come on, chris said the realities were shaped my like our fantasies or wants... is anything different here??” and phoebe’s like “oh you know uhh not really everything basically the same um but you know i have my own apartment here where i live with dency...” “oh my god wait where is she now who’s taking care of her?” “oh uh well that would be my husband.” “cole’s alive????” “no! not cole! i don’t know who he is actually but he seems nice :)” and there’s a beat where you can tell paige really wants to Get Into What This Means and phoebe really Doesn’t Want To Talk About It but then they both seem to agree that they’re being hunted by a demon so maybe this can take a back seat rn blah blah blah they kill the demon and the end of the episode paige is about to go on her date w richard and her and phoebe have a little heart to heart and paige is like i think you should talk to the cupid bc i think maybe your whole hating love thing might just be a front like i think you’re trying to convince urself of something blah blah blah and phoebe’s just like :/ maybe so.

alright blah blah blah next episode phoebe’s like “coop?” and coop, suddenly appearing behind her is like “yeah?” and phoebe’s like “i give up. so uh work your little cupid magic or whatever and i guess let’s do this thing.” and coop like lights up he’s like so happy and he’s all like “great! let’s get started!” and phoebe’s mentally preparing for a series of really boring dates but then coop surprises her by not doing that??? like he doesn’t set her up with anyone at all bc he’s all like you need time to heal and find urself again???? which honestly phoebe isn’t complaining about and like phoebe will be feeding baby dency in the kitchen and coop will pop in like “what are your thought on taking a pottery class?” and it’s happened before where she’s been so swamped with work that she doesn’t have time to pick up supplies for dency so coop will just go out and like buy diapers?? and gradually phoebe feels herself opening up more and more and one night she’s at p3 and this guy come up to talk to her and she doesn’t just scowl him away and she finds herself having a great conversation and she see coop wink at her from across the bar.

and you know things go well with this guy yada yada yada but one night she goes out on a date and her sisters weren’t able to watch lil dency for her so coop was babysitting and she comes back home to see coop sending out small pink glowing projections from his ring and her baby just laughing uncontrollably trying to catch them and phoebe gets why she has been ready to dive fully in to the guy she’s been going out with. coop says it’s just nerves bc of her past relationships and that it’s completely fine and understandable but phoebe knows better. or at least now she does. she’s in love with coop.

#i feel like this Completely went off on a totally different tangent than what was asked but uhh im postin it regardless #charmed #phoebe x coop #💌#margaretsminiessays #phoebe halliwell #coop halliwell #dency halliwell

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ladyfogg · 5 years ago

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Cold is the Night - 18/20

Fic Summary: You and Pat have known each other for years but this summer, everything will change. As the two of you start to grow close, your matching tempers threaten the foundation of your rocky friendship and prevent both of you from realizing your true feelings. Cold is the Night Masterpost.

Fic Song: Cold is the Night by The Oh Hellos. Fic playlist can be found here.

Pairing: Pat Murray/Female Reader

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Language, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Multiple Chapters

"So, like, are we ever going to wear clothes again?" Pat asked.

You both were currently sprawled across your bed, still completely naked. It had been well over twenty-four hours since the game and you'd lost track of how many times you had sex. Your phones had been turned back on, just in case anyone was trying to reach you. But by pure luck, you hadn't been bothered.

"Well, we do have to work tomorrow," you said, munching on a granola bar. "Also, condoms are running low."

"Boooo!" Pat exclaimed.

Laughing, you handed him the granola bar and turned on your side to face him. "I know. Real-life sucks sometimes."

“Not all the time.” Pat cupped your cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “This is real and it’s pretty fucking great.”

You smiled. “When did we get so mushy?”

“I don’t know. It’s gross isn’t it?”

“Disgusting.” Still smiling, you leaned into his kiss, relishing the contact. No matter how many times he kissed you, it felt just as thrilling and exciting as the first. When Pat pulled back, he tweaked your nose.

"Oh, I meant to tell you, I got my schedule changed," he grinned, taking a bite from the bar. "I work nights now too."

"Really?! So we can do breakfast together tomorrow?" you asked excitedly.

"Fuck yeah. How about the diner down the street?"

"Yessss!" you pumped your fist in excitement. "As fun as that sounds, I wish we could stay in this bubble forever."

Pat threw the empty wrapper on the floor before he turned to face you as well. "Let's not think about responsibilities. Right here and now, it's just you and me."

Grinning, you wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. "I like the sound of that."

He kissed your forehead. "Me too."

You held each other close, simply enjoying the warmth and the sound of rain tapping at your window. In the distance, you heard a roll of thunder and you snuggled closer.

"So are we still moving slowly or are we throwing that out the window now that we've said the magic words?" you asked.

Pat chuckled. "I'm fine still going slow if you need to," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

You thought about your feelings, how scared you were to tell Pat you loved him, and how quickly he responded when you did. He had proved to you again and again that he respected your feelings and boundaries. He was also willing to work on his own problematic behavior while not insulting yours.

"I say, fuck it," you declared, propping yourself up on your elbow so you could lean over him. "We're young. We're in love. I want to enjoy it to the fullest extent."

Grinning, Pat pulled you on top of him. "Sounds good to me. What did you have in mind?"

You bit your lip before reaching into your nightstand. You pulled out a spare set of keys to your apartment, carefully placing them in his hand.

"There. Now you don't have to wait for me to come home. You can come over whenever you want," you said. "I give you full permission to let yourself in."

Pat's eyes widened and he closed his hand around the key, cradling it to his chest. "This is amazing. I don't know what to say."

Smirking, you placed a kiss on his lips before slowly sliding down his body. "How about you just moan?" you suggested with a wag of your eyebrows.

The key was tossed back onto the nightstand and his hands seized your arms to stop you. His hand slid into your hair and he pulled you into another kiss, this was hungrier than before. “You know what I want right now,” he purred between kisses, one hand sliding down to grab your ass.

“Mmm, what’s that?”

“I want you to ride me.”

You reached over and felt until you found an unused condom. Pat kissed his way to your neck as his hand slid between your legs. "How are we still going?" you wondered out loud before moaning.

"No idea. Do you want to stop?"

"God no," you urged, tugging on his hair to make him look at you. "But we should get some rest after."

"If you say so."

Talking ceased once more primal urges too over.

The next morning when your alarm went off the two of you groaned in unison.

"Ugh, make it stop," Pat whined, burying his face in the pillow.

You managed to hit snooze before stretching luxuriously. Your body never felt so loose and tension-free before. With a soft moan, you sank back against the mattress.

Pat peeked out from the pillow. "The sound of you moaning just goes straight to my dick now."

You chuckled, slapping his ass before sitting up. "We've had plenty of that in the last two days. Plus I'm super sore."

Your boyfriend pouted before pushing up on his hands to look at the time. "Why the fuck are we up so early?"

"Cuz there's actually shit to do," you said, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. "Breakfast, groceries…" You plucked at the bedsheets. "Laundry…"

"Fine but can we at least shower together."

"Oh, for sure."

It took you some time to drag Pat out of bed and into the shower. You were hoping to wash up quickly but you should have known better. Pat "accidentally" dropped the soap and then got handsy when you bent over to pick it up.

By the time you made it to the diner, your body was desperate for a substantial meal. All you had eaten since those pancakes were granola bars, cereal, and ramen. Mainly because that was all you had in your pantry.

Pat seemed just as starved as you were and between the both of you, soon the table was ladled with plates of eggs, bacon, sausages, homefries, and waffles.

"Oh my god, this is the best meal I've ever had!" you declared as you shoveled food into your mouth.

Pat hummed in agreement. "After this, we should get groceries for your house so we can make all this ourselves next time."

"Planning another marathon session already, Murray?" you teased before downing some orange juice.

Pat grinned cheekily. "Babe, you have no idea what I'm planning."

Before you could ask what he meant, someone cleared their throat. You both looked up to find Maz standing there, smiling. "You two seem hungry," he teased.

"Yes. Yes, we are," you declared proudly. "Here, come join us!" You slid out of the booth and sat next to Pat so that Maz could sit across from you.

"Oh, I don't want to intrude," he said.

"Maz, seriously, we'd love for you to sit with us," Pat assured him.

Maz smiled and accepted the seat. "Don't mind if I do. Should I even bother ordering or is all this not going to be enough?"

You laughed and handed him a clean fork. "Dig in."

He happily did, staring at you both with admiration. "Can I just say, I'm so happy for you guys," he said. "We've all been waiting for this to happen."

"Really?" you asked. "All of you?"

"Yeah, ever since the bar," Maz said. "It was pretty obvious that there was something between you."

Pat slid his arm around your waist, hugging you against his side as he continued to eat with one hand.

"Maz was the one who told me to ask you out," he said.

"Well, I'm glad you listened to his advice," you replied.

"So, are you going to make it to the next game?" Maz asked. "It's the last one of the season."

"I can't. I have to work," you pouted.

Pat already knew this but he still pursed his lips in annoyance. You hated how work kept interfering with his games. Next season you'd definitely put in time off on game days.

"Are you nervous?" Pat asked Maz, smoothly changing the subject. "You know, for the draft?"

You had completely forgotten that was coming up.

Maz gave a small smile and a noncommittal shrug. "Not really," he said. "Whatever happens, happens." He was obviously full of shit. You could see the anxiety in his eyes.

"You deserve it, Maz," you told him. "I hope you get it."

The rest of breakfast past with a more serious tone. In fact, the rest of the day, the bubble started to fade as real-life started to demand attention. When it was time to leave for work, you dropped Pat off at his house.

In his driveway, you put the car in park and both of you took a moment.

"What if we kept driving?" Pat asked. "How far would we get before people noticed we ditched them?"

You laughed. "Probably not very," you said. "Plus, my car isn't the best. It hates long drives."

"We'll take mine then."

Leaning over, you gave him a soft kiss. "As nice as running away with you sounds, we should probably stay."

Pat sighed dramatically. "Yeah, you're probably right. Oh well." He took a deep breath and opened the door to climb out. "I love you. I'll come by after work."

"You better. I gave you that key for a reason."

Smiling, he gave you one more kiss and then was gone. Heart heavy, you drove to work, already missing him.

What you wouldn't give to have one more day locked in your room, his hands touching you all over while he whispered sweet words in your ear.

The bar was fairly busy when you arrived so you got going quick, making drinks and taking orders as if on auto-pilot. Work used to be everything to you and now that you had something else, something real, you didn't want to be consumed by your job.

A thought came to mind and once it did, you couldn't shake it. Your break eventually rolled around. Determined, you went to your boss's office, knocking on the door. He called for you to come on.

"Hey," he greeted you with a smile. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry I couldn't fill in when you texted me."

"No worries. I don't expect you to drop everything to come to work at the last minute. I know you have a life outside this place."

You smiled, thinking of Pat. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. Actually, that's why I'm here. I need to change my shift on Saturday…"

#undrafted #joe mazzello #pat murray #pat murray x reader #pat murray x you

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jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets · 5 years ago

Text

A Magic Kingdom Love - CH 4

Title: A Magic Kingdom Love

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Destiel

Tags: fluff, just so much fluff. It gets a little heated at one point but that’s it.

Summary:

This is based off a picture I saw on Pinterest (which I’ll post below) with this prompt attached…

“An AU where Dean and Cas are both working for Disney and have been cast as the very first gay princes. And at first they hate each other but it’s hard to pretend you’re in love all day for sweet, shy kids, and then not makeout under the bridge of the magic kingdom castle.”

AO3 Link

Masterlist:

A/N: Soooooooo.... I know I promised y’all that I would have this fic posted yesterday but for some reason my computer decided to be a giant dick and deleted the entire post I had scheduled to post yesterday and then wouldn’t let me fix it afterwards. So I gave up and decided I would make sure it got posted today and that everyone who wanted to be tagged, got tagged. So without further adieu, here it is :D

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

Chapter Four:

The first couple of weeks of Dean’s dream job as a prince at the park was going by fairly well. Yes, Dean absolutely loved his job. He loved playing a prince all day, he loved being a role model to the kids and even some of the older visitors, and he loved being part of such a monumental step for the park in their journey to represent the LGBTQ community. But this thing with Castiel still had not changed, and he was starting to worry that it may never get any better. And it was not for lack of trying on Dean’s part.

He’d been doing what Sam had told him. He’d tried to talk to Cas, to pull him into casual conversation, even suggested texting if it would make him more comfortable to ease into it, but he hadn’t gotten much of a response. He mostly just nodded or completely ignored Dean.

And it’s not that Dean needed Castiel to like him, but it wouldn’t be so bad to at least get along. But at the very least he was worried that it was going to start interfering with the job. He didn’t want to lose this job because they couldn’t get along.

Cas was good for hand holding in public, though he didn’t say much when it came to the kids, Dean did most of the talking, and rarely did he see Cas smile. Dean was starting to think Sam was wrong. It was getting less likely that Cas was shy and more likely that he was really just a dick.

It wasn’t until one day in the park that Dean was certain Cas was for sure a dick.

They were out in the park, making their rounds, when they were both surrounded by a group of very excited kids.

They were jumping up and down, asking all sorts of questions and getting pictures taken with the two handsome princes. When one of the kids, a little blonde girl, grabbed Dean by the jacket and asked, “Can you kiss?”

Dean felt Cas’s entire body tense in his hold, felt Cas clutch the back of his jacket where his arm was around Dean, saw him turn his head away from Dean.

It was just a kiss, a little peck to make the kids smile and giggle, what was the harm.

But since Cas was clearly turned off by the idea of kissing Dean, with his head turned completely away, he decided to just wrap his arms around Cas and pull him in for a kiss on the cheek. The kids were still happy with it, running away giggling back to their moms, but Dean was not happy with it at all. Even less so when, after the kids were gone, Cas moved even further away and all Dean could do was sigh, completely defeated.

“Does that look like chemistry to you?” Ellen asked Bobby from their place on the sidelines, watching Dean and Cas as she spoke between pieces of popcorn.

“Maybe in another dimension.”

She hummed, popping another piece in her mouth, “I thought they would do well together, and I still think that, but I’m worried that if this doesn’t move forwards we might have to make a casting change.”

“Maybe you should have a chat with them,” Bobby suggested, “maybe help them along. I know Dean’s trying but Castiel seems a bit on the shyer side then I thought he’d be.”

She nodded, “I’ll call Dean in first, see if we can’t come up with a plan to get Castiel out of his shell a bit.”

The two nodded to one another then continued on through the park.

~~~~~~~~~~~

A knock came at her door and Ellen looked up from the paperwork on her desk, “Come on in.”

Dean popped his head in first, then he slowly walked inside and shut the door behind him, “Is… is everything alright?”

Ellen closed the file in front of her and folded her hands over it, “You tell me, Dean. How’s things with Castiel?”

Dean closed his eyes and sighed, this was exactly what he was worried about.

She gave him a sad smile and gestured to the chair across from her, “Have a seat, let’s see if we can’t work this out.”

He shuffled his way over and plopped himself down in the chair, smacking his hands on his thighs, “I… I don't know what the problem is. Is it me?!”

She shook her head, “I don't think it's you, Dean, I really don't. I think we might just have a little case of stage fright. We’ve helped many of our other actors get over it, sometimes it just takes a bit of time and coaching.”

“I thought that too, or that he was just shy, but,” he shook his head, “I’ve tried everything I can think of. I've tried talking, and most of the time I feel like I’m talking to myself, the most I get is a curt nod. I've tried suggesting we meet outside of the park to get to know one another a bit better, he usually ignores me when I talk about meeting up. I even said we could start with texting if that made him more comfortable but nothing seems to be working. I don't really know what else to do here, but I don't want to lose this job, I waited two years to get it!”

She raised both of her hands in a calming manner, “Dean, sweetie, you’re not going to lose the job. Bobby and I picked you and Castiel as the actors to play these princes because we thought you were both perfect for the roles, so we are not about to give you up that easily.” Dean breathed a sigh of relief. “What we are going to do is help you guys figure this out and get everything running smoothly, alright.”

Dean smiled for the first time since he entered her office.

“Now we only have two days until Mickey's birthday bash,” she said, running a hand through her hair, “you and Castiel just keep it together for two more days until the party is over, in the meantime I’ll talk to Bobby about everything we discussed today and see what we can come up with to help, and once the birthday bash is over we’ll start. How does that sound?”

Dean nodded, “Yeah, I’m sure we can manage a few more days.”

“Great! Now, you head on home and I’ll see you in the morning.”

He flashed her a smile then headed for the door, turning back before he opened it, “It's…” She looked up at him. “It's not that I don't like Cas cuz I do, I really do, and I’m sure he’s a great guy once you get past his outer shell. But I do want this to work between us, I want us to be close so that we can do the role’s justice. So I hope we can help him get out of this shell, and whatever you or Cas need from me in order to do so, I’ll do it. I want to help him.”

“You’re a sweet kid, Dean,” she regarded him with a warm smile, “I’ll get started on a plan with Bobby right away. We’ll get you two in shape in no time.”

With one last smile and a thanks, he left and headed for home.

~~~~~~~~~~~

With the conversation he had with Ellen running on a constant loop in his mind, the two days leading up to the birthday bash crawled by agonizingly slowly, but finally the night had arrived.

He was in one of the change rooms with Cas, both finishing up the last details on their costumes before heading out. They had spent about an hour in silence as they got dressed, and Dean was starting to get annoyed but he tried to push that feeling down and remain calm.

“You excited for the party?”

Cas made quick eye contact with him before just as quickly averting his gaze and merely giving Dean a nod.

“How was your day off yesterday?”

“Fine.”

Fine… just fine? That’s all he got?

That was the last straw for Dean. He had been trying and trying and was getting nothing in return but short, and quite frankly, seemingly snarky responses. He finished fastening the clasp on his cape then turned to face Cas, eyebrows furrowed, “Seriously, man, what is your-”

“Y’all ready?!”

Before he could really lay into Cas, Ellen walked in, stopping him before his anger could really get the better of him.

“The rest of the characters are getting lined up backstage by the balcony,” she waved them on to walk with her, and they followed her out, “just follow everyone else when they head out, stand and wave at the crowd, and once were finished with that you’ll head down to mingle with the guests. Alright?”

They both nodded and lined up with the rest of the characters. They remained silent, neither even so much as bothering to look in the others direction as they waited. Once Ellen got on the balcony and announced the characters, they followed everyone forward, Dean not even offering his arm until they were a step away from the curtin.

They stood on the balcony with the other characters and waved at the crowds below, and Ellen wasn’t kidding when she said this event always drew in a full house, it was even more crowded then when they held Dean and Cas’s event.

Soon enough Ellen called Mickey out onto the balcony and the characters plus the crowd below all came together to sing happy birthday. A very large, multiple tier cake was brought out in the process and everyone clapped as Mickey blew out all the candles with the help of his friends Donald and Goofy. And shortly after, the characters left the stage with the promise of joining the crowds below for the rest of the evening's festivities.

And to no one's surprise, especially Dean’s, as soon as they were back stage and the curtains closed behind them, Cas let go of Dean’s arm and took a very obvious step to the side and away from him. It really pissed Dean off.

They were just about to head out, Dean getting ready to put on his happy face for the remainder of the night, and pretend like he and Cas were oh so in love, when they were stopped by a kid walking past them.

“Why aren’t you holding hands,” the little boy asked, pointing to both Cas and Dean who were feet away from each other at this point, “I thought you were in love?”

Dean didn't quite know how to respond to this question, and clearly neither did Cas since he practically turned and ran away.

The kid looked to Dean, partly concerned and party devastated that Cas had just left like that, so Dean leaned down and tried to bullshit his way out of this without getting fired. “Prince Cas isn't feeling very well right now, I think he ate too much cake,” the kid giggled when Dean made a face at him, “I’m going to go check and make sure he’s alright, you go ahead and enjoy the party, I think the fireworks are about to start!”

That seemed to satisfy the kid just fine, and Dean ruffled his hair before he ran off. Then Dean turned to chase down his ‘sick’ prince.

He caught up with him just outside the tunnel under the Magic Kingdom bridge, grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him inside, pushing him against the wall of the tunnel.

“What the hell-”

“Yeah, what the hell is right, Cas!” He shouted, making Cas blink in confusion, “I’ve had enough of this. We've been working together now for over a month, we should be able to communicate with each other by now but I can't seem to get a handle on you.”

Cas just blinked at him as Dean continued to hold him against the tunnel wall as he spoke, “You’ll hold my hand and smile in public, but as soon as it's just us you completely change. You won’t talk to me, you barely look at me, and as soon as there’s no one else around you’re pushing me away. Am I that repulsive to you?!”

“I…” Cas stammered, searching for words, “It's not that-”

Dean shook his head, “I have been trying to make this work between us, but you don't seem to wanna try in return. This is my second time trying for this job. The first time I was rejected before the interview even started, so this is my second chance at a job I have always wanted. I just want to make the kids happy and have a good time, to enjoy getting up in the morning because I love my job. But for some reason that I can't figure out, you don't want to be a part of this partnership. You’re so god damn closed off, and if you don't start opening up and actually making it seem like we’re as in love as we are supposed to be, then one or both of us is going to get fired. And I don't wanna lose this job! I had to wait two years for this second chance and I don't wanna blow it!”

He waited for Cas to say something, anything, but he was met with the same silence and the same stoic stare he seemed to always get from him.

“Look,” Dean breathed deep, trying to calm down, “I need you to tell me now, before we get into this any deeper than we already are, whether or not you want to keep doing this. So do you? Do you want to keep being my prince?”

It was no surprise to Dean when Cas just continued to stare at him, though he would admit he was a little disappointed.

Dean let Cas go, taking a step back from him and just shook his head. This was it. He had waited two years, two goddamn years for this job and now he was literally watching it all go down the drain. He was going to lose this job and all hopes of ever getting another one the same, all because this guy couldn’t get over himself.

“Forget it,” he waved Cas off, “maybe I can try again in two years if another position opens up-”

Castiel’s actions had long since stopped shocking Dean, but when Cas suddenly grabbed him by the front of the jacket and pulled him into a long hard kiss, he had to say he was both shocked and thrilled at the same time.

When Cas pulled back, but still had a grip on Dean’s jacket, it was Dean’s turn to merely stare at Cas. For the first time in his life he found he didn't Quite know what to say.

“I…” Cas took a deep breath then looked Dean straight in the eyes as he continued with a new found confidence that Dean had to admit, he found slightly sexy, “I do not find you repulsive, Dean, it's quite the opposite actually. I am extremely attracted to you.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot into his hairline, and still he couldn’t find the right words to say.

“I just… I am afraid that I may look the part of prince but I have no idea how to act like one,” he sighed with a shake of his head, '' I was recommended this job by my godmother, Amara, who thought I looked the part and could easily get the job. I only did the interview to humor her, but it turns out she was right. But I am so extremely socially awkward, I never know what to say, and when I do seem to say something it comes out wrong. And I was trying to avoid being affectionate with you because I didn't know where your feelings stood, or even if you were interested in men. I didn't want to get too close to you and end up breaking my own heart in the end. I just… I don't know how to do this, I don't know how to open up to people.”

Cas turned away from Dean, and Dean brought his face back to look at him, “This is a good start, Cas. And I can help you with all of that, all you have to do is ask. I’m here for you.”

Dean held out a hand between them and smiled at Cas. Cas smiled back and took Dean’s hand, “Thank-you, Dean.”

“And if you ever get stuck or don’t know what to say you can lean on me, we’re partners, we’re in this together.”

Cas nodded, a small smile creeping across his face.

“And as for the rest, I’ve never had an interest in a man before,” Cas looked down at his feet, trying to hide the disappointment in his eyes, “but I guess that’s because I just never came across the right guy, never met anyone that I thought was worth giving a chance, now I have.”

Dean took Cas’s chin between his fingers and pulled his face back up to his, pulling Cas in for another kiss, this one he eagerly returned with as much passion as Cas. The two found themselves quickly tangled together, arms wrapped tightly around one another as Dean lifted him slightly against the wall. Their tongues met tentatively at first, but soon enough they were both ravishing one another under the Magic Kingdom bridge as the fireworks started going off over the castle beside them. It was the best night of Dean’s life.

He let Cas slide back down to the ground, moving his lips from his and along his jaw, down his neck to suck on the skin there. Cas tilted his head to the side to allow Dean better access and groaned when Dean slid his thigh between Cas’s legs.

A particularly loud firework pulled Cas back to reality as he remembered exactly where they were, and pulled gently on Dean’s hair where his fingers had at some point ended up. Dean hummed against Cas’s skin as he continued to suck and rub his thigh against Cas, pulling more moans from the already breathless man.

“Dean,” he panted, “we should stop before someone sees, we are at a family park after all.”

Dean chuckled into Cas’s neck and murmured into the skin there, “Yeah, you’re right,” he placed one last kiss on his neck before pulling back to look Cas in the eyes, “we should head back, I’m sure people are wondering where we went. And if we stay here any longer we might not be able to turn back.”

Cas nodded, tightening his hold around Dean’s neck, “We don't want to get caught making out under the bridge, or worse.”

Dean hummed and leaned into Cas’s space, “If I’m going to be a proper prince, I should really ask you out on a date first, at least take you to dinner.”

“Are you asking?”

“Are you saying yes?” Dean asked with a raised brow and a smirk.

Cas leaned in and captured Dean’s lips in a quick kiss, “Yes.”

“Good. Tomorrow's our day off, so you can finally give me your number,” Dean pecked his lips, “and I’ll pick you up tomorrow at six.”

“Can’t wait.”

They tangled together for one last passionate kiss before parting and heading back to the party hand in hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“I haven't seen them since we left the balcony.”

“They can't have gone far,” Bobby said as he looked around, then tapped Ellen’s shoulder and pointed, “there they are.”

They stood and watched as Dean and Cas came strolling in together from a pathway off to the side, arm in arm, “Are… are they smiling at each other? And talking?!”

“Seems like,” Bobby smiled at the two as Cas giggled at something Dean whispered in his ear.

As they continued to watch them in complete shock at this turn of events, a small group of kids ran past the two princes bouncing a balloon between them. The kids hit the balloon high into the air and it floated over to Cas and Dean. Dean chuckled as it blew into his face then hit the balloon back in the direction of the kids, which then started a small game between them as the kids continued to hit it back wanting them to play.

Cas took a small step back, not quite sure what to do, and Dean just wrapped his arm around him and pulled him back. He gave Cas a small nudge and whispered, “Play, it's okay, Cas.”

Cas nodded to Dean then knelt down on the ground as the balloon came his way and hit it back to the kids. They were more than thrilled that Prince Cas was playing with them, and Dean stood back with an adoring smile on his face and watched as Cas laughed and played with the kids. Becoming more and more comfortable as they went, and Cas found himself really enjoying the game and the happiness of the kids.

After a few rounds Dean decided to join in and knelt down behind Cas, wrapping his body and arm around him and placing his chin on his shoulder. As the balloon came closer, Dean reached out to try and beat Cas to it and ended up hitting the balloon backwards and into Cas’s face. The two burst out laughing, and the sounds of Cas’s genuine full body laugh had Dean’s gut doing flips. He loved the sound and never wanted it to stop.

He stared fondly at Cas for a few moments, basking in the sound of his laugh, then moved in to place a soft kiss on Cas’s cheek, then his neck, then leaned his face to rest in the crook of Cas’s neck as Cas rocked them gently back and forth.

The kids ran off soon after to play together, waving to them as they did. Dean stood and pulled Cas along with him and kept him as close to his body as he could possibly be.

Bobby and Ellen watched with slacked jaws as Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’s waist, and Cas his arms around Dean’s neck. And as the second round of fireworks went off high in the sky above them, Dean leaned in and kissed Cas long and sweet. Definitely not the kind of kiss one would see between two actors playing a part, but rather one filled with a passion between two lovers, two soul mates who had finally found one another.

“What… what the hell happened?!” Ellen turned a shocked look on Bobby.

“I have no idea.” All he could do was shake his head.

“Seriously, what the hell happened?!”

Bobby looked between Ellen and the boys, who were still locked at the lips, then back to Ellen, “I am honestly just as confused as you are here.”

“I mean, not that I’m complaining, this is great!” She gestured to the boys. “But I just spoke with Dean two days ago and he told me things weren't going too well between them. I was starting to worry that this might not work out, but this… this is excellent! It's perfect!”

As his initial shock wore off and Dean and Cas parted just enough so their noses were still touching, Bobby was able to see the pure bliss on his nephews face as he looked at Cas. Bobby nodded once, a smile creeping its way onto his face, and said to Ellen, “That they are.”

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

A/N: So there you have it my friends, tis the end! Buuuuuutttttttt..... don’t forget, I do have an epilogue still planned and waiting in the winds if y’all would like to read it and see what’s next for our two beautiful princes XD Just let me know in a comment or an ask, or feel free to shoot me a message, I would love to talk to you!

And, I would just like to say thank-you to anyone who read this and who made it to the end, you’re lovely. And to anyone who commented, you’re also beautiful! <3

If anyone would like to be tagged in any of my other destiel fics, please let me know!

I do have two that are currently WIP’s, you can check them out below...

The Thing About Blind Dates

Mountain High

Other then that I hope everyone enjoyed this, a big shout out to @purgatory-jar for the amazing art! Go check them out!! Another shout out to @kitsunecastiel who is my destiel sounding board and who puts up with me and all my ramblings about these two boys, you’re the best little sis <3

And, here are the tags: @kitsunecastiel @florenciareiser @soulmatchortega @humanlady28 @sugarbae128 @deeutdutdutdoh @willastar23 @quillsandink-writes @avokind @theninthdutchessofhell @bbotts9797 @supernaturalbaesduh @deanwithhisimpala @deanssidechick @mishka-the-angel-of-saturday @thekingofgreenapples @say-it-aint-so-bro @idontwantpeopletoknowmyname @markpellegrincs @pooffa @magicalmess93 @all-time-fall-out-panic-pilots @myessenceconsistsofdeadmemes @petertingle3000 @ractna @but-for-the-gods-three-days @upside-down-fable @analogical-love-child

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