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natalievoncatte · 10 months ago

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1. Leaves

Lena was, in all honesty, having the time of her life. Since they’d arrived here, she had finally relaxed. Really relaxed. Lex was gone. Capital-G Gone. The last of Cadmus had been mopped up. The Conpany was no longer a problem- L-Corp was being sold off, from entire divisions down to sales of old office chairs. The Estate and nine-tenths of the family holdings were all being sold off, and the money quietly funneled into a holding company. Sam Arias would manage Lena’s wealth.

Lena had nothing to do anymore, and it was glorious. She’d done what she’d never done in her entire life: rest. She ate when was hungry, slept when she was tired. She stayed up late finishing a thriller novel she’d grabbed off one of Kara’s tables and slept it off the following day. She could do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, so one day she said, “Let’s go watch the leaves change.”

“Not much of that in National City,” Kara had said, not looking up from her laptop.

Lena was flipping channels when she made the suggestion, another pedestrian activity that had been too far beneath her to ever indulge during her CEO days.

“I’m serious,” said Lena. “I’ll rent us a cabin, book a flight, and we’ll be there by tomorrow morning. Vermont, or maybe New Hampshire.”

Kara looked up. “I could just fly us.”

“Short distances only,” said Lena.

Kara weighed it for a moment. She looked at Lena for a drawn out instant, eyes darting this way and that. Lena knew she had a deadline; she had become privy to the details of Kara’s life ever since she started couch surfing at Kara’s place after dumping her chic penthouse on some petroleum heir from the Emirates.

She had been “crashing” at Kara’s place for three months and had her own key, but they weren’t talking about it. Lena had remained on the couch, falling asleep to YouTube videos of molten lava and cat purring sounds, while Kara puttered around the house.

There were moments of tension. Pauses during shared meals. Moments when they pressed closed on sofa, times when Kara got up to go to bed and Lena felt this yearning to follow that she never quite obeyed.

Kara was thinking. Hard.

“Rent a cabin?”

“Yeah, someplace remote. So you can take a break. You’ve been working harder than ever, Darling. It almost feels like you’re avoiding me.”

Kara swallowed. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll fly. The regular way.”

They did, arriving in Maine less than a day later. Lena rented a Land Rover (because they were on an Adventure) and did all the driving, three hours from the airport to the cabin.

Kara rode in silence, though Lena heard her gasp.

The trees were beautiful. They were alive with color, as if an impressionist master had made the world a canvas and run riot. It was more than a mass of reds and yellows and oranges. It was astonishing.

It was dark when they arrived at the cabin. Lena had chosen one with two bedrooms, though she hesitated when she did. It had a full kitchen with a gas stove and all the amenities but also a fire pit and picnic table and gazebo, and overlooked a private swath of a small lake. It was like something out of a Bob Ross painting.

They were both tired from the flight, or at least Lena was, and turned in right away. When she rose the next day, she cheerily told her cabin-mate she was headed into town to get some supplies.

Kara went out to chop wood. Lena, of course, watched a few swings before leaving. Kara didn’t really need an axe but Lena didn’t care; she was preoccupied watching the muscles of Kara’s shoulders and back as she swung the splitting maul.

Lena got back before noon and carried the groceries inside, enough for her to use the fancy kitchen to prepare a mighty feast for her companion.

She didn’t hear the sobs until she had most of it put away. Lena bolted to the back door and stopped.

Kara was sitting on the picnic table, feet resting on the long board that acted as a seat. She was holding a single golden leaf on her hand, studying it and sobbing softly to herself.

“Kara?”

She looked up, soft blue eyes wet with tears. Lena felt a wave of grief but also panic, rushing to the table.

“Kara, what’s wrong?”

“I,” Kara started. “Lena, I’m scared.”

Lena swallowed hard. “Why?”

Kara looked at the leaf. “Another year past. The leaves turn colors and fall, school starts, things change.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Alex is married now. They’ve got a kid to raise. Nia and Brainy will probably get married soon. We hadn’t had a game night in two months.”

Lena swallowed. Kara was right. When Lena had first joined, then rejoined, this wonderful found family had been aggressively social, and now they forgot to text as often as not. They all spent more time at home or at their real jobs than at the Tower. The world had just started moving on. Kara didn’t even wear the cape every day anymore.

“I know,” said Lena, her voice thick. “But you’ve got me.”

Lena felt her pulse start to race. Kara had been so distant, she couldn’t help wonder if she was enough. If boring, retired Lena wasn’t enough. Oh God, what if Kara was thinking about going to Argo? Or the future?

“Not forever,” said Kara, her voice cracking like glass. She let the leaf drop from her fingers. “Eventually you’ll go. All of you. Brainy, Nia, Alex, Clark if he doesn’t come back from Argo. You.”

“Oh,” Lena said, softly. “Oh, Kara.”

“I think I might be immortal,” Kara whispered. “I don’t feel any aches or pains. Nothing about me changes. I don’t forget things like people do. My body just keeps repairing itself and it never makes any mistakes. What if I’m just like this forever? Or even a thousand years? What if everyone is gone and their kids are gone and no one knows who I am anymore?!” she was frantic now, the words coming too fast.

Lena reached out, tentatively. She put her hands on Kara’s shoulders and pulled herself in, wrapping her best friend in a hug.

Birds chirped, the waters of the lake made soft glug-glugs, and all around them was the soft tapping sound of the leaves, already letting go.

“I won’t leave you,” Lena whispered. “Kara, I won’t. If I have to live forever I will. I’ll find a way. Tech, magic, fifth dimensional imps. I’ll find a way.”

Kara sighed, arms firmly around her.

“Do you need space?” Lena asked. “I could leave you alone for a bit. Look for a place when we get back, so I’m not on the couch all the time.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Kara blurted, almost cutting her off. “I know I’ve been distant, it’s just… I keep looking at you and thinking about all the time I’ve lost and all the mistakes I’ve made and how I’ll regret it forever. We have so little time and I’m so scared I’ll lose you.”

Lena pulled back to look at her. “We have a long time to make more memories. As many as we can.”

“I’ll lose you too,” said Kara. “I know you want more. A family, a partner. You’ll start to have less time for me. You’ll all just fall away and I’ll be stuck here alone.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“How can you say that?”

Kara started to pull away. Lena stopped her with a tug on her arms. It stunned her, sometimes, how she could overpower a god with her tiny human hands. How she could stun the other whirlwind or a touch.

“Kara,” said Lena. “I don’t want someone else. I want you.”

“Me?” Kara squeaked.

Lena cleared her throat. “I wanted to tell you at the wedding. I mean, I didn’t dress like that and go stag for the hell of it. I just lost my nerve and you seemed so overwhelmed.”

Kara blinked a few times.

“You want me?” said Kara.

Lena felt a cold rush of terror. She’d just blurted it out, artlessly, unplanned.

“Like want me want me? Like kissing want me?”

Lena licked her lips. “Yes. I’d like to kiss you right now, if you let me.”

Kara settled back into the table, leaning forward. Lena leaned in, pushing her back slightly, moving her hands from shoulders to hips, scoring the way Kara tensed and trembled. She was hardly inexperienced, Lena knew, but something about this felt like a first kiss, even for her. It tasted like one, too, down to the quivery way their lips met.

Kissing quickly became something more. Lena didn’t know if she was pulling or Kara pushing. It didn’t much matter; the path led to the bed in Kara’s room, marked by a trail of shed clothing.

Years of anticipation overwhelmed them both; dinner was forgotten, and they didn’t even emerge until the next day.

It was in the morning sun, the light turning Kara’s skin gold, that Lena saw it. Twisted within one of the curling locks of hair, splayed around Kara’s head on the pillow, was a faintly visible thread of purest silver, chased through the gold like an engraver’s masterpiece. Lena couldn’t help but twirl the errant strands around her finger.

As Kara slept, she looked up through the window and watched the wind as it caressed the leaves.

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palesweetsdeer · 1 month ago

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If your taking filet requests maybe dew and perpetua being sweet and cuddly

Digging for Gold

“Papa?”

Perpetua flinches and nearly scatters his papers all over the floor as he whirls around to face the ghoul that had entered his office. His name is Dewdrop, if he remembers correctly. He’s a small, scrawny little thing with a tassel-less tail but Perpetua has been told he has quite the temperament. Not surprising, he’s fire affiliated after all.

”Yes?”, he answers, raising his chin, trying to appear a little more confident than he feels.

Taking over as the frontman of Project Ghost had turned out to be way more stressful and difficult than he had anticipated. If he was being honest, he’d imagined it as a smooth ride, sailing through the ups and downs of album and concert sales until he could retire after a few years. Now, he’d only been in office for a few weeks but he already had to plan a tour, an album concept and summon his own ghouls. It was tiring and frankly, he had no idea what he was doing.

Dewdrop flicks his tail and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“You have moment? I would like to show you something.”

Perpetua blinks. He’s never met a ghoul with a Slavic accent before. Ghouls, when being summoned from the Pits, didn’t speak a language at all. They learned over the course of a week, their brains accommodating to the new realm they had been born into. Usually, they spoke the same way their summoner did. Who in the Ministry spoke with a Slavic accent?

“Ah… sure. Of course!”

Dewdrop nods and moves to open the door.

“Good. Come. It’s bit of a walk”

Perpetua quickly discards his papers, tossing them somewhere onto his desk, as he follows the ghoul with swift steps, his heels clacking on the marble floor. They walk in silence and Perpetua can feel himself start to sweat nervously. He swallows and shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants, clearing his throat.

“So… you’re one of Copia’s ghouls, right?”

“Wrong. Terzo’s.”

”Oh.” Perpetua feels his ears twitch uncomfortably. “Sorry.”

Dewdrop shake his head and waves him off.

“No, it’s no problem. I know I don’t look that old”, he snickers and Perpetua gives an awkward chuckle, his shoulders relaxing a little.

“No you really don’t. I would’ve guessed you were one of the younger ones. Like… Phantom, was his name?”

“Buggy? Yeah, he’s a baby. But he’s learning a lot and growing stronger every day. Is remarkable! All Quintessence grow fast.”

Perpetua blinks, genuinely interested now.

“How old is he?”

Dewdrop puffs out a cloud of smoke and shrugs.

“Bwoah… I don’t know the correct numbers… but he showed up sometime ‘23.”

“Only a year? He’s holding up pretty well for that, huh?”

“Oh, yes he is. He’s gotten used to the swarm, found some hobbies and fucked around a few times already. Swiss’ bad influence though. Fucking asshole.”

Perpetua thinks for a moment. He’s still not mastered the art of differentiating the ghouls by their names.

“Swiss is.. the one that jerked you off during Copia’s shows, right?”

Dewdrop grimaces and his ears pin back.

“Uh-huh.”

“Cool.”

Again, they fall into silence. Sue him, Perpetua liked to watch fan recorded videos. They were his only way of knowing how to act as a Papa. Which had led to some very stupid instances of him directly copying some of his predecessors’ moves. He hadn’t been outright corrected, but Copia had given him a few nasty remarks for it.

They move further down into the heart of the Ministry and Perpetua begins to wonder where it is they’re actually headed.

“Dewdrop?”, he asks, tapping the small ghoul’s shoulder. “What exactly do you want to show me?”

Dewdrop shakes his head and descends another flight of stairs.

“No worries. You’ll see, just a moment”, he murmurs, flicking his tail. Maybe he’s trying to sound reassuring but Perpetua can’t help the tingly feeling of uncertainty in his belly.

Nevertheless, he decides to trust the ghoul and they continue walking until they stop in front of a large, wooden gate with a seal at the front. Perpetua has been here before. Many times, actually. He frowns.

“What are we doing at the den?”

Dewdrop doesn’t answer. He simply taps the seal with his claw and murmurs something, the door gliding open with a faint hiss.

“Come in. This is home”, the ghoul grins and flaunts his arms, motioning at the interior of the structure.

The ghoul den is large. Much larger than any of the upper halls. It’s part of the cellars and resembles a gigantic cave, chiseled into the stone the Ministry stands upon. The entire thing is one big dormitory with concrete walls and thin, wooden doors separating each ‘room’. Perpetua hasn’t really been to any of the smaller places like the kitchen or the bathrooms, but he does know what the sleeping area looks like. He’s always wondered, how ghouls could feel comfortable there. It consisted of nothing but a large, rounded cave, the floor covered in mattresses that vaguely resemble nests. Perpetua had never seen concave mattresses before in his life. He didn’t even know those existed.

He enters the den and casts a glance to the ceiling. The walls are a mix of blank stone and concrete, the floor marbled the same way the entire rest of the Ministry was. There are lamps, couches and armchairs all over the place and Perpetua has to admit that the den wasn’t as empty or cold as one would expect. It was rather welcoming, actually. The ghouls had a nice home, no doubt.

Dewdrop leads him to the kitchen, where he opens the fridge and gets out two bottles of beer, placing them on the rounded table at the back. Perpetua raises a brow.

“There’s no way all 26 of you fit around that table”, he states, pointing to the piece of furniture.

Dewdrop snorts and shakes his head.

“We don’t eat here. We have special feasting hall, two doors down”, he points in the vague direction, tail twitching, as he gathers the beer bottles into his arms and reaches one out for Perpetua to take. “Drink. You reek of stress. It’s a good one, trust me.”

Perpetua takes the small glass container, reading the label on the front. His brows draw together.

“This just says ‘Fuck you, I brewed this - Crust’ ??”

Dewdrop nods, raises his bottle for a toast and then gulps down a large swig of the stuff, wiping his beard afterwards.

“Ah! Yeah. Crust is good fucking brewer. Try it. You going to feel much better in a moment”, he chuckles, accent thickening.

Perpetua opens the bottle, takes a step back and pours the entire thing down the sink.

“Sorry, I don’t drink on work days.”

“Pussy.”

Perpetua gawks at him for a solid moment and then flicks his ears.

“That’s- are you allowed to talk to your Papa like that??”

Dewdrop shrugs and takes another swig, leaning his hip against the table.

“Not sure. Are you allowed to refuse Crust’s beer? He’ll be pissed for sure.”

They stare at each other and then start chuckling at the same time. Perpetua out of disbelief, Dewdrop because he’s tipsy as fuck.

“Hehee, you’re funny, Papa”, the ghoul saunters over and pats his forearm. “But you’re also a prude.”

Perpetua grimaces.

“I’m not a prude.”

“And a virgin.”

“I- I’m sorry??”

Dewdrop blinks and squints, looking him up and down.

“You look like a virgin.”

Perpetua follows his gaze, taking his own appearance in. He frowns and then gesticulates wildly.

“What- WHAT - about me makes me look like a virgin? I’m 54!”

Dewdrop’s brows shoot up so far they nearly disappear below his hairline.

“There’s no fucking way you’re 54.”

“Me and Copia are twins!”

The ghoul’s brows raise even higher, and Perpetua starts to fear they might fall off completely.

“That’s… Nah, there is no-“, he blinks as if to compose himself. “No wayyyy. Haha, you lie to me, Papa. Sly of you, but there’s no way…” He pauses and then tilts his head. “Actually there is way. Copia is a virgin too.”

“Fucking stop assuming everyone’s a virgin!”

Dewdrop points the neck of his bottle at Perpetua’s chest.

“Not assuming. Knowing.”

He then regards Perpetua with a look that seems to be genuine pity.

“Poor man… 45… 54 and still virgin”, he grimaces. “Must feel horrible. I mean, I can’t relate but still..”

Perpetua feels like he’s about to bust a vein. He’s not an angry man, never has been. And he’s certainly not insecure about being a virgin (which he isn’t!) but something about the way this asshole is talking to him really makes him feel like he’s about to lose it.

“Did you want anything else from me or did you just bring me here to drink beer and insult me?”, he grits out, teeth gnashed together so he doesn’t do something he might regret later.

Dewdrop stops in his tracks and furrows his brows as if trying to remember what he wanted to do. He then taps his bottle against his horns and nods.

“Yes! Right! You were stressed, that’s why I brought you here!”

Perpetua’s lips pull back in a snarl.

“To insult me? How is that going to help with my stress?”

“No, no no”, Dewdrop shakes his head and then walks over, taking his hand and leading him towards the living area. “Not insulting. Stating the truth. Anyways, I originally wanted to bring you down here so we could get drunk and relax a little. Talk shit out. You’re new and I’ve been here for…”, he squints as if he’s doing the math in his head, “uh… long, long time.”

He stops and points to the couch they’d arrived at. It’s one of five big couches in the living area, propped up directly in front of the flatscreen TV mounted on the wall. Perpetua blinks. He was aware the ghouls had technology but he hadn’t expected this kind of luxury.

“I didn’t know you-“

“Watch TV? I don’t usually, but some guys like watching stuff. Swiss likes Reality and the girls watch it with him”, he grimaces. “Humans are embarrassing.”

Perpetua nods.

“Yeah, I guess. Reality? Like what?”

Dewdrop shrugs and downs the rest of his beer.

“Shit if I know. Like… Kardashians?? Uh… some German shit too, ‘Love Island’ I think… You wanna watch?”

Perpetua shakes his head vehemently.

“No, Satan, no. I’m not into that whole.. uh.. scene.”

Dewdrop eyes him and then leads him around the couch before he pushes firmly against his chest, knocking him over to plop down on the cushion. Perpetua hisses briefly and moves to complain but shuts his mouth immediately when Dewdrop sits down next to him, pulls his knees to his chest and drapes his body all over his side. Perpetua freezes. The ghoul is warm. Of course he is, he’s a fire elemental. His skin is dry but cozy, like a freshly washed, dried towel. Perpetua feels his muscles relax and his body melt against the couch. He exhales and lets his eyes flutter shut, feeling like a heavy weight has disappeared from his chest.

Dewdrop rests his head on the Papa’s shoulder, his horns knocking against his cheek. His gills huff out small puffs of smoke which circle and float towards the ceiling where they disappear through the small holes into the air vents. He smells of cedar wood and bonfires, in a calming, serene way. Almost nostalgic.

“This… is why you wanted me to come down here?”, Perpetua asks, his voice thin. He opens his eyes again and looks down at Dewdrop, who keeps his cheek pressed against the Papa’s shoulder.

The ghoul grumbles.

“Would been better if you had got drunk too”, he slurs, accent thickening until his words are barely understandable.

Perpetua hums.

“I know. Sorry.”

“You don’t drink at all?”

“Not during the week. I tend to… get carried away.”

Dewdrop chuckles at that and then starts purring, a rusty, rumbling sound. Perpetua feels like he’s filled with molten jelly. His limbs feel lax and he exhales deeply.

They stay quiet for a while and then Dewdrop speaks again.

“Sorry for calling you a virgin.”

Perpetua sighs and feels his lips quirk up.

“It’s okay-“

“I can help with that if you’re embarrassed about it.”

“Ghoul!”

Dewdrop snickers and ducks his head, shielding it with his hands to little avail. He yelps as he feels a sharp tug at his horn and bats at Perpetua’s face with a clawed hand.

“OW! Not the horns! No touching-“, he yanks his head back and growls lowly, “No touching the horns!”

Perpetua chuckles and waits until the ghoul has calmed down and snuggled back against his side, continuing to purr.

“You’re not usually affectionate, I’ve heard”, Perpetua remarks and rubs at Dewdrop’s horns apologetically. “Why now?”

The ghoul remains quiet for a moment before he shrugs and curls his tail around his own thigh.

“I don’t know. You smell familiar. Copia does too. But not as strongly. Call it instinct, if you will.”

“Instinct? Are you guys… how prominent is ‘instinct’ in your life?”

Dewdrop shrugs once more, clearly not caring for this topic of conversation.

“Fuck if I know. I only know my own experience, don’t know how humans perceive the world. But belonging is a big part of being ghoul. That why we form swarms and packs and whatnot. In the Pits, lonely ghoul is dead ghoul.”

“Lonely ghoul is dead ghoul…”, Perpetua repeats and hums slightly, letting his fingers glide over Dewdrop’s horns absentmindedly. ”That sounds horrible.”

The guitarist hums a little.

“Eh, is not so bad. But earth life is easier.”

Perpetua nods and closes his eyes again, relishing in the warmth the ghoul radiates. He feels cozy. Better yet, he feels accepted. He feels home.

——————

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zepskies · 2 years ago

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Smoke Eater - Part 13

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

AN: For those who didn't catch my announcement on Monday, I released Part 12 earlier this week! Now, on to a confrontation I think a lot of you have been waiting for...

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 7,200 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Attempted sexual assault. Protective Dean, angst, hurt/comfort.

Part 13: “Boiling Point”

Usually, Christmas was your absolute favorite time of the year.

This holiday was a baker’s dream, and you and your grandmother used to volunteer at the church bake sale every Christmas Eve. Grandpa George had done his best to help you in the years after she died…but you just didn’t have it in you this year.

You considered it an accomplishment that you pulled down some of the decorations from the attic, putting them up around your house, and buying a little four-foot tree (also hauling it into the house yourself). However, you knew that you wouldn’t be alone on Christmas Day, at least.

Sam and Dean had already invited you over to spend it with them. You would have the chance to get to know Eileen better, and you would even get to meet the famous John Winchester…

But you still had one reason to dread the end of the month.

Nick Savage threw a Christmas party every year. It was equal parts celebration and networking, and as a top performer of the sales division, you were expected to come.

The problem was, this time the party was going to be held at his house.

“You can’t just not go?” Andréa asked, shortly before taking a massive bite of her burrito. The two of you were grabbing dinner together after another long day at the office, followed by a movie later.

You’d realized just how much you had missed your best friend.

“Yeah, that’ll be great for me. Josh will get to chat up the whole team and get them clamoring to kiss his dick. Nick will give him the Sales Manager position just to spite me,” you said, while picking at your taco salad. “He keeps pitting us against each other for his own enjoyment, but I swear to God he harps on me the most.”

Andréa frowned. “Are you sure Nick just doesn’t have a thing for you? It sounds like he’s a little boy, picking on a girl he likes.”

You pursed your lips. She still didn’t know the full extent on your boss’s thing with you. You hadn’t told her about the last time Nick cornered you in his office, dangled a promotion in front of you, and basically gave you an ultimatum: sleep with him, or don’t move up in the company.

You hadn’t told anyone, for that matter.

You were just trying to figure out how to not get fired, while still getting compensated for your hard work. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently, it was.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what he thinks about me,” you said vehemently.

It earned your friend’s gaze, and her raised eyebrows.

“Whoa,” she chuckled. “Easy there, Miss Congeniality. That’ll be sure to earn you the promotion.”

“No, really,” you said. You stabbed into your salad with a fork. “I’m so fucking sick and tired of having to tap dance my entire work life around him. He’s a goddamn child who thinks he can have whatever he wants just because Daddy gave him his own little kingdom!”

Andréa eyed you more with concern. Her hand reached for your arm. Meanwhile, you were forcing slower breaths through your nose.

“You okay?” she asked. “I don’t like the ‘crazy town’ look in your eyes right now.”

“I’m fine,” you grumbled. “Just hangry, I guess.”

You took another bite of your food. Andréa gave you a skeptical look, but she let it go for now, with a smirk.

“Yeah, well. Eat a Snickers, bitch. I don’t need you snapping on me again,” she teased.

You rolled your eyes, but you had to laugh a little. You shoved at her shoulder.

She gripped her own arm in fake panic. “Someone call the cops! This crazy woman just punched me out over a salad!”

You tried to shush her, even though you were giggling. Your head swiveled around in the restaurant, giving apologetic eyes to the people around you.

“Although, $20 for a few sprigs of romaine lettuce and a sliver of chicken? That’s worth punching somebody the fuck out,” she said, throwing down her napkin. “Let’s never come here again.”

“Agreed,” you nodded. “I don’t think they’ll let us back here anyway.”

A few days later, you didn’t want to admit you were stressing out over this night.

“Have I said thank you? Because I mean it. Thank you for taking time off for this,” you said, smoothing down the nonexistent wrinkles in Dean’s blazer.

He looked good in black. It was classic, and the new suit was smart without being “too much” for him. (Sam had taken him to his “suit guy,” as Dean called it.)

Dean grabbed your arms to stop your slightly flustered hands. He smirked down at you as his eyes once again took in your dark red dress. It was simple and sleeveless, but elegant, falling just above the knee. Of course, you had to be wearing the tallest pair of black heels he’d ever seen.

“It’s no sacrifice, believe me,” he replied.

You smiled, but he noticed something behind your eyes.

“You okay?” he asked. “Seems like you don’t really want to go to this thing.”

“I don’t,” you admitted on a sigh. “But my boss will know if I’m not there…I told you about the open Sales Manager position, right?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Dean nodded. His smile slid into a frown as he watched you bustle around your room, looking for your purse while you smoothed out the soft waves you’d managed to style your hair in, checking your eyeliner and lipstick too in the mirror.

“As usual, it’s down to me and Josh,” you said. “If I keep my numbers up and use tonight to network with my own team, get the rest of the guys on my side, maybe Nick will see that I’m the right choice.”

Dean came up behind you, resting a hand on your lower back.

“And this manager job…that’s what you want?” he asked.

You turned to him with a questioning look. “Well, yeah. I’ve been working here for five years, busting my ass.”

“And I got no doubt that you’re good at what you do,” Dean said. “But you do know, there hasn’t been a day since I met you that you didn’t have something crap to say about that job, and those people you work with.”

You frowned, and you thought about what he was saying. Sure, you complained about Nick, but did you really talk that much shit about your job?

“Everyone has things they don’t like about their work,” you reasoned. “Even you have your bad days.”

Though he tended to keep those days to himself, you knew when he’d had a tough call at the firehouse. You’d been trying your best to be a listening ear if he needed it, or if not, at least a soothing presence. It was more often the latter with Dean.

He acknowledged your point with a nod. “Okay, fair enough. I don’t know…I just think you’re wasting your talent.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Sweetheart, you’re like…an artist. It’s nothing me, or Sam, or Andréa, or anybody in your life hasn’t told you before,” said Dean. “You went to school to do your dream. And I know life happened. But I also know that when I walk into the firehouse, it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. Can you say that when you walk into the Savage building?”

You took in a breath. You understood what he was saying, but as much as you wanted to indulge the fantasy of owning your own business, being your own boss, creating your own menu, and giving people quality baked goods…you had to live in reality here.

Opening a brick-and-mortar business was expensive. And most restaurants, even bakeries, weren’t profitable for at least one to three years. You still had plenty of bills, and not even a car since the accident.

“I’ve invested too much time here to quit, Dean,” you said.

The conversation died there, but it left something new and awkward between you two. You tried to put it out of your mind while he drove you both over to the “filthy fucking rich” side of town, through a massive gate, and into a wide parking lot that had a valet driver waiting. Nick’s ridiculous house was a monument to trust fund kids everywhere.

Dean reluctantly handed over the keys to the Impala.

“No donuts in the parking lot.” He eyed the 20-something-year-old valet with all due scrutiny. “Trust me, I’ll know.”

You smirked and slipped your arm around his to tug him up the steps, toward the large double doors of the house.

“Come on, Rambo. Baby’ll be fine without you.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean quipped back. Still, he moved his arm out of yours, just to wrap it around your waist and pull you against his side. His lips pressed against your cheek.

“You look sexy as hell,” he said lowly near your ear. “Did I forget to mention that?”

“No.” Your smile deepened. “But doesn’t hurt to mention again. I might just have to reward my boyfriend for humoring me tonight, getting all dapper himself.”

You and Dean made it up to the porch and you knocked on the door. He shot you a raised brow as his lips tugged upwards.

“Oh, yeah? We talkin’ lace or satin?” he asked. His lips brushed your temple.

You pretended to think. “Little of both, actually. It’s new. And it’s red…and I might just be wearing it right now.”

Dean’s brows shot up in surprise. His gaze subtly dragged over your every curve, as if he had x-ray vision to spy through your dress. You maintained an enigmatic smile.

“Oh, you’re diabolical,” he muttered. His hand moved down to playfully squeeze your ass. You had to bite your lip to stifle the sound you made, as that’s when the doors finally began to swing open.

Dean’s hand moved up a respectable few inches, resting on your waist.

You both smiled and greeted the attendant who let you into the house.

A quick text let you know that Benny and Andréa were already here, each holding a flute of champagne. You and Dean met up with them in the huge living room space (which might has well have been a grand hall, for how large it was).

It held 50 people easily, but the party was already spanning the entire house, of at least two stories. It made your house look like a modest Barbie Dream home, without the pool attachment.

And Nick Savage was at the center of it all, greeting each guest and their “plus ones.”

When he spotted your group, he smoothly excused himself from the conversation with Josh and his wife, and headed over to you.

“Incomiiing,” Andréa quietly sing-songed. She sipped her champagne.

You steeled yourself, and you did your best to give a polite smile when Nick arrived with a pleasant “Merry Christmas.” You forced yourself to remain still when his hand fell on your arm, and he reached out to shake Dean’s hand in greeting, followed by Andréa and Benny.

“Welcome, you guys,” he said, giving you a smile that hid just a hint of a smirk. “Justin let you know where everything is, right? Lotsa drinks, the good stuff, I promise. Plenty of food, hot chocolate and eggnog fountains, if that’s your thing. And a hell of a lot more out back by the pool.”

“Great, thank you,” you nodded politely.

“All right! Let’s party,” Nick fist-pumped in the air. He pointed towards you and Dean. “You need a drink in your hand, stat.”

“I’m fine for now. Going to wait until I have something to eat first,” you replied. If you were going to get a glass of wine, it wouldn’t be one that Nick handed to you.

He pouted a little, but he looked at Dean next. “How about you, big guy? What you drinkin’?”

Dean shot you a glance, but before he could respond, Nick interrupted.

“You look like a whiskey guy. Am I right?” he asked.

Dean inclined his head. “Guilty.”

“Perfect. See? I’ve got an instinct for people,” Nick said, tossing you a wink as he headed for the nearby bar. “I’ll be back. You crazy kids relax and have fun.”

You had to admit, he knew how to turn on the charm when he had to. But who the hell said crazy kids under the age of 45?

“He’s uh…got pep,” Benny remarked.

Andréa snorted and tapped her glass. “He’s a few shots in already.”

“You think?” Dean asked.

You nodded in agreement, rolling your eyes. If there was one thing you could count on, it was for Nick Savage to be drinking.

“He knows how to act when everyone’s watching,” you said.

You looked up at the high-vaulted ceilings and expensive artwork on the walls, not noticing how Dean glanced at you with the edge of a frown.

At the very least, the food was excellent. It was served in a large back room that served as a banquet hall, meant for entertaining.

There you and Dean actually had a good time, with you sipping on red wine and Dean on a glass of the “good stuff,” all while playing cards with Andréa and Benny and a few of your coworkers on the sales team.

“I just can’t believe Adam quit, to join our main competitor, no less,” said Marv. “I had absolutely no idea he was thinking of leaving.”

He was the team gossip. He prided himself on knowing every coming and going on the sales floor, which confounded you, since Marv was also a bit of a hermit. He either kept to his office like it was a bomb shelter, or you could catch him in the break lounge grabbing yet another coffee, all the while keeping his ear perked up for scraps of conversation.

“Yeah, you did, Marv,” you replied with a smirk. “You’re the one who saw Adam’s resignation letter on his own desk.”

He hadn’t even handed said letter to Nick yet.

“Well, I knew it then, obviously,” Marv said, with his hands open wide. “It leaves us without a manager…which I think, not for long.”

His eyes met yours knowingly.

You smiled. “We’ll see. I think Josh is playing kiss-ass tonight.”

You turned your head and spotted Nick and Josh taking shots of tequila together at the bar, with the latter wincing at the burn with a lime peel in his mouth. Josh’s wife was sitting off to the side, rolling her eyes.

Your gaze focused on your boss for a moment. You shook your head at the state of him, with a loose tie and the top buttons undone on his shirt, laughing boisterously and egging Josh on.

Fucking frat bros.

“That’s your boss, huh?” Benny remarked.

“In all his Cuervo-stained glory,” Marv replied. He shook his head as well.

It made you realize something.

As nice a time as you’d been having, for about an hour at most, your good mood soured the moment you were reminded of the office politics. Of Josh and Nick and everything in between. Was this really what you wanted for the rest of your career?

The rest of your life?

Maybe Dean was right, you thought. You knew you were good at your job. You knew you were fortunate to even have a job that paid your bills…but maybe “being good” wasn’t enough for you.

If there was one thing you’d learned from your grandfather’s death, it was that peace was precarious. And sacrificing too many parts of yourself, for money, wasn’t a fulfilling life or even a happy one.

You wanted to be happy. You also wanted peace.

So you leaned over and laid a hand on Dean’s, which rested on the round table.

“Hey,” you whispered.

His head bowed near yours. “Hmm?”

“Wanna get out of here?” you asked. He raised his brows at you.

“Really? I thought you needed to stay and schmooze with your people,” he replied.

You smiled and drew your thumb across the inside of his wrist. “I think I’m done.”

Dean looked a bit confused. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. And you brushed your lips against the corner of his mouth. “You were right. It’s not worth it.”

A flicker of a smile began to tug at his lips, but his brows drew together.

“Hey. Are you sure?” he asked. “Don’t bow out just because of me—”

Your hand tightened on his wrist.

“No, baby. It’s me. My choice,” you said. “Let me just use the restroom real quick, and we can go.”

Dean nodded, and you stood.

“What, are you leaving?” Andréa asked. She was tucked into Benny’s side with a piece of red velvet cake poised on her fork. “You didn’t even finish your cake!”

You laughed. Turning down dessert was a big deal for you, but you’d live.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I just need to call it a night, but I’ll be back in a sec to say goodbye. Hold on.”

Andréa blew out a breath as you walked away from the table.

“She’s gonna miss the White Elephant gift exchange. Last year, someone got a 60” smart TV,” she said.

Benny whistled.

“I wouldn’t mind an upgrade,” he said. He shot Dean a glance. “What do you think the guys would do if we showed up with something like that to the station?”

Dean scoffed. “I think the Chief would have a damn conniption.”

Bobby was old-school. He thought they had enough distractions from the job as it was.

“Probably right,” Benny chuckled.

Andréa smiled in amusement. But her eyes clocked the way Nick glanced your way as you walked by, down the hall and to the right. She sipped at her glass of pinot grigio to wash down the rich cake.

Still, she discreetly watched the man down another shot before he took his leave of the bar. He laughed at something Josh said and waved him off.

She gave Nick credit for not stumbling on his feet, and only swaying slightly on the same path you took down the hall. It didn’t mean he was following you, necessarily. This house was like a small Smithsonian. And yet, something niggled in the back of her mind.

Andréa remembered how you’d acted at dinner the other day when talking about Nick. And how drained you’d seemed lately when she saw you after work. She’d thought that was just about finding your way after George’s death…

Marv distracted her with a question as Dean and Benny continued to talk, and she answered him with her usual charm. But she kept one eye on the hallway, waiting for you to come back.

She made it about another minute before she turned to Benny and Dean, leaning in close.

“Hey, Dean,” she said. “Maybe you want to check on her? She’s taking a while.”

Dean didn’t look concerned as he checked his watch. It hadn’t been all that long, but he still pulled out his phone to text you.

“She left her purse here,” Andréa said. She started to get up out of her seat. “I’m just gonna go see if she’s okay.”

Benny grabbed her hand before she left the table.

“What’s wrong, babe?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said, but she met Dean’s confused gaze. “Okay, look. I’ve been noticing some things with her recently. I have no evidence except for how well I know that woman, but something’s off with her. It happens every time she talks about that asshole Nick.”

Dean’s brows furrowed as he tried to read between the lines.

“What’re you saying exactly?” he asked.

Andréa let out a breath. “I’m saying, I’ve got a bad feeling.”

You hummed as you washed your hands in the bathroom. Wine runs right through me. I should know better.

You’d also been trying to quell your anxieties and just get through the night. But you realized now that there was no kind of calm like the peace you had, now that you knew what you needed to do. Starting tomorrow, you were going to start looking for a new job.

A knock at the door made you jolt slightly.

“Someone’s in here!” you called without looking over your shoulder. You finished washing your hands and dried them on the hand towel hanging on a silver wall rack.

The door cracked open, but before you could protest, a man stumbled in.

Of fucking course it was Nick Savage.

“Excuse me?!” you breathed in shock. You watched with wide eyes as he pushed the door closed and seemed to take notice of you for the first time. He smirked.

“Oh, hey,” he said. Somehow, he was only slurring a little. He straightened his white blazer. The black satin shirt he wore was wrinkled and he smelled heavily of tequila, and that was with a couple of feet of distance between you two.

Your shock finally melted into a glare. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Gotta take a leak. It’s my house after all,” he shrugged, leaning a hand on the wall closest to the door for balance.

You shook your head, and with a huff, you tried to get by him.

His hand wrapped around your arm. “Hey, we didn’t get a chance to catch up tonight.”

You shoved his hand off of you.

“Don’t you ever in your life touch me again,” you warned him. Your eyes were as hard as your voice. “I don’t think there’s anyone on the planet—no. In the whole damn universe who sickens me more than you, Nick Savage.”

Nick straightened a little, frowning at you. Whatever he saw in your gaze, he didn’t seem to like the challenge. When you reached for the doorknob again, he grabbed your arm and shoved you hard into the nearest wall.

You gasped as the air rushed out of your lungs. Before you even realized what was happening, you felt his clammy hands on your bare shoulders, his hot alcoholic breath on your face. You raised your hands in defense, pushing against his chest.

He was taller and stronger and pinned you harder against the wall, with his knee shoving its way between your legs. You stared up with wide eyes of fear, and his hand clamped over your mouth to stifle your scream.

Your nails bit into his arm and wrist, trying to peel back his sweaty hand, just an inch to free your voice and let you breathe. To your left you heard the door bang open.

Please—

And the hand was peeled away entirely.

You could only blink and watch as Dean barreled through, grabbing Nick and bodily hurling him away. Nick opened his mouth to spout something angrily, but Dean continued to stalk forward and grab the man again.

Nick attempted a lazy swing at Dean’s head, but he bat it away. His fist connected roughly with Nick’s face, snapping his head back with a cry.

It was almost too fast for you to track what was happening right in front of you, but Dean dragged the drunkard the rest of the way across the bathroom, even over the tub, and slammed him against the beige tile so hard that it knocked a few of them loose. Nick’s head smacked audibly against them and he groaned at the impact.

The men were around the same height, but Dean was honed by years of firefighting and fueled by rage. One hand gripped high on Nick’s collar, while his arm pressed against the man’s chest. Then into his throat.

“Give me a reason,” Dean said, in a voice much calmer than he felt. Behind his eyes was wildfire.

“What?” Nick choked.

You finally broke through enough of your shock to know you had to do something.

“Dean!” you uttered. You cautiously went to him, but he glanced at you over his shoulder in warning.

“Stay there,” he told you firmly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, even though your voice shook. “Let’s just go.”

Despite the blood dripping down from his likely bruised nose, Nick chortled a laugh. It earned Dean’s slow head turn, returning his attention to the decision at hand. His fist tightened in Nick’s shirt.

“You heard me,” Dean said. His voice was laced with steel. “I said give me a reason not to break your miserable fucking neck.”

“Dean,” you gasped.

“Not sure that’s a good idea, fireman,” Nick slurred. “I clearly don’t have all my wits about me right now. Can’t be held lia…li-ble for my actions, now can I? I’ll have your badge by end of the week.”

You let out a harsh breath and finally went to Dean. You laid a hand on his back. Every muscle was tense and straining under his white dress shirt.

“Dean,” you pressed. “Let him go. He’s not worth it.”

Nick smirked lazily in Dean’s face. It was the look of a man who was used to getting his way.

“I’d listen to her,” he said, with a mocking glint in his eyes. “Or I could just fire her on Monday. Make it easy on myself.”

Dean seethed. His forearm slowly rolled harder into the man’s neck, pressing on his windpipe. The sounds of choked air were satisfying.

“Yeah, or I’ll have the police down here in ten minutes or less,” said Dean. “I’ll clue you in on a little something. My dad’s a cop. I’ll reckon he’ll be happy to put a fucking douchebag like you in the can with the real charmers.”

Dean gave a mocking glance to Nick’s silk shirt, his gold pinky ring and loafers.

“How long do you think it’ll take for one of ‘em to make you their little bitch?” Dean said.

Nick glared back at him, with a frisson of intimidation behind his eyes. He glanced at you over his shoulder. Dean noticed and tightened his hold.

“Don’t you look at her, you piece of shit!” he warned. His voice was low and dangerous. “Make your choice. You gonna come down to the station easy, or difficult? Please say difficult.”

Nick held up placating hands. He shifted uncomfortably against the wall; one foot was planted on the ground while the other was in the tub. The shower curtain was half off its hooks.

Dean eased up enough for Nick to take a breath.

“Okay, let’s say we do that,” he said, with a cough. “I’ll get bail. Then I’ll fucking walk, ‘cause I own this town.”

“You mean your dad does,” you snapped.

Nick rolled his eyes. “Same name, same shit, sweetheart.”

Dean grit his teeth and tightened his grip again in warning. You wrapped your hand around his arm, but he didn’t budge.

Nick met his eyes.

“How about this. Get your greasy fucking hands off me, and we’ll call tonight a wash,” he proposed. “No foul, we all take our balls and go home.”

He then snorted at his own joke. “Balls…”

Dean tilted his head, but didn’t move a muscle. “Or?”

Once again, Nick smirked.

“I’ll report you to your boss for assaulting me in my own house. And uh, she’ll be fired, obviously.” He shrugged. “By the time my lawyers get done with her, she won’t be able to sling lattes at Starbucks.”

Dean’s face was stony, tight with outrage. His whole body was coiled like a spring as every cell in his body fought against ripping this man apart.

But he still felt your hands around his arm, trying to pull him back.

“Dean, don’t. He’s not worth your career. Please,” you begged.

The bathroom door pushed open again, and he heard Benny’s voice.

“Hey, brother.” He dropped a careful hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Come on, now. You got him. Ease up now.”

Dean’s teeth ground together. He looked down, and his stare bored into Nick’s. Dean pressed his forearm into the other man’s throat again, enough to almost feel the give as the man struggled for breath.

“Remember how that feels,” Dean said icily. “20579, Dean Winchester. The next time you want to threaten my badge, that’s my number.”

Nick’s eyes widened slightly. At the time, Dean took it as fear. But really, it was recognition.

Winchester, Nick thought.

Dean then leaned in closer, so only Nick would hear his next lowered words.

“First and last warning,” Dean said. “If you touch her again. If I hear anything more about you giving her a hard time, not a dime in the world is gonna save you from me.”

When Dean finally pulled his arm away and let go, Nick’s face was red and spluttering as he coughed and slumped into the bathtub.

Dean turned on his heel in anger and disgust. Andréa was supporting you with her arm around yours, but she released you to let Dean take over. You stared up at him with tearful eyes, and you reached for his hand.

He took it with his left, holding you steady. He then wrapped an arm around your shoulders and guided you out of the bathroom.

The air was tense and silent inside the Impala. It was a long drive back to your house, and Dean hadn’t looked at you once in 20 minutes. His gaze was firmly on the road. He hadn’t even turned on the radio.

You had his suit jacket draped around your frame, but your insides still felt cold. You glanced over at him and stared at his profile for a moment, wishing you knew what to say to break the silence. To reassure him that you were fine. (Even though it would've been a lie.)

He felt your stare and turned his head towards you.

“How long has this been going on?” he asked. His voice was gruff. “Andréa said she’s been noticing something off about you for a while.”

Your lips pressed together. “Can this part wait until we get home…please?”

Dean’s jaw ticked, but he turned back to the road ahead.

The car was silent for the rest of the hour.

It was a relief to turn the key into the door lock and step through the threshold of your house. Dean followed you inside and tossed his wallet and car keys on the side table by the door.

Somehow he always managed to miss the little basket you put there for exactly those things, but you weren’t about to remind him.

You slipped off your heels and went into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, to steady yourself. Dean leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. He didn’t say anything, but you still felt his eyes on you.

With a sigh, you turned and met his gaze.

“Just tell me,” he said. “How long?”

You took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“It started before I even met you, Dean.”

His brows raised high. He tilted his head at you as incredulous anger tightened his face.

“What?” he said. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You shook your head and grabbed his arm. “Okay, come here.”

You led him into the living room and sat beside him on the couch. You explained that it started small, with compliments on your clothes, your hair. Then it was lingering looks, “innocent” brushes of his hand, touching your arm, your shoulder.

When you’d tried to put distance between you and Nick, the drunken shenanigans began. The comments grew heinous and sickening, and so did his threats.

And nothing you did worked. Not distance and professionalism. Not refusing his advances outright. Not threatening to go to HR.

All while you spoke, Dean was quiet, but on edge. You saw it in how he gripped his knee, with his other hand fisted against his mouth, elbow resting on his thigh.

But the hardest part of the conversation came when you told Dean about the day of the car accident—how Nick had demanded you come to his office and gave you a sickening ultimatum.

At that, Dean could no longer remain still. He got up and started to pace across the living room. He was a man of action, you knew, and his reaction was almost everything you’d feared.

I should've told him, you thought. You knew.

Although you now felt relieved, even in your guilt, you also knew this next part wasn’t going to be fun either. Because Dean finally erupted.

“And you didn’t tell anyone?” he asked.

Briefly, you closed your eyes. “No.”

“Why? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” His hand buried itself in his hair as his jaw clenched. Even if your friend Andréa hadn’t known, she’d still seen enough to suspect something. It completely blew his mind, in the worst of ways.

“Jesus Christ!” he shook his head. “Why am I always the last one to know when something’s going on with you?”

Tears watered in your eyes as you looked up at him. You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off.

“I mean, really. What are we doing here, huh?” he exclaimed, his hands open wide. “Honestly, tell me. Because if you can’t trust me, then I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Your eyes widened, a trill of panic lacing down your spine. You stood up and went to him.

“Dean, please, it wasn’t about that,” you said. You implored him with your eyes to understand. “I wanted to tell someone…God, you don’t know how bad I wanted to tell you. But I knew how you’d react. Just like this. I didn’t want to make the situation worse!”

He frowned deeply. “You didn’t want help? You didn’t want me to protect you?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you snapped. But then, you sucked in a shaking breath, trying to calm yourself. You got closer and rested a hand against his chest.

“Of course I’m grateful that you protected me. Dean, I love you for it.”

You grasped the ends of his jacket with both hands. All you really wanted to do was bury yourself in his warmth and sleep for the next ten years. You were still raw and frayed inside.

Dean looked down at you, and his heart clenched. He couldn’t help but hold you back. His arms wound around your lower back as he pulled you against him. His chin rested above your head, and you sighed in relief.

“I thought I could handle it,” you confessed, in a smaller voice. “I worked so damn hard…I wanted to fight for my job. But Nick knew I didn’t have the money or the resources to fight back for real if I reported him, or even if I sued him. And before tonight, I didn’t have enough to take to the police.”

Dean pulled away just enough to see your face. He grasped your arms, gentle but firm.

“I’ll take you to the station right now,” he said. “My dad can help you. Hell, Sam can help you.”

You bit your lip and shook your head.

“You heard him, Dean. With his money and connections, he’ll get off. And then he’ll make both of our lives hell,” you said. “He’ll go after your badge—”

“He can fucking try,” he snapped.

“Stop, okay? I don’t want that,” you pleaded.

A sharp breath escaped through his nose, and he let you go.

“You’re fucking impossible, you know that?” he said. “How can I help you if you won’t let me?”

He was beside himself with frustration, and even hurt. You knew it in the way he tried to walk away from you, but you reached for his arm to stop him, with tears burning in your eyes. You didn’t want him to think that you didn’t want his support. That you didn’t trust him.

Because that couldn’t have been any farther from the truth.

“I’m sorry!” Your tears finally escaped, trailing down your cheeks. You tugged him back towards you, earning his furrowed glance. “I was…scared. I…I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I just didn’t want to deal with it at all.”

The longer Dean looked at your face, the more he crumbled.

Once again, he turned to gather you back into his arms. And there your tears fell in earnest. Your body trembled with quiet sobs, and he held you tighter. His heart broke a little more as his hand soothed over your hair. He shushed you more gently, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“Okay. It’s okay. Don’t apologize. You shouldn’t have had to deal with this, let alone for this damn long,” Dean said. His gaze raised heavenward for a moment as he mentally kicked himself. You didn’t deserve this, or his anger either.

He just couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed any signs, like Andréa had. All these months… It threatened to drive him up a fucking wall.

“You’re safe, and I’ve got you,” he said, continuing to hold you securely against him. “We’ll handle this, like everything else.”

After a moment, you nodded, letting out another shaky breath. You squeezed your eyes shut and buried your face into his chest.

You already knew you must’ve looked a state, after the night you’d had, but you didn’t truly realize it until you were looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Mascara and lipstick smudged, hair disheveled, tears staining your cheeks.

Ugh. You hastily scrubbed your face clean with makeup wipes. Then you tamed your hair, brushing through the frizz and calming it back into relative normalcy.

You went for the zipper of your dress next, but you couldn’t get it down all the way. You turned to look over your shoulder.

“Dean,” you called.

He was in your room, rifling through his bag to grab the clothes he’d brought to sleep in.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Come ‘ere a sec?”

He obliged you, drawing into the bathroom. His white dress shirt was only half unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up. You met his eyes in the mirror.

“Can you unzip me?” you asked.

Dean looked down where your hands were holding both sides of the zipper on your dress. He took one side from you and unzipped it the rest of the way, stopping at the small of your back. He caught sight of the red, sheer lingerie underneath.

Noticing the way he paused, you smiled slightly. You turned toward him and tugged the dress down the rest of the way, so he could see the rest of the ensemble. It was a simple corset-style nightie, but true to your word, the lace was paired with satin trim lines.

Your hands ran up his sternum and undid the last buttons on his shirt. You grasped near his collar and leaned up on your toes for a slow kiss. Dean unconsciously held you to him by your shoulders, his eyes closing at the feel of you.

But when they next opened, he caught sight of the bruise on your shoulder. It was about the size of a thumbprint.

His throat tightened. After a moment, he parted from you, but he didn’t continue where you left off. You looked up at him in confusion.

“Baby?” you asked.

Dean shook his head. He couldn’t answer you; couldn’t even articulate what the hell was in his head. So he just turned and went back into the room for his change of clothes. It left you frowning, bereft, and worried.

You changed into an old shirt and some shorts before you got into bed. You slipped under the covers and watched Dean. He sat with his back to you as he unclipped his watch and set it down on the nightstand. By now he’d changed into his faded, gray Lawrence Fire Department shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

Your throat constricted with emotion, namely with anxiety.

“Are you still mad at me?” you asked.

Dean paused. He glanced back at you, saw you laying there with a hand gripped into the covers. His brows furrowed when he saw your shining tears.

He turned and got into bed with you. He slid his arm under your head and wordlessly encouraged you to come closer. His free hand soothed across your arm.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said at last. But he was still upset, and deeply unsettled. As the night replayed in his mind, he knew that at the root of his fury, there was fear.

“I just keep thinking,” he said. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t called out of work tonight.”

You looked down at that. You laid a hand on his chest.

“I wouldn’t have gone to the party,” you said. Though if you were honest with yourself, you probably would’ve thought yourself safe with Benny and Andréa. “I just…I really didn’t think he would try to—”

You tried to take a breath to steady yourself, but it was a tremulous release. The memory flashed behind your eyes, the remnants of panic and fear under your skin.

You didn’t realize you were crying until Dean’s hand was caressing your cheek, brushing away your tears.

“All right, shhh. I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s over,” he said. Once again, he pulled you into his arms and held you close. Guilt hit him between the ribs for upsetting you all over again. “I promise you’re safe, and I’ve got you.”

You did your best to take in deep breaths, letting them out more steadily. Dean wanted to put the matter to bed for tonight. He really did…but he couldn’t help pressing one last thing.

“Just tell me you’re not going back there on Monday, unless it’s to HR,” he said.

You paused, shook your head a little. You didn’t want to rev him up again, but you knew Nick.

“He doesn’t make idle threats, Dean,” you reminded him. “But there’s a reason why he waited until tonight, at his house. He’s not going to try his luck at the office, where everyone’s watching.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean retorted.

You saw his point, but you almost didn’t want to acknowledge it. You couldn’t afford to quit.

“I still need my job, for now,” you said. “But I will start looking for something else, so I can get out as soon as possible. I promise.”

Dean wasn’t happy. Both of you knew it. You also sensed that he wanted to argue more, but was holding back for now. You appreciated that.

You truly didn’t want to get into it anymore with him. You just wanted to close your eyes and try to forget about tonight, knowing that you’d fail.

Dean still held you, with his hands rubbing up and down your back. His touch and his heartbeat soothed you until you managed to fall asleep.

AN: Dean knows, and it ain't pretty. What did you think of the confrontation? Unfortunately, I'm drawing from real events here (not myself).

Next Time:

The mystery of "Azazel" thickens, Dean deals with another tricky fire, and the reader has a realization of her own...

“Yeah, well. This one’s a rat bastard in human clothing,” you replied.

“Ooh, sounds like my old biology professor,” Jo chimed in. She was drying out some newly clean glasses behind the counter along with Ellen. “He had a reputation for scoping out freshman girls.”

You made a gagging sound as you reached for the delectable martini glass Ellen slid your way.

“Men are disgusting,” you said. Jo snorted.

“99.8% of them, yeah,” she said. But her gaze drew towards the door when Dean Winchester came in. And she added, “A few of ‘em are all right.”

Was it just you, or was there a softer look in her blue eyes when she noticed Dean?

Keep Reading: PART 14

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

#Boiling Point #Smoke Eater #Part 13 #dean winchester #Firefighter!Dean Winchester #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x you #firefighter AU #dean winchester AU #spn #supernatural #benny lafitte #zepskies writes

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chillgamesh-the-swing · 9 months ago

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what are y'all talking about Stan is a perfectly good cook. newly kicked out, sleeping in his car, you KNOW that boy is washing dishes at some dirtbag diner. now maybe he can't keep a gig for long, he's got a problem with authority and steals out of the register on a daily basis, but while they last it's better than working at a bar cause you get free meals, and you can always drive a few miles out and find another hole in the wall that's never heard of the last one that fired you. so he picks it up here and there, nothing fancy, pancakes and eggs and burgers, stuff that's cheap and filling. he definitely considers ketchup a vegetable, but also eats enough beans and potatoes that he probably doesn't have any serious vitamin deficiencies, even when the sales money pit gets real deep and he ends up dumpstering behind restaurants to scrounge up a semi decent meal. he never has a real kitchen until the shack, and he stocks up on canned food, and saves his bacon grease, and if he burns the hashbrowns he has to eat them anyway so he makes sure not to burn them. maybe he picked up a handful of special dishes on the road, dirty rice, Colombian arepas, fried fish. he certainly doesn't have cash to spare for a lot of fresh ingredients and seasonings, and he keeps insisting that he doesn't need that stuff anyway. but it helps break up the monotony of 50 easy recipes for brown meat.

#grunkle stan is a master of Shit In A Skillet cooking and you cannot convince me otherwise #gravity falls #stan pines #this got away from me a bit. lmao 🤷

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worldofstonesusa · 3 months ago

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#discounted stone products #clearance paving #sale on natural stone #affordable landscaping materials #natural stone products #porcelain pavers #fire pits #sills #pier caps #steps #tread #pool coping #usa #natural stone suppliers in usa #natural stone paving suppliers in the usa

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hermesserpent-stuff · 8 months ago

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another radio script for Billy

The Whizz radio intro tones-

Billy Batson then starts speaking through a slightly crackly radio as Fawcett is a city someone lost to time, given its connection to the Rock of Eternity.

Welcome to WHIZZ Radio: Where we give the latest news, truths, and views of Fawcett City. Brought to you by your host, me, Billy Batson.

Today we’ll begin with our community news! Atlas would like to thank the people of Fawcett for their influx of offerings. We will all find a little more endurance this week. Captain Marvel also expressed thanks for the offerings left at his shrine and will continue to try his best for our city.

Tonight is the new moon; a good time for spells of renewal, fresh starts, and seeking a way out of the darkness. Keep an eye out for candle sales so you can perform your renewing rituals at a reasonable cost. Beck’s Storehouse is running a sale on all black candles and as always a percentage of their sales goes to the local soup kitchen. Be sure to make a pit stop there before midnight tonight. I know I will!

Onto traffic! Currently, there are still delays on Mainstreet, but the fissures to Hades have been sealed up. Major thanks to Persephone. There are no other traffic delays to report.

Heres the weather! There has been a lot of Milfoil flowers springing up from Cap’s lightning strikes lately. Watch the skies for oncoming war. There will be a thin fog tonight, watch out for strangers lurking in the mists. Only go home with those you are sure are your friends and family. Spirits might pretend to be the people that you know.

Right into the Capes and Crooks news bulletin. Dr. Sivana is still missing and will likely stay so for a while. Arson Fiend is back on the streets. Double check your fire insurance and keep an eye out for the pryokentic man. He has a tendency to go for businesses not insured by Sheild & Stone Insurance despite being fired from said company after his first arrest. You’d think hed stop showing company loyalty after the checks stopped coming, but nope! That dead hoofer seems set on getting everyone to sign up for Shield & Stone. Wild.

This radio program is brought to you by Eloise’s Herbs and Verbs. A shop for all your cooking and spell-casting needs. If there's anything you need from Sunday dinner to Wednesday night curses, Eloise has you covered. Don't get your materials from the chain stores, get it from a local. Grown with care and sure to work every time.

*Little jingle*

Welcome back to the program. Time for our daily sister city’s segment.

Annnnd….

*sarcasm fills Billy’s voice*

I, Billy, your host, has been told that I need to apologize officially to Black Adam and state clearly that, my, Billy Batson’s, opinions do not reflect the opinion of WHIZZ radio.

Im sorry for calling Black Adam a kook and someone bearing a grudge unbecoming of a king and calling him a ancient man-child.

There. Happy?

*indidstict producer noise*

Perfect. Onwards and upwards.

Kahndaq continues to thrive despite the work of the UN and lack of response from the Justice League. Queen Bee has attempted to launch an attack on their northern border. Black Adam was quick to remind the world that while an ex-champion out of the good graces of the Wizard, he is still a champion with his own patrons' support.

He threw a tank fifty feet and none in Kahndaq died from the attempted raid. The Justice League has expressed some worry over this feat of strength, but this reporter would like to remind people that Superman has been tossing robots for years. To me, it seems like a bunch of floy floy.

Fawcett still stands with Kahndaq and recognizes the country as sovereign while most of the world sees it as illegitimate. Hold in there.

Adam has not been seen in Fawcett for a week. Which is good. Means he's focusing on what he's supposed to instead of harassing Cap like a stalker. Good for him. Maybe he actually going to anger management. Good for him!!

Guest speaker- interview or!! Opinion peoce- billy raving about anyone. Anyone. Good or bad.

Now its time again for Billy's opinion of the day!

So! Id like to take a moment and chatter about our other midwest hero, Flash! He’s been around town a few times and Im sure everyone heard about his big charity race with Supes!

He’s a lot like Cap in how he helps out around his home town and he’s a great listener.

Just listen to this recent Facebook post by Nancy; ‘Flash recently helped my son find his way home. Joseph got turned around on the opposite side of town, without any phone battery. He was so nervous about trying to find any help, as most of the stores on the street were closed. Flash saw Joseph trying not to cry and helped him on his way home. Was nice enough to tell him what to do if it ever happened again. Real sweetheart, he is officially our family's favorite hero.’ What a story.

He also comes to help when Mercury gets in a racing mood, which is always nice. It helps keep drivers and random runners from randomly getting whisked to the racing stadium.

Please dont forget to donate to the Flash drive that Central City is hosting tomorrow to help feed their speedsters. All that running makes them real hungry!.

*Mercury intro*

Ah hello Mercury!! Here, a few viewers sent in a few gifts for you as thanks for yesterdays warning.

*chimes*

New mail? Thank you, Mercury!

*shuffling papers*

Ah! Keep an eye out for a Victorian-looking child with an orange cat and pointed black hair. Klarion is back in town and may wish to cut a chaotic deal with you. Hopefully, he’s listening in. hey, Klarion! I didnt forget about our dinner plans. Please meet me at the Waffle House at 5. Please please dont forget that we planned to hang out because you got distracted with making chaos. Thanks pal!

With that, our show comes to an end.

Do good, and good will follow.

And keep an eye on the sky for lightning!

This has been Billy Batson, signing off!

#hermes speaks #billy the radio host au #billy batson #shazam #captain marvel

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bbqgenerals · 10 months ago

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Upgrade your outdoor experience with the smokeless and efficient Solo Fire Pit, now on sale at BBQ Generals! Crafted from high-quality stainless steel, this fire pit ensures a clean, long-lasting burn that's perfect for cozy nights, backyard gatherings, and camping trips. Designed for durability and easy transport, the Solo Fire Pit is a must-have for any outdoor enthusiast. Don’t miss out—shop the sale now.

#Solo Fire Pit Sale #sale #delaware #dover

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lucajohnson121 · 1 year ago

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Top 10 Trending Fire Pits For Sale: Enhance Your Outdoor Space

Investing in a trendy fire pit for your outdoor space is a surefire way to enhance your gatherings and create lasting memories with loved ones. Whether you prefer the convenience of propane or the rustic charm of a wood-burning fire, there's a perfect fire pit for every style and budget. So why wait? Transform your outdoor space today and start enjoying cosy evenings by the fire.

#fire pits for sale

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http-shield · 6 months ago

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twilight? -bucky barnes

~ bucky barnes x fem!reader ~tags/cw: pre-civil war (bucky is in Romania and finds a friend in the local supermarket girl) they finally have their first coffee date! angst! bucky thinking about his past. honey is a replacement for y/n ~ wc: 2.4k ~ not proofread

For fifty years, the soldier had been the active mind in the body of James Buchanan Barnes. For that half a century, Bucky’s actions had not been his own, which in some aspects soothes the guilt that gnaws at his chest like a raven ravaging a corpse, picking at his decaying organs till his bones shine bright and clean, but in some other regards bolsters the powers of the monster made of shame and regret because he had been there, albeit locked in the deep, deep recesses of the soldier’s mind without any way of breaking free of the prison, but he was still there. James saw everything, felt every wound that tore at his skin, heard every cry and plea, the weight of the knife in his palm as he plunged into the neck of the soldier’s mission. He was there. Was. A key verb Bucky reminds himself of every morning as he spills the contents of his stomach into the sink after a new nightmare wretches him awake. Was. The word he writes in his journal over and over again until the script begins to look like chicken scratching. Was. Written in steam on the mirror as he dresses after a shower. A faint mark on his hand. The slip of paper in his wallet. A consistent reminder of his current reality. It has been working well this far, each time he feels that familiar pull of guilt's spindly fingers gripping his shoulders, he opens his journal or reads the slip of paper, a way to redirect his thoughts away from the feeling in the pit of his stomach that does not conjure any distinct memories, but fills his body with dread.

Was. Was. Was.

The slip of paper sits neatly in the second card slot in the tattered (and stolen) wallet. Beneath it is a metro card (also stolen) and another slip of paper.

If you ever get a phone x

0763 389 295

Your handwriting is neat, slanting slightly to the right as you quickly scrawled the message on a larger piece of paper before ripping it and slipping it into Bucky’s shopping bag. He hadn’t noticed the note until he had gotten home and began to unpack the groceries. Squished between two cans of fruit sat the delicate white piece, the black ink had leaked slightly due to the condensation off the fruit you had ‘sold’ him quickly before you shoved him out the door in case your manager caught on to the suspiciously low sale price and rectified the ‘mistake’.

“I don’t want you to get fired, I can pay for the fruit.” Bucky had whispered as you pushed him out the door, your hands on his backpack shoving him towards the automatic doors. He was letting you push him, allowing you the small victory of feeling as though you had power over him in this moment just because he liked the way you smiled when you noticed his lack of apprehension to the touch.

You shushed him and continued to press forward. “It’s not that expensive, I’ll just label it as a mistake.”

Bucky stopped, rooting his feet to the floor and preventing you from shoving him another inch. He felt your body slam into his back at the sudden halt, a small huff coming from you at the sudden bump. He turned to face you. You looked even cuter as you pouted.

“Exactly, so let me pay for them.” He began to reach for the wallet but your hand on his wrist stopped him.

Panic paralysed the ex-assassin for a moment as your fingers wrapped around his arm, your pinky dangerously low to the edge of his jacket sleeve, to the sliver of metal that sometimes peeked out from under the layers. Bucky’s heart began to race, thudding in his chest and filling his head with loud thumps, his breathing turned shallow, chest heaving rapidly. He should run. Wretch his arm away from you and run the entire way home, then get on a train and move.

Run, you moron! Run!

But he couldn’t. The grip on his wrist softened as you noticed his change in demeanour. You pulled back breaking all contact in a fraction of a second and stepping back, giving him a wide berth to move if need be.

“Are you-?” You asked, face softening in concern.

Bucky nodded, inhaled a short sharp breath and squared his shoulder. “Yeah.” he slipped the wallet into the plastic bag. “I’ve gotta go, see ya.”

And he was out the door. The whooshing in his brain didn’t stop until he was safely inside his apartment, the door barricaded with a plank of wood and the sound of the television playing softly in the background. The metal of his arm flashed in his peripheral vision, and god did he want to rip it from his body. To tear the faux appendage and throw it into a river, off a mountain, in the dump, anywhere that I would not be attached to him. Tears pricked at Bucky’s eyes as he felt his throat tighten with impending tears. He had already cried this morning and had hoped he would not again for the rest of the day but as he slid down the the door, the tears began to flow and Bucky was once again alone.

—---

Bucky’s apology for the abrupt exit came a day later. In the form of a letter left for you at the front desk. A coworker hands it to you, clearly very annoyed that he had been tasked with something other than work.

“Some guy left it for you.” he sighs, shoves his hands into jacket pockets and starts to walk down the aisle.

“Some guy? And you took it?” You shout at him in disbelief. “Did you even ask his name?”

Your co-worker shakes his head, still with his back to you and answers. “Didn’t care enough to.”

The envelope itself is clean. No weird marks or stains, nothing that could indicate that there would be anything creepy or dangerous inside. It isn’t heavy or bulky so no weird gift concealed in it, so maybe it’s safe? You slowly open the paper careful to avoid spilling any powder or whatever may be inside but as you open it and find a note, your fears begin to subside.

Inside there is a handwritten note addressed to you.

Honey,

I’m sorry that I left so quickly the other day. You did nothing wrong, I just got a bit overwhelmed and had to leave. I’ve left extra money in here to pay for the plums so please put it in the register or use it for something you want, I don’t mind, I just don't want you to get fired.

I might not be in for a few days (there is a big job coming up a town away) but I'll see you when I get back. I still don’t have a phone so I’ll come in and see you. I hope you still want to get coffee.

Bucky x

---

"So why are you in Bucharest?”

The question is simple enough that a non-detailed answer could be given, and neither one would be the wiser, Yet you both sit in the booth, eyes trained on the steaming cups of coffee, in complete silence.

You're the first to break the silence.

"Did you get the plums?”

Bucky looks up from his coffee, lines of worry melting. “I did.” he reaches into his backpack, the same one you had seen on him each time he came into the store, and pulls out two perfectly purple plums. His large, gloved hand dwarfs the small fruits, looking like tiny river stones in his palm.

For a moment he is no longer the man who had saved you from certain death. He is a boy you had met long ago in the village square with eyes of endless blue and a smile of summer sunshine, whose hand slipped in yours as you ran through fields of wheat and barley, hiding in empty fox holes and climbing the great oak trees. He is a child, unburdened and carefree, suffering and heartbreak unknown.

You sit straighter, leaning in to get a good look at the fruit before you and match the small smile on his face.

“You want one?” Bucky offers.

The action itself does nothing to shake the aura of innocence surrounding him at that moment. It was too kind, too well-intentioned to reignite that ember of apprehension that lives in each interaction you have, but there is something off about him, not sinister or unpleasant, just something that isn’t quite as obvious as it should be.

You shake your head at the generous act.

“Oh, it's okay. They must been expensive, not being in season. Thank you, though. You’re very sweet.”

Bucky nods and retracts his hand, the fruit disappearing back into the backpack. His cheeks are pinker than before, ears tinting red and you wonder if it's because of your compliment, though not at all your intention, but it has your heart racing a beat faster.

“Have you always lived in Bucharest?” he asks, gloved fingers picking up the mug of steaming coffee.

“Not always.” You trace the lip of your mug with a finger, taking the time to formulate a concise response without trauma dumping. “I lived in a few Yugoslavian countries until I was around five then moved to the US ‘till around a year ago. Travelled around for a bit before finally settling here.”

“Didn’t like any of the other places?” Bucky takes a sip of his coffee.

“London was good, Ireland even better but I missed the feeling of home. I wanted something that made me feel safe and ended up in Serbia for a bit before coming here.”

“What made you choose Romania?” his interest in your story seems sincere.

You look up from the foam of your cappuccino to find Bucky watching you intently.

“Wanna hear the dorky truth or a cooler answer?”

“Dorky truth.”

You sigh and square your shoulders. “Vampires.”

“Vampires?” Bucky laughs, covering his mouth with his hand to stifle the rest of his amusement.

“I know, it’s stupid. I just-” You can't help the laugh that escapes you as you begin to gush over the creatures you had obsessed over as a teen. “I was obsessed with vampires when I was a kid and promised myself I would visit Bran Castle when I got older, which I did see on my first week here, and then ended up finding a really nice apartment and a decent job so here I am.”

“You were obsessed with vampires as a kid?” Bucky fixes you with a look of pure astonishment.

You nod, taking another sip of your coffee to hide the blush creeping over your face.

“You, a child, were obsessed with a terrifying creature of the night?”

“I wasn’t a child. Okay, a kid is an exaggeration, I was, around fourteen, fifteen maybe. And I read this book and the vampire was attractive and it just spiralled from there.”

“The vampire was attractive?”

“Yes, as attractive as words on a page can be.” you shrug,

“Are you admitting to finding old bald men with creepy ears attractive?”

Old bald man? Creepy ears? Oh!

“Bucky no! Not Dracula!” the volume of your exclamation is a tad too loud for the small cafe.

“What other popular novel about vampires is there? He’s the only one I can think of.”

“You’ve never heard of Twilight?”

“As the time of day, yes.” he looks at you as though you're the stupid one for thinking that Twilight could be anything other than that.

“Not the vampire series with the mortal girl and vampire lover?”

Bucky shakes his head.

“You need to watch it.” you rub your temples in mock frustration. “We’re watching it, I’m going to force you to watch it so you can see the appeal that is the modern-day vampire.”

“I’m not going to-” he begins his protest.

“Why are you acting like you have a choice in any of this? As your friend, I must educate you on the wonders of the Twilight Saga, the fate of our friendship depends on it.”

“As my friend?” the corners of his mouth twitch downwards in a sad smile. “We’re friends?”

“Yeah. What other word would you use to describe two people who are gonna spend the next week watching the best and worst movie franchise in the history of mankind?”

“A kidnapping victim?”

You gasp in shock, hand pressing against your heart in offence. “How dare you? I was about to open my home to you but no longer, Bucky….” You trail off not realising you don’t know his last name.

“Rogers,” he answers and you continue your tirade.

“Bucky Rogers, you are no longer invited to my twilight marathon.” you can’t stop the smile from spreading over your face despite your futile attempts at mock anger.

Bucky just shakes his head and laughs, his eyes crinkling up as he smiles at you. “You’re a weird kid.”

“Kid?” You laugh and pick up the mug you had almost forgotten about. “How old are you?”

“Older than you think.” there is a hint of humour in his answer but you're not sure why. It had not been a funny question or any kind of innuendo yet the glimmer in his eyes alludes to a fact you are not yet privy to.

“That’s ominous,” the cup returns to the table but your fingers do not leave the mug. “Are you secretly a hundred-year-old vampire? Are you here to seduce me into joining your army of the undead?”

“I am but I’m not bald with long ears and creepy nails so I don’t think anything I do is gonna work on you?”

“It wasn’t Dracula!” you throw your hands up exasperated and sigh, your cheeks hurting from the constant smiling.

Bucky hums his refusals to accept your truth. He is prettier now, especially as he relaxes into the soft cushion beneath him, all tension eased as you both laughed at your ridiculous life choices. The blue in his eyes seems brighter and you like the way his lips look as you smile. Fuck, he is beautiful.

“Imagining me bald with pointy ears?” Bucky teases, tucking his hair behind human ears.

You cannot help the rolls of your eyes as you shake your head. “Nope, just thinking about how you don’t really look like a Rogers.”

#http shield ♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ #draft dump #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x you

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