#genuinely never eating a spoon of beans again

[unma]

having to teach myself that it's okay to waste food if you can't eat anymore because I've overfed myself enough times for that to be a problem I think about at lunch because I suck at estimating how hungry I am and have chronic-can't-waste-food-ever-itis

and like, now that I think about it, I may have a slightly unhealthy relationship with food.

[pascalpanic]

Caffeine Rush: Chapter Seven / Decaf

W/C: 4k

Warnings: language, dirty thoughts, all of the dirty thoughts because Javi is a horndog, male masturbation... general spice. pining that could make a pine cone tremble.

A/N: welcome to pining central, enjoy your stay :) (ps when Steve says “Javier Peña” I need you to read that in the voice of Anthony Mackie going “SEBASTIAN STAN”)

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ordinary coffee that has had most of its caffeine removed from it before the beans are roasted.

You are a goddamn test on Javier’s self control. He feels like those biblical stories of men fighting back against temptation to prove themselves to God, except the only thing he has to prove is to himself. To you.

He’s always been enraptured by you, captivated by your smile and laugh but since you went ice skating, he hasn’t been able to get your body out of his mind. The way you fell asleep on him last night, nuzzled in like it was the safest place on earth. He could feel your breasts press into his skin, the warmth of your thigh hiked across his abdomen. If the past week has been some caffeine-induced fever dream, it’s becoming real now. You, a figment of his imagination before, maybe, are all flesh and blood and God, is he desperate for it.

Javier hangs around your apartment when you’re gone at work. He doesn’t have much else to do, considering you’re gone and he knows hardly anything about the city. He watches the daytime television on your couch, usually meanders to the coffee shop for a drink, spends some time there, and returns to the apartment.

He feels like he’s couch-surfing, like he did for a summer in his college years. He feels guilty occupying the space in your home, especially without payment. As he walks to the bathroom, he takes a long glance into your bedroom. The queen-sized bed is mussed, unmade before you left for work. The fitted sheet is pooled in the middle beneath where you sleep, the various blankets tossed about. It looks like the coziest damn thing he’s ever seen, especially after a couple of nights on a couch.

Javier almost thinks about giving in, waiting for you to ask him to sleep in your bed tonight then jumping at the chance. Maybe he will, if he’s tired enough. Maybe he won’t, but maybe he will. He can think of nothing better than the endless whir of the radiator as your perpetually-cold body nuzzles against him, brushes your nose against his bare chest.

It’s been a long time since Javi has fucked anyone, and he’s starting to feel it. He’s a little antsy, and the image of your body, your ass as you ice skate past him, haunts him like a bad dream- or rather some illicit fantasy he knows he shouldn’t be having.

Would you want him yet? You’ve told him you love him, but that was an accident. When he kisses you, you kiss back harder. Hell, you initiated the first kiss. You seem like you’ve been all-in on this relationship, taking things at a rushed pace that Javier certainly doesn’t mind. He spends a lot of the day contemplating that, standing on the tiny balcony of your apartment and smoking a couple of cigarettes.

At this point, he needs a distraction or he’s going to have to take matters into his own hands, quite literally. What better to kill the horny buzz making his head spin than to call Murphy?

The phone is in your bedroom, on the nightstand. Javier dares to sit on the edge of your bed, and actually moans aloud at the plush comfort, the way his ass sinks into it. Goddamn, he’ll have to get one of these. He wants nothing more than to lay back and fall into the bed, wait for you to get home and pound you into the comfortable mattress. But he doesn’t. He stays strong and picks up the phone, dialing the new Murphy residence in Miami.

After a couple of rings, a familiar voice answers. “Murphy’s.”

“Hey, bastard,” Javier chuckles, and he can hear the blonde man’s laughter from across the receiver.

“Javier Peña,” Steve drawls, dragging out the name. “Good to hear your voice, man. You finally come out of a ten-day celebratory drunkenness?”

“Don’t talk to me about binges,” Javier teases, but he smiles a little. He’s missed the man. He’s glad neither of them got in any trouble over the entire Los Pepes situation- God, that feels like ages ago now. It’s hard to believe he’s only been in D.C. what, eleven days? If Steve’s math is right, yeah. “No. I’m in D.C. still, if you can believe it. Just… bored.”

“Oh really?” the man scoffs, leaning against his kitchen counter in Miami with Olivia on his hip. “And why’s that? What are you still doin’ up there anyway? Thought you were goin’ to visit the old man.”

Javier shakes his head. “Plans changed. There’s, uh… there’s a girl.”

Steve lets out a wolf whistle, laughing. “And how much does she charge a night?”

“Not one of those. She works at a coffee shop around here,” he informs him. “She’s… she’s really something. Nothing I ever thought I’d be into. She’s gorgeous, man, and so energetic all the damn time. Seems like she has an IV of coffee from her shop,” he chuckles, looking off into space. He takes a pause. Steve doesn’t speak. “I wanna be with her Steve. I don’t… I don’t know if I can go back.”

He’s silent a little longer. “This is some kind of practical joke, right?” Steve says after a beat, barely holding back a laugh. Never has Javier been so sincere, so real and honest and open. And more specifically, he’s never been like this over a girl. Almost… mushy. Soft. “Tell me more,” he says, hoping the joke will give up.

Javier talks about you, describing every little detail with a grin on his face. He tells Steve about Tie Guy and ice skating and your piece of shit car, how you can spin in circles on the ice and how you remind him of a busy little bee, fluttering about the coffee shop.

Steve is genuinely rendered speechless; a hard thing to do. He blinks down at Olivia then straight ahead at the refrigerator, covered in photos and magnets and drawings. He can’t imagine Javier ever wanting something like this, like what he and Connie have, but he sure sounds like it. “That’s… something. Good for you, Javi,” Steve chuckles, resigning to sincerity. “I’m happy for you.”

Javier grumbles back. “Don’t get too happy. I have to go back to Calí in three weeks. She doesn’t want me to leave… I don’t know what to do, Murph. I can’t bring her with, you know that, but I can’t just leave her here. And I sure as hell can’t quit.”

“You could quit.”

“I’m not going to, how’s that?” Javier huffs and crosses his arms, annoyed by Steve and his goddamn wording loopholes. “I just… fuck. I’m gonna go think about it before she gets back.”

“She comin’ to your hotel? You sure you aren’t paying per night?” He smirks.

Javier’s quiet and Steve isn’t sure what it means until he talks. “I’m, uh, staying at her place. She insisted.”

Steve whistles again. “Damn. You’re whipped, Peña. Well, I’ll let you go. Call again soon. I miss ya, bud,” he tells Javier in a moment of earnesty then hangs the phone back on the receiver, bringing Olivia to her nursery to change her diaper.

Javi sighs and falls backwards on the bed, admiring the way the mattress holds his body compared to the couch. Yeah, he’ll definitely need to sleep in here tonight or he’s going to crack his spine.

The issue will be you. He could handle it on the couch; it was like a soft, adolescent form of love, innocent and warm. Of course, it could still be the same in your bed. But would it? Is there not a different set of implications that come with the two of you sharing a bed?

Snuggling with you on the couch was nice. Wonderful, perfect even. Javier loves falling asleep with you in his arms. But in your bed, arms curled around him, maybe even being his little spoon… that perfect body pressed flush to his own, your soft ass against his groin, your breathing pushing back into his chest… that would be an entirely different thing. And he wants it, he really does, but he isn’t sure he’ll be able to control himself.

He slept like shit the last night, to be honest. You on top of him prevented him from moving, and Javier is an active sleeper. His neck was at an odd angle and his back twisted. His body feels like it did after that fight with Tie Guy. He can’t- wouldn’t- invade your privacy of your bed without you home to give him the go ahead, but he’s so damn tired. Not even the coffee helps.

So Javier indulges in one of life’s little pleasures he rarely gets to experience: a nap. Curled up on his side on the couch, blankets pulled snug around his fetal-positioned body, Javier drifts off to the sound of the noon news on the television.

That’s how you find him when you come home. He’s peacefully asleep, his lips parted and mustache moving with his exhales. Well, he’s clearly alive. That’s good.

You’re not sure how long he’s been asleep, so you leave him, making yourself something to eat in the kitchen. You avoid the living room as you get settled in, changing out of your espresso-stained clothing and into something more comfortable.

When you’re all comfy, makeup removed and a warm sweater on, you sit at the other end of the couch. Javier’s curled into a ball, his feet just inches away from your legs. You hope when he moves, he’ll feel you there and wake. If not, oh well. He deserves the rest.

It’s gray and cloudy outside, and you snuggle into the corner of the couch while reading your worn copy of The Great Gatsby. It’s the one you’ve been re-reading recently, what you were reading that first day Javi wandered into your coffee shop and subsequently your life.

Javi wakes not long later, maybe half an hour, to the sound of your book crinkling. The paperback’s spine crunches with wear, and his eyes flutter open to see you tucked against a pillow. God, you look like an angel, the light from the cloudy day filtering in and illuminating you from the back. Your face is calm and peaceful, focused as your eyes trace the words of F. Scott Fitzgerald. “Hi,” Javier mumbles groggily.

Your expression turns to a smile and you set down the book. “Hey.” You take his legs and drape them across your lap, tracing your fingers across them. “How’d you sleep?”

He groans. “Okay. Neck hurts.”

“That wouldn’t be an issue if you’d just sleep with me,” you sing-song to him, stroking his legs through the comfortable pants he wears. “My bed is super cozy.”

God, does Javier know it. It felt like your love itself when he laid down and the warmth of it swallowed him, practically whole. “Maybe I’ll give in,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “How was work? Sorry I didn’t visit.”

“Boring as always,” you chuckle. “What did you do today?”

Javi frowns as he thinks about it, his brain fogged with sleep. “Not much. Called Murphy, talked a while. He’s doing good.”

“Good,” you nod and smile. “When will I get to meet this elusive Steve?” You ask, softly kneading at his legs through the blanket and frowning as you realize he’s wearing… jeans. “Wait, pause. Are you seriously wearing jeans?” you ask him and laugh, lifting the blanket to confirm what you already suspected.

He frowns defensively, crossing his arms. “Maybe.”

“Why the fuck would you take a nap in jeans, Javi?” You laugh.

Javier looks away, frowning. The stubbornness shows. “I don’t own many comfortable clothes besides what I wear to work, if you haven’t noticed,” he retorts, but you can’t help but giggle. “Plus I thought I’d only be here to get fired.”

You smile at him lovingly and cup his face. “You sweet, stupid workaholic. Let’s go shopping later, get you some cozy stuff.”

Javier warms against your touch but maintains a pout. “I like jeans.”

Rolling your eyes, you huff out a laugh. “Would a pair of sweatpants be detrimental to your wardrobe, Javier?”

“Stop using big words,” he groans. “I’m barely awake.”

-

The large mall is annoying to Javier, full to the brim with last-minute (or maybe prepared, he never holiday-purchases) shoppers. He holds your hand, shooting feisty glares at anyone that dares to bump against his or, god forbid, your side. “Relax,” you tease and squeeze his free hand. The other carries a bag containing two hoodies, three t-shirts, and two pairs of sweatpants. “You’re not on a mission, and you certainly don’t have the knuckles to pitch another fight.”

He looks at his hands and scowls. You’re right. They’re no longer black and blue but faded yellows and greens, a spare bit of purple over the bones. The fight wasn’t that long ago, really, even though it feels like an eternity.

You drag Javier into a favorite shop of yours. He follows you around like a lost puppy while you search through clothes. He even hands you one or two tops he thinks you’d look nice in. You kiss him on the cheek and he dares to smile for a moment before returning to his stone-faced annoyance at such a packed area.

The dressing rooms are nicer, much more spaced out and offering places to rest. Javier sits in a chair across from your little cubby as you try things on. Every time you find something, you come out and model it for him. He comments, always positively, gives a little applause and smiles at the twirl you give in the big trifold mirror.

There’s one pair of leggings that hug your ass tight. Javier nearly salivates at them. “I like those,” he comments. “They look comfortable.” The same follows with a pair of jeans, even more flattering. He crosses his legs and nods, giving you similar comments.

Then come the dresses and tops. They’re all low-cut, not the wintery clothing Javier’s always seen you in. They show off your cleavage, and one scarlet colored blouse with a low neckline and fluffy sleeves makes Javier’s eyes simultaneously light up and darken. “How’s this one?” You ask, tugging at the sleeves.

“How much is it?” He asks, leaning back and looking at you through lidded eyes.

“Uh…” you tell him the cost and look back up at him, expecting a comment. “Why?”

“I’m buying that for you myself,” he smirks up at you, eyeing you up and down in a way that makes your skin feel intensely hot. The sight is stunning to him, and your flustered smile makes the smirk a little more devilish.

Javier does end up buying you the shirt, and you purchase a few other things you liked. But that scarlet shirt is stuck on Javier’s mind in replay: the subtle valley between your tits, how they filled out the shirt just perfectly and tugged at the cloth covering them, the way they look painfully soft to the touch, especially through that soft fabric. He wonders if you were wearing a bra under it. Then he has to stop himself.

You eat dinner late, chatting mindlessly over everything and nothing. Javier has no work to speak of now, so he tells you tall tales of the hunt for Escobar, some exaggerated and some underplayed. He mainly listens to you, asks about your past and your future, your family and your job. He could never tire of your voice, the soothing lull that warms him from the inside out, just like your skin flushed in that goddamn red top.

He drives the both of you home, humming softly to the songs on the radio. He’s beginning to recognize more and more of the top-40 hits on a certain preset station, songs he’d never listen to on his own. He glances over at you, gazing out of the window, and feels his body warm again- not just in his heart, but his stomach and lower too. He dares to steal a glance down, at the soft swell of your tits in that sweater. God, he wants to get you naked.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what you want and he’s too afraid to ask, too afraid to shatter this blissful phase of adoration without the sexual attraction. He wonders if you feel it too, if your clothes suddenly feel too restricting and too warm when you run a hand down his bare back.

The nightly routine ensues: you shower. Javier changes, this time into a new hoodie but leaves his legs bare, wearing only boxers on the bottom. He waits on the couch, and when you exit the bathroom, he takes his turn. He returns and sits next to you on the couch.

Tonight, when you ask him to share your bed with you, he doesn’t say no. In fact, he doesn’t say much of anything, just yawns softly and stands, taking your hand.

It’s a sacred space, your bed. Javier knows it. He rarely fucks women in his; whether it’s for his own privacy or fear they’ll fall asleep there, he can’t say. But your bed is such an intimate expression of you, and he can see it. He can see the divot in the mattress where you sleep, the way you arrange the pillows just right for your own head. It is a queen size, but it’s single-occupancy: until now, that is, and Javier feels honored you’re willing to share this holiness with him.

He gets into the bed on the other side of you, the warm blankets enveloping him, and he nearly lets out a moan at the comfort. Compared to the hotel bed and the couch, this is sleeping on a literal cloud from the heavens. He lies still, waiting to see what you do first. Not wanting to overstep anything.

His prayers are answered when you snuggle into his side. You rest your head on his chest, kissing his sternum through the soft material of the hoodie. A hand rests on the other side of your face, and your legs both encircle one of his. Javier smiles, wrapping an arm around you. He presses a kiss into your hair and murmurs a goodnight, letting his head fall back. He has no time to worry about this situation before he falls asleep.

He falls asleep almost immediately, which makes you chuckle through your half-conscious state. He seems to always radiate heat, Javier. Your layers of blankets upon blankets suddenly feel unnecessary when a heat source the strength of the summer sun fills your bed. His chest is strong and firm beneath you. The rise and fall of his chest is like a boat rocking on the ocean, putting you at ease and allowing you to rest.

-

Fuck. He knew this was a bad idea. Why did he do this?

The clock reads 1:48 and Javier is wide awake, staring at your popcorn-stucco-whatever the fuck it is ceiling. He wasn’t able to process this before sleep overtook him, before his consciousness was wiped and with it, his inhibitions.

Your body is pressed to his so perfectly. You sleep without a bra, and Javier can feel his arm being slightly sandwiched between your breasts, the way they press further into it every time you inhale. Your thighs are warm with sleep, and he can feel your core pressed against his hip, even while you sleep and even through the layers of clothing.

Javier feels like the embodiment of slime. You’re asleep and all he can think about is how fucking hot your body is, how much he wants to press you into this mattress and wake you with an orgasm. He wants to palm your tits and make your nipples harden through that flimsy shirt, to slide his fingers beneath your pajama bottoms and-

He can’t take it. He feels so wrong, the smell of you surrounding him and choking him like a thick perfume, even in its subtlety. He does not deserve to sleep next to you, innocently, like someone you love, when all he can think about is his own carnal desires.

Pushing back the covers, Javier gets out of bed before any more blood can flow to his slowly hardening dick. This is all wrong. He should not be doing this, thinking these things without knowing you feel the same.

But the guilt is as strong as his arousal. He watches you for a moment, torn between his options, before meandering through the darkened bedroom and finding his way into the bathroom. He turns on the bright lights and forces himself to stare at the bulbs, to make his pupils shrink from their blown state of sleep mixed with desperation. He’s fully awake now.

He needs to get the hardened length down. He can’t do this, can’t allow himself this suffering while you sleep in the next room.

The sink. Cold water. He gasps silently at the splash of the ice-cold water against his face, dampening the edges of his hoodie. It doesn’t work enough. Again. Nothing. He feels like a teenager, unable to control himself. The cold water is a good idea, though.

Javier strips down, trying to avoid the urge to take himself in hand and fix this here and now. Turning the water as cold as it can go, Javier turns on the shower and steps in.

Agony is the best term he has. It makes him want to squeal like a fucking pig as he shudders from the cold. It doesn’t work to force his erection down, but what use is it when it’s not something physical but mental stimulating him? The cold shock didn’t do shit. Javier’s still achingly hard. He turns the water warmer and sighs as it gradually turns to a tolerable temperature, one that he can relax under and allow himself to let out a deep sigh.

He has no other options, unless he wants to wait it out. Leaning against the wall, Javier strokes himself, biting his lip and hoping the water pressure will cancel any soft moans he can’t avoid. It doesn’t take long when he’s this aroused, when he knows exactly what the fantasy in his head would feel like.

Javier is panting and sweating, from the effort and the growing heat of the water. He feels disgusting but it feels so good, and he can’t help imagining you doing this to him, you spreading your legs and feeding the fire between his own.

It only takes a few minutes. He gasps as he cums, with a force he’s never brought forth with his own hand. He bites his lip so hard he’s sure he might cut it off, not allowing the desperate sounds to reach a level you could hear. When he’s done, he groans and cracks his neck. “Oh, little bee,” he whispers, agonized as he lets the water wash the evidence of his sins down the drain.

When he’s done, Javier walks into your bedroom, silently, in the dark. His previous boxers were stained with a patch of his precum; he can’t put those back on. He drops the towel and puts on different boxers.

After he’s changed, he looks at your bed longingly for a moment. The soft sheets, soft mattress, the soft body between them. But in Javier’s head, he’s forsaken his right to the warmth, the comfort.

When you wake in the morning, hours after you thought you heard the shower running, you find Javier is not in your bed. There isn’t even a warm spot where he lay, just your body shifted further from your normal sleeping position. When you wander out to make your morning coffee, you find him. He spent the night on the couch again.

-

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[forasecondtherewedwon]

Stare Enough

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Word Count: 4034

Summary: Bucky's got a new stare. Sam spends all afternoon and most of the evening working up the courage to meet it.

Both Sam and the food are the main attraction at this party and the problem with that situation is that it takes so damn long for one main attraction to get a second to enjoy the other.

He’s grateful—god, is he grateful—for the turnout. Friends, neighbours, the kind of people he and Sarah call family without there being any actual relation by blood, they’ve all shown up. Since the Blip, Sam’s felt like he’s always around, but this feels like a real homecoming. No sadness, nothing bittersweet. It’s a celebration and he’s at the center of it. Him and the food.

At last, Sam’s done the circuit with his plate, spooning creamy salads and grilled vegetables, stacking shellfish pink as a sunrise. There’s a fresh-baked roll perched atop a scoop of sweet potatoes and caramelized onions that smells so fucking warm and mouth-watering he has to resist walking with his nose buried in it. He collects a set of utensils furled in the middle of a paper napkin (courtesy of an efficient assembly line of old ladies, chatting and twisting neat rolls of cutlery), plate bowing into the palm of his other hand, and that’s when his damn phone vibrates in his pocket.

Sam halts and makes a sound of frustration. Nobody’s come to this thing empty-handed, so there are dishes crowding the surface of the tables, no place to set his plate down. His phone vibrates again. A teenager comes up to peruse the spread in front of him and Sam sighs, knowing what he’s about to do.

“Here,” he says heavily, offering up his beautifully arranged and wonderfully fragrant meal. The cob of corn shining with the butter he lovingly smeared over it nearly rolls over the edge. “You’re the luckiest kid in the world.”

Quickly, Sam turns away, sliding out his phone and bringing it to his ear. He doesn’t want to witness the boy digging in. His stomach growls as he greets Joaquin Torres.

“Sam,” Torres says. “Uh, I mean, sir. Mr. Captain Am… Captain Wil—”

“Take it easy,” Sam laughs. “You know me, Torres. Don’t get starstruck now.”

“Honestly, I never really got over you being the Falcon. Now that you’re Captain America… Apologies if it takes me a little while to be cool about it.” After a pause—taken while Torres attempts to become cool with Sam being Captain America, Sam assumes—he asks, “You celebrating?”

Not far from where Sam’s standing, there are two little girls singing along to their clapping game. At a table behind them, a trio of elderly gentlemen are arguing over which one of them it was that caught that 50-pound snapper off the dock back in 1978. There’s a sear of meat and fish being rotated onto and off of the grill and, bouncing over everything, music from a speaker someplace.

“Yeah,” Sam says with a broad grin. “Yeah, we are. I’d save you a plate, but I can’t even manage to hang onto my own.”

He doesn’t mention that Torres is responsible for that situation; he’s aware that, besides being a fan, the Lieutenant is a little bit infatuated with him. Sam’s trying to be gentle until the day he can respond to Torres with friendly smack-talk, the way he would Steve or Scott or Bucky. Maybe not exactly like he does with Bucky.

“Don’t worry about it,” Torres cheerfully insists. “I wasn’t calling for that, I just wanted to give you a heads up about something.”

“Alright. Let me just…”

Sam strides away from the heart of the party towards the water, seeking quiet. Kids dart in front of him and that’s nothing unusual, but when he follows them with his gaze, he sees they’re running towards Bucky. Bucky, who has his Vibranium arm extended and two kids dangling off it already, one of whom might be Sam’s nephew. Of course, Mr. Casual, Mr. Smiles, Mr. Social Butterfly, is carrying on a conversation like his arm isn’t being used as a jungle gym. A conversation with Sarah.

For just a moment, Sam stops in his tracks, considering whether he should go over there and break up any potential flirting. But then he watches them. Bucky’s just talking to her, not flicking his gaze up and down while he checks her out. And Sarah, she’s relaxed and smiling, totally at ease, like Bucky’s another member of their community. That makes him a friend. Family.

That’s one thought too far and Sam jerks himself into motion again, walking until he’d be swimming with another step.

“What’ve you got for me?”

“Well, I’ve been trying to watch as much of the coverage of the fight outside the GRC vote as I can, trying to get a sense of how they’re spinning Walker’s reappearance, the legacy of the Flag-Smashers now that Karli and her inner circle are gone… Anyway, there’s a lot of footage and you’re at the center of most of it.”

“Guess the new suit draws the eye. And the cameras.” It’s no surprise to Sam. Part of the job of being Captain America.

“Yeah, but…”

“What is it, Torres?”

“Bucky’s in the background a lot,” he explains in a voice that tells Sam there’s more Torres isn’t saying.

“Makes sense. He was in the thick of it as much as I was.”

“He’s there at the end too. When you were talking to the Senator about power and the common struggle. Man, that was a great speech. Do you think—”

“Torres. Please. The point.”

“Right, for sure, man. Bucky never takes his eyes off you.”

That flusters Sam for a second. He wasn’t expecting the blunt delivery, especially of those words. He squints down at the water where it’s lapping the side of the dock. He knew Bucky was there; they spoke right after, when Bucky tried to feed him that bullshit (and he knew it was bullshit at the time) about texting and missing the exact speech Torres is apparently still hung up on.

“So Bucky was actually listening to me,” Sam says carefully. “That’s a surprise, but it isn’t really the kind of thing that’s significant enough for you to bother notifying me about, is it?”

“I’d say that depends on what you consider significant.”

“Torres.”

“I know, but he’s not just listening! It’s how he’s looking at you!”

“Like he’s wishing I would wrap it up?” Oh, Sam remembers Bucky’s miracle from their session with Dr. Raynor.

“Like he’s totally into you! Major heart eyes. Sir,” Torres hastily adds.

And Sam should reprimand him for this. Calling with a trivial piece of information when he must know Sam’s already being very selective about which of the hundreds of recent calls (and it’d be more if more people had this number) he chooses to pick up. Calling to speculate on how Bucky was staring at Sam that night in New York.

“I don’t need to tell you this is gonna be one of those investigations we keep between you and me,” Sam states.

“For sure. I just thought maybe you’d wanna know.”

“Uh huh. You get any real news, you pass it along.”

“I will.”

Sam ends the call and turns. He looks to his right: the sparkling river. His left: his people, all the way down to the squirt with the glasses who’s hanging off a metal arm, and the man that arm belongs to.

He’s felt it, the way that Bucky stares. It’s not like it used to be though, when it irked Dr. Raynor at the police station in Baltimore, or confused Walker and Hoskins in the back of that jeep in Germany. This new stare of Bucky’s isn’t one Sam’s ever caught him doing. Bucky hasn’t quite let him. That’s actually how Sam noticed it was happening—Bucky would immediately glance away instead of leaving that dead expression on his face when Sam met his eye. Now that he has proof of it, proof he’s certain Torres would send him footage of in an instant if he asked, he’s scared to look.

Instead, he watches Bucky look at other people. Like Sarah. Like kids from the neighbourhood. His literal hangers-on disperse as Sam observes, scattered after Bucky leans towards them to say something. Sam sees half his smile and even that much has his heart swelling up in his chest. Bucky weaves through the tables and standing groups, the dancers and the kids who’ve broken out a skipping rope. (After eating from that buffet? Kids are crazy. Gonna make themselves sick.)

Without thinking too hard about it, Sam returns to the noise and the smells, trailing Bucky with a stealthy eye on his ass in those jeans. There’s no friction here between him and everybody else Sam cares about, he can see that in every short, friendly exchange someone engages Bucky in as he walks. Things flow as smoothly as the butter oozing off the corn Sam reluctantly gave up. Clearly, they remember Bucky from when he was here helping with the boat. They respect him. They like him. They’ve gotten to that last thing faster than Sam has, which makes Sam feel a little embarrassed as well as a little overwhelmed by how much the two of them have actually been through. He’s seen Bucky as a mindless killer and it almost brings a genuine tear to his eye—here on this glorious day in front of all these folks—to see the dork who rushed out to get his hands on a copy of The Hobbit in 1937 return in his current form as the dork who’ll take a fake punch from AJ and blush over brazen old women telling him how handsome he is.

Bucky stares different? Well. Sam feels different about the staring.

Sam keeps his distance until Bucky reaches the food, then his stomach gurgles a reminder than he hasn’t eaten yet. No ass is nice enough to distract him from his meal. He sidles up beside him and Bucky seems unsurprised, not even glancing over.

“Anything important?” he asks.

“What?”

“Your phone call,” Bucky clarifies, adding a heap of glossy green beans to his plate. Damn, those are some of Sam’s favourite. Bucky better not take all of them. “They need us somewhere?”

“Oh. No.”

Bucky shoots him a suspicious look after this stilted response, but he doesn’t say anything until Sam grabs a plate of his own, hungry eyes roving the feast that’s diminishing now that people have started coming back for second helpings.

“Put that down,” Bucky instructs. He doesn’t wait; he takes the plate out of Sam’s hand and tosses it back towards the pile. Thankfully, the plates are made of paper.

“Buzz off, man,” Sam tells him, reaching for the plate again. “I’m starving.”

“I figured.”

Wait.

“That’s for me?” he guesses, gazing longingly at the plate Bucky’s preparing.

“Yep.”

When Sam doesn’t reply, Bucky pauses with the plate in one hand and a serving spoon in the other and sighs.

“I didn’t want you to miss the good stuff. This party’s for you.”

“I think it might be for both of us.”

Bucky seems too self-conscious to say anything to that. He goes back to loading up Sam’s plate while Sam quietly feels his throat close up with emotion as he watches. He clears it gruffly.

“I woulda had to eat the cake you brought,” he jokes. “Pretty sure only the really little kids have eaten any. You know, people who don’t know better.”

“I was tryin’ to be a good guest.”

“I can’t believe you brought a store-bought cake,” Sam says, laughing as he grabs a set of cutlery for the second time and continuing to shuffle along next to Bucky.

“Have you ever seen me cook?”

“…No.”

“Exactly. Trust me, what I did was kinder.”

“If you say so.”

“You know what, Sam?” Bucky demands challengingly, turning to face him. “I do say so.”

Sam’s eyes go from the plate Bucky’s holding between them up to Bucky’s face. He’s close. And he’s got this look, this dancing look in his eyes that undercuts the shit out of the hard line of his eyebrows. Trying to seem all stern. All Sam can think for several seconds is that, if he just grabbed Bucky by the chain around his neck and hauled him forward, they’d never get the food stains out of their clothes. But their laundry would smell delicious.

He clears his throat.

“Then you better stay for a while.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitches up and he hands Sam the plate he’s prepared for him.

“I plan to.”

When Sam picks a table to sit at, he makes sure there’s enough room for Bucky too. When Bucky sits next to him, he sits so close that their thighs press together and claims that’s all the space there is. Bucky talks and laughs when other people at the table talk to him. He’s easily drawn into conversation now and Sam feels weirdly proud of having brought this great guy home to meet everybody, even if he’s not here like that. People tells stories about last week and last century interchangeably, one old smartass making Bucky howl with laughter when they toss out a memory of Little Sam Wilson streaking from his house to the river for a naked swim. This is the danger of welcoming Bucky into the community. Sam, suppressing a smile, doesn’t really mind.

Elbows up on the table so he can eat, talk, and gesture emphatically with his fork, Sam feels Bucky’s stare creeping up on him. Slow, like the sun slides across the landscape when the clouds blow past. Bucky didn’t make this food, but Sam can feel his satisfaction as he watches Sam accept what he provided. Feels like there are grasshoppers springing around in his stomach. He still has a roll on his plate, one side soaked in family-secret barbecue sauce, and he tears it in half. While the rest of their table are caught up in some story being boisterously told by overlapping voices, Sam turns to Bucky and wordlessly offers the bread, edges dimpled where he gripped to split it. They watch each other chew and Sam’s closed mouth is smiling.

Inevitably, somebody pulls Sam back into the conversation and he does his best to laugh and heckle, covering the fact that he wasn’t listening, that he dropped the thread. The voices rise and rise and fall like water slopping over the side of a bucket.

In the next quiet moment, Bucky inclines toward him slightly and says, “You wanna talk later?”

And Sam says, “Sure.”

The day feels long, long, long, and Sam’s face gets sore from smiling, tired from talking. He does not confess that to Bucky, who’s almost always at his side. Lights go on overhead and beers come out of coolers, leftover food packed up and redistributed among neighbours, small children with drooping eyelids toted home. At first, Sam thinks Bucky’s leaning into his side because he’s drained from so much socializing too, but when he meets his eye, he just sees an invitation.

“Where are you two goin’?” Sarah asks when they slink past her carrying a too-big Cass in her arms.

“Just walkin’,” Sam tells her.

“Gotta stretch our legs,” Bucky contributes.

She looks from Sam to Bucky and back, smiling knowingly.

“Uh huh,” Sarah says.

Sam grabs Bucky by the shoulder to turn him forcibly away from his sister’s insinuations and just… forgets to let his hand fall as they wander along the water. Bucky’s steps angle towards his until his arm’s bumping Sam’s side, Sam’s arm slung around his shoulders. Is this still the body language of a couple buddies on a warm Delacroix night? Is it now, when Sam drops his arm and brushes the back of his hand across Bucky’s?

They leave the party lights on the horizon with the lazily setting sun, scrabbling off the end of the dock and onto the riverbank. Sam reaches up to give Bucky a hand down, so he won’t step in the soft mud and sink to his ankles. Bucky clasps his hand firmly and jumps.

The sound of people drops off down here and the sound of wind in grass, frogs hiding between reeds, rises.

“Are there alligators in here?” Bucky wonders, scanning the river’s edge.

Sam laughs.

“For sure.”

“And you swam here when you were a kid?”

“Even then,” Sam boasts, puffing his chest out, “my courage was legendary.”

“Yeah, and your nudity. Is there anyone within a mile of here who hasn’t seen your bare ass?”

Their eye contact holds. Oh right. Sam breaks away with an awkward, hiccupping laugh, directing his gaze at the dirt.

“The gators haven’t gathered too close to the dock in decades,” he promises Bucky. He stares out at the undisturbed water, enjoying the sun on his face. “Got skittish of the boats. Most of ’em, anyway.”

“Consider me not entirely reassured.”

“You scared of a little Louisiana lizard, man? Didn’t you grow up with Creature from the Black Lagoon?”

“Nah, that was after my time.”

“Damn, you’re old.”

Bucky snorts a laugh, refusing to look at him.

“You wanna take a dip?” Sam goads.

“No.”

But by the time Sam’s pulling his shirt over his head, Bucky’s peeling off his socks. Sam spares him a smile and keeps going, the ground soft underfoot. It could be like the few times they’ve changed in proximity to one another before, but it’s not. He senses Bucky’s eyes on him the whole time. Face hot, he takes a quick look in Bucky’s direction as he’s unzipping his jeans. His heart feels like his new suit—wings just waiting to unfurl.

When they’re down to their underwear, they wade in.

God, it feels nice. The water’s cool and the sun’s clinging to the horizon.

“Just don’t get any water in your mouth,” Sam instructs, then dunks his face and comes up squirting water at Bucky from between the gap in his front teeth, a trick he perfected as a kid. “That arm ain’t gonna rust, right?”

“You asked for this,” Bucky warns. He points a menacing finger and plunges below the surface.

Sam twists as he treads water, trying to see what’s going on down there, searching for a ripple or bubbles of released air. His legs move in twitchy kicks because that’s where he’s expecting Bucky to grab him. But the idiot is playing some kind of psychological game first, making Sam wait a full minute. Two minutes. Three.

He’s opening his mouth to call out Bucky’s name when he breaks the surface. Sam’s ready to swap the concern he was about to form into words into a taunt instead—did Bucky get down there and decide the scariest thing he could do was let Sam’s imagination take over?—until Bucky shakes his head and slicks his hair back. Then the words get caught in Sam’s throat and he just kinda stares.

“There was a really gross fish down there,” Bucky informs him. “Do you guys have eels there? Mighta been an eel. Maybe we should get out.”

“Alrighty, scaredy-cat, let’s get you to shore.”

Bucky propels himself out in front, arms moving in powerful strokes, and Sam’s hand darts out on instinct, fingers closing around Bucky’s hard calf muscle. Bucky jerks and Sam burst into loud laughter.

“Did you think that was an eel? Did you?”

“You’re lucky I…”

I’m lucky you what? Sam wants to ask when Bucky trails off, but he just swims after him.

During their game/possible eel panic (there’s no way it was an eel), they weren’t always fighting the current, so they’ve drifted downstream some. Bucky takes sloppy, sloshing steps out of the water, underwear that might’ve been light grey now dark and plastered to his ass. Sam feels like he’s choked on river water, though his mouth is dry. He lumbers out too and they begin the march back in the direction of the dock and their clothes. The water tickles as it runs down Sam’s legs; must be bugging Bucky too because he plucks his waistband away from his skin before letting it snap back. Clenching his jaw, Sam stops himself from trying to see too much.

This end of the dock is made of old boards before it transitions to pavement farther down, wood smooth on Sam’s feet when he and Bucky haul themselves up, dropping their collected clothes and shoes into a single pile. No point getting dressed until they’re dry, so they sit on the edge of the dock, feet swinging. Feels good. Feels home. They don’t speak until the sun’s set, the sky orange, then grey, then rich, velvety blue.

“You know, don’t you?” Bucky asks softly.

“Know?”

“Yeah, you know. Whenever you don’t know something, you talk and talk—”

“Sometimes I can work through a problem better if I vocalize,” Sam explains.

“But when you do know,” Bucky goes on, ignoring Sam’s input, “you’re quiet.” He looks at Sam. “You’re quiet.”

What else is Sam? Nervous. His skin’s prickling with it, and because even the warm air feels cold when he’s just climbed out of the river. There’s a wet patch spreading around him that he can barely see with evening rapidly deepening into night. He lifts a hand from the dock and sweeps it up his neck, brushing water droplets away.

Without glancing over, he says, “You’re doing that thing you do.”

“What?”

“Staring. That new stare you do.”

“Maybe,” Bucky acknowledges. A bird starts calling, the sound drifting in and away like the sway of a hypnotist’s watch and Bucky’s silent until it’s over. “Maybe I’m staring for the same reason you’re quiet.”

Sam waits. Bucky doesn’t add anything, so Sam turns to look at his face, hung with cool shadows.

“You’re not gonna say it, are you?”

“I thought you would say it,” Bucky argues defensively.

“You’re the one who’s been staring at me like that for a week. You should go first!”

“Please, you don’t even know how I’m staring at you, I only do it when you’re not looking.”

“Do it now then and see what happens,” Sam dares him.

“Fine.”

Just like that, Bucky locks in like Sam’s attention is the only handhold on a sheer cliffside. Vital and stable, a last chance, the one thing around him that wants to help him higher instead of watching him fall. A lot of that’s familiar from his regular hard stare, but then something opens up behind his eyes. Some fragile thing (that might be Bucky’s sense of caution) breaks. Suddenly, Sam’s seeing what Joaquin saw in the news footage and amateur cell phone video. Except he’s seeing it two feet in front of him. It’s intense. It makes the air a little harder to breathe.

Bucky’s lips curve into a smile, then part as he says, “I love—”

Hopefully, he wasn’t going to end that sentence with ‘store-bought cake,’ because Sam can’t really take back his reaction. The finger slipping behind Bucky’s ear as he cradles his face, the mouth sealed to his. Especially that. Thankfully, Bucky kisses him back, just as hard, and then harder.

“Thank god,” Sam pants when they break apart.

“You interrupted me.”

“I got you to stop talking? Guess we’re in my miracle.”

“I’d complain…” Bucky shrugs. “…but your miracle is pretty nice.”

“Not bad, right?”

He sighs and looks out over the water. Bucky pushes up on his fists and sits closer, offering his hand for Sam to interlace their fingers.

“Hey,” Sam prompts when it hits him that it’s super dark outside and they aren’t gonna dry much more like this, “did you book a hotel room again?”

“You kiddin’ me? I spent all my money on that cake.”

Sam laughs.

“Right, well, I guess you need a place to stay tonight then.”

“You know anything nearby?” Bucky asks with a soft smile.

Getting to his feet and bracing to pull Bucky up after him, Sam uses his free hand to motion towards their clothing pile.

“Put your pants on,” he says, “and I’ll see what I can do.”

[allen-desu]

Intrigue: A Canute and Thorfinn Character Study

Canute had learned to do one thing above all else- discern men. It was simple. Either he should be wary of a man or not, and of those he was wary of, who should he make face with.

But then there was Thorfinn..

Very mild Thornute | Vulgar Language | Canon Compliant (Volume 3 specifically) | Spoiler Free

Brushing off my Tumblr to post this somewhere, best read on mobile.

-

Canute often found himself studying Thorfinn. In fact he was now, stealing glances of him while riding in a wagon through Wales. His nerves were getting the best of him and not wanting to think of signing a treaty without his father present, Canute instead tried to place Thorfinn to keep his mind occupied. The Prince found him to be a most intriguing character, and one that often eluded any solid characterization. It was egregiously annoying; for you see, growing up in the bloodbath of regal politics, Canute had learned to do one thing above all else- discern men. It was simple. Either he should be wary of a man or not, and of those he was wary of, who should he make face with. Granted, Canute had Ragnar, and therefore he never had to put this skill to a real test for his vassal always fought on his behalf, keeping the young Prince’s best interests in mind. Nevertheless, his cautious observation skills were more often than not proven correct as the time revealed untrustworthy men to Canute.

But then there was Thorfinn. There are always exceptions to any and every rule, but even that logic still couldn’t stick Thorfinn under a neat label inside the Prince’s mind. The boy was not like the men he traveled with. Yes, he did the dirty killing, but he did it in a way that oozed indifference. Thorfinn killed swiftly and acted as if each man was a simple stepping stone to the fight being over, for the killing to be over. While the others he traveled with had a sick enjoyment for the act. Thorfinn did not socialize with the Askeladd’s band. He did not share in their spoils, including that of food and drink. Instead the blond hunted his own food, collected his own water. Only rarely did he ever get what he needed from what was plundered. Those rare instances were either when it was offered to him while marching, or on late and loud evenings, while the rest of Askeladd’s band made themselves merry, Thorfinn would slip some goods from tables abandoned for the night.

So, no, Canute would not label him as part of the band. This conclusion was frustrating, for if Thorfinn was not one of Askeladd’s men, why was he one of Askeladd’s most trusted pawns? Perhaps part of the answer was in the word “pawn” itself, but Askeladd was a cautious man as well. So much so that Canute knew it would bode well for him to try and keep tabs on what the man was thinking. So what was his reasoning to keep Thorfinn- who literally wanted him dead for some unknown reason to the Prince- under his thumb. The young blond was skilled and dangerous to have around. How did Askeladd tame-

Ah.. perhaps that was it.

Thorfinn was like something wild, pacing in its cage and waiting for its chance to do something about its keeper and free itself from its confines. Tamed to compliance, but would still happily bite the hand. Something akin to a wolf perhaps.

Canute looked up from his thoughts over to Thorfinn who was leaning on the opposite side of the wagon, his gaze far off and his eyes hard. Feeling that the Prince was looking at him Thorfinn shot daggers at Canute . Seeing the dirty teen do this with the image of a wolf in his mind nearly tempted Canute to chuckle and he swiftly hid his face from the other in case the temptation won him over. He could hear Thorfinn scoff and that was the end of the whole exchange. A lone wolf in an unfamiliar pack. The young Prince was satisfied with the description for the young warrior.

Canute was no longer satisfied. Thorfinn was his guard and, surprisingly, was taking the job seriously. He seemed not to care, was quick with sharp words at either Canute, Ragnar or Father Willibald. But on more than one occasion, the Prince would catch a small glimpse of Thorfinn nearby, seemingly disinterested, but close enough to come to aid or rescue. Any time he was not lurking and couldn’t be seen or found, a few hours or less after the fact, the shorter blond could be seen emerging from the tree line, a rabbit or more hanging over his shoulder.

In fact, this had just happened and Ragnar had convinced Thorfinn to add the rabbit to the meal he and the Prince were making.

“Highness!” Ragnar had announced upon entry. “We have beans, cabbage and a hare!” As he listed the items, Thorfinn had walked in behind him and closed the door to the cold. Canute was surprised to see him, tensed and annoyed, looking very out of place in the little home they had… procured.

“ A hare?” The Prince asked, ignoring how his own bout of tension was threatening to rise in his shoulders.

“Thorfinn caught it.” Obviously. “We’ll put it in the soup.”

“Well done.” As if Thorfinn needed or wanted praise for a deed he probably found to be child’s play. “Bleed it and skin it so we can wash the meat.” Truth be told, Canute wasn’t expecting for Thorfinn to just comply without some remark, and he surely wasn’t expecting Ragnar to take the rabbit from Thorfinn to do the task instead. It was jarring seeing his caretaker grab the rabbit from him, as if he had just seen Ragnar take a kill from a wild animal. At least that’s what flashed through his mind when the moment started. However, as it happened in real time, Thorfinn let his catch be taken and he was left to simply stand, awkward and unsure.

Canute, stirring the broth in progress mindlessly as he watched on, couldn’t help but consider Thorfinn for a long moment. This boy in front of him was no lone and wild wolf. The moment his gaze was felt, however, the creature came back and Thorfinn found a spot off to the side against the wall that he could sit at and brood.

Once the soup was done and the table was set, Canute and Ragnar somehow coaxed Thorfinn to join them at the table. The tension in the boy’s shoulders was palpable and Canute couldn’t help but take notice of it, trying to further categorize it. When Thorfinn actually acknowledged the meal in front of him, however, his demeanor changed. It was quick, merely a fraction of a second, but the Prince saw it- tried to burn the image into his brain to try and decipher later.

Ragnar’s compliments of the meal they prepared took Canute’s attention and he took this as an opportunity. Agreeing with Ragnar, “The rabbit made it work.” He looked to Thorfinn, “I’m tired of salted meat. You have my thanks.” There was no answer from the shorter blond, he just continued to look at their spread on the table and look lost. Almost as if he didn’t think it was real. The thought threatened to furrow the Prince’s brow. It made him realize yet again, Thorfinn was not amicable with the men he traveled with. When was the last time anyone showed this young man any kindness? When was the last time Thorfinn had the simple pleasure to share a meal with someone at all?

“What’s wrong?” Canute spoke, aiming to pull Thorfinn out of his stupor. “Eat up, you caught the rabbit.”

It seemed to do the trick, for Thorfinn picked up his bowl and spoon and tentatively took a bite. The look on his face, before it was hidden behind matted bangs, was one Canute would very much like to see again. Anger and/or indifference seemed to have a constant monopoly on Thorfinn’s features, but that one, quick moment of.. surprise? Or maybe he was just pleased with the taste of his meal. Either way, the emotion fit his face better, let the ridges between his brows smooth out for a second. Genuine, that was the word. Thorfinn seemed more genuine in that one instant than he did the entirety of the time that Canute had known him thus far.

“Pretty good isn’t it?” Ragnar mused, though the Prince couldn’t quite tell if he had also caught the glimpse of surprise from Thorfinn, or if he was just rearing up to dote and brag on Canute’s cooking talents. “Catch us a deer next, and we’ll really have a meal!”

“...” Not a real reply, but the young guard had acknowledged Ragnar. Thorfinn continued to eat, and almost absentmindedly, “I thought you noble types had everything cooked for you.” It wasn’t a question, a simple statement of thought, but Canute thought he would answer it anyways.

“I enjoy doing it.” The Prince began, “I don’t normally get the chance. Only Ragnar knows that I can cook.” A pause and Canute laid his spoon down in his bowl for a moment. “Do not tell anyone of this.” Thorfinns reply was instant and disinterested.

“Why not?” Followed by, “Who cares?”

Not sure what persuaded him to do so, but Canute began to tell Thorfinn of his father’s, the King, displeasure in the fact that he liked to cook- that it was a frivolous and useless skill to have. Though the shorter blond’s face was as neutral as ever, he did slow in his eating to listen, that alone made Canute feel as he wasn’t wasting his breath, that it was worth having someone other than Ragnar know of how intensely inadequate his father found him to be. Ragnar seemed to be confused at his tellings though. He was obviously not expecting his Highness to share. Giving his Highness an odd look he decided to try and lighten the Prince’s mood, though Canute wasn’t in need of it.

The two of them held their own conversation from there on out, speaking about different dishes Canute could prepare, or what Ragnar could teach him about new dishes he had yet to prepare. The mood in their little borrowed house was light. It was familial in its own way. The young Prince would glance over to Thorfinn every once in a while and was pleased to see that the ever present knot of tension in his shoulders was slowly becoming unraveled. The guard ate and listened.

Something in Thorfinn snapped and Canute shuddered because of it.

What happened in the next instant was too fast for Canute to follow in real time. Thorfinn had gotten up, more like sprung up, and was immediately at the door one of his signature knives pointed at someone’s throat. Had the man had worse reflexes, he would have impaled himself on Thorfinn’s steel. Ragnar was next in the initiative, questioning both Thorfinn and the man on what was going on.

“Agh- I’m on your side Thorfinn!” So it was one of Askeladd’s men. “I’m just bringing a message…” Despite this, it still took a long moment for Thorfinn to remove his knife from the man’s throat. Ragnar took the lead from there and was questioning the newcomer on Canute’s behalf, but Canute himself was still trained on his short bodyguard.

Thorfinn was still tense, still alert and ready to strike, but his initial instinct was slowly recoiling back into its original state. It was interesting to watch the slow movement of his shoulders and back muscles through threadbare clothing. However, Canute’s gaze was felt and Thorfinn shot him a look that could kill. Oddly enough the look from the dirtied blond softened a little, as if he was reminded that Canute was still there and his presence wasn’t something he should be afraid of. The thought struck the Prince as oddly satisfying. He wasn’t able to really dive further into that train of thought, however, for the man brought news of the English advancing on the hideout they had procured. Canute’s shock couldn’t beat out Ragnar’s rage. Heated words about Askeladd and his poor decisions were spoken, and then, just as suddenly as they had come, the man was gone, Ragnar following after him.

The little house was now too still and too quiet until it was broken by Thorfinn huffing through his nose.

“Can’t even manage to close the damn door on their way out.” He muttered, moving to do just that so the winter’s day wouldn’t try and suck any more of the hard earned heat out of the house. With the door closed Thorfinn relocated to his new post beside the door, leaning against the wall. The Prince watched him do this and suddenly Thorfinn was glaring at him again. “Have I fucking done something?” The shorter teen hissed.

“What?” Such an elegant reply, good job Canute. Not that Thorfinn gave two shits about that kind of thing.

“You’ve been staring. Like a lot.” Thorfinn turned to fully face Canute, leaning only one shoulder on the wall. “Still mad, Princess?” A smirk. Of course that’s what he would call him, but Canute realized he was talking about their squabble in the wagons the other day. “I don’t give a rat’s ass who your father is or who’s womb you crawled out of.”

“Still have the vulgar audacity to speak to me like that, but no.” Thorfinn raised a brow at him. “It was more of a shock than anything else. I don’t particularly mind that you speak so blatantly.” No matter how sharp the words, unfortunately. It seemed that the shorter blond did not have a reply for that and instead just refocused his attention to the fire instead. Canute also took this moment to recollect his thoughts. He knew Ragnar was angry, he warned Askeladd about the very problem at hand. Askeladd had paid him no mind at all. Still, the Prince was worried. Ragnar had left in the heat of the moment to a battlefield only to argue with the man leading the defensive charge. Not to mention, his soup would be cold by the time he came back. What a waste.

Perhaps the moments before Ragnar’s return wouldn’t entirely be a waste, though. Not if Canute played his cards right. He wanted to understand Thorfinn. Never before had he met someone that has proven themselves to be so complicated, especially since at first Canute thought him to be a simple brute among other simple brutes. Why was Thorfinn here, why was he in, but yet not considered, part of Askeladd’s band? What happened to him? The short blond hates the man, yet follows him around the country and overseas. He even follows some insane orders with the promise of some kind of reward.

Thorfinn let out an aggravated noise and was suddenly leaning over Canute, hands flat on the table with a bang.

“You’re doing it again. Quit.” The shorter teen growled. Canute blinked owlishly at him. What? Oh, had he been staring again? Nevertheless he continued to study Thorfinn, which was quickly making his guard’s blood boil. Then Canute stood forcing the other teen to stand back a bit and look up at him. He knew that Thorfinn was shorter than him, but it was still amusing to actually see it. Thorfinn carried himself to be larger, more intimidating. Said young guard was now glaring up at Canute through his dirtied bangs. “What?” He hissed.

“You confuse me, Thorfinn.” The Prince replied. Thorfinn also had a fair amount of confusion mixed in with his usual anger, and that fact pleased Canute a bit- at least the feeling was mutual. “I’ve just been trying to figure you out.”

“Well stop.”

“No, I shan’t” Canute replied swiftly. Thorfinn was prone to argue, but nothing came out. The Prince could take a guess as to what he was thinking. That the person in front of him was the same as the shy and bumbling Prince that was showcased and dragged around all of England these past few weeks? Yes and no. There was nothing political in this task, Canute had nothing to fear if he took a misstep. No repercussions. This was a purely selfish motive in which he had no problems pursuing as long as it was kept private. “Also it’s not that I can not, it’s that I will not”

“You…” Thorfinn struggled. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“To you, perhaps not.” This reply really made Thorfinn angry, Canute could see it in the way his whole body tensed, gearing up to fight. Part of him wanted to see if his guard would actually hit him. However, before either of them could think through what they wanted to do next, for some odd reason, Canute had moved and held Thorfinn’s face in his hands. Both teens were now wide eyed and tense. Why did he do that? When did he do that? Just now? A moment ago?

Canute was the first to settle down from the shock of his own actions, and instead of pulling away like he thought he would, the Prince settled into the position. He let his hands feel the warmth of Thorfinn’s jaw and slid down to where his thumbs were still on the other blond’s face, but the rest of his fingers curled delicately around his neck. He knew his hands must have been cold, he was prone to be, but the proof lies in the fact that Thorfinn’s skin puckered into bumps right before he shuddered just slightly.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Thorfinn asked, his voice surprisingly tame. He was definitely still angry and on edge, but thus far it seemed as if Canute was not in danger of being bitten by the wolf that accompanied Thorfinn’s anger.

“Indulging, just let me for a moment.” Canute replied softly, as if trying not to spook Thorfinn away.

“...the hell does that even mean?” The guard muttered in reply. Canute laughed lightly, amused.

“Don’t think on it too hard,Thorfinn.” No reply to that, but the dirtied teen in his hands didn’t pull away either. Good, that was good.

Now that Canute had somehow managed to get them into this situation, he took as much time as he damn well pleased to study the other boy. Not that he was naive enough to believe that staring at Thorfinn would somehow unlock his secrets, but he did think it would help. Thorfinn was a recluse. No one ever got too close to him and he would never let them, so the fact that Canute was quite literally in his personal space seemed like a major victory.

Thorfinn had hard light brown eyes, but if the fire flickered right they were more like unearthed amber or sweet honey. They were nothing like the Prince’s own eyes, a sky blue. The sky may be vast, but Thorfinn’s eyes were deep. What was that saying? The eyes were a window into the soul? Canute could readily believe that looking into Thorfinn’s.

Next Canute took note that, under all the dirt, Thorfinn was tired. He had coloration and lines on his skin that a boy of their age shouldn’t have. Did he ever sleep through the night? His guard was always up late and always up early, always seen at odd hours thinking about something far away... or a time long gone, perhaps? Beyond what dirt and sleepless bruising lay on his skin, was what lacked beneath it. Thorfinn was a genuine threat on the battlefield, how could someone so strong have such gaunt in his cheeks? He knew Thorfinn fended for himself, but from what he has seen, he does a rather good job at it. Granted, he doesn’t eat square meals. Canute thinks that just earlier was the first time he’s seen Thorfinn eat anything green, or not meat related. Still, a soldier's diet of salted meat and wine wouldn’t result in malnutrition. Was malnutrition why he was short? Just… Just how long had Thorfinn been taking care of himself? The men didn’t bat an eye at Thorfinn’s presence. In fact, while marching and the men told old stories, Thorfinn was in a good many of them. Years? Had it been years since Thorfinn had a meal like the one he had today?

“I don’t need your fucking pity.” Thorfinn’s voice startled the Prince. Was he making a face of some kind?

“I didn’t mean..”

“Save your breath, I don’t care.”

Canute thought it was best to not reply, so instead he wiped some dirt off of Thorfinn’s face with one of his thumbs. With a fresh bath, a sturdy brush, and some new clothes, Thorfinn could be considered handsome.

He wondered what Thorfinn was thinking. Was he actually trying to decipher Canute in turn or was he just waiting for the Prince to be done? Canute also wondered, truly, when was the last time Thorfinn was shown kindness? Affection? Perhaps he wasn’t a lone wolf at all, but something lost instead. When one finds themselves abandoned in one way or another, in an unfamiliar place, one must adapt. Did Thorfinn just adapt to killing? Fights because he has to? It was frustrating going through all these thoughts himself, but Canute knew for a fact that Thorfinn would not simply answer any questions that he asked.

Perhaps… Perhaps Canute could be the one to show him kindness? Maybe he could properly tame the wolf that was Thorfinn’s anger, and find the lost person it was protecting. Thorfinn was so hard to get close to though, even today he had been reluctant to simply share his rabbit and then a meal. So what could the Prince do? He thought of this and that, feeling Thorfinn’s pulse through the fingers on his neck. Absentmindedly he rubbed his thumbs in time with it, studying him. Again Thorfinn couldn’t suppress a shiver and again Canute was moving without thinking at all.

He had pressed their lips together. Why? Not even God above would know. Thorfinn’s lips were chapped, still and shocked against the Prince’s own, but he was warm. Unfairly warm and it seeped into Canute. He could stay this way for a long while if he was completely honest with himself, but one kiss was enough. A gesture of both kindness and affection that Thorfinn could seek out from him if he chose to do so if he ever needed to feel wanted. So Canute pulled away, but instead of the awkward moment he was expecting, strong hands pulled him back in at the hips. Thorfinn had leaned back up and continued the kiss.

The taller blond was not expecting this, but then again he was also not expecting to have kissed Thorfinn in the first place either. His pale hands slipped from Thorfinn’s face and neck and instead slid so Canute could rest his arms on his guard’s shoulders. The hands on his hips were most likely bruising him with how tight they held him, but that was part of what he liked about this moment. Thorfinn was holding him and kissing him like this was something he desperately needed. Canute returned its ferocity and leaned in, making Thorfinn crane his neck at an odd angle, and then ran his tongue over the shorter’s lips. Again this was something neither of them were expecting, not experienced enough to really know what they were doing at all to be honest.

However, surprisingly enough, Thorfinn had again let it happen, letting Canute test the waters. So he did. Canute pushed his tongue into the other blond’s mouth. He felt Thorfinn’s tongue with his own, the roof of his mouth and back of his teeth. It was oddly exhilarating, even more so when Thorfinn mimicked Canute and did the same to him.

As Thorfinn kissed him Canute moved them, pivoting them so Thorfinn was between him and the table. The shorter blond grunted when it happened and turned his head out of the kiss to look at their new position, to which the taller blond took as a chance to place kisses to Thorfinn’s jaw and neck.

“Don’t think that I’m just going to bend over like some paid whore.” Thorfinn muttered, his voice was a little deeper, thicker, Canute couldn’t help but like it, but also couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up from him.

“I wasn’t really planning on it.” He mused, resting his head in the crook of Thorfinn’s neck. Canute watched as Thorfinn reached for his low ponytail and played with the strands tentatively. It almost seemed as if he had been wanting to do so for a while but never had gotten the chance to do so until now. Canute kept that nice little thought in mind as he placed more kisses up Thorfinn’s neck, trailing back up to his mouth.

The two of them kissed some more, each exploring at their own paces. Canute also let his hands wander; Thorfinn was all muscle and bone and very thin. The prince knew that one day, if Thorfinn’s disinterest in his own health didn’t kill him first, that he would be properly strong, with healthy muscle, and a fuller face. At least that’s what he hoped for. Thorfinn did not explore the way Canute did, but his grip remained tight and would squeeze him whenever Canute did something he liked. At some point their hands inched a little higher.

The heat between them slowly, so very slowly, faded and they were back where they started, Canute cupping his face. After a few moments that stopped too.

“Did this ever happen?” Thorfinn asked, voice quiet. Canute blinked at him, it wouldn’t bode well for him if Thorfinn ever told anyone of their little venture, but he was honestly surprised that the other cared at all. But more than that, Canute was surprised to see that the anger that was seemingly permanent on Thorfinn’s features was gone. In its place was something the Prince could not identify, but he would burn the image in his brain. Hard eyes were gone, in its place was only honey and a fair amount of color in his cheeks.

Canute decided he would be the one to give Thorfinn the kindness he deserved. Even if it was just in small doses, seemingly meaningless gestures.

“No.” He replied, leaning down to press a kiss to Thorfinn’s cheek. “But it could happen again if you want.”

The shorter blond huffed and made a gesture for Canute to move. He did and Thorfinn moved towards the door. Canute had expected him to leave, but instead he had taken his previous makeshift post at the door. “Whatever, your Highness”

The Prince took his place back at the table, smiling to himself. That response certainly wasn’t a no. He had more thinking to do.

[z-1-wolfe]

Parhelion Headcanons (sir this is all for you) @greenbeany

Putting 'em under the cut because they got very long O.O

I- the gnome is Neon I take no criticism. They are often good-natured souls with a more mischievous side, and if that doesn’t describe Neon I’m not sure what does. Playful, funny, good intentions, that my good Bean is our lovable cat personified. Okay Parhelion dnd au with gnome Neon please /j.

I AM SMACKING THE GUN OUT OF YOUR HANDS [runs into a glass wall] dammit,, guess I gotta talk now

I- oh no,, time to fail the exam I guess (turns all your head canons upside down)

Okay they do sleep yes they do. Actually that’s a lie only Ciel sleeps, the other two are insomniacs. Ciel has all of her day to day life planned out to the minute, so she heads to bed at a certain time and wakes up at a certain time, the other two are more of a “we’ll sleep when we’re tired” kinda duo. Unfortunately due to Ilia’s night terrors and Neon’s ADHD they almost never rest. No they do not sleep in a SANE bed, ha why would they have a bed? They sleep in a hammock all tangled up with each other. It’s hard to tell what order they sleep in when they kinda curl into each other. They do not use a duvet, why have a duvet when Neon is a space heater? There are no pillows on the hammock X). OKAY THEIR ROOM, THIS I GOT, it’s a funky mess that is somehow organized thanks to Ciel. Ilia doesn’t own a lot in general but it was her life’s dream to paint her bedroom rainbow so guess what they have now. The other two are too soft and they supported her efforts and they love her despite her poor design sense XD.

I- why closet ASDFG I mean— No they do not share a closet they all have completely different fashion sense and if that was all in one place people would be genuinely terrified. But since they’re broke they had to make do with one walk in closet that they partitioned off into sections. YES THEY DO HAVE MATCHING OUTFITS THEY ARE SO CUTE LIKE THAT. They tend to be like those cute couple outfits with a few variations to match their own personal style. But their favorite matching outfit are these duck hoodies they own courtesy of once again Ilia living out her childhood dreams. No they don’t own many outfits because like I mentioned earlier they are broke x). Hmm thinking about each other’s styles… Ilia think both of her girlfriends have great taste, she loves the well, neon of Neon, and the prim and properness of Ciel. Neon just doesn’t care XD. And Ciel is just, she’s just standing there wishing she could help their fashion sense, but she holds back because “It does suit them in an odd way.” Ciel gets the most compliments on her style hands down, she looks organized and you can bet she saves money to buy outfits that actually accentuate her cuteness. They don’t wear makeup no time for that (in which you learn Z has little to no knowledge in how to apply makeup and doesn’t know how to answer that question)

OH OKAY I LOVE VIDDY GAMES. Ciel likes real-time strategy games because she’s insane and that’s literally all she knows in life thanks to being raised in an upper class family in Atlas. Neon likes open world games, something something she likes the chance for adventure and determining one’s fate for themself. Ilia has never once played a video game until after she defected from the White Fang but I can see her playing something light like Stardew Valley, low stakes kinda games. Hmm, they might play Animal Crossing together? Since it has aspects they all enjoy. They each have an individual switch (Ilia has a coral switch lite) and one shared PC. Okay game with most hours, maybe Minecraft? They still haven’t beat the enderdragon because Neon keeps getting distracted XD. Neon is the bomb at party games though, you can bet she has a perfect score on all the songs in Just Dance. Ciel is a sharpshooter, god knows who taught her how to shoot like that. The biggest splatoon fan is unfortunately not Neon it is Ilia, she loves all the colors in the game ^^. But she and Neon have wracked up quite a few hours in co-op.

Uhhh books!! Ilia likes fanfics :) it’s unfortunately one of the only ways for her to see positive representation of herself. Neon for some reason reads Epics?? Like her favorite is the Epic of Gilgamesh what is up with that?? Ciel reads webtoons :), she reads enough serious stuff for school work and such, she likes to just kick back and relax after all that. Yes they have schedules reading time courtesy of Ciel :). Uhh, they relax by baking together. None of them had many chances to indulge in sweets while growing up so they make full use of their time now. ?? SPOON?? Cuddle hours happen on a whim, the one thing that Ciel can never schedule because she never knows when it’ll occur. They relax the most in the kitchen x) because that’s where they bake, it’s not unusual to find Neon asleep on the counter while she waits for their sweets to rise. They read in the light, Neon is afraid that by reading in the dark that they’ll all ruin their eyesight. Ciel likes the sunrise because she’s up the earliest and is the only one to see it, the other two prefer sunset because that’s usually when their day is about to begin XD.

Favorite spot for dates! The park ^^, they like to go on picnic dates with all their baked goods. There is no plan, usually one of them will randomly pull the other two out of the house because they haven’t touched grass in a while XD. There are no ideas, they share one braincell and they spend too much time doting on each other to use it. Uhm favorite movie genre,,, they like comedy movies :). Their favorite place to eat is this tiny store on the corner of their street that makes mean gyros, they heccin’ love them. Coping with horror, Ilia is desensitized to horror because of the things she’s seen in life, Neon treats it like a game because she knows it’s not real, Ciel, is okay with it, but she gets shook more easily than the other two and they often have to reassure her. No they do not like theme parks, there are too many people around for Ilia and Ciel and Neon respects their boundaries so they tend to go to more quiet places. Uhm heights, Ciel is used to heights because she’s friends with Penny and woah can that girl toss her in the air like she’s a couple of grapes. Ilia doesn’t mind heights but she would prefer to have her feet on the ground. Neon loves the ground so damn much if it leaves her she will cry because man she can’t roller-skate in the air can she, what will she do if the ground is suddenly gone? They like evening dates because it’s normally the only time all three of them are awake enough for it XD. They end a night by sleeping I am not quite sure if there are other ways to end it lmao. They absolutely despise Neon’s roller skating dates but they love how excited she gets about them so they end up becoming as good as professional roller skaters because the smile on Neon’s face when they join her is dazzling.

I am slowly going insane. Yes each girl has a hobby I sure hope they do. Ilia knits, Ciel paints, and Neon writes. I would like to imagine that Ciel would try to schedule time for their hobbies she ends up giving up because all their sleep schedules are wack. Designated chef is Neon (probably made food for FNKI back in atlas), designated driver is Ilia (I mean I like to imagine she stole cars and stuff in the White Fang XD), designated decorator for stuff is normally Ciel though Neon does try to hijack a few of her plans occasionally, designated shopper is Ciel because the other two have no concept of Saving money, and they all work together to clean :). They don’t work together, they believe in keeping their work life and home life separate to prevent their feelings from getting in the way. They do not have pets, none of them have the energy or responsibility to do that, but Ilia did once bring a moose home one day for some reason.

I am nomming on your arm sir. Ilia and Neon get along with Penny surprisingly well, though I do think Ilia would get along with Weiss better? Ruby and Weiss look at Ciel and see a beacon arc Weiss and more or less adopt her despite Ciel being older than the two of them. They might like.. play board games together? Like some of those more team based board games I can’t think of anything off the top of my head, may the best polycule win. I cannot see them in a cuddle puddle to be honest ajcnjsanjs I am so sorry— hmm Ruby and Neon do not know the meaning of formal, as far as they are concerned these are their girlfriend’s friends and that means that by extension these are their friends. Weiss would like nothing to do with Neon after Neon insults Yang during the Vytal festival but she begrudgingly goes on outings with her and hey, now they’re make up buddies for some reason. The parhelion gals take the fs gals to the gyro place they like :). Parhelion gang Is a lot more vocal on their dates because their love language happens to be words of affirmation while the fs gang’s happen to be physical touch. Both polycules are very very affectionate though I will die on this hill.

DARN IT TUMBLR ONLY LETS ME HAVE 10 IMAGES PER POST THIS IS FINE IT WAS JUST ONE MORE PROMPT DARN IT

(Parhelion angst! How do Neon and Ciel react to the news about the dust mine? How do they find out about Ilia getting expelled? Do they find out about the white fang? Is there any faunus stigma afterwards? How does Ciel react to people bullying her Faunus GFS? Does Neon talk to Ciel much after? Do they ever reunite? Does Neon attempt to help Ciel while she grieves Penny? Where the fuck is Ciel now? Is Neon still alive? Does Ilia ever think about them? Does Blake know about them from Ilia?)

BUDDY I CAME TO THE LAST ASK AND NOW ONLY DID I REALIZE YOU MEANT PARHELION BACK WHEN THEY WHERE IN BEACON THIS WHOLE TIME I’M CRYING. (This ask is answered under the assumption that they are already dating back in Atlas Academy) Ciel is fiercely protective of her girlfriends, though people only know that Neon is a Faunus because Ilia masks her traits during her time at the academy. Neon and Ciel are horrified about the news about the dust mines. They know that Ilia is a Faunus and that her parents were working there so they rush to see her as soon as possible. But they’re too late,,, Ilia’s already been expelled for attacking her fellow students. They don’t hear from Ilia for a few years after that and the two slowly drift apart, each blaming the other for not getting to Ilia soon enough. They don’t find out about the White Fang until they reunite with Ilia unfortunately, but they feel sad that Ilia had felt that they only way for her to get revenge for her parents was by joining a militant group (I’m working under the assumption that Sienna only took control of the White Fang shortly before Ilia joined). When Neon learns that Penny didn’t make it after the Fall of Beacon she hesitantly reaches out to Ciel for the first time in a year, and she does try to help. But for Ciel it’s blow after heccin’ blow and she pushes Neon away in a rage. Ciel leaves the Academy after that and goes rogue, working as a huntsman without a license for the poorer parts of remnant. Ilia is unaware of all this drama during the Beacon arc. The next time she hears of any news is during the Fall of Atlas, and she’s scared, scared because she’s still recovering and she just heard Ruby announce to the world that Remnant is under attack, and oh my gosh her ex girlfriends live in Atlas. Neon makes it out alive, though not entirely in one piece, she now has a prosthetic leg. Ilia is the first person to see her, it’s a tearful reunion and they haven’t fully made up yet, but hey it’s a work in progress, now they just have to find out where Ciel is, but when they do they’ll BOTH be there to greet her. Blake has no idea who the fuck Ciel and Neon are lmao, Ilia never told her anything about her past romances when she was in the White Fang.

Oh gosh I think that's it-- And that is it thank you for listening to me ramble about Parhelion you get a juice box for making it this far. Sir I am sincerely sorry for turning your ship upside down please forgive me.

[desiraypark]

Ominous (Part 4)

Part I | Part II | Part III

CHARACTERS: Adam Sackler, Brenda “Bree” Sackler, Tako, and Patrice (OC - Tako’s fiancée/wife) CONTENT: Flashbacks, Fluff, Angst, Addiction Mentions, Tough Talk, Sex Implied, Use of the B-word (B*tches)

Tako and Patrice’s Townhome Bree’s Previous Apartment (2BR, 1BA)

FOUR YEARS AGO (Tako and Patrice’s Engagement Party)

“You’re so fucking in love, dude!” Tako exclaimed as she punched Adam in the chest.

Adam laughed as he twisted the cap off a small bottle of water and Tako made herself another plate of food. 

“I’ve never seen you like this. You’re all calm and cool. Leaning against shit like you’re fucking Frank Sinatra.”

Adam shook his head and took a sip of water. Looking beyond the bottom of the bottle, he got a glimpse at Bree in the living room talking with Tako’s fiancée, Patrice. They were certainly talking about Bree’s outfit--a pink and yellow jumpsuit that she’d made herself. The spaghetti-strapped top was split in half--yellow on the left side of her body, pink on the right. Her right pants leg was yellow, the left one pink. The bright, summery colors popped against her brown skin. She’d traded in her eyeglasses for contact lenses for the night, and her curly hair fell to her shoulders.

“See!” Tako beamed. She added a spoonful of sliced strawberries to her plate. “Tell me what she knows and doesn’t know about you before I accidentally spill some fucking beans.”

Tako leaned against the counter beside Adam and he shrugged. “She knows everything.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Everything?”

“Y-yeah. Pretty much.”

“She knows about...you know. The alcohol?”

Adam nodded. “Yes.”

“She knows that you’re a slut?”

“Reformed slut. And she kinda knows...”

“Kinda knows?” Tako asked, popping a cheese cube into her mouth. Adam rotated the bottled water between his palms.

“I wanted to talk about it, but she said she didn’t care. So...”

Tako raised both eyebrows. “Wow. I don’t know if I’m impressed or worried.”

Adam laughed. “Bree is...she’s easily the most easygoing...the most understanding...the most thoughtful girl I’ve ever dated...”

“Well, then. I’m happy for you, kid.”

Adam stole a strawberry from Tako’s plate and softly elbowed her in the rib.

____________________ PRESENT Adam stood at the counter eating leftover spaghetti. Her hair tied in a silk scarf and a sheer robe flowing behind her, Patrice walked into the kitchen, bringing flames with her.

“Why don’t you sit at the table?” she asked coldly. She opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. 

Adam shrugged. “I’m almost done.”

Patrice closed the robe around her body, covering her silk pajamas. Adam’s eyes inadvertently landed on the red slushy maker that he and Bree bought them as a wedding gift. He quickly looked back down at his plate, and Patrice left the kitchen, leaving her unmistakable heat for him to simmer in.

He’d cleaned his paper plate and dropped it in the trash can when Tako walked by with pieces of bedding in her arm. He turned off the kitchen light and walked into the living room, where she’d placed two sheets and a blanket on the sofa. Then, she placed the Roku remote on top of it. 

“We usually unplug everything at nine, but here’s the remote if you wanna watch TV. Or listen to some music. Whatever.”

“How pissed is Patrice?” Adam asked. 

“PATRICE IS VERY PISSED!” Patrice shouted from their bedroom.

The corner of Tako’s mouth quirked as if you to say “there you have it”. Adam sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. 

Tako tilted her head to the left and Adam followed her past their bedroom, where Patrice was pulling back the covers. They walked past the bedroom of Jason--Tako and Patrice’s eight-month-old son. Adam’s heart began to pound and a lump formed in his throat. This was supposed to be him and Bree, only they would live in a house away from the city.

Adam was happy to commute to work if it meant that Bree could have her own quaint boutique in some quaint shopping district in some quaint town. They were going to have two or three kids, a dog, and a backyard for them all to run around in. He had to make things right. He wanted Bree and wanted the future they’d planned. 

Tako led him into the small home office and closed the door. She sat in the rolling chair and Adam sat in a wingback chair by the door, against the wall. 

“So...who was it?” she asked. 

Adam rubbed his temples. “Jessa.”

“Fuck, dude...”

“Yeah, I know. I fucking know,” Adam groaned, sliding down into the chair. “I don’t know what the fuck happened.”

“I mean, are you still in love with Jessa, or...?”

“No, I’m not. I’ve barely thought about her for years.”

“Is something going on with you and Bree...?”

“No,” Adam mumbled. He leaned forward and placed his head in his hands. Then, he sat back up. “Bree is perfect.”

He shrugged. “She’s perfect. I don’t know. I don’t know why I did it.”

Tako stared straight through Adam. She folded her arms and tapped her fingertips on her arm. Adam pressed his back against the chair and exhaled.

“We got some coffee and we just started talking. It felt like old times again. We went to my place and talked some more...”

“Your place?!” Tako asked.

Guilt rushed over Adam’s face and Tako held her hands up. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Go on.”

“That’s it. We talked some more. I showed her the apartment, you know. The view. Next thing I knew...”

Adam rested his head against the wall and Tako just stared at him. “You want it hard or you want it soft?”

“Whatever,” Adam scoffed. “I don’t care.”

Tako leaned forward against the desk. She gathered her thoughts before she spoke. 

“You talked so much shit about the girls you’ve dated. Hannah, Jessa. FiFi?”

“MiMi Rose,” Adam corrected.

“Yeah, her,” Tako continued. “You talked so much about how much they thrived off drama. You know what I think? I think you thrive off that shit, too.”

“No I fucking don’t,” Adam snapped.

“Then what is it? Tell me? You’ve got a wife who--from what you tell me--has done more for you than all of those bitches combined. She’s fucking hot--she’s the nicest fucking person I’ve ever met. She’s honest--she’s all the shit you claim you like--and you risked your marriage to her for Jessa? I’m just not understanding, Adam.”

Adam ran his fingers through his hair again and stared at the ceiling.

____________________ THREE YEARS AGO

“Ughhhh,” Adam groaned. He wrapped his arms around Bree’s waist as she dug through her closet. “Do you have to go?”

Bree chuckled. “Yes, I have to go.”

Adam nuzzled at her neck as she looked over a green dress. “It’ll only be a few days, babe.”

Bree hung the dress back up and pulled out a burgundy one. Adam groaned again and Bree grabbed a pink dress.

“A few days is too long,” he mumbled. He stood up straight and stepped backward to sit down on Bree’s bed. “I hate being away from you for just a day.”

Bree folded the pink dress over her arm and looked at Adam. She could see the genuine sadness in his face. Then, she walked over to him, placed the dress on the bed, and rested her hands against his shoulders. Adam opened his legs and pulled Bree close--his arms resting comfortably on the sharp curve of her ass.

“Are you serious right now?” Bree asked softly. She ran her fingers through his hair.

“I don’t like separations,” Adam said with a pout. He pressed kisses against the fabric over her navel and took in the sugary scent of her lotion. “I like being around you. All the time.”

“Baby,” Bree said softly. She lifted Adam’s face by his chin. She gazed upon his darkened eyes--noticing the glints of amber as they partially met the light of the ceiling lamp overhead. She kept running her fingers through his hair, thinking carefully about her words.

“I love you.”

Adam chewed on his lips and stared into Bree’s eyes--coffee irises protected by long, thick lashes. “I love you, too.”

“...I don’t want you to...”

“Don’t want me to what?”

“I don’t want you to make a drug out of me,” she said. 

Adam’s eyes stayed on Bree. Finally, he blinked. “What?”

Bree sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

She tried to pull away but Adam pulled her close. “No. I know what you mean.” He kissed her belly again. “I know what you mean.”

Bree bent down and kissed Adam’s forehead. “I’m so proud of you. Things have been so good for you.”

Then, she sat back up and pinched his cheeks.

“You’re a big boy, aren’t you?” she asked in a high pitched voice. Adam rolled his eyes and looked away. “You can survive a few days without Mommy, can’t you?”

A devilish grin formed on Adam’s face and he pulled Bree down onto the bed with him, making her squeal. 

“You’re a fucking comedian, now?" he asked. He locked his legs around hers, trapping her body against his and making her laugh. Suddenly, they fell silent and looked into each other’s eyes again. Bree lowered her head and kissed Adam’s on the lips.

“You’ve gotta bring me some fucking Al Capone merch or some shit,” Adam said. Bree chuckled.

“I am not buying Al Capone merch. How about I bring you a few slices of deep-dish pizza?”

“You know that I’m trying to eat healthy,” Adam growled, squeezing Bree’s ass. 

“I forgot, I’m sorry. Well, how about this...” Bree mumbled, running her finger down Adam’s lips, to his chin, and down his neck. “When I get back...”

Bree reached behind her and pushed Adam’s palm deeper against her right ass cheek. “...I’ll bring you a nice organic treat. You can eat it for as long as you want.”

Adam bit his lips, closed his eyes, and exhaled through his nostrils. After a brief pause, he flipped Bree over so that he was on top of her. Her laugh filled the room as he tugged at her pajama shorts.

“I have to finish packing!” she squealed.

“You’ll finish when I finish,” Adam said, sliding down the bed and onto his knees.

____________________ PRESENT

Wrapped in a Christmas-themed throw blanket, Bree sat on the sofa, staring at the television without a single clue as to what was happening on it. She thought about the assortment of desserts that she passed on at the pizzeria. She regretted not ordering an entire pie to bring home. The city lights shimmered in the distance--for she didn’t have the strength or desire to pull down the shades. She wondered where Adam was. Tako and Patrice’s? Ray’s?

Jessa’s?

She shook the thought out of her head. Her eyes landed upon her wedding photo. He wore a blue tuxedo and (much to her mother’s chagrin) she wore a flowing yellow. Bree rose from the sofa, walked to the console, and stared at the photo--he was hunched over and her arms were around his neck as they engaged in a soft kiss. Bree put the framed photo face down, returned to the sofa, and turned off the television.

Then, she fluffed the caseless pillow on the left end of the sofa and laid her head upon it. She curled up in a ball and pulled the throw blanket close to her chin. 

Suddenly, the shadowy figure of a woman formed on her balcony. Bree turned to face the inside back of the sofa and pulled the blanket completely over her face.

[thadelightfulone]

All I Want... 25 Days of Christmas Challenge, Day 18

December 18th - Part 3

Erik sat back and observed DeeDee as she finished her gumbo. She wiped her mouth with a napkin. They shared a smile. When it was genuine, it reached to the eyes and lifted their full cheeks. When she looked over at him, he saw the same big bright eyes behind her glasses that he always saw when looking at Miss Carrie.

He could see the familial resemblance between them now. And after seeing Miss Carrie after so many years, he could see exactly what DeeDee would look like in about 50 years. He smiled at the thought of waking up to an aged like fine wine DeeDee. 

“What?” DeeDee asked.

“Huh, oh. It’s nothing.” Erik took a sip of his drink.

“Not true. You have been staring at me for the last five minutes.”

“Ok, you caught me. I was just noticing how much you look like Miss Carrie.” He set his drink down. “I don’t think I would have ever put that together.”

“Oh yeah, she’s my twin. Or so I’m told.” DeeDee shrugged, “I just see Mama so I don’t pay it much attention.”

“Girl, you gonna stop downplaying what I passed on to you.” Miss Carrie said as she dropped off two more plates. She looked at Erik. “You still like Red Velvet?”

“Yes ma’am- Miss Carrie. You would swear I still come in here every week? How do you do that?” He pulled the plate with the red velvet cake towards him.

“There are just some people and things you remember, baby.” She collected their bowls, “You need anything else?” 

“I think we are good Mama.” DeeDee glanced at Erik who was already shoveling bites of cake into his mouth, “Maybe one to go?”

“Sure thing, suga. I’ll leave it in the kitchen, you can pick it up when you leave.”

Miss Carrie left the table and DeeDee reached for her piece of 7-up pound cake. Her hand met Erik’s as she tugged the plate towards her.

“Excuse me. You have your dessert.” She smacked his hand, “This one is mine.”

“But, I want to try some.” 

“Then you could ask politely.”

“May I have a bite?”

DeeDee eyed him.

“Please.”

“Nah, you good with your cake. You don’t need any more.”

“Come on, Dr. DeeDee. Please.” Erik pouted. 

“Don’t you dare.”

“You gonna deprive me of some cake?”

DeeDee covered her mouth to try and stifle her giggle. Erik noticed her movements.

“Oh, you are nasty, Miss DeeDee.” He brushed her hand away from the plate, “I was only talking about what is on this table.” 

DeeDee grabbed her cup. 

Erik took his fork and cut into her piece of cake. He savored the bite, then moaned as he swallowed. “But if you are as sweet as this, then I mean I want a bite of that as well.”

DeeDee choked on her iced tea. 

“You good?” Erik patted her on the back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

DeeDee held her hand up as she tried to get her breathing under control. It took a few moments and a short coughing fit, but she was ok. She picked up her fork and jabbed him in the hand.

“Ow, what was that for?”

“You know what that was for?” She lowered her voice, “I can’t believe you said that.”

“Oh, you thought I would only make those statements online or over the phone.” He sat back and laughed, “Nah, this is me, sweetheart.”

“I see why you wouldn’t want anyone to call you Doctor anymore.” She pulled the cake back in front of her. “You are awful.” She tried to hide her smile.

“If you don’t like it, just tell me and I’ll stop.” Erik turned his whole body towards her.

DeeDee picked up her fork and cut a piece, “I never said I didn’t like it.” She popped the bite into her mouth and licked the end of the fork. 

Erik’s eyes went wide and he picked up his drink, “You better stop that.” 

“Or what?”

He took a sip and put his glass down. “If we were anywhere else, I would make you pay for that.” 

“Pay me back? I am only giving you a taste of your own medicine.” She waved the fork at him, “You are a walking tease. Do people know this about you?”

“It is only meant for certain people to see or know.” Erik winked at her. 

DeeDee’s cheeks heated up at his comment and she looked away from him. 

“Exactly. So, as long as you know where you stand -- you getting all this attention, girl.”

“I see that.” DeeDee closed her eyes.

Erik grabbed her hand in both of his. “DeeDee, look at me.” 

She turned towards him. 

“If I am coming on too strong, you’ll let me know, right?” He caressed the top of her hand, “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

DeeDee nodded at him, “We wouldn’t be here, if I was. Trust, I kind of knew you were a handful and much more comfortable being so -” she waved her free hand, “open than me. But I do enjoy that part.” She maneuvered her hand so that she could hold his. “I like the simple, too.” 

“I’ll dial it back,” he squeezed her hand, “for now.”

Erik licked his lips at her and DeeDee shook her head at him. 

She reached for his fork and cut another piece of her cake and fed it to him. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.”

---

Erik watched as DeeDee left the table to go to the kitchen. 

“So, my great-grandbaby, huh?” Miss Carrie’s smiling voice came from beside him. 

“She is wonderful.”

“That she is. But you know what I mean.”

Erik nodded, “She found the note, Miss Carrie.”

“NO. Really?” She slid into the booth beside him.

“It’s actually how we met.”

“I thought you said Quis introduced you two.”

“She went in search of the note writer and it led her to Quis. He told me someone was looking for me for my expertise. Then I get this email from DeeDee telling me she found my note in the textbook.”

“Well, I’ll be. Who would have thought? You finally put into words what you wanted, and she showed up.”

“Yeah, who would have thought.” He wrapped his arm around her, “So, how are you? Are things ok?”

She tapped the hand on her shoulder, “I’m fine baby. Things have picked up again and I have been able to expand a bit.” She sighed, “I never did thank you for helping me out.” 

“It’s not necessary. I couldn’t let anything happen to this place. It’s home.”

“Home. But you never come and visit?”

“I deserve that. Quis got on me for that, too.”

“Had you visited,” she looked straight ahead at DeeDee, “You would have found her a lot sooner.”

Erik laughed, “But I don’t think I would have been ready for her. Not like I am now.”

“Good answer.” Miss Carrie stood up, “Hey baby, you get all that I set aside?”

“Mama, I just said some extra cake.” She held up two bags of food. “You gave the man a whole meal including an entire cake.”

“And he will still be back in here before he leaves. What’s your point?”

“Did I , at least, get some slices of cake?”

“Yup, it’s the container on top of his cake.”

“So, what’s the damage?” Erik pulled out his wallet.

“Boy, if you think,” Miss Carrie pulled out her spoon. “You both are asking for it.”

“You heard the lady. Let’s go before we both get beat.” DeeDee leaned over and gave her great grandmother a kiss. “See you soon, Mama.”

“Alright baby. You two, be safe.” She hugged her, “And congratulations, Dr. Chabert.”

DeeDee smiled, “Thank you, Mama.”

Erik grabbed DeeDee’s purse, stood up, and gave Miss Carrie a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Thank you again, Miss Carrie.”

“You know you are always welcome here. Now, don’t be a stranger and come see me before you go back to California.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

Erik let DeeDee walk ahead of him as they headed towards the front of the restaurant.

Miss Carrie watched as they left and stuck her hands in the pocket of her apron. She shook her head and pulled the cash out, “That damn boy.”

---

They arrived back at DeeDee’s apartment. Erik carried all the bags inside as DeeDee opened the door.

“Do you want me to keep your food? I know that little mini fridge ain’t gonna cut it.”

“Yeah, you right. But that’s not why I want to keep it here.”

He followed DeeDee into the kitchen.

She looked at him as she removed all the containers from the bags.

“You don’t need a reason to come over, if you just ask.” 

Erik stood back as DeeDee laid everything on the counter. “Is that red beans and rice?” He reached for it.

She slapped his hand, “Stop that.” She moved it away from him, “You would eat all this food tonight, if you could.”

“Yeah, I would.” He looked down. “It’s been a long time since I have had some good southern cooking. And your great-grandma’s is the BEST!!!” 

“Oh, you can let that shit go now.” 

“Oooop, did I hit a nerve Little Miss DeeDee?” He walked around the island to stand beside her.

“Shooo,” DeeDee stood in front of the fridge. “Let me put this all away. I don’t trust you not to do something.”

“Wow, really? I was just gonna help you.” 

She pointed to the other side of the island, “You had a perfect view from over there.”

“So, you are gonna shake a lil something for me?”

DeeDee shook her head and picked up some food containers and put them in her fridge. She stood up straight the whole time while reorganizing items inside to make room for the new ones. She turned around and saw Erik posted on the island, just watching her. 

“What, man?”

“You, woman.”

DeeDee stopped moving the food to her fridge. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. You’re finally in front of me.” He used his hands to outline her, “In all your glory. I just can’t believe you have been hiding from me.”

“Excuse you. But I was not hiding from you. You just happened to see me in my normal everyday attire.”

“Hoodies and yoga pants or sweats?” Erik crossed his arms over his chest, “The lies.”

“Nope, that is my normal clothes around the house. We all don’t run around wearing nothing just because we live alone.”

“One time and you won’t let me live.”

“Absolutely not.” She leaned back on the fridge, “I was minding my little business and made the decision to give you a call. Only for you to visually assault me when you answered.”

“Visual assault? That’s cute. Especially when I could see the flush on your face when you came back on screen.” He dropped his arms, “Tell me I’m lying.”

“Listen, I was not expecting to see all of that. Just your face and shoulders max, ya know.” She moved forward and hip checked him, “Excuse me, I need to put this away.”

Erik barely moved from the bump, but he side-stepped out of her way. “Well, can I at least have another piece of cake before you put it away?”

“Yeah, the desserts are still on the counter.” DeeDee reached up for a plate. “Here you go. The utensils are over there.” She pointed to the other side, near the stove.

Erik took the plate and opened the container with some 7-up cake inside. He grabbed a fork and put a piece on his plate. He closed it up and moved behind the counter.

DeeDee finished up putting away the food and took out a small container. She grabbed another plate and a bowl. She went to the sink, dumped the container and rinsed it off. Then she turned back to the counter, and grabbed a slice of cake. 

“Of course, you took some of mine.” DeeDee dumped some raspberries on her plate and set the bowl down. 

“I thought what’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine?”

“We aren’t there yet.”

“Yet? So, you see it too?”

DeeDee stuffed her mouth with cake and fruit, then shrugged. 

“Alright, you gonna answer that one of these days.” Erik took his plate to the sink and washed it off. 

He watched her continue to eat, and popped a few raspberries into his mouth. He looked at his watch.

“So, what time am I picking you up to go to the Christmas Festival tomorrow?”

DeeDee swallowed and set her fork down, “Oh, I always meet Dr. O and his family at his place then we carpool from there.”

“Always, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s been a tradition for the last few years since a lot of my cousins thought they were too old to go. I ran into them one year and joined them.”

“That’s sweet.” He walked over to her. “So, then I guess I will see you tomorrow at Marquis’.”

DeeDee inhaled his scent as he moved in close. “Yeah, tomorrow.” She took his hand and walked him to her door. “Thank you for tonight. I had a great time.”

He swung their hands together, “I’m glad to hear that. I’m here until next Saturday, so maybe we can do it again.”

“Just say you want to see my great-grandma again, next time.” She pouted. 

He dragged his thumb against her bottom lip, “What did I tell you about pouting?”

“You don’t like when I do it.”

“No, you don’t have to do that around me.” He lifted her chin so that she looked directly at him. “I can see Miss Carrie at any time. Besides, Dr. Bell’s retirement, I am here for you, DeeDee.” 

She closed her eyes. 

“I know you know that.” He removed his hand from her chin and grabbed her other hand. 

“I do.” 

“So, understand that I am trying to spend as much time as I possibly can with you.” He rubbed the backs of her hands, “Okay?”

DeeDee slowly opened her eyes, “Yeah. I understand.”

“I’ll let you know when I get back to my hotel.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Good night.”

He released her hands to open the door, and left.

DeeDee walked over to her chair and dropped into it. “Is this what love feels like?”

Taglist: @teakturn @ghostfacekill-monger @shaekingshitup @nahimjustfeelingit-writes​ @woahitslucyylu​ @ladymac82​ @bugngiz​ @eyeknowmywrites​ @ajspencer1892​ @arafatih​ @issimplyaamazinggg​ @tchallasbabymama​ @killmonger-fics​ @beautifullmelodyxx​ @raysunshine78​ @fd-writes​ @ljstraightnochaser​ @just-peachee​ @kaleidoscopeofsoul​

[formerlyknownas-delight]

Cat asks! 5, 14, 18,25

5) What does your cat’s daily routine look like?

Beau is the union leader and thus the one who makes sure we wake up in the morning to give out breakfast at an appropriate time. She's ruthless and unrelenting, which is how she got the position I know nothing about their further morning routine bc either I go back to sleep or I have to be somewhere. Sometimes they join me in bed though Early afternoons are time for increasing drama regarding the 4 o'clock snack. Yet again, Beau leads the fight. The men tend to nap bc they know they can trust her to speak up for them. Charon gets his snack behind closed doors so the others can finish theirs in peace. After that, zoomsies might happen. Gwynn spends a lot of his spare time at my brother's part of the flat. They're very tight and it's Beau-free zone. Charon naps in the living room, sometimes with Beau, sometimes she's in my lap instead when I'm on the laptop. Occassional playtime between them may ensue. My wife's bedtime is obviously the perfect hour to crash into doors and furniture, so that has to be done. Dinner is given out at about midnight, so 10 pm is the time of choice to start adressing that topic with me. Vandalism increases in the following hours until I finally cave in and feed the herd. The next exciting step is when I go to bed as well: Charon loves being the little spoon for my wife and is the only cat allowed into othe bedroom on weekdays, bc he will just snuggle till the morning.

14) Where does your cat like to sleep?

Beau: the bean bag; buried under blankets or clothes; my lap; the end of the bed Gwynn: his own office chair in my brother's room; my brother's bed; the end of our bed; the new sofa; up on a shelf Charon: the small armchair; my wifes side or on top of them; on Gwynn's shelf spot; on top of the heater (that's new and he's very smart) 18) Describe one weird thing your cat does.

Beau: scratching on the metal legs of my desk when she demands food. Also chewing furniture knobs for the same purpose. Also she eats chocolate when we aren't looking Gwynn: he scratches the walls next to the litterbox in an attempt to cover his business. To his dismay it never works Charon: he seems to be the most normal so far. When he's displeased, bc he was expelled from the kitchen for example, or bc I tried to pick him up, he scratches the carpet frantically

25) If you could change one thing about your cat, would you? What would it be?

Beau is perfect. Nothing Gwynn: more patience with Beau. She just wants to play, and she's half his size so calm dude! Also sometimes she genuinely wants to snuggle and groom - let your little sister be cute with you!

Charon: I wish he would let me pick him up Thank you my babe, nothing is better than getting to talk about my herd🥰🥰🥰

[bumbershots]

Mistletoe & Wine

A/N: Hello this is my collaboration for @goldenbluesuit very well put together Christmas song fic challenge. It’s my first time participating and my first time posting my writing here as well (I’m sort of new, I have no friends) so, I’m kind of nervous and English is not my first language (sorry for any mistakes) thanks to my boyfriend for being a Brit so he could help me with the “slang” and for reading this about fifteen times and listened to Mistletoe and Wine by Cliff Richard throughout the entire week with me lol. Thanks for  taking the time to read this :) If you want to befriend a twenty six year old Aries, or just send me an ask click here.

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: Harry meets a woman that is not here to stay, he will need to decide if that will keep him from making the most of the very few days they have together or dread the imminent separation.

It was raining when her flight landed in London. The kind of rain that doesn't pour heavily, instead it settles over the city for days. And although she can't afford to take a cab, she steps out of the airport just to stare at the endless grey of the sky and wrap herself in her coat because of how cold it was. After a few more minutes she goes back inside to find the way to get out of there on the tube, she knew it to be possible after all the research she's been doing since the age of twelve on the internet.

Soon enough, the man she approached to ask for help, confirms that a train is leaving in a few minutes and she can easily get off at Hammersmith, he even helps her buy the ticket and recommends to get an oyster card if she is going to use London's Underground often. But she doesn't know, she relishes in the element of surprise that is surrounding her life for the next 3 weeks. It excites her to an unfamiliar degree to see people come and go into the carriage, it almost makes her miss her stop, but she manages to get off just in time, her hands clutching the heavy suitcase that contains all her nicest and warmest clothes. She follows the crowd up the stairs and out of the station, the busy street revealed before her is straight out of those books she restlessly studied at school, people wearing trench coats and long scarfs hurry in hopes to avoid the rain and then a red double-decker bus passes by. The cherry on top.

The spontaneous decision to spend Christmas in England instead of her home country was made months ago, on the night of her birthday, although her closest friends would say that she's been dreaming of it since she read Harry Potter. No one gave her a hard time for it, in fact, almost all her friends and family members went to the airport to wish her a safe trip. Her grandmother was cheeky enough to slip a twenty pound note when hugging her goodbye.

Every day of the first week went by in a blur, visiting museums, galleries and walking around the city, getting soaked in its beauty and the endless rain. By the beginning of the second week, a bit tired of the scarce options from the hotel's breakfast, she ventured out, burying half of her face in the scarf she bought the day before at Primark, her feet guiding her almost out of instinct to the little cafe at the end of Hercules road. The place is warm and the menu seems to have it all for a very fair price. After a couple of minutes the Full English wins, she iterates the order to the woman behind the counter and adds a cup of tea handing over the money.

"Get a seat love, I'll bring it over." The elder lady says making the girl smile and thank her before scampering across the room to sit by the window at the four seat table tucked in the corner.

It doesn't take long for her food to arrive and for her to dig in, feeling kind of full almost at the end, she slows down then, a trick her father passed down on her. Let it settle in for a few minutes before going back at it. Works every time. She gets lost on the daily life happening before her eyes, the people walking by, some in a rush maybe to get to work, others in a rush to get to the shops early and buy presents. She could easily tell the difference between one and other. The elderly couple walking to the market, slower than anybody else, arms linked and without a care in the world. A girl around her age doing "the walk of shame" elicited a smirk on her lips. Good for her.

"Do you mind if I take a seat?" She almost missed the question by the stranger standing there. "There's no empty seats elsewhere I'm afraid, I won't bother you." He was right, in the span of thirty minutes the place was full to the brim with families, the three seats at her table the only ones free so, she nodded and even managed to smile in a friendly way. Unfortunately for her, the green eyed stranger did the same, a sweet dimple on his left cheek more prominent than on the right one and she had to eat a spoonful of beans in an attempt to hide her blush.

Two weeks in the country, almost two weeks, and the best looking man on it decides to show up on a greasy spoon cafe when she's eating what's left of her sausages and beans. His food is delivered by the same lady from earlier, of course it is something that looks healthy. The sudden need to fly away from the place pops in her head, it's not a bad one, he doesn't even know her name. She wants to know his. She remembers how he said he wouldn't bother her, it's almost disappointing, she wants to be bothered.

The situation seems to be straight out of a rom-com, she is cutting the banger in little pieces, as if the formula to spark conversation with the mystery guy keeping her company is hidden in them. But after five minutes she sighs quietly, knowing that her own shyness won't let her even glance at him again. She will have to do her best to remember him and observe from the corner of her eye until the last piece of minced pork is consumed by her. And maybe she will gush about how gorgeous he was with her friends once she is back home, describing his shiny emerald eyes for them, sharing a sigh when she recalls how dreamy his accent was and squeal upon the memory of his raspy voice.

Ten minutes later her last bite is chewed and swallowed, the cup is empty as well. She's about to grab her coat draped on the back of her chair. "I'm going to have to break my non-disturbing you promise but... um, that's a sick cardigan." His voice doesn't sound confident as before, he even clears his throat, but his eyes never leave hers.

"Thanks, my grandma knitted it for me." She forgets about her coat and straightens out a bit for him to appreciate the colourful patchwork and extends her left arm to show the over-sized sleeve. Her companion hums in approval. "She hates it."

"What?" His green eyes widening in disbelief and she just shrugs.

"As soon as I put it on she went on and on about how horrible it was, the wrong proportions and how it all seemed better off in her mind." They share a giggle and don't notice that their empty plates have been taken away and the place is no longer swamped by people. "But I like it, I like it a lot, does a good job keeping me warm." And makes her look lovely, he thinks but doesn't say.

Instead he licks his lips before speaking again. "I'm Harry." He offers his left hand and she quickly eyes the cross tattoo.

"I'm a tourist." She says before adding her real name, earning a deep chuckle from him before letting go of his hand.

The set of circumstances in which she met Harry is dreamy for sure, but something about him made the set of affairs so real. When he asked about the places where she'd been the scoff afterwards and the roll of his eyes made her ask what was wrong about them. But he didn't answer, with a shake of his head and a deep sigh he asked for her phone number. The promise to show her the real London lingered in the air as they parted ways outside of the corner cafe.

Her heart raced at the very sight of him outside Borough Market the following morning. "Morning love, alright?" he greeted her before hugging her tight and quick. It was so genuine it made her wonder if she really just met him the day before. "Do you like doughnuts?"

"Who doesn't?" she says with that grin he worries will wait for him in his dreams.

"Wisest words ever spoken." Harry's arm is wrapped around her shoulders, guiding her on their quest inside the huge market.

The early morning is spent too soon, Harry guides her to talk to the stall owners, they are so passionate about their produce, most of them willing when possible to give them a sample. The highlight is the stop at Bread Ahead, they buy more doughnuts than what she thinks they need. They eat them all while sharing a Monmouth coffee. Harry shares with her stories about almost every stall they passed by. "I'm not a fan of red meat, and oysters." She keeps record of it, basking in his lovely anecdotes that seemed to summon the sun from it's hiding place. "We're granted a sunny day in winter!" He celebrates and it's impossible not to join him. "Let's go to Richmond Park."

Of course she nods in agreement and follows him down the street where he parked his car before she gets in the passenger seat. The stranger danger alarm, should've gone off in her head. But there was something about him, like he was holding her in place. As she heard Harry speak about his job, it started to make more sense in her head. Harry was a lot like this country, foreign, new, exciting and hers for the next few days. He made that clear when they parted ways at the end of the day.

"Come home with me for Christmas." Harry asked her on what would be the beginning of her last week in London, while having a picnic on Primrose Hill.

"With your family?" Her eyebrows were shot up when he nodded, fighting back that deadly smirk of his. "All your relatives will be there?" He nods again and she scoffs completely agitated. "Don't be daft Harry!" She voices out her feelings borrowing an expression of his.

He laughs and it's impossible for her not to join him, her face growing hotter by the second. "I don't want to go without you, and mum will love to have you there," that's what she fears.

"I don't know Harry, might be weird." He disagrees right away.

"It's close to Liverpool, we could spend a day or two over there." The past week he's been trying to learn as many things from her as possible and if he chooses his words carefully he can convince her. "Pay a visit to Anfield, The Cavern." His fake nonchalant attitude makes her roll her eyes, "Strawberry Fields is there too, you know?" She agrees and he kisses the back of her hand to mask the proud grin on his face.

In the past, she was always careful not to let a partner know how deeply she cared about them. The thought of being vulnerable made her lose her mind, thinking it was a sign of weakness. But seeing Harry drive through the English countryside, singing at the top of his lungs to Mistletoe and Wine by Cliff Richard and smiling just for her. It made her want to tell him, but not even all the words in every single language ever spoken by humanity could be enough to give him an idea of how much she cares for him.

There hasn't been a proper kiss between them, it puzzled her at first. Because his gaze seemed to be constantly directed to her lips. But then there was all the touching, holding hands, tucking her to his side when walking, his tender touch before hugging her goodbye. And the way he was always running his hands through her hair.

"She's a friend," he introduces her to his mum Anne and sister Gemma, after saying her name, chewing on the word like it's that mint gum he carries in his purse everywhere he goes. "Was a bloody tourist when I first met her but now... she's a proper Londoner." She doubts it, but she agrees on them being friends and she likes it, a lot.

They help Anne and Gemma to set the table and the finishing touches for dinner. Only three more family members show up and she chastises Harry for making her believe that all of his offspring was going to attend. That's how they usually spend Christmas Eve back home, she explains.

It saddens him, the thought of her going back to her home country in five days time. All the way across the Atlantic, six hours behind him. It's almost unfair.

"Tell me more about it," Harry's curiosity is genuine, thinking that he would love to know more about her traditions. Perhaps even be lucky enough to share them someday.

"We don't have these," she regrets taking a tube of brightly coloured paper. "We have piñatas though." She adds proudly and Harry's jaw hangs open in surprise.

"No fucking way!" He is immediately told off by his mum as they all take a seat at the table. "I thought that was only allowed for birthdays."

"There's no rules for that!" She takes the Christmas cracker out again and Harry takes it from the other end. "So, I just pull it?" He nods and it makes a noise revealing the present.

"You get the crown." Harry unfolds it before helping her fix it atop her head. "And the little toy, what is it?oh... I get the joke!" His family groans, his sister hiding her face in hands, but all she sees is the glint in Harry's eye before he reads. "Who's Rudolph's favourite pop star?"

"I don't know," she's the only one that was going to ask him. And she really wanted to know.

"Beyon-sleigh!" Harry watches in delight how the girl before him snorts at the silly and not so funny joke.

"That was awful." She confessed.

"Agree, next year we'll make our own. Riddles only." His mum adds and Harry protests right away but is shushed by Gemma's voice reading out loud the riddle from her cracker.

Next year, she will probably be spending the day with her numerous family, she thinks. Harry will be here again, telling awful jokes, pulling away Christmas crackers. Perhaps he will bring another person with him. She tries to push the poisonous thoughts down with a big gulp of wine. Only succeeding when Harry's left hand rests on her knee, his thumb rubbing circles on her skin exposed by her ripped jeans while he listens to his sister talk about her podcast. It marvels her how he is there, for everybody.

After dinner they play family games and Harry makes a fake tantrum after his cousin Chloe claims his companion for her team.

"She's mine!" He argues, his long arms embracing her easily. She ends up joining the other team, but the quick kiss she bravely gave to his neck before he let her go, confirmed the words he spoke.

There is a three step process Harry follows to know he's fallen in love. If he finds himself talking about them with every living soul, if he does something they like just because it makes him miss them less and finally if he takes them home to meet his mum. He knows that for the past few days, there was no other topic to discuss with him than the girl sitting beside him in the sofa. He's been drinking tea every morning, just because it reminds him of her. He watches her talk to his mother about how much they like Rod Stewart and knows that he's in too deep.

It should bother him, because she will leave. And all these moments spent, will be just distant memories for him to torture himself over and over again. He wants to feel the angst of knowing that maybe she will forget him, maybe she has a partner back home. He gives up on trying to feel miserable, agreeing with that song from earlier. It is a time to rejoice in the good that we see, a time for living and believing.

Right now all he sees is her, he sighs before tucking her by his side, her brown doe eyes meeting his briefly before sneaking an arm around his waist. She continues to chat with Anne and Gemma even after the rest of the guests leave, still holding onto him. Harry can see the fondness radiating from his mother and sister for the girl in his arms. He sees trust, and he smiles thinking of a new beginning.

What a beautiful sight.

[thelastspeecher]

A Case of Mistaken Identity - Chapter 4: Fear No Weather

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   AO3

I don’t often just sort of, discretely, without warning, update a multichap.  I usually mention ahead of time that I’m working on the next chapter and it’s getting close, maybe I even post a small screenshot.  But this time, I was so focused on getting the next chapter of this fic up that I forewent that.

Anyways, this chapter has Stan being a cynic and Mabel being a delight and Fiddleford being suspicious of what exactly Ford is up to when he’s not around.  Enjoy.

———————————————————————————————————–

              Ford gaped at Stan.

              “What do you mean, ‘who are they’?  They’re your children!” Ford protested.  “I told you that-”

              “Yeah, you said that I had two kids that showed up at your place,” Stan said.  He crossed his arms.  “I was an idiot to believe you.”

              “They are your-”

              “Hey, kids,” Stan barked.

              “Yes?” Dipper squeaked.

              “You twins?” Stan asked.  Dipper and Mabel nodded.  “How old are the two of you?”

              “Twelve,” Mabel replied.

              “Twelve.”  Stan narrowed his eyes at Ford.  “If they were mine, I woulda had to knock up some poor girl while I still lived at home. I know you don’t think much of me, but do you really think I’d be a teen dad?  After everything Pops pounded into our skulls?”

              “I wouldn’t put it past you,” Ford said shortly. Stan huffed impatiently.  He began to walk away.  Ford raised his voice.  “After all, you seem perfectly fine abandoning your children!”  Stan rounded on Ford, his face beet red.

              “Fuck off, you prick!” he snarled.  Fiddleford let out a yelp.

              “Stanley, please, there are children here!” Fiddleford protested.  Stan didn’t even look over at Fiddleford, instead continuing to glare at Ford.

              “Shut up, Ford’s ‘partner’,” he ground out, etching air quotes around the word “partner”.  Fiddleford flushed.  “First off, kids should learn swears.  Second, I don’t give a damn about keeping a clean mouth when Ford’s telling me I’m a deadbeat dad and fine with it.  He knows that I always swore I wouldn’t do that.”

              “You also swore you’d stand by me, only to sabotage-” Ford started.  Stan threw his hands into the air.

              “Wow, it only took you five minutes to bring that up, huh?  I went outta my way to come see you ‘cause you insisted-”

              “As if you were doing anything of note-” Ford scoffed.

              “For all you know, I was solving cancer!”

              “You were either dumpster diving or being thrown out of a casino!”

              “Like you’re doing something more important, holed up in a romantic cabin-”

              “Gentlemen!” Fiddleford said loudly.

              “You’re not involved, hayseed.  And trust me, you don’t want to be,” Stan snarled.

              “Don’t call Fiddleford-”

              “I’ll call him whatever the damn well I want to!” Stan’s voice was now a low roar. Ford raised his to match.

              “Oh, Lord,” Fiddleford muttered, kneading his forehead.

              “Just let them tire themselves out,” Mabel said. Fiddleford shook his head.

              “Sweetling, I grew up with five siblin’s.  I know when an argument will turn into a fist fight,” he said tiredly.  Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look.

              “Should we spill the beans?” Mabel whispered.

              “They’ll figure it out eventually.  We might as well tell them before they bring the house down,” Dipper hissed back.  Mabel nodded. She hopped off her chair and walked over to the brothers, who had progressed to screaming at each other.

              “Stan’s right,” she called over the noise.  Stan gestured at her.

              “See, Sixer?  I told you I didn’t have any kids.”

              “What?  But…” Ford seemed heartbroken.  “I don’t-”

              “Stan isn’t our dad.  He’s our great-uncle.  And as far as we can tell, so are you, Ford.”

              “Great, huh?” Stan snorted.  He crossed his arms.  “Kid, we haven’t known each other long enough for you to know what I’m like as an uncle.”

              “Not great as in like, good.  Great as in…”  Mabel looked at Dipper, who got down from his chair and joined her.

              “Great as in two generations removed,” he explained. Ford frowned.

              “A great-uncle is the brother of a grandparent. Are you saying that Shermie is your grandfather?”  Dipper and Mabel nodded.  “That’s impossible.  Shermie’s children aren’t old enough to have children your age.  Not to mention, Shermie’s too young to be a grandfather.”

              “Right now, he’s too young,” Dipper agreed. Ford’s eyes widened.  He crouched down to the twins’ eye-height.

              “Are you suggesting you are from the future?” he asked breathlessly.  Dipper and Mabel nodded again.  Ford’s eyes, brown like theirs, sparkled behind his glasses.  “Remarkable.”

              “Really?  You believe them?” Stan demanded.  “You’re not even gonna ask for proof?”

              “I’ve seen far stranger things in Gravity Falls than time travelers,” Ford said.  He raised an eyebrow.  “Though maybe Stanley has a point.  Do you two have any proof to offer?”  Wordlessly, Dipper drew the journal from his jacket.  Ford’s jaw dropped.  “My journal!”

              “Don’t read anything in it,” Dipper said quickly. Ford nodded.

              “I won’t even open it, my dear boy.  Just seeing the outside is enough to fully sway my opinion.”  Ford looked the journal over a few times, then handed it back, despite clearly wanting to hold on to it longer.  Stan scoffed.

              “He shows you some book and you’re convinced, huh? Y’know, pulling a prank doesn’t have to be this damn complicated,” Stan said snidely.  Ford stood.  He frowned at Stan.

              “This is no prank.”

              “If you want me to believe you, I’m gonna need some proof.”  Stan stared directly at Dipper and Mabel.  “Tell me tomorrow’s lotto numbers.”

              “We don’t know those,” Dipper said.  Mabel shook her head.

              “If you’re really from the future, you’d have some fancy future tech,” Stan said.  Dipper and Mabel shook their heads.  Stan’s face hardened.  “Yeah. Figured.”

              “Uh, give us a moment,” Dipper said.  He pulled Mabel over to the side to whisper to her.  “How are we supposed to convince Stan?  He’s a notorious cynic!  I mean, he lived in Gravity Falls for years, but refused to acknowledge the existence of the supernatural!”

              “Well, we don’t have any technology that is future-y enough,” Mabel said slowly.  “Maybe we let him know something that we know about him?”

              “That would only work if Ford didn’t know it, either. If it’s something Ford would know, then Stan will just think Ford told us.”

              “So it has to be something that happened after Stan left home,” Mabel said.  Dipper nodded.  “Hmm…” Her eyes brightened.  “Oh!  I’ve got it!”

              “Really?”

              “Yeah!”

----- 

              A couple weeks into their stay in Gravity Falls, Mabel woke up before Dipper.  Knowing how late her brother tended to stay up, she decided to let him sleep in, and happily traipsed downstairs for some breakfast.  Her bubbly mood was slightly stifled by the sight of Stan in just his boxers and undershirt, cooking at the stove, looking more ogrish than usual.

              He probably just hasn’t had a chance to freshen up yet.

              “You’re up early,” Stan grunted.  Using a large wooden spoon, he poked whatever was cooking in the skillet.

              “I don’t need much beauty sleep,” Mabel replied. To her delight, the comment elicited a small smile from Stan.  She bounded to his side.  “What’s for breakfast?”

              “I went classic today.  Bacon and eggs.”

              “…Bacon?”

              “Yeah.  You heard of it, right?  It’s the best dam- darn food in the world, kid.”

              “No, I’ve heard of it.  I’ve even had it.  But Dad told us that you keep kosher, like Grampie Shermie.”

              “Heh.  He probably thinks that ‘cause Shermie told him we kept kosher as kids.  But the day I left home, I said ‘screw it’ and tried bacon. Never looked back.  Best decision I ever made.”

              “Really?  You haven’t done anything else in your entire life that was better than deciding to eat bacon?” Mabel asked doubtfully.  A sudden somber fell over her grunkle.

              “…No,” he said.

              “Oh.”  It was as though Stan’s mood was contagious.  Mabel could feel herself getting more serious as well.  “That’s kinda sad, though.”

              “Eating bacon is the best thing I’ve done so far,” Stan said brightly.  His mood switch was so abrupt that Mabel doubted it was genuine.  “I might be old, but I’ve still got some time to do something even better than eat bacon.”

              “Like what?” Mabel asked.  Stan raised an eyebrow at her.

              “Whattaya think?”

              “Hmm…”  Mabel frowned thoughtfully.  She beamed. “Oh!  You could write a series of mystery novels called Crime Grandpa!” Stan snorted.  Mabel took this as a sign to continue.  “You could teach a bear how to drive!”

              “That’s actually not half bad,” Stan said.

              “You could save Dipper from magical math!”

              “Magical math, huh?” Stan asked.  Mabel nodded.  “How would I do that?”

              “You’re the one that saves him, not me.”

              “Heh.”  Stan ruffled Mabel’s hair.  “Guess I’ll have to work on that one, then.  Now, stop bugging me, or I’ll burn breakfast.”

              Mabel went over to the kitchen table.  She sat in her chair, kicking her legs idly.  As she waited for food, she could barely make out Stan muttering to himself.

              “I bet Dan could find some bear I could use…”

----- 

              “What did you think of?” Dipper asked, dragging Mabel out of the memory.  Mabel grinned and trotted over to Stan.  She leaned her head back to look into his face.

              “Grunkle Stan, your favorite food is bacon!” she said. Stan’s face went slack.

              “No, it’s toffee peanuts,” Ford said.  “Stan’s never even had bacon.”

              “The day after he left home, he tried bacon,” Mabel said, “and he never looked back.”  Stan swore softly under his breath.  “Do you believe us now, Grunkle Stan?”

              “I don’t think I fully believe you, squirt,” Stan said after a moment.  “But you’ve got my attention at least.  I’ll hear you out.”  Mabel’s grin broadened.  Stan looked over at Fiddleford.  “Why are you so quiet, hayseed?  No comment?”

              “I already said my comments when they told me the truth the other day,” Fiddleford said with a shrug.  Ford’s jaw dropped again.  “Stanley, since yer willin’ to at least listen now, would ya mind joinin’ us fer breakfast?”

              “A free meal?”  Stan marched over to the table, grabbed a chair, pulled it out, and sat. He put his feet up on the table. “Like I’d turn that down.”

----- 

              While Dipper and Mabel told their great-uncles how they wound up in the past, Stan practically inhaled multiple bowls of breakfast scramble doused in sausage gravy.  The kids watched in almost awe as their grunkle put away food at an unnervingly fast pace.  The speed was actually concerning to Dipper, who began to wonder if there was a nefarious reason for Stan’s appetite.

              It’s like he hasn’t had anything to eat in days. A strange sensation squeezed Dipper’s gut.  That might actually be the case.  Who knows what he’s been up to?  Judging by Fiddleford’s concerned expression, he was thinking along similar lines.

              “Where is this time travel device?” Ford asked, once they had finished their story.

              “We gave it to Mr. McGucket,” Mabel said. Wordlessly, Fiddleford drew the tape measure out of his back pocket.  He placed it on the table.  Ford picked it up.  He let out a long breath of astonishment.

              “This is incredible.”

              “Looks like something you could get at the hardware store for two bucks,” Stan said in between mouthfuls of food.  “Why are you believing these kids?”

              “Do you still doubt they’re from the future?”

              “Yes.  I already said that,” Stan said impatiently.  “I’m just hearing them out so that I can decide whether I actually believe ‘em or not.  So far, I’m leaning towards thinking they’re pulling some sort of weird con.”

              “How else can they convince you?” Ford asked. Stan shrugged.  “If you can’t provide an example of the evidence needed, how-”  Ford was interrupted by a beeping sound.  “What is that?”

              “Hell if I know,” Stan muttered.  He began shoveling food into his mouth again. “Some sorta weird, nerdy, mad science thing?”

              “If it was something Fiddleford or I made, I would recognize the noise it makes,” Ford said irritably.

              “Maybe it started working right while you weren’t looking,” Stan said.  Ford glared.

              “You-”

              “It’s my watch,” Dipper said quickly.  He shut off the alarm on his digital watch. “It’s letting me know the battery’s getting low, that’s all.”

              “That’s yer watch?” Fiddleford asked.  Dipper nodded.  “I’ve never heard a watch make that sort of sound.  What kind is it?”

              “Uh…a digital electronic wristwatch?” Dipper said warily.  Ford and Fiddleford’s eyes widened.  Stan, however, held out a hand.

              “Show me,” he instructed.  Dipper hesitated.  “I won’t steal it from you.  I know better than to pocket something people are looking at.”  Dipper reluctantly removed his watch and handed it over.  Stan held the watch up to his eyes, squinting.

              Why is he holding it so close?  Dipper abruptly remembered how blind Stan was in the future.  Does he need glasses?  Ford does.  Finally, Stan set the watch down on the table.  He slid it back to Dipper, who put it on his wrist again.

              “Why didn’t you show me that from the beginning?” he asked.  Dipper and Mabel’s jaws dropped.

              “Wait, you believe us now?” Dipper asked.  Stan nodded.

              “But…it’s just a watch,” Mabel said.

              “It’s a watch I’ve only ever seen in movies. There’s no reason someone like you would have one.  So I’ll ask again.  Do you kids know any future lotto numbers?” he asked.  The twins shook their heads.  “Dammit,” he muttered.  “Coulda used the dough.”

              “Even if we knew, we wouldn’t tell you,” Mabel said. “We can’t change the future too much.” Stan smiled, but the expression seemed more sad than amused.

              “Kiddo, you two definitely already screwed things up.”

              “But-” Mabel started.  Ford held up a hand.  She fell silent.

              “Stanley is right,” he said solemnly.  “You two have, undoubtedly, altered the future from the one you came from.”

              “So…we won’t be able to get back home?”

              “Not by using the device that took you here alone. You’ll need to also utilize a tool allowing you to travel between realities, as you now come from an alternate universe, as well as the future.”

              “How are we supposed to find something like that?” Dipper asked.  “We stole the tape measure and wound up breaking it!  We have no idea how to go to a different reality.”  A smile spread across Ford’s face.

              “Luckily, I happen to know someone who has much expertise in other realms.”  That got Fiddleford’s attention.  He watched Ford warily.  “I will go consult him.”  Without another word, he got up from his chair and left the kitchen.

              “Great, just great,” Fiddleford muttered under his breath.  He began to clear the table.  “He’s gettin’ his lil friend involved.”

              “You seem peeved, Fiddlesticks,” Stan commented. Fiddleford sighed.

              “I ain’t met this person he said he’ll talk to, which ain’t a crime in and of itself.  But I get a bad feelin’ ‘bout it.”

              “You gotta trust your gut,” Stan said softly. He eyed Dipper and Mabel.  “And my gut says that there’s something big that you two are either leaving out or just flat-out don’t know about.”

              “Why?” Dipper asked.  Stan raised an eyebrow.

              “You guys only think Ford’s your great-uncle. Which to me, makes it sound like you two didn’t even know Ford existed before you came here.”

              “I mean…sort of,” Dipper said, rubbing the back of his neck.  Mabel looked at him questioningly.  “We might as well tell him, Mabel.  You heard Ford.  We already messed up the future.”

              “Yeah,” Mabel said.  She took over for Dipper.  “We knew you, but we thought your name was Stanford.  We didn’t know you, or Ford, or, uh, both of you, had a twin.” Stan swore.  “What?  What’s wrong?”

              “How long was I going by Ford’s name?” Stan asked.

              “You didn’t go by Ford, you still went by Stan,” Dipper said.  “You just said it was short for Stanford.”

              “That’s a bit better, but still not great. Answer the question, kid.”

              “I don’t know how long you went by Stanford. But as far as we knew, our dad thought that was your name, and so did Grampie Shermie.”  Fiddleford, who had progressed from clearing the dishes from the table to washing them, froze.  “We were really confused when we got here.”

              “Yeah.  Yeah, I can see why,” Stan mumbled.  He closed his eyes.  “Shit.”

              “You need to explain yer sudden concern, Stanley,” Fiddleford said, propping a sudsy hand on one hip.  “We can’t read yer mind.”

              “Like you’re not concerned about this new information,” Stan snapped.

              “Oh, believe me, I am.  But yer clearly comin’ to some conclusions that ya need to share with the rest of us.”

              “Fine.”  Stan paused. “I don’t always like my life, but I wouldn’t try to take over Ford’s.  Sure, we pretended to be each other to confuse people when we were kids. But this isn’t tricking our mom. This is…this is something serious. I mean, what happened to Stanley? Ford wouldn’t be me, so what did I do with my real identity?”  Stan was silent for a moment.  “There’s only one circumstance I can think of, where I would pretend to be Ford for years and act like the real me didn’t even exist anymore.  Ford isn’t around.”

              “You think he’s passed, by Dipper ‘n Mabel’s time?” Fiddleford asked softly.  Stan shook his head.

              “I wouldn’t take over Ford’s life if he was dead. That’s wrong on more levels than I can count.  No, Ford’s alive.  Or at least, future me thinks he’s alive.  But he’s missing, in some sort of trouble, and I decided the easiest way to help would be to pretend to be him.”

              “Would you try to help him?” Dipper asked quietly.

              “Am I pissed at Ford?  Yes.  Do I hate his guts?  Yes.  But would I do everything I could to help him?” Stan asked.  He paused. “Yes,” he said.  “We might not be friends anymore, but we’re still brothers. We’re still twins.  I wouldn’t turn my back on him if I thought he was in danger.”

              “Maybe right now, that’s yer reaction, but there’s always the chance that you change,” Fiddleford said.  Stan nodded.

              “Yeah, hayseed, that’s possible.  Maybe I’m a different person in the future.  But at least right now, I can only think of one way to wind up in the situation these kids are describing.  Ford’s in trouble.”

              “What kind of trouble?” Mabel asked.  Stan let out a bark of laughter.

              “If I had any idea, little gremlin, I’d tell you.”

----- 

              Glad to have a reason to leave his twin’s presence, Ford entered his study.  He closed the door behind him, then sat cross-legged on the floor.  Excitement filled him at having such an excellently unique circumstance to consult his muse for.

              I highly doubt, even in his millennia of existence, he’s come across a situation like this.  Ford closed his eyes and began to empty his mind of thoughts.  His excitement made the simple act difficult; it took much longer than usual.  But finally, his head had been cleared.  And in the darkness and silence, his muse came.

              “Well, well, well,” sounded the familiar and welcome voice.

              Ford smiled.

              “Hello, Bill.”

[mxndoscyarika]

Red Sunsets (Javier Peña x Chinese!reader) | Chapter 8: El Punto de Sucumbir

Author’s note: I don’t wanna give toooooo much away, but I just wanted to let you know that we’ve finally reached lucky number 8 👀 If you were here a couple nights ago, you proooobably have an idea of what’s going to happen, because I had asked a few questions related to ~kisses~, if you catch my drift. Let me know what you guys think!

Summary: Family fights, grudges, and determination. Those three things defined your journey as you navigated through the workings of the DEA. Getting in was hard, and catching Escobar was even harder. You joined Javier Peña and Steve Murphy in the hunt for Escobar, forming bonds and life lessons along the way.

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist. 

Red Sunsets masterlist

Warning(s): food, Careless Whisper lol, physical affection, implied smut

“So where are you taking me, again?” you asked, looking out at the passing buildings. You didn’t recognize the shops and restaurants you’d passed. The sky was darkened to a royal blue, the last rays of sunlight already well below the horizon.

“One of my personal favorite restaurants in Colombia,” he answered. “They have good arepas, your favorite, and the owners are pretty friendly. I used to go there often before you came along.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “What happened after I arrived that made you forego your favorite restaurant?”

Shrugging, he said, “I guess you happened.” He scoffed at your pout. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’re worth all the arepas in the world.”

You were thankful for the shroud of darkness, because you felt your cheeks grow hot and you bit your lip to contain your grin. “And you’re worth all the homemade dumplings.”

Javi chuckled softly, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. As usual, you had the perfect response. He could barely remember a time when he truly cared about flirting, or how the women of his affections responded. But somehow, every time, you managed to turn his tactics around on him.

It took every ounce of self control to keep his eyes on the road and his hands to himself. You wore a simple t-shirt and jeans, and what little makeup you applied only served to make your cheeks and lips look unbearably kissable.

He took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the wheel. More times than he wanted to admit, he’s caught himself reaching to hold your hand or rest his hand on your thigh. Thankfully, it was dark enough that you probably hadn’t noticed. As much as he hated to acknowledge it, you weren’t his. He hadn’t even worked up the guts to tell you how he felt yet.

“Hola Javier!” the owner greeted, her face lighting up. She wiped her hands on her apron and waved for him to sit down at a table. “Hace mucho tiempo que no nos vemos. Quién es ella, tu novia?”

Javi blushed, smiling sheepishly. While he couldn’t understand what Chinese shop owners said, you could understand Spanish as well as he did. “No no no, ella es una amiga. Nos conocemos del trabajo.”

The owner of the restaurant simply hummed in response and eyed you from head to toe, much like how a parent may analyze a prom date. “Pues, no te molestaré, okey? Cuéntame si necesitas algo.”

More than accustomed to eating family-style, you and Javi ordered a couple of the smaller entrees and a flan to share. Much like how Javi let you take the reins in local Chinese restaurants, you let him order the food and make small talk. You propped your head up against your hand as you watched him, a small smile perpetually on your lips.

The low moan that left your lips when you bit into a cheesy arepa was music to his ears. He wondered if you’d sound like that when you were kissed. Only when your eyes met did his train of thought come to a screeching halt.

Fighting back a blush, he busied himself with splitting an arepa stuffed with meat, beans, and cheese and sliding the plate over. You tried not to think about how he was so gentle. “Try this one, hermosa. I think you’ll like it.”

“You’re a man aiming for my heart,” you hummed. In your past relationships, you never had anyone treat you the way Javi did with his genuine eagerness. Not that you and he were on a date, you’d never called it that, but you couldn’t help but draw the comparison. You lifted the half that he offered and took a big bite, giggling when the grated cheese stuck to your cheek.

“You have a little bit of….” Laughing softly at your plight, he reached over and brushed it off with his thumb, the pad of his finger caressing your cheek. You fought the urge to lean into his touch and nuzzle your face into the palm of his hand. Javi was just being polite, right? It didn’t mean anything.

Javi drew his hand away and glanced down at his watch. “The movie should be starting in about 45 minutes, let’s start finishing up here and then head over to the movie theater.” He paused, then added, “Unless you feel like going home for a night in?”

“What’ll we do at home?” you wondered, wiping your hands with a napkin. “I’d love to have a night in, if that’s what you want. As long as I’m with you, I really don’t care.”

His heart skipped a beat at your words, though the logical part of his mind stamped down any hope he had. Was he just a friend that you wanted around because you were lonely? It’d been a long time since his last serious relationship, but he couldn’t imagine diving back in with anyone else. He just hoped you felt the same. “We could just relax, maybe turn on some music and just talk.”

“I never knew that Javier Peña would be one to ‘just talk,’” you quipped, smiling at him.

“I can be, with the right person.” He shrugged, picking up the singular spoon and scooping up a bite of the flan. Its amber caramel sauce glistened in the restaurant’s warm lighting. Smiling softly, he held it up to your lips. “First bite is yours, hermosa.”

Taking turns eating spoonfuls of flan, you talked about things ranging from family to favorite animals. Growing up on a ranch, Javi’s favorite animal was a horse, sparking your questions about his life back in the States. You only knew the little bits of information floating around the DEA headquarters, and you wanted to know more.

At first he was hesitant, but then he told you about his father and how he’d grown up in a small town. You listened quietly as he told you about Lorraine, and how they were engaged to be married over a decade ago. His voice grew soft as he recalled all the wedding planning and shopping they did, and how their families had all converged to help out. Apparently, they’d been the talk of the town. It made you wonder if he ever missed her, or at least missed Laredo.

It was no secret that you’d come from an immigrant family, one rooted in traditions both good and bad. Well, good and bad by American standards, of course. You couldn’t deny that your parents had noticeably different views from the parents of your friends, nor could you deny that it gave you a window to your family’s heritage. No culture was perfect, free of discrimination, but you could always learn from it. All you could hope was that you weren’t too damaged or different to be with him.

“Is this how you get all your women to go home with you?” you teased, swirling the spoon in the pool of caramel. “You buy them dinner and feed them dessert before sweeping them off their feet?”

Javi shook his head. “Just you,” he replied, his voice like velvet. Shivers ran down your spine at the implication.

---

The drive back home was quiet, the two of you donning faint smiles in the darkness. You couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said throughout dinner, the sweet words and touches. It was a different man sitting across from you, one that you normally only saw glimpses of previously.

You bit your lip and looked out the window at the passing buildings, hoping the cool night air would soothe the burning in your cheeks. What did his words mean? Why did he seem so embarrassed when the restaurant lady asked if you were his girlfriend? Were you truly just a work friend to him? If you were, why did he look at you like you hung the stars in the night sky? Why did he watch you with those dark brown puppy eyes that made your insides melt?

“We’re home, hermosa.” Javi’s voice interrupted your chain of thought as he pulled up to the apartment building. Before you could finish unbuckling your seat belt, he was opening the car door for you.

It felt like second nature to walk over to his front door and wait for him to unlock it. But something about it felt different this time, like it was more than just a friendly hangout on a weekend evening.

While Javi turned on a couple lights, you made your way over to his record player and flipped through his various vinyls. “Any music preference tonight?”

He flicked on a lamp. “Anything is fine, Y/N. Your pick.”

The sound of a familiar saxophone blared out from the record player, making him freeze.

You laughed at his startled expression and stopped the music before switching out the George Michael record for Foreigner. “Except this one? Don’t worry, Javi, I know what you like.”

Shaking his head fondly, he sat down on the couch next to you and watched as you scooted closer to rest your head on his shoulder. The lyrics of I Want to Know What Love Is filled the air as you basked in each other’s presence.

“What do you think you’ll do once we catch Escobar?” you asked. Realizing you just brought up work on a weekend, you cringed. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

Sighing, Javi shifted and replied, “I don’t know. I didn’t exactly let myself leave much behind in Laredo.”

“You have your father and your family ranch,” you suggested, playing with the blanket you’d draped over yourself. “And I’m sure you could find someone to be your sweetheart in the States. After all, you’ll be the man who took down Pablo Escobar.”

“And what about you?” he asked, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. He tried not to dwell too long on your assumption that he’d want to be with someone from Laredo when he could be with you. “What will the magnificent Y/N L/N do once this is all over?”

You shrugged. “I guess I’ll continue my work in the States. Maybe set up a research lab of my own to study other drugs. And maybe I’ll stop by my parents’ house and see if they’ve forgiven me.”

“Well, if you ever need somebody to tell them how great you are, you know where to find me,” he said, smiling shyly. You felt warm as he continued, “You’re an amazing agent, and an even better friend. Anyone who doesn’t see that can fuck off, in my book.”

You laughed softly at his boldness, even if you knew him well enough that he wouldn’t insult your parents to their face. It was the thought that mattered.

But as you sat there, your hand resting in his and your cheek on his shoulder, you couldn’t help but wish that you could stay like that forever. The early morning drive to work with Javi, the casual lunch breaks, dinners, and late nights all made you wish you were together. You rarely felt like you belonged anywhere, but in his apartment? In his car? His bedroom? You felt safer than you ever did back in your hometown.

“Thank you, Javi,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the music.

“For what?”

For being there for me, you wanted to say. For seeing the best and worst parts of me without shying away. For making my coffee just the way I like it every day in the office. For staying with me after I woke up in the hospital. For having my back out on raids, and checking my vest to make sure I didn’t forget anything. For listening to me when I go off on tangents about my culture.

“Everything,” you answered softly. “For putting up with me, I guess.”

A smile graced your lips as he slipped his arm around you and pulled you closer to him. “Anything for you, mi amor.”

You furrowed your brow and looked up at him from your slouched position. “What did you call me?”

His soft brown eyes met yours, the outer corners crinkled just slightly as he gazed at you. You hadn’t realized how close you were until you could feel his warm breath against your nose. Your eyes trailed from his beautiful eyes down the curve of his nose to his plush lips. Up close, you could see the small crease in the center; it was as if he were perpetually pouting.

“Mi amor?”

Unable to resist the magnetic pull any longer, you and Javi met in the middle. Your lips slotted against each other, a soft sound escaping you as he cupped your cheek and kissed you fervently. His lips were softer than you’d imagined, his mustache tickled your upper lip. You could kiss him all night, if he let you.

Warmth bloomed in your chest as you moved to straddle his legs, hands wandering up from his chest to play with his brown locks. You’d always wondered what it would feel like to run your fingers through it, drawing soft groans from the man beneath you. You could feel the heat radiating from his body as you pressed yourself against him.

His arms wrapped around and held you close, the weight of his hand settling on your upper back. Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. You gave him one last kiss before pulling away for air, your noses brushing against each other. Smiling, you gave him a peck on the tip of his nose.

“Do you want to stay?” Javi asked, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes searched yours for any sign of regret, of realizing that you’d made a big mistake.

You nodded and leaned in to press your lips to the crease between his brows. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me, cariño.”

He hummed softly against your neck, nuzzling his nose against your pulse point. “Is it too late to tell you that I really like you?”

“Maybe,” you replied, sighing as he sucked lightly at your skin. If he left a mark, Murphy would never let you live it down. But somehow, you didn’t care. You ran your fingers through his hair, making it stick up in some places. “But I’d rather you show me instead.”

The walk to his room was well-practiced from your days living with him, but knowing that he was following you made a shiver run down your spine. Everything about his bedroom was familiar, yet new. You wondered if you were dreaming, if this was just another cruel figment of your imagination after a long day of work.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight if you don’t want to,” Javi said, wrapping his arms around you from behind when you stopped at the foot of the bed. Your hands covered his, caressing his knuckles. “We could always wait.”

“I don’t want to wait.” You turned around and pulled him into a deep kiss, your hands sliding down to rest on his chest. “I want you, Javi.”

Translations:

“Hola Javier! Hace mucho tiempo que no nos vemos. Quién es ella, tu novia?” Hello Javier! It’s been a long time. Who is this, your girlfriend?

“No no no, ella es una amiga. Nos conocemos del trabajo.” No no no, she’s a friend. We know each other from work.

“Pues, no te molestaré, okey? Cuéntame si necesitas algo.” Well, I won’t bother you, ok? Let me know if you need anything.

“Hermosa” Beautiful

“Cariño” Sweetheart/darling

“Mi amor” My love

Tagging:

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[allisonxmoynihan]

always be my baby ~ p. moynihan

Note: This is Part Two of the fic! If you haven’t read part one yet, or need a refresher, you can do so here! Thank you so much for the endless support and I hope you enjoy! 

Word Count: 3,491

Life had returned to normal: you were back at school surrounded by your friends, exploring in your downtime, spending time with Olivia and Kelsie, and you and Pat were friends again. It wasn’t easy to forgive him, but a couple months after your dad’s birthday surprise you decided it was time, and the right decision, to at least let him back in as a friend.

It was the Tuesday of Thanksgiving week, and you had just finished your last class before Fall Break. You found yourself sprawled out on your boyfriend’s bed as he sat on a beanbag next to you playing video games with a few of his friends.

“Hey, babe, what time are you heading home?” Sam asks you, turning his head to look over at you.

You shrug your shoulders looking up from your phone, “I don’t know, some time tomorrow morning probably? Are you heading home at all?”

Sam turns off the game console before coming over and plopping down next to you, “Nah, I’m staying here for the break, my mom’s meeting me in Boston on Friday morning for brunch”

You adjust your head so that you can listen to the steady beat of his heart and you smile, content that today was a good day for the two of you, as his arms wrap around your waist, one hand going and twisting strands of your hair gently in his hands. It wasn’t that you and Sam had an unhealthy relationship, because for the most part everything was perfect, but sometimes the two of you would bicker nonstop to the point of you having a meltdown in Olivia’s dorm and him ignoring you for days afterward. 

“You’re going to eat crappy dining hall food alone on Thanksgiving?”

He sighs, “yeah, but it’ll be okay princess, they’re supposed to have mac n’ cheese that day too”

You lift your head up excitedly, “Why don’t you come home with me tomorrow? My parents are dying to meet you anyway, and besides no one should have to be alone on a holiday!”

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, “anything for you, but you have to come to brunch with my mom then.”

~*~

Thanksgiving Day at your house was always hectic. Somehow your parents always got stuck with hosting, and your mom would be stuck in the kitchen all day as your dad and brothers played sports in the backyard as your grandparents sat at the kitchen table keeping your mom company. As soon as you got your driver’s license you got put on emergency grocery runs. 

“y/n, I don’t have the stuff for the pumpkin pie or the sweet potatoes,” your mom says as she scrambles about the kitchen, checking the turkey. “Oh, and I need stuff for brownies and stuffing!”

You stand up from the kitchen table and grab your car keys, “anything else?”

Your mom shakes her head fervently, “hurry,”

On the car ride to Shaw’s your favorite song came on the radio so you turn the volume up and start belting out the lyrics, a wide grin plastered to your face as you slow for a red light. 

Sam immediately goes to turn the volume back to an inaudible volume, “babe, really?” he asks, looking at you as if you were crazy.

You feel your face lose color as you continue to stare ahead, a little hurt that your boyfriend of the last five months would do something like this when he clearly knew it was your favorite song. You fight off the thoughts that Sam held you back from being completely happy, that Patty would never do something like this. You silently curse at yourself for constantly comparing Sam to Pat, as you turn into a parking space, but it was no secret that Patty would never treat you the way Sam did. 

In the five months of dating Sam, he was always quick to call you out on your weaknesses and shortcomings, using your poor grades on a test to boast about his 100%, and even getting annoyed when your goofy and childish nature was highlighted. But time and time again you decided that the good outweighed the bad in the relationship.

Completely disregarding your sudden and distant behavior Sam slips out of the car and strolls towards the door. You take a deep breath, grabbing a shopping cart and hurrying after him. You finally catch up with Sam who is waiting for you in the produce section. “What did your mom need again?”

You force a smile onto your face, hoping you’ll sound somewhat positive, “sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie stuff, and stuffing,” you say, starting to pick up various sweet potatoes and put them in a bag. 

“Here, let me get it,” Sam says, taking the bag from your hands and grabbing more sweet potatoes. You glance up, seeing Patty across the produce section and a big, genuine smile erupts on your face as you wave to him. Pat smiles back before going back to investigating which head of lettuce was the best. Sam clears his throat, directing your attention back to him.

“Why don’t you go get a box of stuffing mix and then meet me back here? Stuffing should be aisle three.”

You nod, walking off as Sam continues to fill a produce bag with sweet potatoes. Feeling a presence next to him Sam glances at the brunette boy next to him who is preoccupied with picking up various sweet potatoes, inspecting them, and putting them back in the crate, all while glaring at Sam.

“Who the hell are you? The boy finally asks.

“Sam Loughlin, what’s it to you?” 

“That’s a pretty douchey name,” the boy mutters under his breath as he finally selects a sweet potato and adds it to his cart.

“Excuse me?”

“How do you know y/n?” the boy asks, continuing his inspection process of sweet potatoes just like he’s probably seen his mom do a million times over.

“I’m her boyfriend, who are you anyway?”

The boy turns and glares at Sam, his eyes blank of emotion, “Patrick Moynihan, the love of her life.”

As if on cue you return at that moment with a couple of boxes of stuffing in your hands. Patty looks down at you, “Hey y/n! Tell Nate and Luke I say hi, and of course to your mom and dad.”

You smile, tossing the stuffing into your shopping cart, “yeah, same to you Pat, Happy Thanksgiving!”

Sam stands beside you possessively, snaking an arm tightly around your waist, and you go to look at him and see him seething with anger and you go to ask him what’s wrong but nevertheless he waves you off.

“Pie crust and pumpkin filling is all that’s left on the list. Let’s go,”

~*~

By the time you got home and dinner was ready you were exhausted and couldn’t wait for the day to be over so you could call Olivia and discuss your Black Friday shopping plans that occurred every year. And Thanksgiving dinner couldn’t have been any worse.

“Mommy, I wish Patty was here,” Nate whines, pushing his green beans to the side of his plate.

“Eat your green beans or no dessert, sweetie pie,”

“Daddy, do you think Patty will come over later tonight like he used to and have dessert with us and play football with us?” Luke chips in.

Your dad looks over at you, sorrow filling his eyes, “Uhh, no honey, I think Pat has his own family plans this year,”

Your mom, sighs, “well his jokes would be much appreciated right now after a long day of cooking,” she laughs as she places a spoonful of green beans onto Luke’s plate who groans at the sight.

“He wasn’t here to help with the turkey either!” your dad exclaims.

You glance up at Sam, hoping he’s not upset or angry, but to your dismay annoyance and disgust are written all over his face. And you know you’re going to hear about it after dinner.

Your grandma cuts up her piece of turkey, “y/n, what happened to that sweet boy we all liked? He was kind of tall. Goofy. Very goofy. But he had sweet eyes,”

“Marilyn, his name is Patirck,” your grandpa explains, placing his hand on your grandma’s shoulder who turns to look at him.

“Oh hush up and eat your stuffing, Charles”

You laugh, shaking your head at your grandparents, envious of their deep affection towards each other. 

Sam exhales loudly and you look up at him. He lifts his chin to the right towards the kitchen and dismisses himself from the table walking into the other room. Your mom looks at you worriedly, “I’ll be right back” you whisper, following Sam into the kitchen. 

You walk in to see Sam standing tall, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. You immediately feel sheepish, like a small child that disobeyed their mother.

“I can’t fucking take anymore of this bullshit tonight” Sam says in a hushed tone,

“Take what? What’s going on?”

“That asshole from the store, your family raving about how great he is even though may I remind you he cheated on you. I didn’t really want to come here in the first place, especially if it meant you falling for your fucking ex all over again,”

You sigh loudly, “whatever, if you don’t want to be here then go, I don’t have to put up with your attitude either.” 

Sam rolls his eyes, a scowl taking over his face, “I’ll send you the address for brunch, and don’t embarrass me.” He says before walking to the front of your house and slipping into the shadows of the night.

Later that night you called Olivia to discuss your shopping plans but also to vent to her about the events that went down that night.

“I’m just so sick of Sam getting mad whenever a guy says hi to me or something, like he’s in a frat for crying out loud, he has girls on him all the time”

“Yeah, I don’t know y/n, it’s just weird”

“And he’s annoyed that my family was upset that Patty wasn’t there, like I’m sorry they grew attached to him in the thirteen years of knowing him”

Olivia sighs heavily, finally selecting on the blush pink nail polish instead of the cherry red one.

“What?”

“I don’t want to be mean, but y/n you’re my best friend and I just want you to be happy. But if you want my honest opinion, I’ve never seen you more unhappy than you are with Sam and that’s including when Pat broke up with you”

After finalizing your plans with Olivia for Saturday you find yourself painting your toenails and watching dance moms when you get a facetime call from Patty.

“Hey, Pat!” you smile, starting a second coat on your toes.

“Hey, what are you up to?”

“Watching dance moms and painting my nails, and I guess talking to you now,”

Pat smiles, “Remember when I let you paint my nails and you wouldn’t let me take it off”

“And all the guys chirped you for being ‘so whipped’”

Patty grins, “yeah, that was a good memory”

There’s a comfortable silence that falls over you before Pat starts telling you about his grandparents and how they’re doing, and also asking about yours. 

“Well I’m glad they’re doing well y/n, that’s great news,”

You nod slowly, pouring over your conversation with Olivia about Sam. You zone out contemplating what you should do. She did have a point, you were extremely unhappy and have been for awhile, but at the same time you saw how good Sam could be, and that potential was enough to keep you there.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Patty asks, concern filling his voice.

“Oh, it’s nothing,”

“What did that asshol you were with earlier do something? I’ll fight him.”

You laugh to try and fight the tears that were stinging your eyes, but they inevitably start rolling down your cheeks, “What’s wrong with me? Why am I not enough for anyone? Sam. You. Literally everyone,” you croak out, rubbing furiously at your tears.

Patty’s face softens, “c’mon don’t say that, y/n, you’ve always been enough,”

“Then why’d you leave me? Why’d you cheat?”

Patty sighs, rubbing his hand across his face, “I don’t have a good explanation. I was lonely and drunk and I missed you and didn’t know what to do about it, but that’s all besides the point. y/n you’ve always been good enough, okay? You’re too good for the majority of guys in the world, including me.”

You sit there, rubbing the seemingly never ending tears that were pouring down your face.

“Hey, c’mon, just like Abby says, ‘save those tears for the pillow!’”

You smile slightly, “Hey, there’s that smile!” Pat gushes.

You roll your eyes, “you’re such a dork,” you say as you wipe more tears away.

Pat continues to try and cheer you up by telling you knock-knock jokes, because they’re your favorite, recalling funny moments from the past, and filling you in on all the embarrassing moments from his time at school.

Suddenly Pat sits up in his bed, “you should just leave him,”

“What?”

“Leave Sam. He doesn’t treat you right, and I know I’m one to talk, but y/n c’mon, the guy treats you like an object,”

You lean over to turn your light off and slip in under your bed covers, getting comfy in bed. “I can’t leave him, Pat. He’s a good guy, trust me. You just don’t know him,”

Patty sighs and quickly changes the subject to the most random of things, his voice low and soft as you drift into slumber. Patty sits and watches you sleep for a bit, remembering the times you were falling asleep next to him, and before he hangs up he whispers ever so quietly, “I never stopped loving you,”

~*~

The next morning you were supposed to meet up with Sam for brunch with his mom, but you weren’t really feeling it that day. You strolled down the streets of Boston wearing your oversized sweatpants, Patty’s Nobles hockey sweatshirt that you had never given back, and a pair of birkenstock sandals. 

“The hell are you wearing, y/n come on, this is a nice restaurant and my mom is coming, remember?”

You roll your eyes as he looks at you disgustedly, “Yeah, about that, I’m not staying”

“Jesus, why do you always have to go and make a fool of me wherever we go”

“See that’s the thing, you turn everything on how it affects you, and sorry to break it to you but not everything is about you.”

“What the hell are you going on about now?”

“I don’t want to be with you anymore. I’m tired of always stressing about how I look and how my actions are going to impact you. I’m not even living for me anymore, I’ve become your puppet and you still can’t stand being around me”

He rolls his eyes, “Well if you’re leaving, go. I don’t really need you around”

~*~

That night your parents are out with your brothers at a hockey game, so you find yourself home alone in desperate need for a distraction. You find yourself baking brownies when you hear a knock at the door. You frown, dropping the measuring cup into the flour jar, and going to check who’s at the door.

“Oh, hey,” you say, stepping to the side to let Patty in who gladly walks right into the kitchen and taking a seat at the kitchen island. You follow him so you can resume your cooking, breaking the silence Patty says, “you still stress bake?”

You nod, whisking the eggs into the batter.

Patty is slow to nod, “Liv told me you might be upset and I wanted to come and check on you.” you look at him with a blank face and he stammers, “y’know because we’re friends. And that’s what friends do”

“I’m fine.”

Patty props his elbows up so he can rest his chin in the palm of his hand and watches you pour the batter into the pan. He takes you all in, the way your hair is falling out of its bun, how you have flour all over the front of your shirt, and how you gently scrape at the sides of the bowl to get the excess batter out. Deciding you have enough batter in the pan you start licking the extra batter out of the bowl and sucking your fingers that have batter stuck to them as well.

“What?” you ask looking up and noticing Patty’s stare.

“Nothing,”

“Is there batter on my face?” you ask as you smudge your hands across your face, wiping at the batter that was never there in the first place.

Patty laughs watching you, “no, you’re good,”

“Then why are you staring at me”

Patty’s face momentarily goes red before he shrugs it off, “I’ll help you with the dishes,” he stands up and takes the bowl from your hands and starts washing all the utensils you used.

Taking a seat at the island, you watch Patty wash the dishes and think about all the times he’s done this same exact thing before.

“Hey Patty?”

“What’s up”

“This is going to sound really silly,” you look down at your feet fumbling with the hem of your shirt, “but, um,”

Patty shifts his weight to one side and leans against the counter, “I’m sure it’s not silly”

“That’s because you haven’t heard it yet,”

“y/n what’s wrong?”

“Patty, I really miss you, and I’ve dated so many guys trying to forget what it felt like to have you by my side, but none of them are you”

His face softens, “I really miss you too,”

You laugh slightly shaking your head, “Everything in me is saying to give you a second chance like you asked five months ago, but I’m scared”

“y/n, please just give me a chance, I know I can be the guy you deserve to be with.”

You're silent and go to put the brownies in the oven before turning to grab some water.

“Kelsie says that you did it once before so you’re just bound to do it all over again, so how do i know you’re for real this time”

Patty sighs, grabbing a towel from your pantry and starting to dry the dishes in the sink.

“I know you’re just trying to avoid my question,”

Patty sighs, putting the towel down and turning to look at you, “you really want the honest story?”

You nod, going back and sitting at the island.

Patty takes a deep and shaking breath before he starts, “Because ever since we were six years old and I saw you yell at Timmy Moore for pushing Olivia off of the swing, since we were eleven and I forced Ciara to become friends with you so I could go to your birthday party with her, since we were thirteen and we started becoming really good friends. y/n it’s always been you; it was you on the playground on September 6, 2007, it was you when Ashley Turner had a big crush on me and everyone told me to ask her out, it was you at the eighth grade dance, it was you when I left Millis High and went to Nobles, and it was you the whole time in Michigan, and fuck, it was you at Providence too. It’s never been about anyone else but you.”

You sit there, dumbfounded, at a loss for words, staring straight back at him. He only shakes his head and goes back to drying the dishes before saying, “I can leave if you want,”

“Please don’t go again,”

Patty looks at you, walking slowly over to where you were seated, “y/n, i never stopped loving you”

A lump gets lodged in your throat as you look back up at him, “me too, patty,”

He cups your face in his hands, “please, give me a second chance, I won’t let you down,”

Your heart practically melts at his touch, at his words, and you can’t help but stare at his lips, “if you mess up moynihan I’m having my dad come and beat you up”

Patty laughs, pressing his lips to yours for the first time in a year, “if i ever hurt you i will come over just so he can beat my ass,” he mumbles against your lips, pressing them to yours one more time as the oven timer separates you two.

“Looks like i should be staying for dessert too,” Patty smiles watching you go over and take the brownies out of the oven,

“You’re such an idiot,” you laugh,

“Yeah, an idiot that you love y/n. An idiot that you love,”

[sdottkrames]

Five Little Turkeys

@comfortember prompt 17: Flashbacks

Summary: Five Iron Fam Thanksgivings Past + 1 Present

Notes: Happy Thanksgiving!  Even if you don't live in the US and don't celebrate, I hope you take a little time to think of something you're grateful for and appreciate it. I am so very very thankful to all of you! and a special Thank You goes to @baloobird for always believing in and inspiring my writing, to @an-odd-idea for tagging me in fun things and for beta reading some stuff for me, and to @littlemissagrafina for leaving the absolute best comments and to every other friend I’ve made in this wonderful fandom. I love you all.

Read on AO3: Here

Five little turkeys standing at the door,

One waddled off, and then there were four.

____________________________________

May Parker had never hosted thanksgiving before.

Maybe that was a good thing, because she’d already managed to ruin the mashed potatoes, which resembled concrete more than anything, and burn the green bean casserole past recognition.

At least Ben was having more luck with the turkeys and gravy, and that was the most important part, right?

Right?

Oh goodness, this is going to be a disaster. I never should’ve agreed to host Ben’s family.

At least baby Peter’s gonna be here.

Staving off tears and chanting more positive things to herself in her head, May turned her attention to something she knew she could do: opening a can of cranberry sauce and dumping it in a festive pumpkin shaped bowl. Then she grabbed the homemade rolls Ben had made that morning and put them carefully in a basket with a pretty white towel to cover them.

Ben came up behind her, surprising her as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Smells amazing,” he murmured in her ear.

May giggled despite the tears that threatened again. “Well, maybe it’s the ruined potatoes, or the burnt green beans.”

Ben spun her around, tenderly kissing her. “I wasn’t talking about the food, babe.” May blushed. “Besides, I’ve already called my mom, and she’s gonna buy more potatoes on her way to make a fresh batch, and we’ve got plenty more cans of green beans to make the casserole again. We’ll be just fine.”

Goodness, May loved this man. She told him so as she kissed him again, and again, and again.

May opened the door to her husband’s family and inhaled a steadying breath as she took in the five of them standing there. She focused on their genuine smiles and kind eyes.

I can do this.

Once hugs and warm greetings had been exchanged all around and a new batch of potatoes had been made, the others put their offerings on the beautifully laid table. What May Parker lacked in the cooking department, she made up for in the decorating department, and the table was stunning, and the food even tasted better than May had hoped. However, it quickly became apparent that it didn’t really matter what food had been made. Little 14-month-old Peter was the star of the dinner.

It was hard for him not to be with the chubbiest of cheeks and the sweetest of smiles. All eyes were on him as he tried turkey for the first time, then stuffing, and cranberry sauce. He was more interested in mashing the food with his fingers...until pumpkin pie. The little boy’s eyes widened as the sweet dessert hit his taste buds, and he eagerly made grabby hands for more. All the adults giggled along as he shoved another bite into his mouth, clumsily holding his spoon.

Ben was right, May thought. Everything is just fine.

She looked around again, her eyes lingering on her husband, who smiled back at her.

More than fine.

________________________________________

Four little turkeys sitting near a tree,

One waddled off, and then there were three.

_________________________________________

Tony stared at his phone, trying and failing to keep the disappointment off his face. It seemed to fill him, all the way from his toes to the top of his head, accumulating into a grey cloud that dumped great drops of homesickness all over him.

He’d been looking forward to Thanksgiving. He wasn’t all that excited to see his father, of course, but he and his mother did get along, and he missed her. It was his first year at college, and he hadn’t seen his mother in nearly three months. He couldn’t wait to sit and play piano with her, hear her singing, feel her hugs. His mom had also promised him that his Uncle Jarvis and Aunt Anna were going to be there, and he was beyond excited to see them too. All that excitement turned sour in just one text.

I’m sorry it said.

Sorry sorry sorry. Always sorry.

He should’ve known his father would ruin plans. Should’ve never gotten his hopes up. His parents were traveling (again) and taking Jarvis with him. There would be no thanksgiving.

Tony resigned himself to spending the holiday by himself, hoping to see his mom and the Jarvises at Christmas. He started unpacking and putting everything away.

Then his roommate walked in.

“What’re you doing?” James Rhodes- Rhodey, as Tony had dubbed him their first week together- said.

“My parents are traveling. I won’t be able to go home,” Tony answered flatly. “I’ll be staying here for thanksgiving.”

Rhodey didn’t hesitate. “Oh, no, you won’t. Pack your stuff, Stark. You’re coming to the Rhodes house.”

“You don’t have to do that, really. I’m alright staying here. I’m honestly used to it! I prefer to be alone, actually.”

Tony tried to keep his cavalier persona firmly in place, playing the situation off. But he should have known that Rhodey wouldn’t buy it. From day one, his roommate had been able to see right through Tony and his bullcrap and been able to call him out on it.

Rhodey arched an eyebrow, placing a hand on his hip. “Uh huh. That why you’re sitting here moping?”

“I’m not moping!”

“I can practically see the storm cloud above your head!”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine. Well, are you sure your mom-”

Rhodey placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder, cutting him off. His dark eyes were serious. “My momma would have my head if she knew I let you stay here by yourself. I’ll let her know to expect you, but trust me when I say that it won’t be a problem.”

Tony took a deep breath and placed the shirts and bag of toiletries he’d unpacked back into in his small duffle while Rhodey called his mom.

“She said you better come, and expect to bring home at least three Tupperware full of left-overs.”

And so Tony found himself sitting around the table with Roberta Rhodes, Lila Rhodes, and his roommate. He hadn’t expected to be treated like family so quickly, but it was clear that’s exactly how they viewed him as the chatted and passed him turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce.

Later, the Christmas tree cast a warm, happy glow over the four individuals laying around the living room in various stages of consciousness, their full stomachs lulling them into a contented stupor. Tony was surprised the tree was up so early, but he was glad it was. It’s branches were laden with ornaments that clearly held stories (like the handmade snowflake one that featured a picture of a young James Rhodes wearing the ugliest sweater Tony had ever seen, grinning ear to ear without any front teeth), so different from the sterile red and white decorations that went on the tree at his home every year.

The warm light and company seemed to fill him with happiness and contentment all the way from his toes to his head, accumulating into bright sun rays around him like a halo that warmed every part of his soul.

It was the best thanksgiving he’d ever had.

________________________________________

Three little turkeys with nothing to do,

One waddled off, and then there were two.

_________________________________________

The first year is the hardest Tony had heard it said.

It gets easier people promised.

Well, so far, it had been the hardest year, but Tony didn’t think it was going to get any easier after the one year mark.

His parents were dead. Killed. Gone. Right before Christmas.

At each new “first” without them, Tony found himself turning more and more to the bottle, saw his roommate and best friend become more and more concerned, his grades more and more in danger.

Tony had refused Rhodey’s offer to come be with him for thanksgiving. He loved them, but he couldn’t stomach being around a family.

His family, because the Rhodes’ were almost more family than his own parents had been.

Maybe that’s why it was so hard.

So on yet another first- the first thanksgiving without them- Tony woke to a dull grey sky outside his window. Bare trees, brown leaves, and dead grass further matched his mood. It was another day to be drained from his memory, drowned out by the buzzing in his skull.

He was heading to grab a beer for breakfast (totally healthy, he knows) when a knock on the front door had him changing course from the kitchen to the entranceway of his apartment.

He had to grip the doorframe to keep from falling over when he saw who was on the other side.

“Jarvis?”

“Hello, Sir,” the man said with a kind smile, but he couldn't quite cover up the concern in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, Anna and I thought you might like some company today. Our neighbor gave us a turkey that is much too large for just the two of us, so we thought you might come help us eat it.”

Tony knew Jarvis well enough to know that it wasn’t really a question. Jarvis wasn’t leaving without him. And, really, Tony couldn’t refuse even if he had the energy or desire to.

“Okay.”

Later that night Tony hugged them both goodbye, a stomach full of good food softening the sadness that had gripped him earlier that day. After Jarvis dropped Tony back off at his apartment, Tony paused as he was heading up the stairs, and turned around.

“Jarvis?” The man looked up from putting the car in gear. “Thank you. And Anna, too.”

Jarvis’ face softened. “Anytime, sir.”

And as Tony went to bed, he grabbed a beer out of habit, but thought twice before putting it to his lips.

Maybe it was okay to feel sometimes.

He dumped the beer down the sink and threw away the bottle.

___________________________________________

Two little turkeys in the morning sun,

One waddled off, and then there was one.

___________________________________________

The bright sun woke Peter up. He wandered blearily into the living room, and was surprised to find his aunt already awake, holding a cup of steaming coffee.

“Hey, baby,” she murmured, holding out her arm for Peter to snuggle under.

He didn’t need to ask about the red rim around her eyes, or what she was doing up so early. The space on the side of the couch from her was too conspicuously empty, the two places already set at the table too obviously missing a third, the hole in their heart too Ben-shaped to be ignored.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered, again, the guilt eating him as it always had, but especially on holidays.

Once May had found out about Spider-Man, Peter had finally cracked one day and told her the real details of Ben’s death after a particularly bad nightmare about the night featuring rain that was red like blood and gunshots echoing all around him. He’d sobbed and sobbed, begging her to forgive him. She hadn’t even thought about it. She’d wrapped her arms around Peter, hugged him as tight as she could, and whispered over and over again that it wasn’t his fault.

But hearing it and letting himself believe it were two completely different things. Peter didn’t feel like he deserved May’s forgiveness. It was his fault that they were awake at 6 AM, watching the sun rise, and missing part of them.

“No,” May said, her voice firm but her hand very gentle as she pulled back to place it on Peter’s cheek. “No. None of that. Ben would not want us sitting here, moping away on his second favorite holiday.”

Peter chuckled at that, remembering how his uncle would always insist that if he weren't already a religious man, he might start his own church dedicated to food. Thanksgiving was almost as holy to him as Christmas.

“Remember that year he made cupcakes that looked like turkeys? With the little candy corn feathers? You couldn’t eat it cause the turkey was ‘looking at you’?”

They both chuckled, snuggling together again.

“Or that time you tricked us with that stupid microwave turkey thing and he called in a panic, screaming for you not to do it?” May laughed.

“Oh! what about that time he laughed so hard, eggnog came out of his nose?”

They continued to remember and honor the man they were missing. As the sun rose and lit their apartment, the memories of thanksgiving’s they’d shared lit their hearts.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” May whispered, remembering her husband’s words from years earlier and taking solace in them once more.

“Yeah,” Peter murmured. “It will. Thanks, May. I’m so grateful I have you.”

“You, too, kiddo. More than you know.”

__________________________________

One little turkey better run away,

For soon it will be Thanksgiving Day.

__________________________________

Peeling potatoes was a mindless task, and Tony found that to be a very not good thing.

It meant his mind had time to wander and think about...things. Like Peter, and May, and the thousand others who weren’t celebrating Thanksgiving for yet another year. Though it had been four years since Thanos, Tony still found his mind wandering every holiday, thinking about and dwelling on the people who were unable to celebrate.

Especially one very specific person. The most important one, really, at least to Tony. And Tony hadn’t even been able to tell him.

To make up for lack of words shared in life, Tony found time every holiday to talk to Peter. Found a little private space that was quiet and secluded and talked to his kid. His kid. It had taken that kid’s death for him to finally admit it, but that’s what Peter had been to Tony. Pepper knew what he did even though he hadn’t told her, and he had a feeling she purposely kept Morgan busy to give him that quiet time.

Tony placed the last peeled potato in the bowl and turned to his wife. Her face softened at the look on his face, and she nodded, gesturing to the back door.

Tony squeezed her hand before walking out the door and to the group of small birches by the lake that he’d chosen for this purpose. He called it Peter’s Place. He was working on a sign for it.

“Hey, Pete,” he whispered, sitting on the ground and leaning up against his favorite tree. “Happy thanksgiving, bud. Another one without you, and I gotta say, it doesn’t get easier. But it gets...different. I hope you know I’m thankful for you. Thankful that you opened my heart to having kids, that you let me get my fumbling attempts at parenting so when Morgan came I had a better grasp on how it worked. I’m thankful for you teaching me about memes, for the movie and lab nights, for your smile and hugs.” He paused to wipe his eyes. “Geez, you made me soft. Anyway, I just wanted to come out and say my piece as usual. I love you, kid. I hope you know that.”

He took a minute to compose himself before heading back to the house. He didn’t make it all the way in before the door opened and a little body was running towards him.

“Oh no! A monster,” he cried, running the other way, smiling as Morgan’s laughter peeled behind him. He ran slowly, letting his 3-year-old daughter catch up to him on her tiny legs. She grabbed his leg, and he theatrically fell to the ground, rolling and taking her with him.

She giggled, and he placed a kiss on her cheek, then another, then another, keeping her happy laughter ringing out.

Morgan was a bright spot in his life, the light that, along with Pepper, chased the darkness of his failures away and reminded him that despite all he’d lost, there was still so much to be thankful for.

And Peter would want him to be happy, to live, to be grateful and positive. That’s how he’d lived, after all.

So Tony kissed his daughter twice more, one for her, and one for his other kid.

“I love you,” he whispered to them both.

______________________________________

Soon it will be Thanksgiving day

______________________________________

Peter could hardly contain his excitement.

May laughed at him as she put the mashed potatoes (that Peter had made, with May “helpfully” giving tips and pointers...mostly to make him laugh) in a tin to bring with them to the Starks.

“Peter, calm down or I will intentionally make this take so much longer,” she threatened.

“But Maaaaay, I’m HUNGRY.”

“Yes, and I told you to eat something for breakfast. And did you?”

Peter mumbled something unintelligible.

“What was that?”

“No. I wanted to be hungry for turkey! And potatoes! And pie!”

“Peter, please,” she groaned, good naturedly. “Go get one of the super bars from the cabinet so your stomach doesn’t start digesting itself and so I don’t have to deal with you complaining the entire way to the lake house!”

“Fine,” Peter sighed, and dramatically went to grab a granola bar as requested.

“Grab two!”

Peter did, and waved them pointedly in front of her face. May laughed. “Okay, okay. Eat them, and let’s get out of here!”

They passed the time by belting Christmas carols on the ride down, laughing and dancing, and soon they were there. Peter carried the potatoes in and put them down on the counter so he could accept a hug from Morgan, who ran and jumped as high as she could, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Petey!!! Happy Thanksgiving!” She shouted, placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Hey, Mo,” he said, smiling. “Happy thanksgiving.”

The little girl placed both her hands on either side of his face, very seriously looking into his eyes. “Peter, I am thankful for you.”

Peter couldn’t help but chuckle a little at her dramatics, even though his heart was swelling from her words. “Well, thank you. I’m grateful for you too!”

Her mission completed, Morgan squirmed to go give May a hug, so Peter turned to Pepper. She was wearing an apron with little turkeys all of it, and was rolling dough for rolls into balls to be placed in the oven once the turkey was done.

He placed a kiss to her cheek. “Happy Thanksgiving, Pepper!”

“Happy thanksgiving, sweetie!”

“Where’s Tony?”

Pepper’s face . “He’s out back. Why don’t you go find him. I’m sure he’ll be happy to know you’re here.”

Peter found Tony by the lake in a little grove of trees.

“Tony?”

“Hey kid,” Tony said, and something about his voice made Peter pause. He glanced around and saw a little sign that said Peter’s place. He looked quizzically at Tony. “I came here every holiday to talk to you while you were...gone. I guess old habits die hard. I couldn’t not come here today.”

Peter blinked back tears. “Wow,” he said, unable to find more eloquent words.

“Pete, you know I love you, right? And that I’m grateful for you?”

Peter’s voice wouldn’t form the words, couldn’t make sound come out through the lump of emotion in his voice. He settled for hugging Tony instead.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “You know I feel the same, right?”

Tony hugged Peter tighter. “Yeah, kiddo, I do.”

They stayed there for a little while, just holding one another, basking in each other’s love and the intense gratitude of being able to be together again that seemed to overwhelm them.

Eventually, Tony let out a watery chuckle. “Geez, today’s supposed to be a happy day. I blame you for making me all emotional!”

Peter nudged Tony with his elbow. “Rude, old man!”

And the two, still linked together by arms thrown over shoulders and around waists, headed back to the house.

As Peter looked around the table as they all sat down, the Starks, May, even Happy and Rhodey, he allowed himself to be a little bit sappy. This was what Thanksgiving was truly about, anyway: family. And he really couldn’t express how grateful he was for each and every one of them, including the ones he’d lost. He closed his eyes and mentally committed the moment to memory.

“Happy thanksgiving, everyone!” He said, raising his glass.

“Happy thanksgiving!” They called back.

And it was. It really was.

[sunbird-tells-stories]

More Jack x Timber x Clay headcanons because I’m trash:

-Jack and Timber both have horrible eating habits. One has the diet of your average raccoon and the other gets so wrapped up in his own work that he sometimes eats only pudding cups and coffee for days on end.

Clay’s love language is acts of service and the second he sees how they treat their own bodies he steps in and immediately starts cooking them actual meals and never lets them leave the Temple without a healthy breakfast and a generous lunch. It’s all made with love and Jack and Timber genuinely adore every bite.

-Clay and Jack have a natural chemistry between them, and so do Jack and Timber. But Clay and Timber have a lot more friction in their dynamic, and for quite a long while they define themselves as FwB and nothing more.

They don’t accept their feelings, they deny their relationship publicly, they refuse to move on to the next stage (actual couplehood), and and they even break up for a few months before they finally gain the emotional maturity needed for them to admit to themselves how they feel. It’s a rocky relationship, but in the end, they choose each other. And once they finally voice that out loud to one another their bond becomes a lot more open and healthy.

-Timber’s love language is quality time. She shows her boys how much she cares by tagging along with them on whatever tasks and things they need to do. She ain’t there just to look pretty either - she actively does what she can to help them out and remind them that they’re not alone. Clay and Jack have both taken her with them to stressful family functions, and without her, they might not have been able to make it through.

-Jack’s love languages are both words of affirmation and touch. He constantly drapes himself over his partners like an insistent cat looking for attention and sweet talks Clay and Timber all the way until next week. Out of all three of them, he is most definitely the flirtiest, and loves to tease the others and get them all flustered and blushy with his words and smooches.

-Jack sleeps in between Clay and Timber, usually as Clay’s little spoon while Timber buries her head in his chest. He CANNOT sleep without either of them there, and if he wants to get any rest while they’re out of town, he has to resort to stealing their hoodies and sleeping in those because they smell like them.

Clay smells like fresh earth, clean laundry, smoked mesquite wood and masculine shampoo. Timber smells like pancakes, rain, green growing things and deodorant.

-Jack is VERY clingy and breaks down a little if he’s without at least one of his partners for extended periods of time. There was one incident where he tried to alleviate this by building robotic doubles of Clay AND Timber. They immediately tried to take over the world upon activation and he had to destroy them so he wouldn’t get yelled at when the real Clay and Timber came home.

-Timber struggles the most with feeling worthy of either one of her boys, always feeling like she’s getting in the way of their happiness and that it’s only a matter of time before she’s alone and abandoned again. These feelings don’t last too long, however; Jack’s almost embarrassing pda leaves no room for doubt and Clay, perceptive as he is, always takes her aside and sets her straight.

-Jack’s parents know Clay and Timber’s relationship with their son and have quietly accepted them both. Timber’s family did the same, albeit with a lot of resistance from her brothers Eska and Noatak.

Clay’s family went ballistic.

No one knows who spilled the beans - it was possibly Patrick, and it was possibly by accident - but when he heard who his son was seeing, Daddy Bailey called Clay home and told him to put a stop to whatever was going on with him and Jack/Timber. Or else.

Clay responded by proposing to Jack/Timber later that day, married them both in Vegas, and sent his dad a letter with a photo of his wedding ring enclosed.

Daddy Bailey disowned him and they didn’t talk for a good long while after that.

-Clay knows Jack and Timber are chaos incarnate. He knows what they did in the past. He knows their flaws inside and out. And he does not care. He loves the hell out of both Jack AND Timber and he wouldn’t give either of them up for anything in the world.

[carbrakes-and-stakes]

Soup in Genovia | Jared & Alain

TIMING: A week ago LOCATION: Alain’s home PARTIES: @carbrakes-and-stakes​ and @themidnightfarmer SUMMARY: No palates were harmed in the making of this chatzy.

Backpack on and a smile on his face Jared made his way right to the door and raised his hand to knock. He had soup - or rather his attempt at soup-, a DVD of the princess diaries (just in case), and a winning attitude. He hoped for the best at least, they’d only spoken a couple of times but the nymph had hopes that he could win a new friend in Alain. The man seemed like he could be a laugh when he wanted to be, and someone with a little logic never went amiss when you felt you had very little yourself. Jared was even willing to look past the karkanoid eating, a one time event, clearly the man was simply a food enthusiast after all. Above all these thoughts however lingered the knowledge that no matter if Alain wanted a friend in Jared, he had suggested he wanted some company while he recovered from losing his leg. And who was he to deny the man that?

There was enough energy in Jared's attitude to fuel power plants from a small country for a few months. At least, this was Alain's first thought when he opened the door and glanced at his visitor. If he wasn't really counting on Jared, it was because they got their heads on a karkanoid that Alain might or might not have killed. Jared suspected that Alain had eaten it, and Alain, while he was disgusted by the thought of ever eating something that must have had the most elastic and rubbery flesh, was not about to contradict him about this. Walking toward the kitchen, Alain who was still struggling with his new leg, was helping himself with a cane, and while that instantly gave him the look of a lame old man, this was better than  what would have happened without this kind of support. His eyes went to what Jared carried with him, and the man wondered what it was that he had brought over. It did not smell like much, but the French man had enough spices and aromatics around to turn it around. “What did you cook?” He asked, looking forward to it.

Jared followed Alain, being very careful to not seem like he was snooping too much as they went. He was a bit of a nosy guy, so it was taking a ton of willpower not to glance at every door they passed or squint at every picture. Distraction came at last and Jared beamed shrugging off his backpack. “Soup bud! I figured people always make soup in the movies when someone is recovering from something, so soup was the top choice. Never made soup before but I heard it wasn’t too hard?” Jared produced the container of liquid and pushed it towards Alain. Inside was a pretty grim sight, uncoloured water with partially uncooked and hastily chopped vegetables floating inside. “It smells okay right?” The nymph asked the other curiously. To Jared it smelt just how most of his cooking smelt…. Not like anything from the store but not overly terrible.

Alain’s eyebrows raised. Sure, soup did not smell like much in the first place, but this smelled an awful lot like the kind they served at the hospital, which was a shame as he assumed the vegetables came from Jared’s farm. “That’s a broth,” he observed, reaching over his head for the cupboards. Pulling a cast iron casserole out, he picked up the soup and poured it in there, searching around for the hand blender. Perks of moving somewhere knew : not knowing where a damn thing had been put. “It does smell okay, but I think we might be able to do better,” it did not seem seasoned and Alain knew that he’d rather lose his second leg than be forced to eat something that had no flavor. Or perhaps was this an exaggeration. “Wait, you’ve never made soup?” He did not say those words with any trace of judgement. Instead he was genuinely surprised, as well as touched, that Jared had been so thoughtful to try something new to make him feel better. Moved by this revelation, the hunter fell quiet, although his tight lipped smile revealed that he was pleased by the kind gesture. “Alright, let’s take this soup to the next level then. Let me show you,” first they’d have to turn broth into soup. Then, well, depending on what Jared had put in there, perhaps something could be done to save it. Alain grabbed a spoon to have a taste and gave him a shrug. “It’s not too bad, although it doesn’t taste like much,” handing the spoon over, he smiled. A bit of cumin, perhaps some carvi, a touch of butter and tabasco, and this soup would gain a lot more flavor, he thought to himself. “What do you think we should add?”

“A broth isn’t soup?! Jared wondered curiously. The nymph spent such little focus on feeding himself that all his meals blended together, he usually had much more important meals to be served to his kids after all. False blue eyes followed Alain as he moved around the kitchen to seemingly cook the soup again, for a reason that completely escaped Jared. “It still needs cooked? I thought I’d done okay?” He wasn’t overly upset to know that he hadn’t done a great job, he was told an awful lot that he tended not to make anything very good. “See this is why I stick to tinned food, it’s all there in the tin no messing around.” Jared leaned on the counter and smiled “Nah, never had the motivation to really try before. But soup is a movie staple, I had to give it a go!” Taking the offered spoon Jared dipped it into the pot and tasted it for himself. He had to admit it was a little bland. “Probably some of that powder garlic that I’ve seen people put in everything? But I don’t know, I don’t know a ton about cooking and all that… “

“No. Otherwise a sauce could be called soup by some too,” Alain was concerned as to how the young farmer was eating, especially since he seemed to be living on his own. Perhaps Alain would show him a few more things later on, but for now Cooking 101 would do. ���It’s cooked, but… well you’ll understand when you taste it,” he leaned against the counter to give his leg some rest and smiled back. “And I commend you for trying. That’s more than some people do,” he patted the man’s arm and nodded at his suggestion. “Or, you know, we could use some proper garlic instead,” Alain didn’t have something against the powdered kind, but it did not replace the actual condiment. Reaching in a jar for cloves, he peeled a couple and pushed them toward Jared so he could crush them in a mortar. Rather than cumin, he opted for a bit of curry paste, mixing it in. “Alright, add the garlic and then we should be good to go,” the point was showing Jared that sometimes all it took was seasoning. Alain thought then, of what Alcher had told him in that waiting room, and let his guard down, “thank you, for being here,” he looked away and added, “it means a lot.”

“I’d happily call sauce a soup.” Jared laughed a little at the idea. “God people would hate that wouldn’t they?” It made his little fae heart flutter, he hadn’t yet fully embraced how much fae thrive on chaos of some kind, but he could relish in the small bits and pieces every now and then. “I mean I won’t lie bud, I usually eat tinned beans or pie or whatever, but it seemed like the moment to try harder than tinned soup.” Proper garlic just made Jared think of the entire thing like some sort of vampire movie, it didn’t seem too appetizing until Alain had peeled and crushed it in front of him. It made a LOT more sense in pieces he could admit. Smelling the soup as it progressed with so little added had Jared understanding that he definitely needed to be trying harder, but that’d come in time he hoped. “Oh hey don’t worry about it bud,” he wanted to add something like I like to be helpful, or You sounded like you needed the company but he wasn’t sure the reception that would have so instead he straightened up and leaned over to point at the soup. “So it’s edible now yeah? Got bowls around or you wanna save it for laters?” The nymph smiling warmly back at Alain.

“Jared…” The hunter looked at him then shook his head. He looked like he didn't really know whether he should be amused or bewildered, but, when in doubt, he preferred to be amused. “I think people would hate that very much, yes,” he admitted with a bit of laughter. He shook his head again, and you could see the amusement in his features: a rare smile, which made him close his eyes almost entirely. Jared must have been one of the most caring people the hunter knew. He reminded him a little of Nora, and it was with a twinge of heart that Alain wondered if he would eventually lose sight of Jared, if his new friend was to discover the true nature of his host.

“Tinned pie? Is that an actual thing?” Concern and disgust swept over him. With a scowl, Alain, apparently personally offended, could not restrain a gasp. “I’m glad you tried something new, that’s what’s most important here,” he felt a bit bad for having to tell Jared that his broth was far from edible as is. A viable option would have been to take everything out of the water and mash it together, but this was meant to be a soup, and Alain wanted to help Jared with that. “It was edible when you brought it, but edible is not the best you can get from these,” he pointed to the inside of the pot. “As you like. Didn’t you say you wanted to force me into watching a … movie,” the thing looked like it was targeted at teenagers and Alain had a bad feeling about it, but he had decided that he would not be grumpy with someone trying their best to help.

It was already cemented in Jareds mind. He wondered how much chaos he could elicit and how far he could go with it as well. Could pasta be a soup with enough sauce? Could alcohol be a soup? It would be from now on. The nymph grinned back at Alain, pleased that he’d managed to coax a laugh out of the man at least. “Tinned pie is a thing, it’s like a treat for the weekends sometimes if I can get it. Basically you use a can opener on the top and the entire thing just needs warmed up, the crust and all that are in there and it just has to rise on the top and it’s good to go!” Jared described it to Alain as if it was a magical event, which -despite the nymph knowing true magic first hand- felt like it sort of was.

Bringing up the movie was arguably a bad move on the hunters part, Jared was likely to be content and forget all about why he’d come had it not come up in conversation, however as soon as the words left Alains lips Jared had perked right up again and started to wiggle as if he were an excited puppy. He reached back into his backpack and pulled the DVD out and then also produced a VHS tape as well. “I didn’t know which you’d have, can never be sure in this place whether DVD players even work.” Jared laughed lightly before pushing them across the counter towards Alain. “We could soup and video at the same time maybe? I won’t be offended if the running commentary is criticism, I just do feel like it’s an essential watch even if you don’t like it!” The nymph looked at Alain expectantly for comment and first impression of the box covers.

The description of that pie that must have been summoned from a foreign inferno called capitalism brought a dramatic blink out of Alain. "What in the culinary hell is that? Cake mixes I can tolerate, but this sounds atrocious," the hunter told himself that he no longer just feared bugbears. He now feared bugbears and tinned pies. Shaking his head, he frowned once again and grimaced. What felt like magic to Jared felt like the 7th circle of Hell to the hunter.

He would have been offended about being treated like a dinosaur by Jared had it not been for the fact that he kept a VHS player somewhere, just in case. Of course Netflix was a thing, but there was something nostalgic about those grainy tapes. Still, he had not reinstalled it, and the thing sat in a box in the attic, between the hunting gear and the rock climbing equipment. The latter he knew that he would use in perhaps a couple years, but the former, he intended to keep upstairs. "We can have dinner and watch all at once, sure," although Alain intended to eat on the dinner table. Soup and couches sounded like a bad, perilous match. As much as he did not care much for danger, he knew what a pain it would be to clean that mess up. "Why don't you pick up the pot and bring it on the dinner table? I'll get some plates out," he picked a bottle of white wine as well, and headed there. Another trip to the kitchen later, and Alain was back with spoons and glasses. He kept his mouth shut about the box covers. The main character made him feel uneasy although he was unable to pinpoint why. "I cannot believe I agreed to watch something The Princess Diaries. Look what you make me do," his eyes grew bigger. Jared was too kind and innocent for the hunter to be annoyed at him, and Alain did have a soft spot for these sorts of personalities.

“It tastes good bud, you gotta trust the process.” It was very clear that they were on completely different levels with their food tastes, whilst Alain seemed to have a refined palate….Jared seemed to not have any taste at all. “And I’ve never tried box cake mix so I suppose I’ll leave that one for you to make the choice for us with.” he laughed at the expression on Alains face, it was good humoured, the nymph definitely had failed to notice how serious the other was about his disgust and was definitely not acting. In dopey indifference to Alains reaction to being asked about a VHS, instead the nymph was excited to see what the other would say about the movie as a whole, he was interested to see what Alain would criticise and what he’d stay silent on. Especially considering the man had already expressed his disgust with the concept. Accepting the offer to serve up at the table Jared lifted his soup with a bit of pride. He may not have been the one to make it enjoyable, but it was still his base ingredients so he was going to take what he could get. “Oh come on, surely a movie hasn’t made you spin into disbelief? Surely your friends have gotten you to watch weird stuff before.” Jared laughed. He set up the pot and looked around for where to put the movie on. It hadn’t even really considered the fact that the movie might be on netflix or some streaming site. He didn’t have anything like that at his home after all. “You’ve got to have one other movie under your belt that wasn’t what anyone would expect right?”

“They have. One of them forced me into watching this show about very rich highschoolers in New York who were stalked by a blogger,” Alain couldn’t remember the name of the show, but he remembered feeling little empathy for these people. He didn’t watch television for a good reason, but Alain felt like there was something nice about watching terrible tv with someone else, not because the show instantly became excellent, but rather for the opportunity to complain about how terrible it was. A dramatic blink welcomed the opening scene of the movie. He looked at Jared and deadpanned. “This looks great,” his shoulders shot up with amusement. Grabbing his spoon, he tasted the soup and glanced again at Jared. “Again, I’m repeating myself, but thanks for being here.” The former hunter looked around the room. The house still was foreign to him, and it didn’t help that he hadn’t unpacked most of the boxes there. Perhaps it was better that way. Ever since he had decided to quit his former life, he felt less and less anchored to this town.

The nymph paused a moment and then cottoned on “Oh gossip girl? It was gossip girl right? That’s full of rich people's nonsense.” Jared agreed with that at least. He’d attempted that show one afternoon of boredom, and was put right off by how lavish they were all acting. Seemed the farm boy couldn’t relate one bit. Completely in a different headspace than Alain, the blond was watching with rapt attention as the opening scene began. His attention only drew away when Alain addressed him. “Oh bud, wouldn’t dream of watching this with anyone else.” he joked lightly, finally lifting his own spoon to have some of the soup himself. “I have a pretty wild schedule on the farm, so I can always make some time if you’re wanting to hang out or watch shitty movies, or… well anything really.” Jared followed the hunters eyes and looked around the room also. “Unpacking party or whatever.” he tacked on the end helpfully.

“Yeah, that.” It was rich people's nonsense, although he did not recall his sisters ever acting so vainly. His eyes were drawn to the boxes that hadn’t been opened. Nostalgia hit him as he thought of his former house, where he had been spending a good bit of his life. There were things that you simply could not move around, and memories were included in that category. He never had liked keeping trinkets and knick knacks, but in times where he was feeling sentimental, he regretted it. Oh well, this would make moving abroad easier. He would not be able to take all his belongings with him overseas. “How kind of you,” he stood up to get bread from the kitchen, served himself another plate of soup and sighed as Jared offered help. “That won’t be necessary,” rather than to be unnecessarily mysterious, he gave him a tightlipped smile that wrinkled the corner of his eyes, and explained, “I intend to leave town for a little while. I’m moving abroad.”

Jared felt a small stab of loss when Alain explained his intention to move out of town. It seemed a lot of his new friends tended to not last so long in this place. But the Nymph smiled back nevertheless. It wasn’t up to him, and likely it was already all set up and sorted out. “That sounds exciting, where do you think you’ll be going or have you already got it all set up for yourself?” He asked politely, looking away from the boxes and intending on making the very most of this movie and dinner with his newfound and newly lost friend. Jared supposed a turnaround like this really stopped him from getting too attached, like he had with so many before the other man. “But hey shh shhh this is a good part.” He cut in with a small forced laugh trying to focus back in on the movie. He was going to make the most of this.

If he was left perplexed by the suggestion that one could leave to another place without a single bit of planning, he tried to shrug that off. Jared clearly was a lot more spontaneous than Alain had ever been. Always planning, always trying to have control. It was a shame, in the end, that he did not seem to have any control on his own life. Leaving town would give him the chance to finally do something with his life without a single thought going to his sense of duty. The code, the rules, the duty : a lot of words to describe not having the right to do as you please. Perhaps it was time to write his own rules, ones that he would be comfortable with or perhaps was it not too late to start over, and rather was it time to turn this heavy page of his life. He didn’t want to burn the whole book. There were good moments in the life that he was living. There was a lot of pain there too, for certain, and a good dose of tragedy here and there. 

The man found himself brought back years back, back when he had had a chance to build a family. He heard Jared, and if he had a smile on his face while he looked at that crucial scene of the movie, his mind was somewhere else. Nostalgia had flown in like a peaceful summer breeze, and the fond memories felt like a warm embrace. It was true that he would miss this place very much, and Alain certainly regretted leaving all these people he cared for behind. He gave Jared a fond look. He hoped that he would be okay, and that the forever gargantuesque town of White Crest would not end up eating alive the poor innocent soul that he was. He didn’t have such worries for Erin, or Kaden, or even Jasmine. The three of them were tougher than stones, in their own ways. Stubbornness, bravery and determination. Perhaps was it why he instantly liked these people so much. Of all the things he was leaving behind, they had to be the toughest part. Finding people you could count on, and who could understand you might have been the hardest task for him. Sometimes he blamed it on being a hunter, one that did not stray away from duty (after all, it was this that had scared Evelyn away from him), sometimes he just figured that perhaps he was just not good at this. A mix of the two might have been the proper answer to that transparent mystery. It was easier to move on after being used to loss like he had been. After a certain age, you developed a certain craving for new adventures, and the fear of having wasted your time crept in. He would be alright, in very normal and very away from here Provence. 

[kickingitwithkirk]

Happy Coincidence Chance Discovery

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Piper, Jared Padalecki x Piper,

Characters: Dean Winchester /Jensen Ackles, mentions of Chad Michael Murray 

Word Count:4367

Warnings: cursing, kissing, nudity, implied sex/genital fondling/teasing 

 *Jared and Jensen are single.

A/N: for @idreamofplaid​  Thanks for the Memories Challenge #plaid and the memories  HAPPY BIRTHDAY JARED🎉

Prompt: Season 11, episode 4, Baby

A/N: Baby is my favorite episode but every time I’ve watched it I kept wondering; Sam’s hook up with Piper the waitress? So this is my fill in that blank with a Jared twist.

Divider: created by @writeyourmindaway​

*No beta all mistakes are mine

Dean drives into the parking lot of a roadhouse just after dusk and Sam looks at the marquee shaking his head in disbelief.

“Are you serious? Dean, it's late, I’m exhausted and..and.. and starving.  And this place. I mean, even Swayze wouldn't come to this roadhouse.” Sam groused.

“First of all, never use Swayze’s name in vain, okay. Ever.” Dean chastises his brother for such a sacrilege, “Second, you don't remember this place? You don't remember Heather, the hunter we worked the wendigo case a couple years ago?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam partially smiles, remembering that night of fun.

 “Yeah, exactly” Dean taking the same trip down memory lane.

“What, she’s here tonight?” Sam asks, perking up a bit.

 “I texted her, she's working a rugaru case in Texas.” Dean says.

“Actually, she never texted me back. That's not the point, the point is that we have a ton of driving left to do just to go to a town where it's not probably a case.” Dean points ahead, “But in there, good times.”

 “Uh...” Sam hedges looking at the building.

 “But time heals all wounds, especially good times. What do ya say?” Dean looks at his brother hopeful.

 “I say... knock yourself out.” Sam answers with his usual reply and Dean looks away, “I'm gonna find a diner and dig into the lore like Cas did, see if anythings ever happened where we’re headed.”

“Ah man, you really got to learn to have fun.” Dean’s reply was full of disappointment in his little brother.

“Seriously. It’s pathetic.” 

They both climb out of the Impala. Sam grabs his bag from the backseat and starts walking back towards town as Dean heads into the roadhouse. 

***

Sam had walked over a mile looking for somewhere to eat. Being Saturday night he thought there’d be more open but that’s small town living, the streets roll up at noon on the weekends. 

He was about to give up and hike back to that mom & pop gas station he passed for a microwave burrito, preferably bean to get back at Dean, when he happened upon a small, local place, Mak’s Diner. 

Hitching his bag up, he pushed open the door expecting the usual greasy spoon Dean's unerring sense navigates towards and stops just inside the front door.

It was an older establishment, obviously one of those passed down from generation to generation places but to his surprise it was well maintained, despite the C on the marquee being burnt out.

“Evening, have a seat anywhere and I’ll be right with you.” A woman’s voice called out from the kitchen. Sam walked past the counter smiling at only other occupants, an elderly couple having coffee and dessert, heading towards the back where family seating was located. 

As he passed the next to last booth he noticed a closed laptop, several open books with notes scrawled around their margins, highlighted paragraphs and a few notebooks scattered on its tabletop.

He dropped the bag on the seat and shed his jacket before sliding into the booth, fishing out his laptop and the legal pad that he had started making more notes on earlier.

“Hey there, what can I get you?” 

Picking up the menu laying by his elbow Sam glances through it, “Coffee and the Cobb salad, thanks.” He orders closing the menu and looking up to hand it to the waitress. She is differently not what he would have expected to find in a backwater burg like this one. 

Her makeup is understated, nails painted a neutral color and her copper hued hair is pulled back in an elegant chiffon, not a high ponytail or hastily bobby pinned up-do, held in place with a real silver clip, the type that’s handed down as an heirloom.

“Just the Cobb salad?” She asked looking under the tabletop, taking in Sam’s long legs somewhat stretched out under it, boots bumping against the other side of the circular booth. Her blue/grey eyes slowly travel up appraising his body till they meet his.

“Big boys like you need more than a few leafy greens for stamina.” 

Sam felt himself blushing like he was seventeen again. Waitresses blatantly flirt with Dean and vice versa all the time so he’s taken aback by this woman's more than blatant appraisal of his physique.

“I, um, yeah, ju..just the salad.” Sam stammers out.

“Okay, be back with that coffee.” Her smiles genuinely, not that faked for the customers sake one he’s used to.

Sam appraises her retreating figure like she did him. She’s not wearing the nurses white or black rubber soled shoes that’s usual waitress gear he’s seen but a brand of tennis shoes he knows are out of the typical income of career restaurant staff. 

The fifties style, yellow uniforms color is completely unflattering, not fitting her right, way too tight around her bust and hips and far shorter than it should be, her mile long legs on display.

Sam shifts in his seat and tries to discreetly palm down his spontaneous erection but not so little Sam is putting up a fight, making it known it's been way too long since he’s gotten wet and he wants to enjoy her junoesque attributes. 

***

While he is waiting for a page to load Sam hears the elderly couple preparing to leave. He watches as the husband helps his wife into her jacket and gently takes her hand, resting it in the crook of his arm as they slowly make their way to the exit, feeling the pang of loneliness that’s his constant companion.

“Mr. Reynolds’s, hang on a sec,” the waitress calls from the kitchen emerging with a white cake box tied shut, “Auntie wanted me to make sure you got this before leaving. She’s sorry she missed your anniversary party.”

“You tell her we missed her, needs to hurry up and get well.” Mrs. Reynolds remarked as her husband took the box with his free hand. She glanced back towards Sam, “Sweetie, you gonna be okay here with the likes of him?” 

Sam kept his expression neutral, waiting to see how this plays out. He knew people found him intimidating because of his size and being a stranger in a small town, he definitely stands out but not many were that blatant about it.

“He ordered a Cobb salad, I think I can handle him,” she jested winking at him.

The couple bid her goodnight and she went back into the kitchen, Sam realizing they were now all alone. Sighing, he starts reading the info again trying to figure out what exactly their hunting is. Or not.

He was so focused on his research like usual he didn’t acknowledge the waitress standing there with his order.

“Kmm hmm,” Sam’s head snapped up, “must be something really good if you don’t notice the likes of me.” She chided him setting down a coffee decanter and cup.

“Sorry, guess I was kinda caught up.” Sam moves the laptop and notepad over as she sets down his salad and two types of dressing. “Figured you might not be a ranch type of guy so I grabbed the vinaigrette too.” 

“Thanks, I prefer vinaigrette, don’t usually get offered it.” 

“I’m pretty good at reading people which is why I also brought you this,” she set down another plate with a lettuce wrapped, curiously colored and, by the smell, not meat burger with all the fixings, a generous helping of baked sweet potato fries and a green colored milkshake.

“I didn’t order this.”

“I know but it cooks night off and I’m trying some new recipes. Seeing as you're the only other one here, you've been conscripted as my guinea pig.” She slid into the other side of his booth where an identical plate rested, “I wasn’t kidding about you needing more than just a salad. Besides, I hate eating alone, you wouldn’t believe how often it happens. Fuck, where’s my manners, I’m Piper.” She stuck her hand out across the table.

He takes her preferred hand amazed how it fits perfectly in his, “Sam.” 

“So Sam, figure out what you're hunting yet?” She asked nonchalantly as she picked up her burger, “Cause, not being judgey, but that’s some really random shit you got there.” She takes a bite, watches as his expression bounces between startled and incredulous.

“How…”

“Saw your Tarsus 99 when you took off your jacket. I had one as a kid, then daddy got killed on a hunt and I got sent here to live with Auntie, she doesn’t cotton to hunting.” 

Piper picked up a fry pointing it at him, “But what I really wanna know, where the hell did you get that demon blade, ‘cause I’ve never seen one like it before.” 

Sam hesitates, “That’s a long story.” 

“Don’t close till one and I’ve got nowhere to be after.”

Sam decides to deflect instead of answering. “So what is it you do, because you're definitely not a waitress.” 

“Officially, I’m an antique appraiser. Unofficially, I’m helping a wayward hunter who graced my door with something he can’t figure out.”

***

Sam and Piper, after closing the diner, stayed another three hours hashing out the research for his case were now taking their time walking back towards the roadhouse. 

“I’ve been wanting to ask, what’s with that name tag?” Sam noticed early it read Maggie.

“Came with this god awful uniform. Auntie insists that we all adhere to how her daddy ran the place. So when I came back to temporarily help out after her surgery, Maggie decided she was not gonna take orders from someone younger, quit and I got stuck with this. I told Auntie it wouldn’t fit, even with letting out the hem. Maggie was like five-four and I’m over five-ten! 

Ugh! I keep popping these stupid top buttons and can’t freaking bend over without showing everyone my C U Next Tuesday.” 

Sam smiled that nervous smile he got when unsure how to respond to an answer he wasn’t expecting.

“I normally wear this to cover it,” moving her pocketed hands in the light weight, knee length sweater she had put on when they left the diner, “but I have to confess,” Piper turned around, walking backwards, “I took it off when I saw you come in, thought what the hell, been long time since a really cute guy has walk through my door so...” She bit her lip, turning back around as they continued down the lane in companionable silence.

Sam mused over her confession admitting to himself he was interested in her too. He enjoyed sharing different theories and bouncing ideas of what they might be hunting back and forth with her, surprising him with her unique take on things.

Piper might not have been the type he consciously steered towards since Jess but she was comfortable to be around, didn’t feel his usual awkwardness he normally had around most women. 

They arrived at the roadhouse a few minutes later and Sam led her towards the Impala.

“Damn, you brother is a fucking artist, how many times has he rebuilt her?” Piper asked walking around the car, running her hand over the Impalas pristine exterior. 

“To many.” Sam replies, putting his bag on the front seat. “Can I have a look?” He turns to see Piper standing by the trunk. “Um, sure.” Strolling over he unlocks it and lifts the interior wheel well exposing the car's hidden armory.

“Is that a grenade launcher?”

“Yeah, Dean found it at the bunker.” Sam laughed remembering how excited Dean had been when he discovered it. 

Piper shook her head shutting the trunk and hopped up on it, “What’cha wanna do now, go in,” gesturing at the bar, “or hang out here for a while longer?”

“I think I’m good hanging o...”

Piper grabbed his jacket dragging him between her spread legs and kissed him.

It took Sam all of five seconds to process what was happening before his hands grabbed her hips and tugged her to the edge of the trunk, her short skirt riding even higher as she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer.

Sam jerked back as headlights flashing over them, a patrol car drove into the parking lot. He lifted Piper off the trunk and led her to the car's back door dragging  the green cooler out of their way.

Piper climbed in as he hauled it to the trunk and grabs the army blanket Dean keeps then gets in depositing it and his jacket over the front seat.

“Where were we before being rudely interrupted?” Piper asked, sliding onto Sam’s lap and leaning in to resume kissing him. 

Sam tangled his long fingers into her now loose hair pulling to halt her, “What about that patrolman?”

“Won’t be back till closing, around six A.M.”

“That means Dean won’t either,” he says closing the space between them, heatedly attacking her lips.

***

Piper ran her hand over his bare chest, “How long is your refractory period?”

Sam shifted to look down at her, “umm, around twenty minutes.”

“Hmmm, I’m gonna have to see what I can do to shorten that ‘cause we are so doing that more than once again.”

“And how are you gonna do that?” 

Piper stared at him slowly trailing her hand down his torso. Sam’s breath hitched as she lightly teased her fingers across his lower stomach, running through his treasure trail and over to his hip.

Shifting further down his body she continued running her fingers over the top of his left thigh feeling the hard muscles flexing under the skin. She placed both of her hands in between his legs shifting his left one off the seat and bending his right leg back placing his foot flat on the bench seat. 

Piper kneels in the space between Sam’s spread legs continuously moving her fingers in random patterns over the insides of both tights, touching him everywhere below his waist.

Sam closed his eyes groaning loudly, dropping his head back against the window as her fingers played over his balls feeling her other hand travel behind them teasing over his...

“You fell asleep in the fucking car!”

His eyes snapped open startled. Blinking rapidly he sees Dean leaning through the open car window looking at him. 

“Dean what...where’s Piper?”

“What’s a Piper?” He growled out, “Dude, we wrapped twenty minutes ago and I’ve been looking for you, got worried cause you weren’t answering your fucking phone Jay!”

He took a good look at Dean. His foggy brain finally realizing its mistake, taking in the headset hanging around his neck and the ball cap he likes wearing when directing. “Jen, sorry, guess I’m still in Sam headspace, got disoriented for a sec.”

Jensen laughed, “You find one grey hair and suddenly you're getting memory loss and needing naps? I’ll have to remember to have you in bed by nine, old man.” 

“Your fucking hilarious Jack.” Jared shoots back sliding across the seat getting out, “Man, I had the weirdest dream.”

“From the happy noises you were making that was far from weird. And speaking of happy,” Jensen's eyebrows went up as he pointedly looked down.

Jared glances down thinking he’s drooled all over himself only to see the prominent bulge in his jeans.

“Bob’s called a meeting in five but I think we’re gonna be late.” 

***

“I’m telling you it was so real! She was tall with coppery blond hair, tasted like chocolate peppermint and has this tattoo above her...” Jared paused grinning, keeping that specific location to himself, “I’ve never in my life had such a vivid dream like that.”

“Dude, you like petite brunettes.” 

“I know..so why would I make her a redhead?”

“Hell if I know, it’s your giant melon. Maybe all that sugar ribbon you eat is finally getting its revenge.” Jensen snarks as they enter the meeting room.

They were greeted by Bob’s gruff voice, “About time you two showed up. Alright, now that everyone is finally here, we need to get everyone up to speed. We’re having to make changes to the filming schedule.” He pauses looking at him notes, “Jared, don’t need you to come tomorrow for those new promo shots with, what was that new character again?” 

“Y/N Y/L/N, Sam’s new love interest.”

“Right, anyways, writers scraped that idea. As some of you heard, several of our exterior locations got flooded with that last storm and it’s taking time to find new locations so instead of doing blocking we're gonna do a quick read through of the new episode.”

Jared opened his copy of the new script to episode 4: Baby.

Reading the opening scene he experiences deja vu, quickly scanning the first two pages: bunkers garage: Dean washing the Impala, Sam having a possible case in Oregon. Next scene: interior shot Impala, Sam gets a protein shake out of cooler, Dean wants to know about the beer. Next scene: pulling in roadhouse parking lot, Dean trying to get Sam to join him, goes to eat instead, shot from Impala view watching Dean walking. Next scene: daybreak continuing from the view of the car...

“Fuck me.” Jared whispers, catching Jensen's attention. “What’s wrong?”

“This is how my dream started.”

Jensen pulls a yeah right face.

Jared shifted in his chair leaning closer to Jensen, looking directly into his green eyes, “I’ll prove it. Next scene: Dean gets in the car at daybreak and a naked waitress pops up in the backseat with a voice-over from Sam. Dean gets out peeping in the driver's side back window at her getting dressed. Cut to next scene: Sam climbs into front seat buttoning his flannel as he apologizes for having sex in Dean’s car. Dean, happy his brother finally got laid drives off quoting Bob Sager lyrics, playing Night Moves and Sam changing a lyric. 

Jared continued to lay out the entire episode from memory as Jensen flips through the script following.

“Bullshit Jared, someone snuck you a copy of this script, you're totally fucking with me.” 

“Jensen, not this time.”

***

Jared walked back to his trailer aggravated that Jensen won’t believe he didn’t get an advance peek of the script. He can’t shake this unsettling feeling that he was forgetting something important.

He was two steps into his trailer when his phone vibrated. Chad left a voicemail instead of texting, weird.

“Jay man, you gotta do me solid. A friend of mine got the part of Y/N on your show and I don’t know what the fucks happening up there but she flipped the fuck out on me! Need you to check on her, she’s outside one of the guest trailers. And have her call me back after she’s calmed the fuck down!”

Jared snorted, another woman pissed off at Chad, shocker. “The fuck you getting me into this time Murray.” Jared mutters to himself as he heads over to the guest stars trailers and hears a somewhat familiar voice outside of one.

“What do you mean there’s nothing you can do? I get here and now they're telling me they’ve dropped the story line.”

There was a pause in conversation as Jared walked closer to hear more clearly over the lot's noises and was shocked when he saw her sitting on one of the trailer's steps.

“But I signed a contract...what? I don’t remember seeing that in there. So they can just arbitrarily drop the part with no notification, that’s bullshit! I’ve never had a clause like that in one before. I gave up my job and apartment for this!” She gets up and paces around not noticing him. 

“They're giving me the bit part of the waitress in this episode, have a five am call for hair, getting a blonde rinse so I look more like a Dean type girl. I don’t know what the fuck is with these writers, it’s like they don’t get Sam, should’ve left him like Kripke originally created him.” She paused, “paying me what? At scale! That’ll just cover my petrol for the drive back to L.A. Wait, what about my six month lease? Could you check on it.” 

“Oh, giving me two nights at the Hilton. How magnanimous of them,” she sarcastically replies, “can I still get that part on Arrow...cast someone else.” She abruptly ends the call and sits back down on the step slumping over her knees.  

“So, how much of that fucked up conversation did you overhear?” She asked not looking at him.

“Um, almost all of it.” Jared confesses, “I wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping but I got a voicemail from Chad,” she looked up staring in disbelief at Jared, “he’s worried and wanted me to check on you.” 

“Fanfuckingtastic, can this day get any better? I’ve completely humiliated myself in front of Jared Fucking Padalecki!” 

Jared can just make out her blushing in the still dimming light. “I wouldn’t say completely, I mean, you could drop your pants and yell Pudding.”

She blinked at him before doubling over in laughter, “Alright, point taken. Still, it’s a crock of shit you don’t need to be bothered with.”

“Chad’s kinda made it my problem. Look, I don't know all the details but maybe I can help, I can call casting..”

“Oh hell no! Thanks but no thanks. Bunch of assbutts on social media were already speculating about how someone like me got the part in the first place. Last thing I need is more ammo for the haters, they’ll tweet something like I had a three way with you and Ackles because I was desperate to get the part back.” 

Jared cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair embarrassed to feel turned on by the imagery she conjured up in his mind. 

 “Mmm, that’d be my wet dream come true, but not the point, they’ll just come up with some random shit.”

Jared understood being all too familiar with the anti whatever’s having been the target himself.

“Okay, how about we go to my trailer,” she gave him a skeptical look, “where you can have some privacy to call Chad back. I’ll get de-Sam’d and we can talk some more or grab a bite if you're hungry.”

“You don’t know me from Adam, what if I’m some psychotic serial stocker nut job?” 

“If your friends with Chad, you absofuckingloutley are Ms. what's your name.” Jared sarcastically remarks given her a mischievous grin.

“Touché, and it's Piper,” Jared froze at her name, “and you’ve been friends with Murry longer than me so I know you’re straight up batshit crazy.” She smarts back standing up, “lead on, oh gallant knight.”

***

Jared walked out of the bath toweling his wet hair sees Piper lounging on his couch still on the phone with Chad.

As he crossed over to the kitchen's fridge he couldn’t help but notice her low rise jeans had ridden lower, revealing the top half of the tattoo just above her..

“Dude, should’a told me Padalecki has a tattoo kink,” Jared tripped over his feet before catching himself embarrassed at getting caught, “Yeah, that was your boy.” She winked at him, “No way in hell I’m ever showing it to you perv.” Jared loudly laughs at that. “Hey, when I get back I’m PA’ing for you till I get another gig. Don’t you dare argue, you got me into this so it’s that or I’m on your couch for a month,” Piper rolled her eyes at Chad’s response, “Yeah, yeah, talk to you later.”

“Is that how you met Chad, working as a PA?” Jared inquired coming over to sit down next to Piper handing her a beer. 

“Yeah, paid the bills while doing auditions, was starting to pick up a few bit parts around LA.” Piper starts nervously fiddling with the bottles label, “I heard about the casting call for a new Sam girl and Murry talked me into trying out for it, so I figured unless I kiss Crowley I don’t have a shot in hell and holy fuck, I got it.” 

She stopped talking but kept playing with the label. 

“Hey, whatever it is you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Jared says gently touching her shoulder in a reassuring manner.

She took a long pull of her beer before continuing. “My Auntie died and I inherited everything, including her debts. I negotiated a smaller settlement but it wiped out all my savings.” She paused draining the rest of her bottle. “I figured it was serendipity..”

Jared is half listening, feeling that uneasy sensation again at that last word.

“...gonna be Sam Winchester’s...”

“If we’re meant to meet again,”

“.. weren’t killing her off after three episodes but then they decided to drop that story line...”

“we will.”

“...I should be going. Thanks for the beer and letting bending your ear, I’m gonna get out of your hair.” Piper gets up heading for the door.

Jared finally remembers.

“I believe in serendipity..maybe you can too.”

He quickly jumped up moving between her and the door blurting out, “I know you said you didn’t want my help but you can’t go, not yet.”

“Okay, why not? ‘Cause any other time I’d be up for some wham bam thank you ma’am but so not in the mood right now.”

Taking a deep breath he goes for it, “So, get this, after we finished filming today, I fell asleep in the Impala and had this dream…” 

***

Jared sat on the couch nervously chewing on his thumb watching as Piper paces back and forth mulling over his story.

She abruptly stopped and sat down on the table in front of him. “So here's the deal, I will believe everything you've told me,” Jared opens his mouth to say something but Piper reached out laying her fingers on his lips, “if you can answer one question.” 

Jared took her hand remembering how it felt so right in his, “Okay.”

“Since you’ve seen it in your dream, what does my tattoo mean?”

“In Japanese, it means happy coincidence,” Jared confidently says sitting back as Piper climbs onto his lap, “but that's the first line, the second one is chance discovery.”

Jared pulls her in, brushing his lips against hers, running his tongue across them so she’ll part them , allowing him access. He can taste the beer they’ve been drinking but there’s that sumptuous flavor of her underneath he finds intoxicating..chocolate peppermint..thinking to himself..

Serendipity.