#hoping to be back on track and catching up tomorrow. gotta keep sleeping better

[egg-emperor]

starting to get my usual energy level back but it doesn't last long. worn out already and it's 4 pm augh

[astaroth1357]

How Often They Worry about MC…

For those who don’t know, I have a little dog named Charlie and she is a large portion of my world. There's no need to be alarmed, my dog is fine, but there are days where I hold her and all I can think about is how much I worry about her health down the line… I suppose we often do that for the people we love, particularly the ones who may not last as long as we will. Take that as inspiration if you'd like.

Lucifer 

Near constantly. 

If you tracked his blood pressure on a grid, you'd see it start to continuously rise about when he decided they were worth having in his life.

Lucifer is the eldest sibling to a whole crew of brothers so he's no stranger to worry. He worried about his brothers when they were young, he worried about them after the Fall, and he still worries about them now (even if he's less open about it).

But a part of him knows that his brothers can handle their own, at least to varying degrees. The MC, though? He's far less sure…

They've proven rather resilient, but also headstrong and reckless. Neither of which are good things to be in a place this dangerous...

If Lucifer isn't careful, he can catch himself staring at a wall or window just wondering where they are and if they're doing alright… If he called them every time he had a passing worry, their inbox would be full by the end each week.

He holds himself back because he doesn't have the time to constantly protect them, but that doesn't stop him from sending a text once or twice a day. They better respond or he'll start (secretly) panicking.

Mammon

He forgets their mortality from time to time, but every time he remembers it hits like a ton of bricks…

Mammon is a pretty "in-the-moment" person. He doesn't spend a lot of time dwelling on the future, but whenever he does the thought of losing MC always comes back to him again and again.

Like. It's gotta happen eventually, right? They're human, humans die, hell they don't even live that long to start with!

The MC can always tell when Mammon's getting worried because he'll get uncharacteristically quiet and pace around or hover by them…

Every little injury or strenuous task will suddenly seem like too much to him as well. 

If they need to carry some boxes, he'll carry them all.

If they have to jog to class, he's carrying them. 

If they so much as get a papercut, he'll have a heart attack.

It's not very hard to get Mammon out of these funks - he really does want them to reassure him that they're okay - but he's never going to get fully over it…

Not until he can steal whatever top secret immortality formula Solomon must have used anyway… He'll get it off that bastard eventually.

Leviathan

Thinks about it so often he has to actively try not to just to get any peace…

He dodges his fears for MC like a protagonist dodges lasting consequences. Every time he feels one creeping up, he's always got a distraction waiting…

"Hey where's MC at? I hope they didn't fall into the riv-OH HEY CHECK OUT THIS NEW GAME!!"

"What are they doing over there…? That looks hard, what if they bre-WAIT DIDN'T MY FAVORITE VOICE ACTOR JUST RELEASE A NEW PODCAST???"

"What if the MC dies tomorrow and they leave me all alo-DEVIL FIGHT 200! YOU CAN'T BEAT DEVIL FIGHT 200, LET’S BREAK MY HIGH SCORE!!"

Cut him some slack, his psyche cannot handle the idea of losing them on top of everything else he grapples with every day.

If, on the rare occasion, he does let himself fall down that rabbit hole he becomes extra clingy and practically begs MC not to leave his room… like ever. He'd bubble wrap them if he could.

Anytime they get really hurt or really sick he refuses to leave their side even if it means he has to awkwardly sit on the floor. He just needs to be able to glance at them every so often to be sure they're alive… Still breathing?? Phew…

Satan

He worries, preps, rationalizes, then worries again…

For Satan, knowledge is power and every scrap of information he can learn about MC is more power he can use to keep them safe and healthy.

Yes, he will want their medical history. Yes, he's going to need a list of prescriptions. Family members too. And no, you do not get a choice.

He'll read up on as many things as he can - pawn medical journals off of witches and get magical alternatives from Solomon.

The cycle usually goes: 

1. He's lying awake at night because he just heard about some terrible bacteria that makes human's skin peel off or something.

2. He does all the research he can on this bacteria, its treatment options, best prevention methods, etc.

3. Gets right about to break out the rubber booties for MC to wear around, then realizes they have a very slim chance of catching said bacteria since it's only native to incredibly remote parts of Indonesia.

4. Feels instant relief that MC will probably not catch flesh-eating bacteria and can finally sleep again…

5. Hears of some other human medical horror from Solomon and starts to worry…

It's a vicious cycle indeed… But at least he's getting a lot of medical training. Soon enough he'll be the Devildom's version of a human vet (which I guess is just a doctor, come to think of it. 🤔)

Asmodeus 

Lives so "here-and-now" that he doesn't remember often, but when he does it's always heartbreaking…

Asmo usually tries to worry about things as little as possible. It’s bad for the skin, you know? But when the MC is involved, all of that goes out the window.

Like how a delicate blossom eventually wilts in the snow, the MC is bound to leave them in time… Usually there's supposed to be something beautiful in that kind of tragedy, but perhaps he's just too close to them to find any romance in it.

The thought of their death gives him breakouts and anytime they get hurt or sick he's the first brother to offer them comfort. Every time.

Because he doesn't feel like he's as physically strong as he brothers, he tries to make up for it by minding their health in other ways. Anything to keep his MC strong and beautiful as always!

If Asmo is in a worrying mood, then he may also compensate by trying to take the MC out to a party or some fun event. Why sit around worrying by himself when he could be making memories with them now, right?

Beelzebub

It comes in waves, mostly at night.

When your thoughts throughout the day are mostly, "I wish I wasn't so hungry," it doesn't afford you a lot of time to think about much else.

In a way, it's a good thing since he experiences a lot less stress. But those worries are still there and they mostly plague his dreams…

Beel doesn’t feel hungry when he's sleeping, so a lot of his fears will make themselves known overnight. An injured or dying MC is often in his rotation of nightmares though, of course, he'd rather it not be…

After having one of these dreams, his first instinct is to always make sure the MC is okay. If they're with him, he'll hug them and check their heartbeat. If they're somewhere else, he'll go to them or shoot a text.

He has woken up without realizing his nightmare was all a dream though, and usually it's up to Belphie or MC themselves to console him while he cries… It's so heartbreaking, sweet boy just puts a lot of pressure on himself to be sure they're safe…

When he worries, it's like they're the most beautiful and expensive China set in a room full of bulls and hammers. If he could tape them to his side, he probably would. He gets scared for them that much…

Belphegor 

More scared about it than anyone else in the House.

Despite his calm demeanor, Belphie is truly afraid of losing his loved ones beneath the surface… He's already lost one of his most dear siblings before, going through that again may just break him.

Unfortunately, he's also felt just how fragile the MC is firsthand... He's not even the strongest of his brothers, yet he was able to snuff them out so easily… Who's to say someone else won't try?

Like Beel, MC's death is a recurring nightmare for him but he can usually shake off his dreams fairly well, if not change them mid-sleep. More scary is when something is actually wrong with them or they're not feeling well.

Belphie always sets his inner laziness aside for the MC when he can. If they get sick, he'll usually be right along with his family to take care of them - even if he has to skip school to do so (not that he cares about class anyway).

When he's worrying about them, he tries to play it off at first, but soon enough they'll notice him acting overly concerned and losing sleep… Best to calm him down before he starts getting cranky.

[twodimecastle]

fifty bucks & six months.

spencer reid x gender neutral reader new relationship, secret keeping nonsense, 4.5k words, ao3 a/n; turns out i love writing texting fic but tumblr destroys the formatting rip

zero months.

You smile conspiratorially, extending a pinkie towards Spencer and he gives you a skeptical look.

“You know the odds of being found out immediately are-” he starts, but you cut him off.

“Astronomical, I know. I know. But don’t you think it’ll be fun to see how long we can push it?” you wheedle, not caring that your voice sounds more like begging than is strictly dignified because seeing the way Spencer’s nose crinkles in amusement at your heavy handed persuasion is too adorable to pass up. You scoot closer on the couch, tapping the end of his nose with your pinkie finger, letting him catch your hand between his as you continue “I think we’ve got a good shot at hiding it for a little while. It would be like a game.”

Spencer draws your captive hand to his lips, brushing them across your knuckles and watching fondly as you forge ahead in your campaign to persuade him, enjoying the show and the attention too much to tell you he’s already on board. Your eyes are shining with the prospect of the caper, and you’ve made no move to take your hand back from him, and Spencer’s pretty sure he’d be more than happy to sit with you in this moment forever. “I mean-” you go on, gesturing animatedly with your free hand, “you’re like-a really good liar when you want to be. And everyone else always forgets how good you are at it.”

He snorts at that and the sound makes you light up, eyes tracking the arch of his brows, the warmth in his soft brown eyes, memorising the way he looks like this; utterly unbothered, completely at ease. It might be your favourite version of him, but that race has always been a tight one with no clear winner in sight. You have lots of favourite versions of Spencer. Twisting your hand in his, you tangle your fingers together, savouring the way you feel his thumb glide delicately along your skin and the unhidden joy in his face at the simple show of affection.

Time to play your trump card.

“$50 says we can hide it from the whole group for at least six months. If everyone figures it out before then, you win. But if not everyone has worked it out by then, I win.”

The mischievous shine in your eyes is irresistible, and Spencer smiles, disentangling one of his hands from yours to extend his own pinky finger.

“You’re on.”

The words barely make it out of his mouth before you’re colliding with him, pressing your lips to his.

two months.

“So, how long has this whole thing been going on?” Derek’s question catches Spencer off guard, and, based on the way he can see you freeze in his peripheral vision, takes you by surprise as well. Sliding into the driver's seat of the SUV, Derek continues “I hope you didn’t think you were gonna be able to keep me in the dark for long, pretty boy. You should know better than that.”

Following mechanically after him, Spencer takes the passenger seat, trying to frame his next statement as carefully as possible as he hears your door close and the car start. “We were-going to tell you guys-” he begins uncomfortably, glancing back to you for support, but you look just as on edge as he feels. “We were just gonna-keep it to ourselves for a while-before telling Hotch and everything-” he tries again, the mounting tension levering his shoulders higher and higher with every passing moment, but then Derek just laughs, shaking his head.

“Hey, I’m happy for you, kid. For both of you.” He spares a look at you in the back seat through the rear view mirror, and you can feel the tension in your jaw relax, the furrows in your brow straightening out at the note of approval in Derek’s voice. “I’m glad you two finally figured it out,” he says, fondly, and you laugh.

“I bet Spence we could keep it from you guys at least six months,” you explain, reaching forwards through the centre console to link your pinky with Spencer’s, and the touch of your hand releases the last of the tension he had been harbouring as he covers your hand with the other one of his own. He knows Derek clocks the motion, filing it away in his mind somewhere, but he doesn’t care about the scrutiny so much right now. Not when your hand is so warm and comfortable in his.

Derek reaches for the dial on the radio and flicks through the channel, thinking about something, and as you watch, a slow mischievous smirk spreads across his face a moment later before he glances first at Spencer and then at you.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says to you, and Spencer can feel a familiar grin tugging at his own lips as he watches a plan take shape in his friend’s eyes. “I’m happy to sit on this information for a while for a cut of the winnings from whichever one of you comes out on top.” He snorts good naturedly as he continues “I have my own bet to win with Prentiss, so if you two help me win that one, I’ll cut you in too.”

“A quid pro quo of sorts,” Spencer says slowly, and he feels your fingers tighten around his, as you snort softly, and he knows instinctually you’re grinning the same way you always do when you’re winning a game. “I think we can do that.”

Derek grins, turning the music up as he nods, eyes on the road. “Then you two love birds have got yourselves a deal.”

two months and two weeks.

PG: youre not as slick as you think you are ;)

YN: ???

PG: ;))))))))) you should invest in some concealer for your work bag sweetness or tell the good doctor to pay more attention to whats visible in your work clothes

YN: oh my fucking god wait how do you even know thats how that happened

PG: im all knowing and all seeing im like the omnipotent goddess of the fbi

YN: derek blabbed

PG: he sang like a canary but also im an omnipotent goddess im also totally clued in on the whole bet situation with em so for the low low price of every single juicy detail about how this adorableness went down you can buy my silence :)

YN: im getting derek decaf coffee on all coffee runs from now on >:( traitors dont get caffeine

PG: darling sweet angel i need deets all of them like immediately

YN: >:( fine ok so. after that case down in georgia a few months ago? the weird one? with the creepy mother son thing?

PG: omg yuck pls dont remind me im here for the CUTENESS not the MURDER

YN: sorryyyyyyy anyway so spence was like being super weird about it all on the plane and whatever but he was doing that super annoying thing where he ignores it and says hes fine so everyone leaves him alone

PG: YEAH why does everyone here do that ALL THE TIME its SO annoyingggg

YN: ikr its insufferable and like super not subtle ANYWAY. spence was being weird and whatever and i just. refused to let him sulk on his own or whatever like i could tell there was something bothering him and so after work i insisted that we were gonna get like shitty diner food or whatever and watch a movie and he knows better than to say no to me

PG: smart boy

YN: so we got fries and milkshakes and then went back to his place to watch a movie and he was still like weird and silent and like brooding yknow? but whatever just figured hed talk about it when he was ready so i put on a movie and offered to make popcorn and then he was just staring at me and he looked so SAD and TIRED and i thought id done something wrong like the poor guy looked like he was gonna cry and i was panicking over fucking popcorn and then he says ‘why are you always so nice to me?’

PG: oh my god hes like if a sad victorian orphan was actually a triplicate phd holder

YN: i was SO thrown off i was like spencer. spencer were best friends. ive been forcing you to hang out with me for years now why do you THINK im being nice to you its bc i care about you asshole and then. like after another million years after letting me sweat it out over whether hes about to cry for like fucking years the asshole grabs my hand and says. i shit you not. ‘you know im in love with you, right?’ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PG: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YN: anyway hes my boyfriend now :’) dont tell anyone tho gotta win the bet

four months.

Lingering by the elevator, you glance around at the uncharacteristically silent office building, waiting for Spencer to leave the bullpen. The sound of his footfalls drawing nearer makes you smile and you mentally applaud yourself for suggesting the two of you remained behind after disembarking from the plane, taking advantage of the manufactured privacy to take the same car home, back to his apartment.

When he sees you waiting for him, he can’t help the soft fond smile that tugs at his face, as he reaches for your hand, sliding his fingers into yours with a gentle squeeze, the quiet of the building allowing him to indulge in the show of affection. You return the squeeze, leaning your head on his shoulder with a yawn and as he presses a fond kiss to your temple he’s rewarded by a sleepy hum of approval from you that sends a rush of quiet joy shooting through him.

“At least we won’t be sleeping in hotel beds again tonight,” you say, voice weary, and Spencer nods as he shuffles you into the elevator. The doors slide shut and the elevator starts to move and in the moment of absolute privacy, you steal a kiss, tilting your chin up to catch his lips with yours, revelling in the soft huff of surprise he lets out, even as he smiles against your mouth. Even after months, the simple act of kissing Spencer still feels new and thrilling somehow, like you can’t quite believe it’s something you’re allowed to do.

His nose brushes yours and he breathes “unless something big comes up, we get a sleep in tomorrow too,” and the way you beam at him sends his heart racing in his chest, unable to look away from the fondness shining in your eyes.

As the two of you exit the elevator and make your way through the Bureau car park, you tuck yourself against his side, wedging yourself under his arm with a happy sigh, eager to get yourself horizontal and asleep as fast as possible. Spencer brushes his lips against your temple again as the two of you close in on his car, almost free and clear of the office when a voice behind the two of you brings you up short.

“Reid?”

Spencer is reacting before his mind catches up, turning on his heel towards the sound of Hotch’s voice echoing through the parking lot, conscious of the incriminating way you’re still tucked against his side, even as his brain is rifling frantically through any possible excuses for the current circumstances.

“Hotch-” you step away from Spencer, cheeks flaming, not wanting to chance a look at him. “I-we-thought everyone else had gone home,” you trail off lamely, trying your hardest not to balk under Hotch’s ominously impassive scrutiny. A second passes, then another, and the short silence feels like months, or years even as the three of you stand locked in a stalemate.

“I take it the two of you would prefer to keep this under wraps?” He asks, finally, and it registers with Spencer, somewhat belatedly, that Hotch’s tone isn’t admonishing. It isn’t enough to dissipate the tension coiling in Spencer’s muscles just yet, but he spares a glance at you as he nods, and a moment later, Hotch gives the two of you a curt nod of his own. “I’ll tell you what,” he says, a shade of irony colouring his voice. “If you two fill out the paperwork for in-team relationships for me, I’ll keep it to myself. I understand privacy is hard to come by in our office.”

The words take a while to fully sink in, and you’re conscious that you’re standing there blinking and gaping at your boss like a bemused fish for a good few seconds before you’ve composed yourself enough to say “absolutely, sir. Of course. Thank you.”

Hotch nods again, heading towards his own car, and as he passes the two of you, a brief smile flashes across his face.

“Congratulations, you two. Get some sleep.”

four months and three weeks.

Spencer isn’t sure how late it is, but he knows you’re not asleep yet, the faint glow of your phone screen casting faint distorted shadows across his room as your free hand rests lightly on his chest. In the dark blue twilight of his room, the space feels undefined and dream like somehow, the line between his mind and his surroundings blurry or indistinct somehow, and as you huff out a near silent laugh at something on the screen in your hand, a thought rises to the surface of his thoughts like flotsam on an unwanted tide.

The more clinical part of his mind notes the autonomic response in his body, the way his heart lurches unpleasantly in his chest, heart rate rising with an influx of cortisol through his nervous system, automatically rifling through ways to control the anxiety response. Age old instinct surges forwards, starting to push his spiralling anxiety down out of sight so as not to bother you with it, but then your hand shifts infinitesimally on his chest, fingers curling in the soft fabric of his pyjama shirt, and for once his body is miles ahead of his brilliant mind, your name is leaving his lips before he’s really aware of it happening.

Your gaze flashes up from your phone at the sound of his voice, soft and hesitant, and you let the screen go dark as you set it down. You can feel Spencer’s heart hammering against his ribs under your palm, and your brows knit together in concern as you shift closer to his side, tracing gentle circles over his shirt with your fingertips, the repetitive motion intended to soothe, though you’re not sure if it’s for his benefit or yours.

“Yeah, baby?” You ask softly, working hard to keep the rising worry from your voice. After three years of friendship and almost six months of dating, you know him well enough to sense when his propensity for overthinking and catastrophizing is slipping out of his control. You can feel his chest rise as he inhales sharply, whatever he’s about to say cut off by second guessing, doing nothing to pacify your concern. “Spence? Is everything okay?” You ask again.

“This-bet-hiding our relationship-it’s-” he trails off, throat tight as he rolls onto his side, facing away from you, and smushing his face into the pillow, already wishing he hadn’t said anything. You’re the kindest person he’s ever met, but offering up this kind of raw insecurity feels like pulling teeth. Even if it’s you. Especially if it’s you. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to find out if you care about him enough to stay when his racing mind gets the better of him. The pillow muffles his voice as he says “never mind.”

You feel your own heart rate tic up in response to that, matching the wild beat of Spencer’s that you could feel under your palm only a second ago. “Baby, talk to me. What’s on your mind?”

He shakes his head, face still hidden in the pillow. “It’s stupid.”

He can feel the rush of your breath on his back as you sigh, and your voice is almost achingly patient as you say softly “it’s not stupid if it matters to you.” There’s a long pause, and you press yourself against his back, settling close and letting your hand slide over his side to rest on his chest, the heat of his skin sinking into yours even through his thin shirt. In spite of his height, he feels so small as you wrap yourself around him, drawing closer, trying to reassure him without yet knowing what he needs to be reassured of. “Spence?”

“Are you ashamed of-being with me? Is that why you want to hide it?” The words are almost whispered, the sound almost lost against his pillow and your heart sinks, plummeting faster and further than if you’d dropped it off the side of a skyscraper. You should’ve known he might worry about that, should have realised it might have felt that way. Remorse rises hot and bitter in your throat and you swallow it down, trying to steady your voice.

“Spencer. Sweetheart. No. Never. I could never be ashamed. I love you. I’m so sorry.” Your arms wrap more tightly around him and you bury your face against the crook of his neck, the tension you can feel in every inch of his body making you feel more cruel and short-sighted than you already do. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise it might feel like that. I could never be ashamed of being with you, Spence. You’re my favourite person.” He takes the kind of shaky, shallow breath that comes with trying not to cry and your heart breaks a little more as one of his hands slowly moves to cover yours where it rests against his chest, just over his heart.

As his hand rests over yours, his thumb strokes lightly along your knuckles, and he knows you know him well enough to notice the way his hand trembles, just a little, because then your hand is shifting against his, turning to clumsily tangle your fingers with his, holding tighter to him as he tries to collect himself, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath as his eyes squeeze shut. He can hear the contrition in your voice as you say softly “I’ve never really liked having people know everything about what’s going on in my life. And I love our friends but-something like this, that’s so-special? So new? I wanted to be able to keep it to just us for a while.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice comes out a little shaky, scarcely more than a whisper, and it’s more than you can take as you pull back and gently force him to roll over to face you. He’s not crying, but his eyes are glassy and you recognise the fight to keep the tears unshed in the tight set of his jaw and the hard line of his lips. Leaning on your elbow, you lift your free hand to gently smooth out the furrows of his brow, letting your fingers linger along the planes of his face.

“Why are you sorry,” you ask gently. “You don’t need to be sorry, baby. Not for talking to me about things that bother you. We can tell everyone else tomorrow, if you want? We can call off the bet. Derek will live. If he’s got a problem with it I’ll turn all his shirts into crop tops.”

He can tell the joke is a last bid attempt to make him smile, to ease his fear, and it works. In spite of the anxious weight in his chest that feels like it’s pressing him into the mattress, Spencer laughs weakly, meeting your eyes, and he watches as a relieved smile breaks across your face, releasing your lower lip from where you’d trapped it worriedly between your teeth. The unmitigated affection that floods into your eyes renders him momentarily breathless as he takes in the moment. You’re still here, still trying to take care of him. Just as kind and steadfast as ever.

“No,” he says eventually, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you down on top of him like a living weighted blanket, letting your warmth chase the bulk of the tension from his body and luxuriating in the way you curl into him, one hand sliding into his hair. “We shouldn’t call off the bet. We still have to take Emily’s money, remember?”

Your sleepy laugh is the last thing he hears before his eyes close and the feel of your body wound around his lulls him to sleep.

five months.

SR: Can I talk to you about something?

DM: you dying or something? that’s a really fuckin ominous text to recieve out of the blue

SR: I’m not dying, why would that be what you assumed? I just have a question.

DM: just a figure of speech but what’s up?

SR: It’s about your bet with Emily. What’re the terms for it?

DM: wym?

SR: What exactly did you two make the bet about? What needs to happen in order for you to win the bet?

DM: does this count as collusion?

SR: Technically yes, but calling it collusion implies a certain degree of illegality.

DM: whatever anyway the terms i made with em were that you’d make some kind of move before your birthday but she reckoned you were gonna need some kind of near death experience to do anything about your crush why?

SR: I’m just making sure I have all the information.

DM: what’s going on pretty boy? you planning something?

SR: Maybe.

DM: not a helpful answer reid is everything good?

SR: Everything’s fine. We’re just figuring some stuff out. Nothing to worry about.

DM: is there something you’re not telling me?

SR: Don’t worry about it.

five months, three weeks and six days.

In the chaos that was the scramble from the briefing room to the jet, you haven’t yet had the chance to speak to Spencer about the outcome of his most recent thesis defence panel. By the time you’ve got a moment to breathe, the jet is underway, coasting across the country towards Montana, the whole team settled in for the six hour flight. You corner him in the tiny kitchen area of the jet as he’s making a mug of mediocre coffee, fingers tapping out an absent minded rhythm on the countertop as the coffee machine whirs, clearly not paying attention to anything outside of his head.

“Hey, boy genius.” He jumps, whirling around, eyes wide with surprise, and you smile fondly. “So?” You demand, and Spencer raises an eyebrow in confusion. You snort, rolling your eyes as you elaborate. “Your defence panel. Did it go okay?”

You’re shifting your weight and fidgeting restlessly with the belt loops on your pants and as he studies you for a moment, it occurs to Spencer that you’re nervous for him over this outcome. The thought brings an almost giddy smile to his face.

“You know this isn’t my first thesis defence panel, right?” He says mildly, deliberately burying the lede, enjoying the way you scowl in irritation too much to answer your question right away, too enamoured with this display of concern on his behalf.

“Don’t be difficult, Doctor Reid. It’s still a big deal.” He just shrugs noncommittally, and you huff, swatting his arm lightly. “So did it go well?” You ask again, eyes narrowing as you try to dissect his microexpressions, trying to discern the answer he seems determined to keep from you for yourself. A few seconds later, he relents.

“I can now add degree number six to my wall.” He confirms. Getting degrees doesn’t hold the same rush of pride for him now, the accomplishment feeling somewhat less exceptional as he acquires more of them, but the way your face lights up with pride for him reminds him how special the things he’s capable of can be. You’ve always made him feel like more than the sum of his parts somehow, like something infinitely more precious than he always assumed he is.

“I fucking knew it. That’s amazing, Spence,” you say, chest warm and full with pride and love, and his almost shy smile in return is enough to make a decision for you in a split second. Your hand dips into your back pocket, drawing something out, and you carefully hide it from view in your palm as Spencer tracks the motion curiously with his eyes.

Your eyes are shining with affection and something that looks like mischief and the way you’re smiling at him is more than enough to divert his attention as you step closer, just barely noticing as you slip something into his hand. You’re dangerously, distractingly close now, and he’s conscious, if somewhat distantly, that neither of you is concealed from the rest of the team, scant meters away in the seating area of the jet. But you’re smiling and close enough for him to feel your breath on his face and suddenly your lips are on his, and even after nearly seven months of being able to touch you like this, it’s enough to make him forget everything else as he melts into the contact, savouring the warmth of your skin and the faint smell of your shampoo.

You pull back a second later, the kiss over almost as soon as it started, but it’s enough to attract attention, and you can hear a belated ‘oh SHIT’ from Emily in the main cabin of the jet. In your peripheral vision, you can see money changing hands, your friends scrambling to react, but you don’t look at them, choosing to enjoy the bemused, affectionate look on Spencer’s face as his brain catches up to the events unfolding around the two of you.

“I was tired of keeping it a secret,” you say fondly, loud enough only for him to hear. “You win.”

Blinking in confusion, he finally tears his gaze away from yours, fingers uncurling to reveal the fifty dollar bill you had pressed into his palm right before you kissed him. The penny drops and he snorts with laughter, shaking his head in half hearted indignation as his other arm loops around you, pulling you in, letting you rest your head on his shoulder, hiding your face from the rest of the team as he kisses your temple, revelling in the way you wind yourself around him in response.

“I was gonna do this in like two days. I wanted you to win,” he murmurs against your hairline, and he can feel your faint laughter.

“Too bad, baby. I’m used to getting my way,” you say, pulling back to steal another quick kiss before peeling yourself out of his arms with a wink, turning to face the onslaught of ‘care to fucking explain that’ and ‘I fucking told you so’ from the rest of your friends, tugging him with you by your joined hands.

[earliebirb]

nosedive

steve/tony, fluff, (newly) established relationship, 3250 words

Tony stares absentmindedly out the airplane window as he puts his phone up to his ear, watching people run back and forth, performing last-minute engine checks. Some of the guys look sweaty and out of breath.

From the comfort of the air-conditioned Stark Industries private jet, he feels a slight twinge of sympathy for the people having to suffer in the humid summer heat.

He loosens his tie and sinks deeply into his seat, closing his eyes with a massive yawn as he listens to the ringing tone. He hadn’t been able to sleep very well throughout his five-day stay in Tokyo, too anxious about the contract to rest properly. 

The ringing tone goes on for a few more seconds before ending with a click, replaced by an achingly familiar voice greeting him in his ear. 

“Hello?” 

Tony’s eyes spring open. Outside, an aircraft marshaller walks by, speaking rapidly into his walkie-talkie.

“I had a blueberry muffin for lunch today. One single blueberry muffin.”

“...What?”

“It didn’t even taste that good. I couldn’t finish it. Too dry.”

“Tony, that’s not good. Is that all you had for lunch? You should really eat—”

“The meeting went well, by the way. Mr. Watanabe finally signed the contract, everything went as planned. My ride to the airport, however…”

“I told you things would go smoothly, you had nothing to worry about. You’re a brilliant negotiator—”

“The traffic? Fuck. I had to keep shifting in my seat to avoid pins and needles.”

“That sounds awful, are your legs okay—”

“Did you know that Tokyo is number nineteen on the list of cities with the worst traffic congestion in the world? I know that, because I looked it up on the way to the airport. But boy, did it feel like it deserved the number one spot. I think I lost feeling in my ass.”

“I did not know that. And, uh, is your ass okay—”

“Thank God for my private jet. These plush seats are the best things I’ve ever spent my money on.”

“That’s objectively not true, and you know it—”

“Then again, I think these seats in particular were Pepper’s choice? We remodeled the airplane’s interior like… two years ago. I couldn’t be bothered to meet with the airplane seat people and I just told her to pick whichever looked best. I had much more important things to tend to, like sewing up the holes in JARVIS’s Christmas stocking.”

“I am concerned about how you sort your list of priorities—”

“Hm, that’s right. I think it was around two, three weeks before Christmas and I didn’t want JARVIS to be upset about the whole stocking thing, you know?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t have—”

“Also, you’re right, the single blueberry muffin was a bad idea because now my stomach won’t shut up. So I’ve ordered some pasta for my in-flight meal. Robbie’s making it, you’ve met Robbie—”

“I’ve met Robbie, yes, he’s—”

“Larry’s replacement after he resigned. Gotta say, I was sad to see Larry go. Guy worked for me for seven years. But then there was that thing with his grandma, and he had to leave, so… But! Robbie makes a mean carbonara, maybe even better than Larry, don’t tell Larry I said that—”

“I don’t even know Larry like that, how would I—”

“Mr. Stark, we’re ready to go.” The pilot—Paul—emerges from the cockpit, staring at him in anticipation.

Tony nods and makes a few rapid gestures with his free hand that he supposes Paul is only able to interpret perfectly after years and years of working for Tony. The gestures roughly translate to something like “Copy, I hear you, just let me wrap this up and then I’ll let you know when I’m done. Capiche?”

Paul—bless him—just gives him a curt nod and retreats back into the cockpit. 

“Anyway,” Tony takes a deep breath and puffs his cheeks out with the exertion of his exhale, “I called because… I got a feeling, Steve.”

“A… feeling?”

“Just— A gut feeling. A feeling in your gut. Inside of me. Like a hunch?”

“Okay,” Steve says patiently, his voice low and warm, “what are you feeling?”

“I… got a bad feeling. Today. A few hours ago. The feeling came to me when I was sitting in traffic, and I just— I feel like something bad’s gonna happen today, Steve. I can feel it in the air. In my heart. In my gut. In my joints.”

“Your joints? Like… the feeling old people get when it’s about to rain?”

“Okay, maybe not in my joints. Also, are you calling me old, grandpa?”

“I did not, you told me you felt something in your—”

“Anyway, so yeah. Where was I? Oh, right. Feeling. Bad feeling. Like, like, I don’t know, something bad’s gonna happen. Like an accident. Like a plane crash.”

“God, please don’t say that. You’re scaring me, Tony.”

“And I guess, I just called because I… I feel like I need to do this before the plane crashes and I die a violent and fiery death.”

“Nothing bad’s going to happen, Tony—”

“Like, if I didn’t do this today, maybe I’d never get to do it, you know? And, uh, okay, I’ve honestly been ranting to stall for time, but the longer I keep it in the more nauseous I feel, so maybe I’m just gonna do it now so I can die in peace—”

“Do what? And stop saying that—”

“Look, I’m trying to be brave and honest here and— Wait, actually? Maybe I’m being a coward because if the plane actually does go down, I won’t have to face the consequences of my actions, so I guess I’m just going to say fuck it, and say that I love you.”

“The plane is not going to— Wait, what?”

“I, uh. Love you. I’ve known it for a while now. And, uh, I know we’ve only been dating for like, a week, but—” Tony blinks. They’ve only been dating for a week. 

“...Fuck.” Tony can feel his own pulse starting to race. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Tony?”

They’ve only been dating for a week. What is he doing? What the hell is wrong with him? Normal people don’t do this. 

“Fuck. Shit, I mean— Uh, I’m sorry. That was super weird, huh?” Tony laughs nervously. He closes his eyes, gritting his teeth and cursing his stupid brain. Of course it’s weird. He always gets too attached to people way too quickly. No wonder Pepper was his only long term relationship. She was the only person who could put up with him—everyone else just got weirded out. “Uh, see you tomorrow? Or not. Fuck, sorry, I’m just gonna hang up before this gets—”

“Tony, wait.”

“...Yeah?” Tony says, hyper-aware of how breathless he sounds. His heartbeat is ringing in his ears. Everything is going to be fine. Right? Right. The worst thing Steve could do is… break up with him.

Oh, God, that is the worst case scenario. He really should’ve just kept his stupid mouth shut. 

“Tony, are you freaking out? I feel like I can hear you freaking out from all the way over here.”

“No, I’m not, of course I’m not. Who says I’m freaking out? You have no proof. I am calm, I’m calm as a clam, is that the saying? Did I get it right? Or was it happy— Anyway, I am absolutely calm, I’m the calmest I could possibly be. Any calmer and I’d be asleep. I’m—”

“Tony. Breathe.”

Tony forces himself to drag in a slow breath as he grips the arm of his seat with his free hand, focusing on the soothing hum of the airplane’s engine.

“Look, Tony, I—”

“No, listen. I’m sorry I jumped the gun, I hope I haven’t weirded you out or anything. You really, really don’t have to say it back to me. I mean it.”

“Tony—”

“No, in fact— Please don’t say anything. It’s fine. Let’s just pretend this never happened, okay?”

“But—”

“Drop it, Steve. Please?” Tony pleads. Clearly, his brain hadn’t been firing on all cylinders. That is the only reason that could explain his temporary lapse of judgment. “Look, I feel like talking about it more right now is going to send me spiraling into a panic attack.”

“...Okay. Fine.”

“Thank you. Uh, I’ll see you when I get home. If I get home. If the plane doesn’t crash. Haha.”

“Would you please stop saying that? It’s not funny.”

Tony latches onto the change in topic like a lifeline. “It is objectively true, you know. In order for me to be able to see you tomorrow, the plane has to land safely, and unfortunately, some things are just beyond my control. Like, who’s to say the plane won’t explode mid-air and—”

“The plane is going to land safely and you’re going to come back home to me in one piece. This is non-negotiable, Tony. You hear me?” Steve demands, his voice all hard authority and no-nonsense, like there will be Consequences should Tony fail to comply. 

As if he could ensure Tony’s safety with the force of his willpower alone. 

Come back home to me. 

That sounds good. Really good. Tony closes his eyes and pictures Steve’s baby blues in his mind’s eye. Warmth flowers in his chest.

“I hear you.”

“Great.”

“Awesome. I, uh, I gotta go now.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Tony hangs up and lets Paul know that he is done with his phone call. The jittery feeling left over from his call with Steve refuses to leave him, however, so he pulls up the drawing application on his phone and begins sketching something just to give his brain something else to fixate on.

He tends to lose track of time when he is hyperfocused on a project, so he isn’t exactly surprised that the next time he becomes aware of his surroundings, the plane is already well up in the air, his sketch of what looks like a flying coffee pot is almost finished, and Robbie is placing a plate of spaghetti carbonara on the table in front of him. 

“Spaghetti carbonara. With extra cheese.”

Tony’s mouth waters as he eyes the mountain of grated Pecorino Romano sitting atop the pasta. He sighs dreamily and smiles up at Robbie.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Enjoy, Boss.” Robbie grins and slips back into the kitchen.

He only realizes just how truly famished he is after taking his first bite, and proceeds to finish the rest of his meal with gusto. Afterward, he spends the majority of the remaining flight time sleeping, the result of post-carbonara food coma and his sleep-deprivation finally catching up to him. 

It’s well past two in the morning when Tony finally makes it to his floor in the Tower, which is why he is surprised to see Steve sitting on his couch, one of Tony’s fantasy novels open in hand. 

“Steve, what are you doing here?”

Steve’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice. Tony frowns. “Actually, why are you awake at all?” He is usually an early sleeper, unless—

“Nightmare?” Tony gives him a sympathetic smile. It wouldn’t be the first time. In the early days of their friendship, Tony and Steve would sit together in the living room whenever they had trouble sleeping, talking to each other until the sun came up.

Steve shakes his head, closing the book with his eyes still trained on Tony. “No, I was just… waiting for you.” Tony blinks. 

“It’s…” Tony glances at his watch. “Half past two. In the morning.”

“I know, I just…” Steve stands up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He ambles over before coming to a stop right in front of Tony. “I wanted to see you.”

Tony stares at him uncomprehendingly. “You’ll see me later anyway.”

“I couldn’t wait any longer. I didn’t want to go to sleep without seeing you first,” Steve says, low and earnest. His gaze wanders around Tony’s face, as if he were cataloguing each and every facial feature and trying to locate any changes he might’ve missed during his absence.

“Oh.”

Steve steps closer, arms snaking around Tony’s waist and pulling him close. His next words are whispered against Tony’s shoulder.

“I knew you’d make it home safely.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You were wrong.”

“I was… wrong.” Tony swallows. “Uh, turns out the bad feeling completely disappeared after I woke up from my nap on the plane, so I suspect that perhaps the bad feeling I got was due to my severe hunger and sleep deprivation. I mean, I’ve heard about hallucinations caused by hunger or exhaustion, but this was—” 

Steve presses a soft kiss to the column of Tony’s neck, effectively cutting off Tony’s ramblings.

“Tony,” Steve whispers against his skin.

“Yeah?” Tony squeaks.

“Please don’t call me before a flight and say that you think the plane is going to crash, ever again.”

“Right. Noted. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Steve says, pulling away slightly and loosening his hold around Tony.

Tony allows himself to relax, letting out a quiet sigh. This thing with Steve is so new and delicate that every single physical contact still sends his heart fluttering, butterflies going crazy in his stomach.

Which makes, in retrospect, his abrupt love confession—as truthful as it was—that much more insane. God, Stark. Never do that again.

Except, it turns out that Steve only pulled away to slide his hands down the back of Tony’s thighs, wrapping his hands around them, and then lifting him up without warning.

Tony yelps, and in his alarm, promptly locks his ankles around Steve’s waist. When Steve begins moving, Tony quickly wraps his arms around Steve, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“Uh, Steve?”

“Hm?” Steve says, calm and nonchalant, as he begins walking away from the elevator. 

“Um— Wait— My suitcase—”

“Leave it. It’ll still be there in the morning.”

Tony blinks, staring dumbfoundedly at his lonely suitcase, abandoned by the elevator. It becomes smaller and smaller with every step Steve takes. 

“Where are we going?”

“Your bedroom.”

“Why are you carrying me there?”

“Because I want to.”

“You know it’ll be faster if you just let me walk, right?”

“Maybe. But you won’t be in my arms.”

“Um.”

“Bear with me, will you? I missed you.”

“I, uh, missed you too.”

Steve hums, satisfied. Tony lets himself settle more comfortably in Steve’s arms.

When Steve has successfully carried him to his bedroom, Tony fully expects Steve to deposit him on the bed. 

That is not, in fact, what happens. 

Instead, Steve turns around and begins walking backwards towards the bed before sitting down on it. Tony, still seated on his lap, swallows and pulls back slightly to look at Steve. 

“Look, Steve, as much as I’ve missed you, I’m kind of tired right now. I mean, don’t get me wrong. This whole carrying thing? Great. Very romantic. Ten out of ten. But I’m just not in the mood for sex, you know? Like, I’m not even sure I would be able to get it up if—”

“We’re not going to have sex.”

Tony blinks.

“We’re not?”

“We’re not. I’m just here to tuck you in.”

“Oh.”

Steve reaches up and begins undoing his tie. After setting it aside on the bed, he begins to unbutton Tony’s shirt. He takes his time, one button at a time.

“So…” Steve begins with a deep breath as he unbuttons the final button. “Did you mean, uh, what you said to me? On the phone?”

Tony closes his eyes, feels his own cheeks heating up. “Steve—”

“I’m sorry, Tony, I know you told me to drop it. But— I feel like if you did mean what you said, I owe it to you to… set the records straight.” When Tony opens his eyes again, Steve is looking up at him, blue eyes solemn.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… We have only been together for a week. Well, eight days. In fact, we’ve only been on one date. And it was interrupted. By giant lizards.” Steve chuckles incredulously. 

Tony remembers that day very well. They were in the middle of dessert at Tony’s favorite Italian place when they received the call to assemble—something about giant lizards wreaking havoc in Central Park.

The lizards had green, gunky blood that got into the nooks and crannies of the suit. It had taken forever to clean.

“But Tony…” Steve gathers the material of Tony’s unbuttoned shirt in both of his fists, pulling him closer until their noses are only inches apart.

The second their eyes meet, Steve smiles the sweet, lopsided smile that never fails to make Tony’s stomach flip.

“I need you to know that… I didn’t have to date you to know that I loved you. I figured that a long time ago.”

Tony stills, breath frozen in his lungs.

“I guess, what I’m saying is… I love you too. I’ve loved you for a very long time, Tony. Even way before—” Steve breaks eye contact, looks down as he clears his throat. When he speaks again, his voice is tight. “Way before we got together. I’m talking… years before.”

Tony still finds it hard to breathe. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, the word more breath than sound. He meets Tony’s dazed gaze. “So you don’t have to worry about… jumping the gun. Not with me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“...Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Tony feels a lightness growing inside of him, spreading outwards to his extremities.

“Good.” Steve smiles, warm and impossibly fond.

“...Glad we’re on the same page.” Tony’s gaze drops down to Steve’s lips.

“We are.” Steve inches closer, nose brushing Tony’s. He then tilts his head ever so slightly and takes Tony’s lower lip between his, kissing him so tenderly Tony’s heart feels like it’s about to burst with it.

Steve’s warm hands slide up Tony’s naked back under his open shirt, sending goosebumps breaking across his skin. Tony buries his hands in Steve’s hair and relishes the feeling of the soft strands caught between his fingers. They stay caught up in each other for a few moments, capturing and releasing each other’s lips until the need for breath becomes too unbearable.

They break apart eventually, accompanied by soft chuckles. Steve smiles up at him, lips slick and cherry red, courtesy of Tony. He reaches up to caress Tony’s right eyebrow with the pad of his thumb, fleeting and affectionate.

“Get some rest, okay? You must be really tired. I should probably go to bed, too.”

Tony looks down at his lap, clearing his throat. “Uh, I know that we haven’t done this before, but…”

Steve waits patiently for Tony to gather his thoughts, hands stroking up and down Tony’s sides.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” Tony finds the courage to meet Steve’s eyes, holding his breath.

Steve’s blue eyes are gazing at him intently, looking at him like he’s the only person in the world worth his sole, undivided attention.

Tony swallows. “No sex. Just to sleep. If you—”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“I would like that very much.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Tony feels his own lips slowly curve up into a smile, wide and unbridled. 

“Good.” Steve nods, lips twitching, his eyes never leaving Tony’s. 

Tony grins, feeling near giddy with delight. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“We are, sweetheart.” Steve looks up at him, blue eyes fond and smile radiant. “We definitely are.”

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Eleven: Water Under the Bridge (Finale)

a/n: welcome back my loves <3 It’s so weird to think that this is the final chapter of YBMH and I’m definitely having a lot of feelings about it (denial, mostly). I want to say a huge thank you from the very bottom of my heart for sticking with this story and these characters that I love so much. I’ve had the most fun over the past few months talking to some of you and hearing your thoughts; I cherish it more than you’ll ever know. With all of that said, I’m going to miss this era so so much but I would still love to hear from you lovelies, so please feel free to drop by my inbox and let me know what you thought of this series!! Feedback, criticism, all of it is welcome :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai’i!Harry x Original Character (Halani <3)

Warnings: swearing, angst

Word Count: 6.7k

catch up on parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten

January, 2018

A strand of hair tickles Harry’s nose and his eyes flutter open. The faint sound of car horns and traffic outside reminds him of his location when his memory fails. He gently slips out of the bed and tiptoes over to the window, careful not to wake the girl sleeping soundly next to him. A thick layer of snow blankets every building and surface in New York City as far as the eye can see, and the grey sky above signals another storm on its way. 

I’m going to die of hypothermia, Alani shivers, nursing her steaming cup of tea as she walks away from the office window and takes a seat behind her desk. Even after living in the city for a year, she still hadn’t adjusted to the cold weather and feared that she never would. Her boyfriend had joked on numerous occasions that you can take the girl out of the island, but you can’t take the island out of the girl. 

“Vanessa’s on line three,” her assistant calls from the doorway. 

“Thanks,” Alani nods before bringing the phone to her ear. “So, what did you think?”

“It was brilliant,” the editor admits. “Insightful, witty. I think they’ll love it,”

Alani smiles and spins in her seat to face the window again. “St. James has been on my ass about this piece for weeks. I hope it’ll shut him up,”

“It will, trust me. Hey, I gotta go, but I sent the revision notes and we can discuss more later,”

“Great, thank you so much. See you at dinner,”

“Ta-ta.”

Alani reaches for a pen and scribbles a reminder onto a pink post-it note nearby. 

Bloody five-star hotel, you’d think they could afford decent pens.  Harry grumbles to himself, shaking the ballpoint to no avail. 

“Where are you going?”

Harry freezes in his tracks and turns to the brunette stretching out her tired limbs. He has to clear his throat to keep from saying the wrong name. 

“Just a quick walk,” he explains with a tight lipped smile. “Go back to bed.” 

She flashes a wide grin and snuggles back into the covers, but he secretly hopes that she’s gone by the time he returns. 

The snow crunches under Harry’s feet and he digs his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. He had never been very fond of the cold, but he did have to admit that Central Park looked unbelievably beautiful in the winter. His phone buzzes inside his pocket and he digs it out to read the message. 

Mitch: Me and Sarah are going to Bisous in ten. Meet us?

Harry: See you there. 

********

“French is such a pretentious language,” Maleah scoffs, taking a bite of her pastry. “But I’ll be damned if I have to give up my chocolate croissants,”

Alani chuckles lightly and traces the restaurant’s logo of a red kiss printed on her napkin. Going to Bisous at least once a day had become a tradition during her best friend’s visits. 

“I’ll have to smuggle a real one back for you and then you can tell me if this one’s the real deal,”

“When are you going, again?”

“Next month,”  

Maleah wiggles her brows. “Oooh, Valentine’s Day? Are you taking Mason with you?”

“No,” Alani says casually. “It’s for work,”

“Well, who says you can’t mix business and pleasure?”

“Literally everyone.”

“Okay,” Maleah sighs, patting her full stomach. “Let’s go now before I get sleepy.”

The two friends make their way out of the busy restaurant and Alani’s shoulder brushes someone next to her. 

“Sorry.” she apologizes, making brief eye contact with the other person before doing a double take. 

Mitch purses his lips and turns his head back to the other girl at his arm while Maleah drags Alani out the door. 

********

“I mean, what the hell was that? I could barely keep my drum kit together,” Sarah laughs gently, sipping her coffee. 

“Cause of death: rocking too fucking hard,” Mitch shrugs. “There are worse ways to die,”

Harry stirs his black coffee with a spoon and watches the mini whirlpool grow. “Rob said you could feel it in the balcony, too,”

“I’m surprised you didn’t die,” Mitch pokes. “Mr. defective lungs,”

“Heyyy, I can’t help the asthma thing, alright?”

“Well it’s the last night,” Sarah chimes in. “Are we gonna try to beat the Kiwi record and go for four times in a row?”

Harry shrugs, a soft grin on his lips. “Dunno. Maybe if it feels right,”

“I say we cut out the middleman and just bulldoze MSG ourselves. What difference does it make if the fans tear the house down or if we do?” Mitch suggests. 

“Oh yeah,” Harry nods. “I’m sure Irving would love that.”

“Some food for thought.”

The trio finish their breakfasts and excitedly continue their conversations about the impending show, but the entire time, Mitch is haunted by the knowledge of Alani’s presence in the city. He debates telling Harry, but is suddenly reminded of the intense aftermath of the pair’s falling out. 

********

“Where’s Alani?”

“Don’t fuckin’ say that name to me ever again.” 

Mitch’s brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

And with a simple question, anger had subsided into grief. Mitch still didn’t  know all of the details surrounding their split, but he had pieced together sufficient bits from Jeff and, in part, from the lyrics Harry penned in the following weeks. The slump had lasted through the fall and winter of that year, but as spring rolled around and the album’s release drew closer, Harry pulled himself together enough to promote and tour. It felt good to be on the road, and he found himself revitalized by the energy of those who came to support. Tour itself had been relatively intimate, as he had actively decided to play smaller venues than the sold out stadiums he was accustomed to, but the enthusiasm of the crowds hadn’t changed from his band days. As Harry occupied his attention with music, Hawaii grew smaller and smaller in the back of his mind. Eventually, it dwindled into a dull ache at the center of his chest, felt only on particularly long nights coaxed with a little bit of alcohol in his bloodstream. For now, he tried to focus on his last show at Madison Square Garden. 

********

Alani’s stomach turns. Had she really seen Mitch or had it been a remarkable doppelgänger? She hoped it was the latter, knowing that if he really was in New York City, Harry wasn’t far behind. This was by no means the first time she had been reminded of her summer love turned sour, but it stung just as much every time. The first incident was last April when she turned on the T.V. only to find Harry performing one of his new songs on Saturday Night Live. It had resulted in the loss of her favorite mug as it shattered against the hardwood floor in her apartment. Since that day, Alani had seen his face on countless billboards in Times Square and habitually asked taxi drivers to change the radio station or turn it off entirely. After a while, she had gotten better at dealing with the sinking feeling whenever he was mentioned, it was easier to detach feelings for someone who lived on a screen. Running into Mitch, however, had blasted a hole straight through the fourth wall that Alani had erected,  and she knew that there was absolutely no way she could cope with a similar encounter from Harry. 

“Oh shit,” Maleah gasps softly, looking through the windshield at the hundreds of people lined up on the pavement outside of Madison Square Garden. 

“What?” Alani asks, head still spinning. 

Her best friend immediately turns to her with a nervous smile and shrugs. “Oh it’s nothing. Hey do I have something in my teeth?”

Alani glances out the window behind Maleah and her eyes bulge. “Woah, what’s happening there?”

“Oh it’s probably, like, Lady Gaga or something. Anyways, look at this random text I got the other day.”

But it wasn’t “Lady Gaga or something.” The marquee reads “Harry Styles—SOLD OUT” in bold lettering. Alani retches into her bag. 

********

“Oh, for fucks saaake!” Harry shouts playfully, the sound of his obscenities echoing throughout the large venue. 

Mitch and Adam chuckle beside him and continue setting up their equipment while Sarah offers a comedic “badum-tss” on her drum set. 

“Okay then at that point, stage lights will come down and it’s ‘Meet Me in the Hallway’,” the technical director speaks into his earpiece.

Harry nods and watches the screen behind him roll through the animation that will play during the song. 

“Alright, then it’s—”

“Wait,” Harry interjects over the mic. “Sorry, can we run it?”

“Run ‘Meet Me’?”

“Yeah,”

Mitch tenses listening to the conversation that filters through his own inner ear piece, but he continues fiddling with the strings of his guitar.  

“Running ‘Meet Me’,” the director affirms. “Sarah, stand by.”

Harry’s eyes dart over to Mitch and he nods as a sign to begin. The guitarist clears his throat and strums the opening chords. 

Meet me in the hallway 

“M’gonna go wait in the hall…”

Meet me in the hallway 

“Give you some space to think and then we’ll talk, yeah?”

I just left your bedroom 

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

Give me some morphine 

“I hope you got all the material you wanted.”

Is there any more to do?

“Please don’t go.”

Just let me know and I’ll be at the door, at the door

Hoping you'll come around

Just let me know I’ll be on the floor, on the floor 

Maybe we’ll work it out

********

“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” Maleah offers. “I can catch a return flight tomorrow,”

Alani sits up in her bed and shakes her head. “No, Mi, it’s okay. I’ll be fine,”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s probably just a stomach bug or something,”

Maleah gives her friend a tight squeeze and pulls away to read her face. “Let me know if you need anything, I’ll come right back,”

“Thank you,” Alani says, forcing a smile. “I’m so sorry to put a damper on your last day.”

“Nah, there’s nothing to worry about. Feel better soon, Nani.”

The door closes softly and Alani burrows deeper into the covers. She tries to bury the emotion back under a lock and key, but a gentle sob fights its way up her chest. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, she cries, but maybe it was. Just as the sun rises and sets, so had Harry entered and exited her life, and maybe that’s exactly how it was meant to be. After all, Alani had gotten exactly what she wanted, hadn’t she? So why does it still hurt? 

The snow falls gently outside of her window, but the entire scene blurs into shades of white and grey behind her tears. It had snowed just like this on the day she moved to the city. Shortly after the article about Harry had been published by a small gossip site, Alani had contacted the publishers and threatened litigation if they didn’t take it down. Unsurprisingly, they had also been contacted by Columbia Records and thus, the piece was removed that same day. Despite the quick turnaround, Rolling Stone had caught wind of the storm brewing on social media and reached out to Alani a few days later. They had been impressed that the elusive Harry Styles granted her an interview, but they didn’t push the matter much further. Instead, they had offered her one piece of her choosing to prove herself. If the reviews were favorable, she would be given a regular contributor spot, unpaid of course. They would re-evaluate at the beginning of the new quarter and negotiate from there. When January of 2017 rolled around, Alani’s writing was making surprising waves in the Rolling Stone community, so she had been hired on as a junior writer and assistant to the Editor in Chief. The pay wasn’t great, but it was a leap in the right direction. 

Despite everything that had changed in a year, a string of random letters on a building that Alani passed a million times had brought her emotions right back to the day she had tried so hard to forget. Her phone buzzes under the covers and she reaches out a hand to locate it. Her editor’s name appears and she answers it quickly. 

“Hello?”

“Darling, hello! Where are you?”

“Oh my god,” Alani groans. “Vanessa I’m so sorry,”

“Is everything okay?”

Alani sits up and clears her throat. “I have food poisoning,”

“Christ, from where?”

“Bisous,”

Vanessa sighs. “Poor thing. Okay, no worries we’ll just reschedule,”

“I’m so sorry, I’ll make it up to you,”

“No need to be sorry, get some rest and we’ll catch up later!”

The call ends and Alani gawks at the time. 7:30 already?  She slumps back under the covers and sifts through her social media, wincing when she sees several of her friends posting about the line outside of Madison Square Garden. No, Alani decides sternly when the sudden urge to go stirs in the pit of her stomach, absolutely no fucking way. 

********

“10 minutes!”

Harry scans the crowd from the monitor backstage. He pinches his lower lip between his index finger and thumb as the nerves settle in. 

“The house is packed,” Jeff comments with a hand on the singer’s shoulder. “And there’s still a crowd outside,”

“We did it?”

“You did it,”

So why does it still hurt? 

“Thanks for everything,” Harry says, bringing his manager in for a hug. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Jeff pats Harry on the back. “All in a day’s work for the dream team.”

Before heading out, Harry stops one of the crew members and asks if any of the guests on his list have arrived yet. Names are read off, friends from different inner circles over the years, but there’s one name in particular that isn’t called. He offers a thumbs up and a forced grin before making his way to the stage.

It always surprises the technical crew at every venue that Harry has specific lighting requests for the house. Performers had their individual preferences, this wasn’t unusual, but no one made a bigger deal about being able to see the crowd like Harry did. He enjoyed being able to see each person and connect with them, especially when performing an album that was as personal as this one. But in every sea he searched, one face was always missing. Tonight’s audience, much to his disappointment, was no different. 

The crowd cheers as “Sweet Creature” fades out and the lights on stage dim. More than half of the show has already gone by and they’ve reached the point that is always a little harder to get through. Harry takes a swig from his water bottle and clears his throat to fight the lump that forms. He breathes in deeply and “Meet Me in the Hallway” begins, but no matter how hard he tries to focus on the technical aspects of his performance, it’s nearly impossible not to get dragged back into the moment when the song was written. 

“I should go back,” 

“H, I don’t know if that’s such a good—”

“I have to go back.” 

And so he had. After two hours of pacing the airport lounge, Harry had jumped into an Uber and sped back to the hotel. It had taken another agonizing twenty minutes to explain his situation to the front desk workers and retrieve his old room key, but it was no use. He was too late. The bed was still unmade, but there was no sign of Alani save for the faint scent of Baby Honey and a gold necklace tucked away between the sheets. 

The flight back to the mainland had already departed by the time Harry stumbled through the hotel lobby, and there wouldn’t be another one for three more hours. In the meantime, he decided to get some fresh air and clear his mind, hoping all the while that he would find Alani at the edge of the beach waiting to run back into his arms. She never did, and he was left with all the words he wished he had said. 

I walked the streets all day 

Running with the thieves 

‘Cause you left me in the hallway 

Just take my pain away 

Just let me know and I’ll be at the door, at the door

Hoping you'll come around

Just let me know I’ll be on the floor, on the floor 

Maybe we’ll work it out

********

“Great show,” praises Rob Sheffield, author of one of Harry’s favorite books, Love is a Mix Tape. “Drummer’s incredible,”

Sarah beams and Harry flashes her a grin. “Thanks. It’s Sarah’s band, really. I’m just the frontman,”

“Well she kicked ass. All of you did, and I can tell by the way the floor was shaking that I’m not the only one who thought so.”

“Thank you so much, that means a lot.”

More guests filter in and congratulate Harry and the rest of the band, but while he sincerely appreciates all of the love, he can’t help the way his eyes flicker to the door every once in a while in the hope that someone else will straggle in. He slowly loses that hope when the room empties and the night drags on. 

********

This isn’t ethical, Alani chastises herself, this is wrong on every level and you’re gonna pay. She runs her fingers over the Rolling Stone press badge in her hand and stares at the marquee towering over her. What the fuck are you doing? 

“Excuse me!” Alani calls when she sees an employee slip through a side door. “Hi, I know I’m really late but I’m actually here with Rolling Stone,”

The blonde-haired woman blinks and scans over the badge with an unamused look on her face. 

“Nice try,”

“No, wait,” Alani begs. “I have to get in there, please—”

“You and every other girl within a twenty-five mile radius.”

Alani takes a deep breath and re-groups. “You don’t understand. I really need to get back there, I’m working on an important piece,”

As the struggle continues, another woman in stiletto heels exits through the side door with a clipboard in tow. 

“My name is Alani Hale, see? Please just—”

“Wait,” the woman with the clipboard intervenes. The name sounded strangely familiar, probably from the blacklist, in which case security would need to be notified. “What did you say your name was?”

Alani holds her badge out and swallows hard. “Alani Hale, junior writer for Rolling Stone.”

The woman checks through the blacklist but the name isn’t registered. She does a cursory glance over the V.I.P section and her finger lands on a note that reads “Mahealani ‘Alani’ Hale—Code Carolina: escort backstage and inform Mr. Styles immediately.”

“Follow me, please,”

Alani trails behind, doing her best to keep up with the long strides of the woman with the clipboard.

 “Marta to security, I have a Code Carolina,” she murmurs into her ear piece. “Repeat, I have a Code Carolina.”

Alani’s heart races as they zig-zag through the arena. Did Harry know that she was coming? Had Mitch told him that they saw each other at Bisous? The answer was no, Mitch hadn’t told and Harry didn’t know. He had only hoped. Unbeknownst to Alani, her name was printed on the Madison Square Garden list and on every list of every show in all the countries scheduled. Through Paris and all through Rome, Harry had looked for her face in the crowd and he dreamed that one day his efforts wouldn’t be in vain. 

“Wait here,” Marta instructs, leading Alani to a back room with mirrors, a couple of couches, and a clothing rack. “Someone will be with you shortly.”

Before she can ask any questions, Marta is gone and the sound of her heels echo down the hall. Alani takes a deep breath and her lungs are immediately filled with the familiar scent of vanilla. Her eyes carefully rake over the scene and land on a familiar white shirt hanging on the rack and the words “Enjoy Health, Eat Your Honey.”

“Thief,”

“I meant to return it.”

Alani spins on her heel and Harry stands with his fists shoved deep inside the pockets of his flared pants, eyes cast down at the floor. She tugs on the sleeves of her coat and offers a shy smile. 

“It’s okay, looked better on you anyway.”

A brief silence follows and they size each other up like it’s a gunfight, each waiting to see who will draw first. His hair is longer and curlier, Alani notices, chest and shoulders broader, too. But there’s a familiarity in his creased brow and in the heart shaped curve of his cupid’s bow. Harry does his own inventory; dark, almond shaped eyes, check. Round face, cinnamon skin, check and check. Her long, wavy locks are now shoulder length, but he’d recognize the scent of Baby Honey anywhere. The two are absorbed in their own silent assessments for a moment longer, but Alani quickly gets the urge to flee after she counts too many similarities between this Harry and the one that left her with a broken heart. 

“I should go,” she croaks, taking a step back. “I shouldn’t have come—”

“Why did you?” Harry asks earnestly. 

Alani tugs at a loose thread on her sleeve before crossing her arms. “Saw your name outside and got curious. For a while there, I started to think that maybe I imagined you,”

Harry doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that he had haunted her as much as she had plagued him. He had spent so long believing that he meant nothing to her, but nevertheless, a part of him left room for her return. 

“You did, this is a hologram projection,”

Alani smiles and her shoulders relax at his humor. It really was him. 

“Did you enjoy—”

“I didn’t see the show—” they speak at the same time, eager words overlapping. 

“Oh,” Harry laughs softly. “You didn’t miss much,”

Alani shakes her head and takes a single step forward. “No, that’s not true. I’m sure it was amazing,”

Harry offers a coy grin, the shadow of a dimple on his left cheek. One hand emerges from his pocket and his knuckle brushes against the tip of his nose. Alani catches sight of the silver rose on his finger and she still remembers how it feels under the pad of her thumb. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks softly, pulling her from her reverie. 

“What?”

“Have dinner with me?”

Alani blinks, her throat suddenly dry. “Oh. Well I don’t know, I don’t wanna interrupt—”

“Never an interruption,” Harry assures her. 

She nods and he takes a step back. 

“M’gonna go change,” he explains. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“What, you don’t wear custom Marc Jacobs suits to dinner?” She teases. 

He grins, amused, and continues backing away towards the door before correcting her. “It’s Gucci.”

Alani rolls her eyes and he disappears into the hallway. 

When Harry reemerges in a beanie, puffy coat, and light wash denim jeans, he leads them through a series of tunnels and exits. 

“Where are we going?” Alani asks, bracing herself for the snow outside. 

“It’s a surprise.” he offers and she doesn’t fight him on it.

********

“We’re not eating here?” 

A soft smile falls on Harry’s lips. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed her incessant questioning. 

“No,”  he replies, opening the passenger door with one hand and passing her the bag that contains their dinner. “Too crowded,”

“Oh,” 

It made sense that Harry would want to keep a low profile and avoid any possible paparazzi sightings of the two of them, but it still felt strange to worry about such things after they had lived so carefree in Hawai’i. But that was then, and this was now, things had inevitably changed. 

“D’you wanna play some music?” Harry asks, settling behind the wheel. The parallels between this moment and their first excursion together make her chest tighten. 

“How about,” Alani starts. “Your album? Since I didn’t get to hear it live,”

Harry’s breathing hitches. “Well, I dunno—”

“Please?”

He meets her pleading eyes momentarily and, against his better judgment, agrees. 

“What’s it called?” she questions. 

“It’s just my name,”

“Self-titled, very classy. I like it,”

“I thought about calling it Sign of the Times,” Harry reveals. “But it’s already been done before,”

Alani hums. “Prince,”

“Yeah,” he nods. “But then I also thought about going with ‘Pink,’ because, you know, when in doubt—”

“Go with the pink one,” they say in unison and Alani smiles softly. How had he remembered that?

“And it’s the only true rock ‘n roll color,” she continues. 

Harry beams. “Exactly. But then Jeff suggested that we just go with the name. Simple, but effective,”

“Okay, so now that we’ve got the background,” Alani pokes. “And you’ve sufficiently distracted me, can I listen now?”

He swallows and checks the GPS, still twenty-five minutes to go. 

“How about we hold off,” he suggests. “Just for now so we can listen to the full thing and really soak it in?”

Alani backs off. “Alright, deal.”

She presses shuffle on the playlist of her frequently played songs for the month and immediately regrets doing so. Clearing her throat, she goes to press skip but Harry stops her. 

“S’a good one.” he says gently, so Alani lets Adele fill the awkward space. 

If you’re gonna let me down 

Let me down gently don’t pretend 

That you don’t want me 

Our love ain’t water under the bridge

********

Harry opens the passenger door and Alani steps out, her eyes squinting to make out any recognizable landmarks in their surroundings. They remain a comfortable two feet apart and make their way to the entrance of what appears to be some sort of greenhouse. Alani is filled with more confusion, but she doesn’t ask further questions until they reach the white double doors. 

“What?” Harry questions. “Never been to the New York Botanical Garden?”

Alani’s eyes widen. “The—wait, you—we’re?”

“After you,” he chuckles lightly, opening the doors. 

“Are we even allowed? I mean is it open?”

“I pulled some strings,”

She enters cautiously, immediately met with an archway of blush colored flowers and string lights that takes her breath away. A long, narrow pond in the center reflects the image back and creates a kaleidoscope of pink, green, and golden hues. 

“How did you,” Alani begins, at a complete loss for words. “Who are you?”

Harry nods in the direction of an adjacent hallway. “There’s a ballroom set up for a wedding tomorrow night, but Jim said we could crash as long as we clean up after ourselves,”

“Jim?”

“The director.”

“Of course.” 

Sure enough, round tables with cream colored tablecloth and elaborate floral centerpieces are arranged around the room. A delicate, yet undoubtedly expensive, chandelier twinkles in the center of the room and casts such a warm glow that Alani momentarily forgets about the snow outside. 

“Dig in,” Harry instructs, setting the pasta on the table in front of them. 

Alani sits and gently sheds her winter coat as he does the same. Underneath his jacket, Harry wears a yellow shirt that catches her eye with the words “treat people with kindness” printed in black lettering. She freezes when she spots a gold chain with a sun and moon pendant nestled comfortably between above the words.

“How is everyone?” Alani questions politely to shift her attention. “Mitch, Tom, Jeff,”

“They’re good, yeah,” he nods. “How’re Freddie and your family?”

“They’re fine, and he’s living his blissful little life,”

“Good for him. Miss his cuddles,”

And yours, Harry thinks, but he pulls back. Alani offers a shy laugh and thinks about the elephant in the room yet to be addressed: the break-up. It’s worth discussing, but she sure as hell isn’t going to be the one to bring it up. 

“And how’ve you been?” Harry asks when the silence stretches out for too long. 

Alani chews and ponders the question. “Good. Been working a lot,”

“Where at?”

“Rolling Stone,”

“Really?” he beams. “That’s incredible, congratulations,”

“Thank you,” she replies graciously. 

Harry’s chin rests in his palm and he twirls a noodle around his fork. “So you live here?”

“Yeah, in the Village,”

“Wow. Greenwich Village, a real city-slicker now. Traded Stevie in for the Holland Tunnel?”

A bittersweet smile spreads across Alani’s lips at the memory of her beloved Bronco. “Sadly, yes. And you?”

“Malibu,” Harry divulges. “I hate the cold.”

“It’s not so bad. You can always cuddle up with the giant rats,” she jokes, which makes his nose scrunch.

“I’m just gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” 

“Speaking of pretend,” Alani wiggles her brows. “You were in a movie after all,” 

“I was,” 

“I didn’t watch it, sorry,” 

Harry feigns offense and Alani quickly back pedals. “I don’t like war movies!”

“And you hated my guts.” he teases, though it pains him that there might be some truth to his words. 

Alani shakes her head and fights the urge to reach across the table for his hand. “No, not really. It was kind of the opposite, actually.” 

Harry’s eye wanders to the outside of Alani’s wrist and a faint smile creeps across his face when he spots the black outline of a crescent moon. He wonders if there are any new inked designs that he isn’t aware of. Despite all the time that has elapsed, there is a familiarity in her presence that he hadn’t felt even in the comforts of his California residence. It was like kicking off your shoes in the doorway after a long trip. It was like coming home. 

They finish their meal and continue their light-hearted banter into the night. Harry tells his favorite stories from tour and Alani wishes more than anything that she could have been there. She details the events of her own busy life in New York and the highlights of working for Rolling Stone, one of which being the time that she got to meet Stevie Nicks in the flesh. 

“Did you tell her about your car?” Harry presses enthusiastically. 

“No way,” Alani chuckles, draining the last of her drink. “I wasn’t gonna embarrass myself in front of the Supreme,” 

“I think she would’ve found it flattering,” 

“Naming your child after someone is flattering, not a car,” 

Harry shrugs. “I think it’s cute,” 

“Yeah well,” Alani sighs. “You’re not like most people,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

She mulls it over, studying the familiar sea glass irises that she never thought she’d see again. What had Alani meant by that statement? Truthfully, she didn’t know if she could put it into words, nor had she meant to say them in the first place. But something about Harry always made her feel brave, like she could speak her mind uncensored and he would understand without even trying. 

“I just meant that you’re, you know,” she starts. “Not judgemental. Like, I could tell you that I think I’m part alien and you’d probably try to help me find my home planet,” 

Harry laughs and leans forward with his elbows on the table, an unspoken challenge for Alani to continue her thoughts. 

“You make people feel seen and heard,” she says finally with a wistful look in her eye. “I mean, why do you think all those people lined up to see you tonight?” 

The last part of her statement is a deflection from what she really wants to say, which is that Harry makes her feel seen and heard. Despite all the time and space between them, it was still true and it terrified her. There was only so much bravery that Harry’s presence could evoke. The mood shifts suddenly when Alani’s phone buzzes and the name “Mason” with a pink heart emoji lights up the screen next to her glass of water. Harry hadn’t meant to look and he deeply regrets that he did. 

“You have a boyfriend,” he comments dejectedly, and though he hadn’t meant it to be accusatory, all words carry the sting of judgment when falling on guilty ears. 

“Oh, and I’m sure you’ve stayed celibate this entire time,” Alani bites back. 

Harry’s brow furrows. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”

“I’m sorry, this was a mistake,” she apologizes, standing with her coat. 

“Wait,” he jumps up. “What just happened?”

“I have to go—”

“Just stop for a minute, please,”

Alani stops in her tracks and turns back to face Harry slowly. His jaw is tight and the crease between his eyebrows is deeper than she remembers. 

“I’m sorry,” she begins carefully. “Thank you for tonight, but I really shouldn’t be here—”

Harry’s eyes clamp shut and he runs a frustrated hand through his messy curls.  

“Can you stop acting like you’re doing me a favor by leaving and just talk to me?”

“What do you want me to say?” Alani pushes back. “‘I’m sorry that I saw your name in flashing lights and I got caught trying to spy on you’?”

“Alani—”

“‘I’m sorry that I tried to move on’?”

“Stop apologizing—”

“I’m sorry that I fell in love and fucked it all up because I was afraid and I’m sorry that I betrayed the one person who meant everything to me,”

Silence falls between them and the only sound is the sniffling of Alani’s nose as she tries, and fails, to hold back the emotions that pour over. 

“That’s why I went,” she continues, voice wavering. “Because I’m selfish and I couldn’t stay away. Every single day, I’m reminded of how royally I screwed everything up and it tears me apart, so I went to try to make things right and take some of that pain away. Even though I hurt you and there’s nothing I can ever do to change that,”

Harry swallows hard and his eyes sting, but Alani speaks up again before he can respond. 

“So please,” she begs. “Please, just let me finally do something right by you and let me go,”

He takes a cautious step forward and shakes his head. “I don’t want to,”

They both hold their breaths, anticipating the other person’s next draw. 

“And maybe that makes me selfish too,” Harry adds. “‘Cause I went back that day, back to the hotel,”

Alani blinks. “You did?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Because I wasn’t mad that you published the article, I was scared that it was the only reason you were with me—”

“Harry—”

“But then I realized that I didn’t care,” he laughs dryly. “Because I still loved you, and I figured that having you— having just a little bit of your heart and your attention—was worth it, even if you didn’t really love me back,”

He takes another step forward and the toes of their shoes nearly touch. “And maybe I’m being selfish now by asking you to stay, but you’re not the only one trying to get rid of the pain,”

Alani takes a shallow breath and studies the eagerness in his eyes. The sight makes her chest pound. 

“I’m sorry that I ever made you doubt,” she whispers. “But I meant every word I said, you were everything to me. You were the sun that my life revolved around and I was terrified of losing you because the truth is that I hate the cold, too,”

Harry gently reaches a hand up to her cheek and Alani leans into the warmth of his touch. 

“Can I show you something?”

You and your goddamn surprises. “Yes.”

He leads them down several winding hallways before flicking a light on in the gallery. Alani’s heart stops when she sees it. 

“Not quite as impressive as the real thing,” Harry offers. “But Ms. O’Keeffe did a pretty damn good job,”

An original Georgia O’Keeffe painting of a waterfall, their waterfall, the one that Alani had mentioned all that time ago, is displayed proudly on the wall before them. A replica had hung above the bed they shared on many nights and all at once a faint memory resurfaces. 

“Where did you say the original was?”

“New York Botanical Garden,” 

 “M’gonna take you one day,”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Alani takes a step closer to the artwork and examines the details of the oil on canvas. A few steps behind, Harry is only concerned with her reaction and pays little attention to the piece of art on display. As far as he was concerned, Alani was the only one worth admiring. 

“Do you remember what you told me when I asked why you went to the falls to write?” Alani asks. 

Of course Harry had, but he remains silent to let her continue. 

“You said that you liked going there,” she adds, deliberate. “Because it made you forget about every bad thing that ever happened to you, because none of it was real in comparison to the feeling of standing in front of that waterfall,”

Harry nods gently, but he still doesn’t speak. 

“Do you know what that feeling is called?”

“No,”

“It’s called home,” Alani says softly, turning to face him. “It’s what I felt, what I feel, when I’m with you,”

His breath hitches and he stands frozen as she carefully walks toward him.

“And while we’re making wishes come true,” she smiles delicately. “I never told you what I wished for the day we saw that rainbow,”

“What did you wish for?” Harry searches. 

Alani’s eyes fall to his parted lips. “That you would kiss me.”

His mouth curls at the edges and he releases a long breath. “Think maybe I can deliver on that one, too.”

Harry leans in, ever so slightly, and Alani closes the gap. They had been standing mere inches apart, but the meeting of their lips bridges an entire chasm. Over and over again, like waves against the shore, their mouths collide desperately as they pull each other closer with no intentions of ever letting go. 

********

February 14, 2018

“Comment est le temps?” 

Alani peers up at Harry and shields her eyes from the sun behind his back. “What does that mean?”

He grins softly and kisses the top of her head before taking a seat on the balcony next to her. 

“Means ‘how’s the weather?’,” 

“Oh,” she leans over, lips puckered for a kiss. “Full of perfectly Parisian sunshine,”

“Try sayin’ that ten times fast,”

Alani swipes his pink, heart shaped sunglasses and slips them onto the bridge of her nose with a contented sigh. Ahead, the Eiffel tower stands proudly in the distance and the lenses of her glasses tint the entire scene in a picturesque rosy glow. 

“La Ville de L’amour,” she hums. “Did I say that right?”

“Oui,”

“Hey, you know what I saw on the room service menu?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, what?”

“Piña coladas,” Alani wiggles her brows. “Think they deliver at midnight?”

He chuckles lightly and his hand takes purchase on her knee. “They better,”

“Never had a Parisian piña colada. Sounds romantic, though.”

“Sure does, sweets.”

Alani stands and reaches for Harry’s hand. He accepts and rises to his feet, pulling her close. Below, the sounds of the city serenade them as they gently sway in the chilly breeze. When Harry feels Alani shiver, he hugs  her to his chest and rests his chin comfortably on the top of her head. She feels his steady heartbeat against her cheek and smiles softly, fingertips smoothing up and down his back. 

“Are you ready for Valentine’s Day surprise number one?” he asks, pulling away slightly to meet her eyes. 

She narrows her eyes. “Where are we going?”

Harry pulls back with a mischievous smile, hands still attached to hers, and leads them back inside.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Alani giggles but she doesn’t push. Instead, she happily follows him out of their room, down the hall, and into the bustling streets of Paris. 

We don’t know where we’re going 

But we know where we belong 

And oh we started 

Two hearts in one home 

It’s hard when we argue 

We’re both stubborn 

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature 

Wherever I go, you bring me home 

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road 

You bring me home

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 18)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 5308 Warnings: fluff

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: Wedding weekend starts now and I know you’re all very excited! Feedback is always appreciated!

HEY NEIGHBOR PART 17 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Sweat trickles down your temple as you climb up the stairs from the subway, inhaling a deep breath of fresh air. It was a little thick but a thousand times better than the overwhelming stench of sweat and other odors from those that didn’t understand the concept of deodorant. The sun was pounding on you for the rest of the walk home, as your heart and mind raced, calculating if there was enough time to pack and eat something before you had to leave. This weekend may not bring a reprieve from the heat but at least things would be able to slow down.

In preparation for the wedding this weekend you had been working as much as possible, spending most of Memorial Day at the hospital to get a jump on making up for some hours, and getting to Stark Industries a bit early each day in order to get your proposals for an upcoming project completed. You weren’t drowning yourself in work to avoid Bucky, nope, that definitely wasn’t it.

Technically you weren’t avoiding him, he kept in touch during the week through messages, making sure you were all set for this weekend. When he asked if you wanted to grab food you told him the truth, that you couldn’t because you were too exhausted. If he asked last week you would have gone out with him despite your exhaustion but ever since you witnessed one of Bucky’s thousand hookups in your face this past weekend you weren’t in any mood to see him.

It was better to keep the distance, allowing the time you spent apart to let the logical side of your brain take the reins from your heart and stop it from falling for someone you know you shouldn’t. None of this was new. You knew exactly who Bucky was before you even met him, hearing the revolving door of women screaming out every night. He was a nice person, a good friend, but someone to date? Never.

Bucky: hey.. the trains @ 4:19 so you wanna head out a quarter to?

Somehow he always texts when you’re thinking about him… or maybe you just think about him too much.

You responded quickly, taking advantage of the time you didn’t think you had to make something quickly. In between bites of a sandwich you ran around your apartment, gathering together the things you would need through Sunday.

“Fuck!” you barked in response to the knock at your door. It wasn’t even three o’clock, did you read Bucky’s text wrong?

With worry settling on your brow you opened the door, relieved to find Wanda standing there instead.

“How’d you get in?” you asked curiously, letting her inside your apartment.

“Hello Wanda. How was moving, Wanda?” she said, mocking with sarcasm.

Your hands came up in playful defense, “Sorry, sorry.” You laughed, giving Wanda a real greeting as you pulled her in for a hug. “I’m sorry I haven’t checked in. How was moving? Are you all settled in at Sam’s?”

“Hell no,” she laughed, making herself comfortable on your couch. “Unpacking is like fighting a hydra, empty one box and two more take its place.”

You offered her something to drink along with your services to help unpack her never ending boxes when you get back.

“That would be great!” she said, taking the glass from your hand. “Anyway, Clint let me in because you didn’t respond to my texts. I thought maybe Bucky was here and you might have been… busy.”

The smirk her mouth pulled into made you roll your eyes. “Wanda, no… just no. There is nothing between me and Bucky, okay? You saw that girl last weekend. That’s what he wants. One and done, nothing more.”

Her lips pressed together as her head shook ever so slightly. “Mmmhmm.” With a hand digging in her bag she spoke, “Well, all I’m saying is you should be prepared, just in case.”

Wanda threw whatever she pulled out of her bag towards you. Catching the small box in your hands your eyes widened at the logo. “Condoms? Really?” you huffed, throwing them back at her.

“What? I want you to be safe!”

You turned away from her, taking a moment to compose yourself. Wanda didn’t know how bad you were feeling this week, you really were too exhausted to reach out to anyone. Maybe if you had a chance to speak she would have known not to joke about you and Bucky.

It’s not completely unreasonable, the idea that you could have sex with him but you didn’t want to be another girl on his mile long list. You wanted something he could never give, and the fact that your hopes were up and subsequently crushed in front of you didn’t make any of this easier.

“Take those back Wan, I promise you I won’t be needing them.”

“Fine,” she huffed.

Wanda helped you go over what you packed to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything.

“Toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, razor…”

“Oh shit, yes. Gotta shave my legs tomorrow.” You grabbed the bag that held your toiletries, taking it to the bathroom with you to pack your razor and anything else you might have forgotten.

Wanda looked over your bag pulling out the clutch you packed, staring at the glittery reflection of sunlight on your walls. “You should wrap this in something,” she called out, waiting for you to return towards the bed. “If not, the glitter will get everywhere.”

She made a good point. You searched through your closet for something you could place in it and handed it to her, thankful that your dress was still hanging up and unaffected by the ubiquitous glimmering speckles.

“Oh shit I almost forgot!” Wanda went back into her bag to dig out something you actually wanted.

She handed you a beautiful gold necklace meant to wear down the open back of your dress, with four diamonds spaced out evenly along the dainty chain. “You’re going to look incredible. Bucky won’t be able to keep his– ”

“Wanda! Nothing is going to happen between me and Bucky!” you shouted, cringing at the fact that he probably heard you through the walls. With a groan you squeezed your fists tightly, releasing them with a heavy breath. “Those condoms better be in your bag, okay? I’m serious.”

She pulled the box from her bag, scrunching her face with her tongue slightly sticking out at you. A smile broke the hardened look on your face, you could never stay mad at her. Before she left Wanda hugged you, wishing you a nice weekend and thankfully she didn’t mention Bucky anymore.

Everything but your dress was packed so you texted Bucky to let him know you were ready. He was bringing a garment bag for his suit so he offered to put your dress in there as well. A few minutes later you heard the knock at your door and remembering you locked it after Wanda left you had to open it up for him.

“Oh my god!” you gasped, staring wide-eyed at Bucky who sported a new look– short hair!

His head hung down, scrunching his eyes shut to avoid any more of your reaction. He hadn’t cut his hair in years and honestly he never really planned on it but something changed over the week and Bucky knew exactly what it was.

Last weekend surrounded by all of his friends who were happily coupled up really showed Bucky what he was missing and the run in with Whitney reinforced everything about how he’s been living his life and what he wants to change. Bucky wanted a relationship and he was desperate to start one with you.

He couldn’t believe that after all these years of screwing around and closing off his heart that he was able to find someone he could trust with his heart. It’s a crazy thought, for Bucky Barnes, the man who thought he’d live life as a bachelor to have these desires but he couldn’t deny the truth any longer. His revelation came with a need for change.

If Bucky wanted a fresh start he needed to let go of the past, cutting away the dead ends in more than one way. He deleted all the numbers from his phone from the girls he has no interest in sleeping with any more. He deleted the apps from his phone because he didn’t want to meet anyone else, he already found the perfect person and he was sure he had seen sparks in your eyes, the same ones that set off fireworks inside of him anytime you were together.

But this weekend wasn’t going to be about convincing you to date him. He was genuinely happy to have you as a companion to his cousin’s wedding but if there is something between you (and Bucky really hopes his suspicions are true) he would let things happen naturally. And if it’s not meant to be he’ll be there like he always was, as your friend that wants to see you happy, no matter how badly it hurts.

“You cut your hair!”

He grimaced, clenching his teeth together with worry. “You hate it right?” He ran his hand through the short crop, what used to be long strands now a fluff of brown on top of his head.

“No, no, I think it looks great. It’s just… you look so different!” His anxious smile made you clarify your words. “You look great Bucky, honestly. I really like it, I just have to get used to it.”

The soft smile on your face reassured Bucky that his haircut wasn’t a mistake. Deleting apps is one thing but he couldn’t reattach his hair.

You placed your dress in his garment bag, still a mystery to Bucky as it was wrapped in white plastic and then you were off to Penn Station. A large crowd rushed down to the platform of the Long Island Railroad when the train was announced and you had to walk fast down to a further train car to get seats.

Bucky hung the garment bag on the rack above before settling down beside you. He was all prepared with tickets on his phone, declining your offer to pay him. He insisted everything was on him this weekend since you were his guest so you didn’t argue much.

During the long train ride Bucky began to tell you about the people whose wedding you were attending. His cousin Scott was marrying Hope Van Dyne, the daughter of his new employer.

“This is Scott’s second marriage actually. He got divorced after he went to prison.” Your eyebrow quirked at Bucky’s remark. “Scott found out his company was stealing from customers so he hacked their system to pay ‘em back. He did a good thing, shouldn’t have gone to jail in my opinion but anyway, it didn’t help his marriage, ‘specially since he couldn’t see much of his little girl.”

Scott had a daughter named Cassie who he was now able to see regularly since he and his ex Maggie had reconciled and according to Scott she’s going to be the cutest flower girl ever. Bucky isn’t sure how many people would be at the wedding, only that it was taking place on the North Shore of Long Island in a beautiful venue off the water. The hotel Bucky found was about twenty minutes away, something moderate and comfortable for the weekend.

“So, my parents offered to drive us to the wedding, if that’s okay, but I’m assuming they’ll leave early so we’ll probably have to Uber it on the way back.”

“Yeah that’s fine,” you replied. “I was going to meet them at the wedding anyway so we might as well get the awkward introductions out of the way first.”

“About that…” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, feeling goosebumps prick at his skin. “They actually wanted to pick us up from the train and go for dinner.” He turned to face you, biting his lip as he tried to sense how you were feeling about it. “I can tell them no if you don’t want to.”

Bucky appeared to be more nervous than you’ve ever seen him before and it finally hit you why, he’s never had his parents meet anyone before. Do they know about his lifestyle? Running through women like fire through a haystack. Your curiosity took the lead, wanting to see Bucky sweat a little under the heat of his parents' possible interrogation.

“No, I’d love to!” you answered, trying to hide the sly smile that started to creep its way on your face.

“Cool, yeah…” Bucky responded with failing confidence at trying to hide the fact that he wished you would have declined.. “I’ll text them now.”

More people filed into the train at the next stop, sharply dressed white collar workers looking to get a jump on the weekend even if it was just before rush hour. A man squeezed into the seat beside Bucky, making him encroach on your space a little.

You could tell he was uncomfortable in the middle seat, his muscles stiffening to keep his legs as close together as possible and also not play accidental footsie with the woman in front of him. By shifting your body you were able to give Bucky a little more space at the cost of getting closer, leaning into his shoulder.

With a few more adjustments you both found a comfortable position though Bucky can’t say his nerves had gotten any better. You spent most of the ride that way leaving Bucky’s brain to imagine several scenarios of you snuggling close to him; his arm tucked around you, his lips leaving a trail of soft kisses from your temple, down your cheek until he reached those perfect lips.

“Is that our stop?” you asked, breaking him from the trance where he was indulged in fantasies.

“Uh yeah, comin’ up.”

Grabbing your bags you made your way towards the doors waiting to exit. Bucky checked his phone, finding a message from his parents that were already there. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, his stomach sinking like an anchor as he realized what was about to happen, and worse he hadn’t told you something important.

You began walking ahead of him down the stairs from the platform and Bucky rushed behind. With his hand on your shoulder you turned around to find worry written all over his face. “I have a confession to make. He sighed, “My– ”

“James!” A soft bubbly voice called out and Bucky turned his head to find a woman on the next block waving both arms in the air and calling him over.

“James?” you questioned under your breath as you walked over to the woman who was clearly his mom.

She was half a foot shorter than him, with shoulder length hair that reminded you of Bucky’s but with a slightly brighter color. Her eyes crinkled with her mouth opening to a huge grin.

“Your hair!” she exclaimed, cupping both sides of his face to examine his new look up close. “You look so handsome.”

She lifted her heels to bring herself closer to him and Bucky met her halfway for the distance so she could give him a kiss on the cheek. You stood there smiling as you watched the cute exchange.

When they pulled apart her gaze came to you, another smile stretching across her face. “James, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Bucky cleared his throat nervously, “Uh, yeah sorry Mom, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is my mom Winifred.”

“Call me Winnie dear. It’s a pleasure to meet you, James told us all about you.”

“Oh really?” you replied, cocking your head towards James who clearly had some explaining to do.

Bucky swiftly changed the topic as he saw his father’s SUV approaching the curb. As he opened the passenger door for his mother you wondered if he was showing off or not. Then again Bucky had no reason to try and impress you. Your friendship from the start has been completely platonic, except for a shared kiss on New Years.

Considering the first encounter you had, where you awkwardly told him his “guests” were always so loud, Bucky had probably figured there was no point in barking up that tree with you. And he was right, there wasn’t. You’re not interested in becoming another notch on his belt.

Bucky’s father George turned around to greet you after you settled in and he bore a striking resemblance to Bucky, sharp jawline, cleft chin and piercing blue eyes. His smile was different though, still a very warm and friendly one but there was always something about the way Bucky smiled that makes your heart skip a beat. Made. It used to do that but not anymore.

In no time you were at a diner, being seated next to Bucky in a booth across from his parents. Right away they began asking about The September Foundation; apparently Bucky really has told them a lot about you.

“That sounds like a wonderful opportunity to enrich so many young lives,” Winnie said.

“And speaking from the social work field, it’s a great alternative to keep kids active and away from harmful situations. A lot of the programs are STEM based but since that doesn’t appeal to everyone I’ve also worked out a homework help program, where kids can connect with a teacher on-site or through video conferences for extra help.”

Lost in the joy of discussing your work you completely missed the way Bucky was staring at you, seeing your face shine brighter than the sun. Winnie didn’t miss it though, as her eyes flitted over towards Bucky’s, catching him in the act which caused him to look away as an embarrassing shade of pink dusted his cheeks.

“October is our official opening even though we were aiming for September, not because of the name but to coincide with the start of the school year. Though we plan on keeping it open all year round, if we can get the donations of course.”

A proud smile spread across George’s face, as if he was listening to the accomplishments of his own child, “I have no doubt that you will.”

Bucky’s blush deepened knowing you had his parents' approval, not that he meant for this. He told them you were just friends, neighbors, that’s all, nothing more. Despite the details of your life he couldn’t help but tell them; how incredibly devoted you were to helping people, how smart, talented and funny you are… how beautiful. Yeah, he may have let that one slip out but it didn’t matter, you were only friends, sadly.

His thoughts were interrupted by a server coming around to take everyone’s order and thankfully the conversation had changed to his sibling Rebecca, giving his cheeks time to return to their normal shade.

“They’re coming tomorrow, right?” Bucky asked.

“Flying out in the morning and has to be back for work Monday,” Winnie began, “Rebecca was just promoted to Director of Avian Care.”

“That’s great ma.”

“It is, but it means they’ll be even busier than before, so next time when they’re in town James you better stop what you’re doing and come over. It’s bad enough you didn’t come over for Thanks– ”

Bucky interrupted with a vomit of sounds to stop his mom from completing her sentence, revealing the lies he had told everyone about his plans for Thanksgiving. “I promise from now on when Bex is in town I will always make time to see them, okay?”

Nervous inflection took over and he cleared his throat, taking a sip of water to clear it away. An opportunity to change the subject had come up as his mom took out her phone.

“You got a new one?” he asked, nudging his chin towards the device in her hands.

“She didn’t need it,” George added, ranting about the high price. “Your mom thinks she’s a photographer now.”

Winnie playfully nudged his arm, cracking a smile as she told him to knock it off. “I can become one if I want to. The camera has a lot of new features... if only I can figure out how to use them.”

You and Bucky shared a smile, an unspoken look that remembered previous conversations about your parents and technology.

“Hang on, let me try something,” Winnie whispered quietly under her breath and before you realized it she had taken a picture. “Look how good that came out!” she beamed, showing off her phone to George who smirked.

She revealed the image to you and Bucky, the moment you just shared, gazing at each other with a smile that shined all the way through your eyes. A lump settled in the back of your throat as you stared at the picture; somehow seeing it from an outside perspective opened your eyes to the truth. The feelings you had for Bucky were written all over your face, no matter how much you tried to hide them and the fact that his expression mirrored yours made you feel conflicted.

His parents knew things about your life that you never expected him to share with them. Does he do that with all his friends? Probably, right? Because you were just his friend. Bucky doesn’t date, you repeat in your mind over and over. But friends don’t look at each other like that.

The jarring thoughts battled in your mind as you stood silently, an innocent bystander in the war for truth with your heart on the line. Looking back at George and Winnie didn’t help at all, not when he leaned in to peck a kiss on his wife’s lips, crinkles surrounding his eyes as he looked at Winnie in a similar manner, the way lovers see each other.

As dinner finished his parents insisted on picking up the check, and after another short drive they dropped you off at the hotel, with plans to speak tomorrow before picking you up. Walking into a hotel with Bucky was something you never expected to be doing but you tried to keep the awkwardness inside.

“Uh, hi,” Bucky said to the man behind the counter, placing his bag on the ground, still holding the garment bag over his shoulder. “Checking in, James Barnes.”

How can you even think Bucky likes you if he wasn’t even telling you his real name? Your thoughts were interrupted seeing Bucky struggle to take out his wallet with only one hand. You offered to hold the garment bag as he handled the check in process.

“Alright Mr. Barnes, we have you staying for two nights. Check out is eleven, breakfast is available in our lobby from six to nine-thirty. Your room is number 342. If you need anything please don’t hesitate to call the front desk.”

He thanked the man and took back the garment bag from your hand as you walked towards the elevators, stepping inside as the doors opened with a ding. He pressed the button for the third floor, looking around everywhere but to you. The silence was quickly broken as you spoke.

“So… James is it?” You turned towards him as a smirk pulled at your lips.

He sighed, smiling as he shook his head. “I knew this was coming.” He swiped at his chin, chuckling under his breath before he began. “My name is James but no one calls me that. Well, except for my parents.”

“So where did Bucky come from? Is that your stage name?” you teased.

“Ha ha,” he said dryly. “I grew up with a friend named James and since my middle name is Buchanan I sorta became Bucky.” A boyish smile crossed his face.

The door opened and Bucky followed your lead to find the room. The card unlocked the door and you stepped inside happily surprised that there were in fact two beds. You didn’t think Bucky lied when he said he was booking this but the scenario did play in your mind. There must have been a mistake and now there’s only one bed, I guess we’ll have to share. At least Bucky didn’t pull anything scummy like that.

The garment bag was hung in the closet and then you threw your bags onto the bed closest to the window, laying back on the moderately soft blanket that was meticulously tucked in.

“You up for a walk?” Bucky’s question prompted you to lean back on your elbows. “There’s a CVS down the block, I wanted to grab some drinks and stuff.”

“Yeah, sure.”

You popped up from the bed, ready to go, taking the extra room key to place in your bag just in case. The white and red illuminated sign was visible from when you stepped out onto the street, and beyond it was a beautiful sunset, the fiery orange sky licked at the clouds above, with blue trickling through like a stream of water.

“I’m in the mood for chips, you want some?” Bucky asked, as you entered the store.

“Yeah, chips sound good and maybe cookies?”

The exaggerated batting of your eyelashes combined with the innocent smile that stretched along your face made Bucky let out a chuckle of laughter.

“Fine, but you’re eating the cookies in your bed. I don’t want crumbs in mine.”

“Oh and chips don’t make crumbs? I guarantee you’ll get tiny flecks of potato chips all over that bed.”

“No, you’re wrong Y/N,” he said, placing his hand on your shoulder, “‘Cause I’m getting Doritos.”

You laughed along with him, browsing the aisles until you found what you needed. Doritos, chewy chocolate chip cookies, a few protein bars and a small package of almonds (to stay healthy of course), along with some Gatorade and flavored water, split between a few bags, with Bucky carrying the heavier items.

“My water’s going to explode if you keep swinging the bag like that Bucky.”

With a mischievous gleam in his eye he said, “Oh, like this?” He shook the bag that held the carbonated water as you pleaded for him to stop.

“I’m gonna make you open it!” you said through laughter.

You didn’t, insisting that it would be fine if you let it sit until tomorrow, but it did mean Bucky would have to share his Gatorade tonight. He poured two cups, placing them on the nightstand in between the beds and tossed the package of cookies onto your bed.

Opening up your bag you pulled out pajamas, along with a bag of toiletries you took to the bathroom to set out. While you were in the bathroom Bucky got comfortable, toeing off his sneakers, and changing out of jeans into loose basketball shorts. He kept his t-shirt on even though he felt a little hot.

He saw your reflection in the mirrored closet opposite the bathroom door, smiling as he noticed your pajamas, a plain shirt, not too loose worn with pink cropped bottoms decorated with happy smiling faces on all types of breakfast foods; a smiling stack of pancakes with a syrup spilling over the edge, a happy frosted donut, bacon and eggs holding hands with beaming smiles.

“You have to wear those when we get breakfast,” he said, a smile pulling even wider across his face the closer you got.

“No way!” you laughed. “You wear ‘em.”

“I think I will,” Bucky grinned.

Propping up the pillows on your bed, you sat back, pulling back the foil of the package to take out a cookie. The remote was on your side so you flipped through the channels to find anything that might keep you both entertained.

The bag of Bucky’s chips crinkled as he opened them, digging his hand in the bag. It wasn’t long after that he craved something sweet. “Cookie?” he asked, sucking the orange powder off his fingers.

“I thought you didn’t want crumbs in your bed.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah yeah… well I like cookies more than I hate crumbs.”

A smile tugged at your lips. “Fine, but only if I can have some Doritos.”

Bucky scooted over from the center of the bed. “Fine, c’mere. Might as well have just one bed covered in crumbs.”

You smiled, tossing the remote to him as you climbed out of your bed and into his. Only when you were sitting so close did you realize how weird this felt. It shouldn’t though, you’ve been close to Bucky before, closer even, but since you’ve acknowledged your feelings you’ve become more aware of how being near him makes goosebumps prickle across your skin.

But this was nothing, just an easier way to share snacks. Nothing more.

“Go back!” you said, as Bucky was flipping through channels. “Look! It’s you!”

The Music Man was on, Bucky’s namesake for when he first moved in. Bucky looked past your finger that was pointing towards the screen towards the main character “Professor” Harold Hill.

“You think I’m a con man?” he questioned, his brows furrowing as his lips pulled down into a sad pout.

Though he looked concerned you saw the smallest twitch in the corner of his lips and decided to tease him some more.

“You didn’t even tell me your real name so…”

His frown broke out into admitted laughter. As Bucky stared at the way your smile reached your eyes he felt his own lips form a soft one, letting out a sigh that made his heart skip a beat. “You know it now.”

The gaze between you was held for longer than you should have let it, your heart urging you to lean in and press your lips to his again, to feel the sweet relief of the way his soft lips caressed your own. Against your wishes you felt your eyes break contact with his for a brief moment, glancing at his lips, your tongue delicately sneaking out to wet your lips… that is until your mind took control of the reins again.

Clearing your throat you dug your hand into the Doritos, keeping your mouth busy in a different way and Bucky shrugged off whatever was about to happen. He grabbed a few chips for himself, knowing he was not going to push you into something you didn’t want.

A hint of tension lingered in the air but Bucky diffused it quickly, joking, “And anyway, Harold Hill can’t even read music so that was a pretty poor choice of a name to call me.”

A smile eased its way onto your face again. “Well I didn’t call you Harold Hill, I called you the Music Man, which was a shorter way of saying ‘my annoying new neighbor that plays every instrument known to man through our thin walls every night.’”

“Not every instrument.”

You chuckled. “Right, right. You don’t do horns.”

Bucky laughed back, the boyish smile on his face retreating slowly as he asked, “Am I still annoying?”

Your answer was halted as you appraised him, eyes narrowed, lips pursed tightly in an attempt to make him nervous, but you couldn’t hold a straight face for very long.

Breaking out into a smile you couldn’t hide the truth, “No, definitely not.”

It’s amazing how far you’ve come with Bucky, from silently cursing him out in your mind everyday to forming a friendship, one close enough that brought you to this situation that has your heart and mind dueling in a battle for the path you should take.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night, when all you wanted to do was hop into Bucky’s bed, lay your head on his chest and cuddle. Instead you wrapped the blanket around yourself and rolled over, knowing that no matter what side won a part of you would still lose.

PART 19

[thiswasinevitableid]

52 or 41 for the meet ugly? sternclay, nsfw if thats chill

Here it is!

52. you think I’m leering at you in the gym but really I’m studying your form and trying to learn how to make mine better Sternclay NSFW

This is the toughest part of Joseph’s workout, so he could do without the audience.

He first noticed the guy during his turn at the squat rack; taller than him, in a grey t-shirt and black shorts that show he has muscle to spare, with brown eyes that were on Joseph’s ass whenever he looked away. Were Joseph not in the middle of the kettlebell burpees sequence, he might even spare a glance of his own to see how he fills out the front of his shorts, but he’s tired and he’s been dealing with behind the back stares all day.

When he’s done, he takes a final look over his shoulder to see the guy still staring at him. Joseph locks eyes, watches his face flood with guilt as he becomes very focused on his shoes. He continues studying them, as if holding still might keep Joseph from coming closer.

“Okay, I sense you’re new here, so I’ll be polite: everyone checks people out at the gym now and then. But the rule is you don’t do it so fucking brazenly the other person notices.”

“I, uh, I wasn’t-”

“I counted you staring ten separate times, even when your workout had you facing away from me.” He crosses his arms, annoyed that the man has the gall to deny his blatant ogling.

“I, uh, I was studying your form” the newcomer rubs his wrist, sheepish, “I’m kinda new to, like, formal workout stuff, and you clearly know your shit, so I was trying to use you to figure out how to do my circuit without fucking up my spine.”

Joseph rolls his eyes; that’s the first lie anyone tells when they get called out for staring.

“I’m serious!” The man has the audacity to look perturbed. Joseph has zero interest in an argument but every desire to call his bluff.

“Well, if that’s the case, if we cross paths again you’re welcome to join me and I can give you pointers.”

With that, he heads towards the locker rooms. He doesn’t feel eyes on him once the whole walk there.

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

“Hey.”

Joseph looks up from setting his fitbit to see his not-so-subtle admirer beside him. The taller man smirks, “you didn’t think I’d take you up on it, did you?”

“No. But I’m not about to go back on my offer. Or modify my work out if you join me. Make your choice accordingly.”

“Okay. What’s first?” His smile is friendly, but there’s a challenge in it. Joseph, who's been bored the entire day, is more than ready to rise to it.

“Jump rope. Nine minutes total.”

They find a spare rope for the other man, but he keeps getting his right foot caught.

“Drop your elbows some, when they’re too high it’s easier for the rope to catch.”

“Oh, thanks.”

His new gym buddy is winded when they’re done, but follows him eagerly over to the mats for his core workout. He’s better at that, though Joseph still has to correct the position of his back the first time. They move through cardio, weights, and cool down with no conversation that isn’t directly related to body position or technique. By the end, the newcomer is soaked with sweat. And..smiling?

“That was fucking brutal. Can we do it again some time?”

If you, um, really want to?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Joseph smiles back, “I’m here every day after work. So you can come find me…”

“Barclay” the taller man fills in his unasked question.

“Joseph. Oh, and try to get some shoes with better traction soon. You’ll have an easier time.”

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

“You okay there?” Barclay looks at Joseph from the treadmill on his left, “you seem kinda low energy today.”

“I ate too small a lunch.” He hits the stop button, walks as the belt slows, “I’ll be fine once I fish my power bar out of my glovebox on the way home.”

“Or you could, uh, you could come get dinner with me? There’s a great spot two blocks from here; it’s my favorite stop after you put me through my paces.”

Joseph thinks about downing a protein shake while wandering his empty apartment.

“That sounds great.”

Barclay leads him to a diner, all yellow lights and red pleather. His friend orders a stack of waffles and fried eggs (“I’m not a big fan of syrup”) while he opts for a french dip and, on Barclay’s recommendation, a chocolate malt. When the server asks if it’s one bill or two, Barclay pays for both of them.

“Least I can do in exchange for the free personal training you’re giving me.”

“It’s not like I mind” Joseph offers him access to his french fries, “I like working out with you. I’ve, um, never had a gym buddy before. UP agents are considered weirdos at work, I’m considered odd for one of them, and, well, you’ve done my workout; it intimidates some people.”

Barclay looks at him across the formica, beard still a bit mussed from drying it after his shower, “Yo--uh, I mean, it is pretty intimidating. But like, in a good way. The kind that makes you wanna push yourself.”

Joseph allows himself a flirtatious smile, “I’m glad you appreciate it.”

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

Barclay: gonna miss workout tomorrow. Got a date. Promise I’ll let you work me twice as hard on Friday.

J.S: Have fun. And you know I will, big guy.

Joseph slips his earbuds in; he’s gotten so used to their easy conversation that his best of the ‘00s playlist is jarring in it’s place. But he falls into his rhythm, is halfway through his workout when a tall, familiar shape in grey shorts hurries through the door and drops it’s water bottle next to his.

“Is everything okay?” He pops his headphones out as Barclay shakes his head.

“Date was a bust; guy was so pushy I bailed after one drink. Figured if I caught up with you the night wouldn’t totally suck.”

Joseph grabs a second mat, lays it out, “I can’t do dinner tonight; since I thought you were busy, tonight is for running errands.”

“No big.” Barclay lays next to him, their fingers brushing for a moment before Joseph counts them down.

As the evening ticks away in sets and reps, he gets increasingly worried about Barclay; his friend begs off both squats and rowing, and doesn’t join him for the ten minute cool-down jog on the treadmill. He hopes it’s just a side effect of having a beer before working out and not something more dire.

The locker room is empty on their side, and he finds Barclay leaning his forehead on the wall outside one of the shower cubicles, taking long, deliberate breaths. His shirt is off, but he’s still in his shorts. When he turns, startled by Joseph asking if he’s okay, it’s immediately obvious why.

“Sorry” Barclay is doing his best to conceal his hard-on, “this is hella embarrassing.”

“It happens” Joseph aims for a pleasant shrug even as his own cock starts acting up, “lots of friction and, um, and all that.”

“It’d be less humiliating if it was that. I, uh,” Barclay is redder than Joseph’s ever seen him, “I put a plug in before my date and, uh, I was in such a hurry to come find you once it ended that I, I didn’t take time to pull it out.”

He forces his voice to stay gentle, to not reveal the heat burbling up from his stomach, “You could have just asked me to wait a second once you got here.”

“Didn’t think of it until I sat down on the mat and realized how much I could feel the fucking thing. Like I, uh, I said, I kinda had a one track mind when I got here. I” his brown eyes are Bambi-wide when they skitter from Joseph’s gaze, “I wanted to see you.”

Shoes squeaking on the wet tile, Joseph nudges him into the stall, “Is that really it, big guy? You went through all that discomfort just for a few more seconds of being near me?”

“Uh huh” Barclay whimpers, his big, broad frame shaking when Joseph presses him against the wall.

“That’s sweet. Do you know what happens to sweet boys when they’re good?”

His friend shakes his head, hair catching across his eyes. Joseph tips his chin up, lips slightly parted in invitation. Barclay groans and drops his head down to meet him. It is, without a doubt, the messiest kiss of Joseph’s life, all sweat and odd angles like his first time in his boyfriend’s den in the July heat. The parallel is heightened by Barclay instantly grabbing his hips and humping him through his shorts.

“Joseph, babe, please, please say this is okay.” His hands tighten their hold when Joseph licks a stripe up his neck; it’s sweaty, sticky, the kind of thing he hates in porn but damn him if the doesn’t want to lick and suck Barclay until he can taste him in his sleep.

“No, it’s not.” Joseph cups his face to keep the panic he sees there at bay, “because if you cum like that, I won’t get to show you the rest of your reward.”

“Re-reward?” Barclay actually squeaks, and what can Joseph do at such a sound but kiss him once more.

“Shorts off, water on. I’ll be right back.”

Water obediently patters on the tiles as he shoves his hand deep into his gym bag; god bless emergency laundry quarters and bathroom vending machines.

He strips, joins Barclay in the shower and discovers his cock is even more pleasing than it’s outline suggested.

“Lord almighty, you’re gorgeous.” He lowers to his knees, traces the path of droplets through the hair on Barclays stomach and chest. Then he removes the first condom from its pack, rolls it down the thick cock that’s just tempting him to abandon his plan, then slips the second one on his finger.

“Fuck, this has gotta be a dream, right? Because it’s the same one I’ve jerked off to for fucking weeks.”

“No, big guy, it’s not.” Joseph reaches between Barclay legs, “oh shit, you’ve been wearing this all night?”

“AHnnnuhhuh” Barclay moans as Joseph toys with the base of the plug.

“And you still did a huge chunk of our workout. I’m impressed, big guy, impressed and very, very, very pleased.” He kisses his cock on each very, Barclay letting out an “uhn” at each one. As he slides the plug free he continues, “To think, your date was so unpleasant he missed out on not only your charm and your handsome face, but the fact you were prepared enough to prep for him.”

“His loss is my gain ohfuck, Joseph, baby, please-” Barclays cock bobs in the air as Joseph teases his ass. When he presses in Barclay gasps, Joseph praying the droplets hitting the walls lend any escaping sounds an air of plausible deniability.

“Nice and open. Good boy.” Joseph slowly works his finger in and out, building up to two almost immediately. He nuzzles Barclays cock, “do you always bottom?”

“M-most of the timeOH, god” His head lolls back when Joseph takes his cock into his mouth, sucking lazily as he fucks him open, “I like it, makes me feel taken care of.”

Joseph eases in a third finger, let’s his cock fall from his mouth as water collects in his eyelashes. Barclay is staring down at him, hair several shades darker as it plasters to his face and eyes hopeful.

“In that case” Joseph times his upstrokes to his thrusts, “how about you come to my place on Sunday? I’ve got a whole box of cocks to choose from; we could work our way through them.”

“Yes, ohfuckyesplease.”

“We could play around with positions too” He can see Barclay’s muscles flexing in new ways as he begins bucking his hips, chasing the tender pressure of Joseph’s fist, “I bet you look great on all fours, and I know what you look like with your ass in the air already. You in my lap, that could be fun--oh, ohshit” he laughs as Barclay nearly fucks himself off his fingers, “you like that, like the idea of sitting in my lap like the big, sweet boy you are while I fuck you, like the thought of cumming on my cock and then going to fetch the next one, of me not letting you stop until we’ve been thorough and found your favorite because that’s what you deserve-”

“Fuck!” Barclay moans, hands slipping on the tile as he floods the tip of the condom. Joseph adds “get tested” to his mental to-do list while the other man slides down the wall like a slasher victim until they’re face to face on the floor.

“You okay, big guy?”

“Can’t feel my legs.”

“That’s just the lunges talking.”

“Please” Barclay kisses his shoulder, “please let me suck your dick.”

Joseph smacks the handle until the water turns off, scrambles to his feet and clings to the “no-slip” bar as Barclay shoves his face between his legs. He sucks his cock, occasionally opening his mouth enough to licks his folds. He’s so eager, even tries fucking into him with his tongue, big hands groping his ass while Joseph stifles his moans in his forearm. He’s going to cum in the gym shower, he’s going to cum from his first blowjob in years, he’s coming to cum from the astounding, impossibly hot man below him who he intends to dom into next fucking week-

He cums hard, the hand not bracing him on the wall dropping down to stroke Barclays hair. After a moment, he tries to grab his towel from where he tossed it, Barclay smiling up at him.

“Hey, Joseph?”

“Yes? Hah, got you” He pulls the towel in.

“I was staring at your ass that first day. I mean, I was mostly looking at your form but there was for sure some ass appreciation.”

“I fucking knew it.” Joseph begins drying him off, “just for that you owe me dinner again.”

“Thought you had errands.”

“Shit. How do you feel about a romantic, pre-dinner Target run?”

“I’d love it.”

[bucketslutz]

Godspeed

Summary: You've been working as Marcus Moreno's assistant for years, but during all this time you've also been hopelessly in love with him. You're unsure if he feels the same way, but as of late you've been catching him stare at you. He's said things that have seemed to have an ulterior definition and it's made you suspicious of his feelings. When a pipe bursts in your apartment, leaving your home unlivable while it's being renovated, Marcus invites you to stay with him and Missy till it's fixed. Will you fold and finally confess your feelings for him?

You can read Godspeed on AO3 here.

Warnings: 18+, smut, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, Marcus takes reader’s v-card, fluff, domestic-ish, AFAB reader, bisexual reader.

If Marcus was good at one thing, it was making your job a million times harder than it needed to be. He didn’t do it on purpose, he just tended to be more forgetful than you’d expected someone of his reputation to be. Whether it’d be meetings with the Heroics, grocery shopping, or even Missy’s parent teacher conferences, everything always managed to slip his mind. You suppose it is your job to keep track of all these things for him, remind him, and make sure he stays on top of all of his responsibilities. When he hired you, you were still a junior in college and his wife had passed away only a year prior. You didn’t expect that you’d be using your BA in international relations to be babysitting a grown man, but you don’t mind. He pays you substantially and he’s taught you so much over the years. You’re thankful that he even considered you for the job, the leader of the Heroics, when you’re far from interesting yourself. But he’s always been so kind and patient with you. Your first day you were fumbling over everything; you spilled coffee on his white button up, you accidentally packed Missy a peanut butter sandwich in her school lunch when she has a severe peanut allergy (luckily Marcus had glanced inside the unzipped lunchbox and swiftly threw it away), and you forgot to go grocery shopping that day. You hid inside the half bath off of the living room and cried from the stress, feeling like an absolute and complete fuck-up. Marcus knocked ever-so-gently on the door and you choked out a measly “I’m fine. Be out soon,” as a response. He didn’t buy it, obviously as he heard your sniffling from down the hall, and opened the door with a concerned look on his face. You were sitting on the floor, absolutely spent from the emotionally exhausting day. He got down with you and comforted you, talked you down from the breakdown and explained that he knew his schedule will take some time to get used to, but you’re a capable and strong individual who will catch on quickly.

“Cariña, I’m not disappointed in you. Mistakes will happen, you’ve gotta break a few eggs sometimes to make an omelette,” he told you with a wink, which caused you to snort at his very dad-ish remark; at that point, you had already forgotten about all the things you screwed up that day and was ready to start fresh tomorrow. And he was right, you caught on quickly. He’d begun saying a million times how life has seemed to have gotten easier since you entered it. You could’ve sworn there was a glint of something behind his eyes when he’d say it, maybe admiration, respect, perhaps even love. But you’d brush it off with a modest smile, trying to soften the weight of his words by saying you’re just doing what you’re being paid to do. He’d shake his head, trying his best to make you understand how much you’ve impacted his life. But you’re not used to someone insisting you deserve more respect than you give yourself, and Marcus showers you in praise every single day. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find the compliments flattering, especially coming from someone like him. You’ve always found him very attractive, even before you started working for him. A lot of your friends in college would tease you about it, not finding him nearly as charismatic as Miracle Guy, but you stuck to your guns. You’d hoped that when you met him you wouldn’t be disappointed, praying that he was just as kind in person as he appeared to be on the news. But now that you know him, he’s more than kind...he’s considerate, caring, patient, and a wonderful father. You’re beyond lucky to have met someone like him. He’s changed your life for the better, and you’ll never stop being grateful for his generosity. He makes it too easy to fall in love with him; his warm smile, chocolate brown eyes, his dad jokes. You even love the parts of him that wouldn’t necessarily be that interesting to anyone else, yet they are to you; the way he eats sandwiches by nibbling all the crust off of the sides then working his way to the middle in a circular pattern, or the way he hates to make his bed because he’s “just going to get back in it at the end of the day anyways,” or how he sometimes takes a minute to get a joke in a movie or TV show and will laugh for way longer than he needs to. You’ve been hopelessly in love with him for years now, and it’s made your job uncomfortable from time to time. 

Once he started going back in the field, he’d come back to his house in immense pain every day. And for a little while, you just gave him some advil and a heating pad to leave him to his devices. But the pain and discomfort got worse, and he suggested a massage would relieve the pain. Which of course it would, and you should have no problem doing that for him. He wasn’t even necessarily asking you, he just said that a massage would feel better and he should go get one. But you still took it upon yourself to give him one anyways, perhaps as an excuse to touch him, but you care about him and you wanted him to feel better. He protested, of course, not wanting to inconvenience you, but he ultimately succumbed when you straddled his back and began rubbing his sore muscles. You did everything in your power to not seem as turned on by his groans of pleasure as you were; trying to hide the way your breath hitched when he choked out a “Yes, right there. Perfect,” between his shallow grunts. He had you in the palm of his hand, and he didn’t even know it. Your best friend has been telling you to make a move for months, but you’re too shy, and you’re not even sure if he feels the same way. He could very well want all of his assistants to stay for dinner, or movie night, or offer to let you stay in the guest bedroom when a pipe burst in your apartment leaking water all over your living room. You didn’t want to accept at first, feeling like you’d be overstepping, but Marcus insisted. He said he and Missy didn’t mind, especially considering you were way better at cooking meals than he was. You finally accepted the offer, figuring it’d also be way easier to work when you’re in closer quarters. You’d be cutting out commute time, and you wouldn’t have to get up so early to get there in time to make breakfast before Missy leaves for school. And you do love sleeping. So you accepted, what’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like you’ll confess your love for him while you’re staying over; so long as you stay away from the alcohol.

You knock gently on Marcus’ bedroom door and call out his name softly, coffee cup and newspaper in hand. You hear a muffled groan in response, and take that as your cue to enter. Cracking the door open, you see him laying on his stomach tangled up in his sheets with a pillow covering his head. He hated mornings.

“Marcus, it’s time to get up. You have a meeting this morning,” you coo as you enter his bedroom. He rolls over and pulls his head out from under his pillow, sporting the worst bedhead you’ve seen on him yet; you bite back a laugh.

“It’s early,” he grumbles, obviously very groggy from his slumber. You settle on the edge of the bed, offering him the cup of coffee to which he sits up and takes the mug from you eagerly.

“You didn’t see me complaining about the hour when I had to get up at 4 am and bust my ass here every morning, just so I could make breakfast for you and your daughter,” you snide playfully. You don’t resent him for that, and he knows that. He works hard and has a lot on his plate, and he knows you understand that. But it’s become almost like a running joke between the two of you that he can’t complain because “you have it harder.”

“Touché,” he says, pausing to say your name, “Touché.” He takes a few sips of his coffee and holds his hand out for the newspaper, which you then hand to him. He takes a quick sip, contentedly. “Mm, why is it whenever I make coffee it takes like dirty socks, but when you do it, it tastes like heaven. Are you hiding a fancy coffee maker here that I don’t know about?”

“Hm, don’t know. Maybe I’m magic,” you remark jovially, smiling warmly at him. His eyes lock onto yours for a moment and he returns the smile.

“Yeah, something about you sure is magic,” he says, that familiar glint of... something in his eyes. Then he gets up from under his covers and pats your leg with the newspaper as he exits his bedroom, leaving you feeling strange after that encounter. Not a bad strange, you just sensed there was an air of something hanging around him. You’ve been feeling that a lot with him for a while. He’s just said or done things that hinted at meaning more than what it was, but you’ve been trying to brush it off as you looking for something that wasn’t there. You stood up from his bed, tidying up his covers a little so they no longer looked like someone just rolled out of them. You shook your head at the sight of some of his dirty clothes scattered all over the floor and took it upon yourself to pick them up and toss them in his hamper for you to wash later this afternoon. Making your way downstairs, you can hear Marcus shuffling around in the kitchen, humming the chorus of Raspberry Beret by Prince. Another thing you loved about him, he was always humming something around the house, to Missy’s dismay, but you never got tired of it. It warmed your heart to see him so happy. While you didn’t know him before the passing of his wife, you could tell that it still brought him down sometimes when you first started working for him. He’d come home late from work, immediately go to the liquor cabinet, and lock himself in his office for the rest of the night. A year or so ago he finally went through her old things with you and got rid of a lot of stuff. He kept a lot of her belongings, mostly for Missy, but was finally ready to throw a lot of her things away. So the times when you hear him singing absentmindedly, it reminds you that he’s healing and it makes you happy to finally see that after so many years of grief. Entering the kitchen, you cross over to the island and finish plating Marcus’ and Missy’s pancakes; Marcus was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper and sipping on his coffee. You set his plate in front of him and he glances up at you, smiling brightly.

“Thanks, these look great. Do these have bananas in them?” he asks excitedly.

“Yep, of course,” you reply with a grin, running your hand over his shoulder before turning back to cross over to the island. You know full well his favorite breakfast is banana pancakes, so you make them for him whenever he has to get up extra early for meetings.

“You know me too well,” he teases, spreading a glob of softened butter on the top of his pancake. You hear footsteps descending the staircase rapidly and the appearance of Missy in the kitchen shortly thereafter, dressed and ready for school.

“Hi dad!” she greets her father, then you, and settles in her chair at the kitchen table. You set her plate of pancakes in front of her along with a small plate of bacon. Marcus glances at you, then the bacon, then back at you, his eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Why does she get bacon and I get fruit?” he whines, through a mouthful of pancake.

“Because you’re susceptible to heartburn, Missy is not,” you tell him, smacking his hand as he reaches for one of her slices. Missy sticks her tongue out at her father, teasing him as she munches on her bacon. “Quit your whining, Moreno. Fruit is good for you.”

“Outnumbered and outwitted,” he remarks dejectedly, poking at the fruit on his plate. You roll your eyes at his dramatics and finish plating your own breakfast, with extra pieces of the assorted fruits that you especially love. You catch Marcus’ gaze lingering on you for longer than what would be considered “a passing glance.” Once you lock eyes with him, he turns his head back to his newspaper immediately pretending he wasn’t just staring at you. Okay, you can safely say now that he’s officially been acting weird. You don’t have the energy nor the time right now to address his behavior, so you opt to join him and Missy at the table and silently finish your breakfast before you have to drive Missy to school.

…

  These chores have been kicking your ass today. You were too preoccupied with the burst pipe in your apartment last week that you weren’t able to do the laundry, so now you’re gifted with two weeks worth of laundry to wash, dry, iron, fold, and put away. It’s almost the end of the work day and you just finished folding the last load. You huff as you haul the basket up the stairs and down the hall to Marcus’ bedroom. You hum absentmindedly as you put his clothes away, tuning out your surroundings as your music blasts through your earbuds. This is the only part of laundry you really like. Firstly, because it’s the easiest part, and secondly because you get to listen to your music in peace without anyone bothering you. Being in the house alone means you can scream/sing the lyrics to your favorite songs without Marcus or Missy making fun of you. Except you didn’t realize you weren’t home alone right now, because Marcus has been watching you, leaning against the threshold of his bedroom door. You stopped dead in your tracks and startled when you noticed his presence. Clutching your chest with your hand you laugh out of embarrassment.

“Marcus, what the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me you were here?” you ask, frustrated that he just completely ruined your vibe.

“I like hearing you sing. I’ve got my own concert right here in the comfort of my own home,” he half teases, half remarks flirtily at you. He’s staring you up and down, as if you were a sight for sore eyes in your ripped mom jeans and bleach dyed t-shirt. Your hair was lazily thrown up into a messy bun for convenience, some strands hanging around your face to frame it. 

“Whatcha listening to?” he asks, crossing towards you.

“Um, Godspeed, by Frank Ocean. You wouldn’t know him, as his career exists post-Prince and Queen, grandpa,” you joke playfully. He shakes his head and rests his hands on his hips.

“Alright, indulge me then. I wanna listen.” Sighing, you oblige and pull your phone out of your pocket and tuck your earbuds away. You start the song over from the beginning and turn the volume all the way up as the song begins. Marcus stares off and listens intently, taking in the synthetic sounds that prelude the lyrics. Once Frank Ocean begins singing, a small smile appears on his face and he nods his head.

“I like that, reminds me of you,” he says sweetly, offering his hand out to you. You glare at it suspiciously, not really sure what he’s asking. “Dance with me.” A blush creeps up on your cheeks and you take his hand happily.

Marcus moves one of his hands to the small of your back while the other clutches yours. You bring your hand to his shoulder and begin swaying with him to the music, singing along to the lyrics softly. He’s staring deep into your eyes and trailing his hand up and down your back, leaving goosebumps wherever it goes. You’ve never felt more in love with him than in this moment. He’s content just swaying with you and staring into your soul. And this song reminds him of you. Because of what? Is this how he feels about you? There will be mountains you won’t move. Still I’ll always be there for you, how I do. He has always been there for you. He’s said he will a million times; when your dad died and your mom became estranged, he didn’t expect anything of you. All he did was text or call you ever-so-often to check in on you and make sure you were doing okay. He was one of the only people who really made you feel cared for at that time. That’s when you fell in love with him. You realized that you wouldn’t have gotten through that without his support and care. He and Missy dropped off a gift bag of all of your favorite snacks and movies one night and they spent the evening with you watching movies. Missy fell asleep on your couch and you fell asleep leaning against Marcus’ chest. It was the best you’d slept since your father’s passing. The song ends, leaving you and Marcus swaying to silence, anticipating each other’s next move. Eventually you both stop swaying, your hands move up to lace around the back of his neck and his move to cradle the small of your back. His mouth keeps parting and he inhales sharply, as if he’s about to say something, but he’ll purse his lips, second-guessing himself. You don’t know how, but you know what he wants to say. You can feel it as you look into his eyes. You can feel it when you catch him staring at you. You can feel it every time he enters a room.

“Say it, Marcus,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper. You stare at him desperately, you want, no--need to hear him say it. Because you both know how he feels. He just needs to say it. He stares at you lovingly, and brings one of his shaky hands up to brush a stray strand of hair out of your face. You inhale sharply at his touch, anticipating the words you’ve been wanting to hear him say for years.

“I’m in love with you,” he admits, his voice dripping in his signature rasp, saying your name as if he was blessed by the gods themselves to have the ability to say it. “I’m hopelessly in love with you, cariña. I always have been, and I always will be.”

Your heart beats out of its chest by his admission, your stomach somersaulting and your skin ablaze. I love you, Marcus. Truly, deeply, I do. Your eyes begin to well up, not from sadness, or even joy, but from relief. After years of uncertainty, wonder, even frustration, you finally know how he feels about you. How he’s always felt. It feels as though a weight’s been lifted off of your shoulders. You love him. You’ll shout it from the rooftops, if you have to. I love him, I love him, I love him, I love him. Tears begin sliding down your face as Marcus cups your cheek with the palm of his hand. You nuzzle into his touch, revelling in the way he so effortlessly cares for you.

“I love you, Marcus. I always have,” you finally confess, your voice shaky from the crying. You sniffle and let out a light laugh in relief. You finally said it, and so did he. His eyes look glassy, and he appears to be biting back tears. He smiles lovingly at you, clearing his throat to try and push down the lump that’s been forming. He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, stroking your head with the pad of his thumb as he does so, and pulls you into his arms, hugging you tightly. He cradles the back of your head while his other hand wraps tightly around your back. Your arms hook under his, clutching his back eagerly.

“I love you too, cariña,” he whispers, his lips pressed atop your head. You close your eyes, revelling in his hold on you for a moment before you decide to pull away and look up into his eyes.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, your eyes searching his for the need you have to lock your lips with his. He doesn’t hesitate to dip his head and pinch your chin, tilting it up towards his face, and sealing his admission of love with a needy, gentle kiss. You sigh into the kiss, feeling sparks all throughout your body. He pulls you into his chest, your body now flush against his and your arms wrapping around his neck. He slides his tongue along your closed lips and you part them, welcoming his tongue into your mouth. Your tongues tangle, the both of you needily searching each other’s mouths. His hands begin roaming your body, sliding up and down your waist, toying with the hem of your top and grazing his fingers over the skin of your lower back. As if he was asking permission to slide his hands up your bare back. You nudge his arm lazily and he complies, sliding his hands up your spine leaving goosebumps in his wake. You gasp against his lips as his hands explore your back, pressing further into him as best as you can. He mumbles into the kiss, gripping your bare waist.

“Mm, Missy home?” he asks against your lips. You shake your head, of course he’d forgotten that she was staying over at a friend’s; you had to bust your ass this afternoon running errands and trying to drop her off in time.

“Friend’s house,” you tell him between kisses. He nods, tugging the fabric of your shirt up.

“Do you want me to take this off, honey?” he asks gently, his lips moving from yours to your cheek then your neck as he trails love bites up and down the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck.

“Yes, please,” you reply breathlessly. He slips your top over your head leaving you in your bra. Not wanting to be the only one shirtless, you bring your fingers up to his tie and loosen it before slipping it over his head, working impatiently on the buttons of his dress shirt. Soon you’re both shirtless, chests heaving as your lips lock together feverishly once again. He starts pushing you towards the bed till your calves meet it.

“Lay down--if-if that’s-if you’re okay with that, cariña,” Marcus says, trying his best to seem assertive, but in his heart he’s too gentle and caring to force you to do anything. You roll your eyes and spin him around, shoving him back onto the bed and climbing onto his lap. Supporting your weight by pressing your hands to his bare chest, you dip down to kiss him again. This time they were sloppy and needy, you wanted to savor every bit of him and memorize the way his lips melted into yours. The way his stubble poked your lip, the way his tongue glided across yours, the feeling of his breath against your face. His hands slide down to grip your ass, kneading it through your jeans. You grin into the kiss, enjoying his hands all over you and the way he’s possessively groping your ass.

“Take off my bra,” you command against his lips. He nods eagerly, his fingers fumbling with the straps of your bra before finally releasing the clasp at the back. You shrug off your bra and slip your arms out of the straps, the garment falling onto his bare chest. He chuckles once it plops onto him, he tosses it to the floor and smiles up at you giddily; he looks at you as if you just gave him the best thing you could have ever given him. You roll your eyes at his excitement.

“Why are you so excited? You never seen a pair of boobs before?” you tease, a blush creeping over his face as he realizes you’ve noticed the way he’s been ogling your chest.

“I just never thought you’d let me look at you like this,” he says, with a slightly somber tone. Did he really think you weren’t going to love him back? He must’ve been feeling the same way you have all these years; the yearning, the pining, and the pain of never really being sure if they loved you in return. But you were here now, on top of him in his bed without a shirt on. You grab his arms and pull him up towards you so he’s sitting up, while you remain straddling his lap. He strokes your face tenderly, taking every bit of you in. You turn your cheek into his touch and plant a chaste kiss against his palm, Marcus smiles at you in return. Your heart could not be full of any more love right now. The way he’s looking at you, touching you, kissing you...you’ve never felt this much love from anyone at once. You don’t think you’ve loved anyone like you’ve loved Marcus. Even though you haven’t really had a serious relationship since high school, a relationship that scared you away from love, but you still didn’t think that you’d let someone enter your heart again. Marcus proved to you from the beginning that he’d never hurt you, so you’ve always trusted him, which is something that you don’t like giving away so easily. Truth is, you’ve not even let a man look at you naked since you were a freshman in college; he was an asshole who took advantage of you and your body. And when you told him you weren’t ready to go all the way, as you’re still a virgin, he was fine with it...Till he decided to ghost you the next day. That made your experiences with men even more volatile. It left such a bad taste in your mouth that you never got around to actually having sex with a man. You got by in college with occasional hookups with women, but you always made sure to leave before they woke up, so as to avoid any festering feelings. Marcus got you to a point in your life where you could trust someone like him, finally. He’s treated you well, he’s loved you more than anyone ever has, he’s taken his time with you by being ever-so-patient. And he will always be your rock no matter what.

“Marcus, I want you to see the rest of me,” you whisper, holding his face in your hands. He smiles warmly at you, his coffee-colored eyes holding every ounce of your pain you’ve allowed him to hear and see. He obliges immediately, stripping you of the rest of your clothes, stroking your exposed skin with his feather-like touch. He’s gentle, loving, caressing your skin like you might crumble under his fingertips if he applies too much pressure. You straddle his clothed lap now completely naked, your slick lips gliding over the rough fabric of his jeans as his erection applies intoxicating pressure against the length of your cunt. Your lips are tangled together hungrily, but he kisses you slow and sensually as he searches your lips with his own, his tongue sliding inside your mouth.

“Let me see the rest of you too,” you whisper against his mouth, your fingers dipping down to his belt buckle as you pry it open. He nods his head and aids you in taking off his pants till he’s now clad in his black briefs. He groans as you palm his erection through his briefs, feeling his dick twitch under your touch as you glide your fingers up and down its tense length. He gasps into the kiss, sensitive and responsive to your hold on his cock. You tug on the elastic of his briefs and yank them down, Marcus adjusts so you can pull them down his legs more easily. His dick springs free, dripping with pre cum and twitching with need. Your pelvis settles firmly against his, Marcus’ cock sliding between your pussy lips and nudging your clit gently. You whimper against his lips as each thrust of his hips results in the head of his dick flicking your sensitive nub. Your clit aches for more friction, needing his fingers in your pussy and for him to stroke you. You grip his wrist and bring it between your legs, urging them into your dripping core.

“You want me to touch you, cariña?” Marcus grunts into your ear, his fingers tracing your entrance. His hot breath tickles your ear and makes your pussy clench with need.

“Marcus, my clit--please, baby,” you whimper against his neck. You thrust against his fingers, attempting to force them inside you, but he avoids your advances. He finally slides his finger up through your lips and to your clit, flicking the aching, swollen bud. You gasp, throwing your head back in pleasure as Marcus strokes you. He pulls his hand away and brings it to your mouth, prying your lips open with his finger, urging you to lubricate it. You swirl your tongue around his digit, then he pulls it out and brings it back to rubbing your clit. The pleasure builds inside of you, your breath hitching with each flick of his finger. You’re getting close to the edge, desperate for Marcus to let you cum; his lips trail up and down your neck, lazily licking and nipping at the skin there. He replaces his middle finger with his thumb and continues the pace of his strokes on your clit before sliding two fingers inside of you. The fullness causing you to mewl in his ear as you begin riding his fingers. Your climax builds as your pussy clenches around his fingers that are working in and out of you, curling with each thrust inside of you. The flicks against your swollen bud, your hips rolling into his fingers, his lips on your neck...the way Marcus is working your cunt right now is pushing you close to the edge. Your toes start curling and your pussy clenches around his fingers, causing Marcus to groan at your tightness.

“That’s right, hermosa. I wanna see that pretty face when I make you cum,” he groans in his signature rasp. His hot breath sticks to your neck as the pressure inside of you builds. Shutting your eyes and moaning a slew of curses, you begin to see spots as your pelvis tingles and your cunt clenches hard around Marcus’ fingers. His fingers climb up to your scalp and he tugs your head back by your hair, pulling it away from where it was resting in the crook of his neck. You lazily part your eyes open through your climax, finding Marcus staring at you through his lustful brown eyes. His digits work you through the rest of your orgasm, relishing in the way he’s staring at you; your jaw slack, whimpering and moaning, your hands clutching his broad shoulders. 

“You’re beautiful, my love,” he breathes, stroking the stray strands of hair out of your face. You smile lazily at him, panting as you come down from your climax. His dick twitches against your thigh as he pulls his fingers from your soaked pussy. He offers them to you and you part your mouth, welcoming his cum soaked digits into your mouth; sucking the evidence of your arousal from his fingers. He watches you, your lips sealed around his fingers and your eyes dark with lust. He pulls his fingers from your mouth and lightly grazes your jaw with his saliva soaked fingertips.

“I want you to fuck me, Marcus,” you tell him hungrily, still breathless from your orgasm. He nods eagerly and grips your hips, trying to position you above his cock. You resist his grasp, and he glances up at you confused.

“What’s wrong, mi amor?” he asks, his tone dripping with concern as he cradles your cheek with one of his hands.

“Nothing, I’ve just--I haven’t really...I guess I’m--,” you pause to sigh. “I’m still--technically--a virgin.” You swallow hard, unable to keep yourself from feeling embarrassed by your admission. It’s stupid to feel embarrassed, especially in front of Marcus who would never judge you for something like that. He stares at you comfortingly, not an ounce of condescension in his eyes.

“Okay, honey, let me take care of you,” he says tenderly, flipping you on your back so now he’s hovering over you. “Do you want this?” He holds you gently, wanting you as comfortable as possible and trying desperately not to pressure you into anything.

“Yes, Marcus. I want you. I trust you,” you affirm, your fingers dancing over the stubble on his cheek, desperately wanting more of him. Trust has always been hard for you. This was more than just letting him take your virginity, it was letting him into your heart completely and earnestly; it was the first time in years you’ve let someone love, touch, and look at you like this. And you wouldn’t want anyone else to be here fucking you except for Marcus. He grins at you warmly, his eyes so full of love and want.

“I love you,” Marcus says your name, planting a longing kiss on your forehead and nuzzling his cheek against your cheek. 

“I love you, too, Marcus,” you say, feeling all his love for you by simply looking into his eyes. He smiles and plants kisses along your jawline and throat, nipping at the flesh. He reaches into the drawer in his bedside table and pulls out a condom. He tears open the package and rolls it onto his cock. Marcus positions himself at your entrance, your legs wrapping around his waist in anticipation.

“You okay?” he asks nervously, he seems more anxious than you even are and it’s absolutely adorable.

“Marcus, sweetheart, I’m fine,” you giggle, your hands cradling the sides of his head. “Please, I want this. I’ve wanted this for forever. Fuck me, please.” He nods, planting kisses on your forehead, and his dick prods your slick entrance. Marcus sinks the head of his cock into you and hisses at the tightness of your pussy. You mewl as he stretches you open slowly, your arms wrapping around his neck and your bare chest pressing into his. He slowly buries his length into you, his cock twitching inside of you and he revels in the tightness of your cunt. You gasp once he’s sheathed inside of you, your pussy stretched wide open for him and only him. Your clit aches for more friction, and you desperately need him to move inside of you. 

“You good?” he groans through gritted teeth, his lips hovering above yours as your breaths mingles together.

“Marcus, baby, move please--fuck,” you gasp, gripping his shoulder tight. He doesn’t hesitate to begin pulling out slowly, and moving back inside your aching pussy. His thrusts are slow and gentle, trying to get you used to his length before he picks up the pace. He wants this to be as enjoyable for you as possible and he’s only able to do so by starting out painstakingly slow. After a few more slow, languid thrusts, he gauges a slightly quickened pace. You moan, locking his lips with yours, and sloppily kiss him as you begin to try and thrust against him, searching for a rhythm. Your hips rock with his, his thick cock gliding in and out of your pussy, but your clit still craves more friction.

“My clit--shit, Marcus,” you hiss against his lips. He dips one of his fingers between your bodies and begins flicking your clit gently and expertly as he continues to fuck you. You gasp and whimper into the kiss as he keeps flicking the sensitive bud in rhythm with his thrusts. You bring his lower lip between your teeth and tug it gently, Marcus groaning before locking your lips again.

“Fuck--cariña, you’re so tight--so good--for me, shit,” Marcus growls into the kiss, his thrusts keeping pace but becoming harder. You moan, the pressure on your clit becoming almost too much for you as his cock stretches you wide and fills you each time he thrusts all the way into you. “Wanted you--wanted--I’ve dreamt about fucking this tight little pussy, cariña.”

The way he speaks to you makes your body run hot, his words burning into your skin and making you flush. You moan your affirmations, wanting to urge him on to keep going.

“Baby, keep going--keep talking,” you choke out between gasps and moans. Marcus continues his pace on your clit and with his thrusts, not faltering even once as he groans in pleasure.

“I wanted to bend you over my desk and fuck the shit out of you. I--shit--wanted to eat your pussy out while you made breakfast; on my knees, my head between your thighs, licking your cunt like that’s what you were serving me,” he growls, dipping his head down briefly to lazily suck your nipple, switching between both breasts. “You--fuck--mija, you’re mine. You’re finally mine, I won’t lose you.” His hot breath tickles your breasts and he kisses his way back up to your lips locking them together again. His words were not possessive by any means, they were desperate, needing you to know how much it would hurt him if he were to lose someone else he loved the same way he lost his wife. The pressure he’s creating from the flicking of your clit partnered with his cock buried deep inside your pussy as it tickles your g-spot, becomes too much and before you know it you’re close. Your cunt clenches around his cock a few times, making Marcus groan into your mouth. You gasp and whimper, wanting to cum for him again; you want to come undone in front of him, show him just how much you’ve wanted to fuck him all these years. You roll your hips up into his, frantically searching for your orgasm as your thrusts begin to quicken and your pussy clenches around him once again.

“Marcus, I’m close,” you whimper into your sloppy kiss, clinging to his back and dragging your nails up and down the skin there.

“Cariña, cum for me. You look so sexy when you finish,” he whispers huskily against your lips, nipping at your bottom lip as he thrusts harder into you again, the slapping of skin echoing throughout the room. Your body tenses underneath him, white spots clouding your vision as your cunt clenches around his dick, milking him. Your body tingles and you spasm against his bare chest, digging your nails further into his back. Marcus thrusts into you, hissing when you clench around his throbbing cock, as he rides out his climax. His groans and whimpers growing louder as he reaches his orgasm, then promptly quieting down once he begins to come down. You pant, your chest rising and falling as you also come down from your own climax. Marcus slumps next to you, his twitching length still sheathed inside of you as your legs tangle together. He grabs your chin and tilts your head towards him to kiss you, slowly and featherlike, wanting to savor your taste. You lay like that for a moment, your sweaty chests rising and falling together as you both try to catch your breath.

“I’m so in love with you,” Marcus says your name, draping his arm over your stomach and squeezing your waist gently. “And I will show you just how much I love you every day, mi amor,” He plants a kiss on your shoulder. “I’ll never let you forget it.” He kisses up and down the length of your neck, his tongue darting out occasionally to taste you.

“You’re my hero,” you giggle, turning on your side to face him while his dick still remains buried inside of you. He rolls his eyes playfully, having heard hundreds of different women say that very phrase over the course of his career, but it strikes something inside of him when he hears you say it. “You saved me. I love you.” You snuggle into his chest and pepper kisses along the sweaty skin there.

“I’ll always be here, cariña. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll catch you when you fall, like how you catch me when I do. I would be so lost without you, mi corazon,” he says tenderly, planting a kiss to the crown of your head and wrapping his arms around you tighter. He loosens his hold on you, and pulls his half-hardened cock out of your pussy. He disposes of the condom then pulls the sheets back over your bodies, bringing you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you. Marcus plants slow, languid kisses all over your face, wanting to make you feel all the love he holds for you. Your eyes droop shut, fatigue beginning to overcome your body as you’re trapped in Marcus’ arms. But this is a place you wouldn’t want to escape, no, you feel safe here. Marcus won’t let you go, and you wouldn’t let him go either. Marcus has your heart, and there’s no one else you’d trust to keep it. He’s your hero, after all. The hero who saved you with his love.

[440mxs-wife]

No One Hunts Alone

Pairing: Dean x Reader. Other Characters: Sam Winchester, Ruthie (Reader’s BFF) and Amber (OFC’s), Jim and Trevor Morrison (OMC’s)

Word Count: 6460

Warnings: Some mutual pining, Reader is a little stubborn, dreaded class reunion, mostly fluffy though.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You were putting away some freshly folded laundry when your phone buzzed in your pocket. The screen showed the call was from your best friend, Ruthie. "Hey, chickie, what's going on?" you asked. Silence. "Ruthie? What's wrong, honey?" you insisted. Your panic level escalated with each passing silent moment. "Please, Ruthie, answer me," you pleaded.

"Hey," Ruthie finally answered softly. "Listen, I know you said you wouldn't be able, or didn't want to come back home for the class reunion, but...." she trailed off. "I really think you should reconsider. Please. There's something weird going on around here. You know, your kind of weird," she emphasized.

Dammit. You pinched the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger and sighed heavily. "Yeah, okay. I'll pack up tonight, and leave early in the morning. I can bunk with you, right?" you asked.

"Of course you can stay here, you never have to ask. You know that," she gently chided. "Just you, though? You're not bringing the Wonder Twins?" she asked.

"Nope, just me," you replied. For now, anyway. They have too much going on already, wouldn't want to be a bother to them, you thought. You heard a knocking at your door. "Ruthie, I gotta go. Someone's at the door. I'll text you before I leave tomorrow," you promised.

You opened your door to find Dean standing there. "Hey, sweetheart. Ready for our Movie Night in the 'Cave?" he asked.

Ordinarily, you'd jump at the chance to spend any amount of time you could with Dean. But you had to pack tonight so you could easily slip out in the morning. "Is that tonight? I'm sorry, Dean, but I'm kinda tired," you replied.

"Aw, come on, it's still early. Please?" Dean tried his best to give you the puppy dog eyes.

"Not tonight, Dean. I'm sorry, I'm just tired and I have a lot on my mind right now. This thing with Ruthie--" you stopped short before you gave everything away.

"Wait, what 'thing' with Ruthie, is everything okay?" he asked with concern. Dean knew how close you and Ruthie were, that you were more like sisters than best friends.

"It's just some local stuff. It's probably a bigger deal in her mind than it actually is," you explained, hoping he'd buy it.

"Well, if you're sure," he remarked, raising one eyebrow. "But you owe me for missing our regular Movie Night," he grinned and tapped the end of your nose.

"Put it on my tab, Winchester," you teased. "Goodnight, Dean," you replied softly.

"Goodnight, darlin'. Sweet dreams," he responded. You closed the door and leaned back against it, breathing a deep sigh of relief.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After he left your door, Dean walked into the library, where Sam was sitting at the table, reading. He looked up to see the concerned look on his brother's face. "What's up with you?" Sam asked.

Dean explained that he had just reminded it was time for your usual Movie Night in the Dean Cave, but that you had backed out. "So what, Dean? Maybe she really is tired and has a lot on her mind," Sam defended.

"Nah, I think there's more to it than that, Sammy. She said there was a 'thing' going on with Ruthie, then tried to play it off as no big deal. Some kind of 'local' situation," Dean muttered.

"You want me to check online, see if there's anything resembling a case in her hometown?" Sam asked.

"For right now, let's just keep an eye on things, see what happens. There has to be some reason she didn't or doesn't want me--er, us--knowing what's going on," Dean replied. Sam nodded in agreement but grinned internally at Dean's almost confession.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You went to bed shortly after packing your bags and stowing them in your closet. You felt a twinge of guilt about turning Dean down for your Movie Night, considering your feelings for him. As far as he was concerned, you have been and probably always would be just his best friend. For you, though, it was more than a crush. Yep. You were full-blown, head-over-heels, heart eyes, Cupid's-arrow-in-the-butt, in love with Dean Winchester.

Too many times, you were almost caught staring at him, wondering what it would be like to be held in his strong arms. Or kissed by those plump, perfect lips. One look in his forest-green eyes and you were a goner, throwing almost all speaking ability out the window. For all his strength and take-charge attitude, though, he let you see his tender side as well. The one that brought you tea when you weren't feeling well, or held you close when you watched a horror movie in the 'Cave. How tenderly he dressed your wounds after a hunt.

Yep. In love with your best friend, and you couldn't do thing one about it. Not without it becoming awkward around the bunker when he didn't return your feelings. Sam figured it out a long time ago, but you made him promise not to say anything to Dean about it. So far, so good, but you weren't sure how much longer you could go without him finding out.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The way Ruthie sounded on the phone made your heart clench, especially when she said it was your kind of weird. She knew what you did for a day job and that it was important, even though she didn't like thinking about you in danger.

Ruthie didn't give you many details, but because she was involved, that made it personal. Despite having so little to go on, you knew you had to drop everything and go. There was no way you were going to trust another hunter to handle it.

There was always the hope that it was a 'milk run' kind of situation, and that you could cover it on your own. If not, you were sure that you could call Sam and Dean for help, though you considered that as a last resort. They have enough to worry about. No, you thought, this one's on me, I can do this. I have to do this myself. You rolled over, closed your eyes and tried to get some sleep.

Early the next morning, you quietly slipped out of your room with your bags and locked the door behind you. Using one of the secret passageways, you silently made your way to the garage, undetected. Your weapons bag was put into the warded compartment under the trunk bottom, with your other duffel bag on top. Before you left, you turned off the GPS function on your phone so you couldn't be tracked. You texted Ruthie, then eased your car out of the garage and headed for your hometown.

Your route out of town took you by one of the nearby parks where Sam usually went for his morning run. You hoped that you had left the bunker before him, to reduce the chances that he would see you as you drove past him. Just as you passed the park, you saw a familiar figure in a navy blue jogging shorts, sweatshirt and beanie. The figure turned his head in your direction and you knew you'd been made. Welp, you thought. So much for a clean getaway.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam turned his head just in time to see you drive past the park. He stopped on the path to stretch, then pulled out his phone to call you.

Next to you on the seat, your phone rang. A quick glance at the Caller ID showed that it was Sam, but you chose not to answer it at first. Immediately after it stopped ringing, it started again, so this time you picked up.

"Hey, you're up awfully early, what's going on?" Sam asked.

"Nothing, Sam, I'm running some errands," you explained.

"You don't really expect me to believe that, do you?" he shot back.

"Believe what you want to believe, Sam. Listen, I have something that I need to handle. I'll be back in 2, maybe 3 days, tops. Bye, Sam," you replied.

"No, wait, don't hang up! I'm headed back to the bunker now. Just please pull over and wait so that Dean and I can catch up to you. Whatever it is, we want to help. Please," he implored.

You thought about doing as he asked, but then you realized that they have enough to worry about in their own lives. Surely you could handle this one case by yourself. "I'm sorry, Sam. You guys have enough to deal with on your own, I can't put this on you. I have to do this on my own. Please understand. I'll be home in 2-3 days," you said. After you hung up, you turned your phone off.

Sam knew there wasn't a moment to waste. Whatever you had going on, he knew it was better for you to have back-up, despite what you thought. He hightailed it back to the bunker to wake up Dean and try to figure out what you're doing.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"She WHAT?!?" Dean roared.

"I saw her on the highway, headed out of town, so I called her to ask what was going on. All she told me was that there was something she had to handle, and she'd be back in 2 or 3 days at most. I tried to get her to pull over and wait for us, so we could go with her. She said we had enough to deal with on our own, that she wasn't going to put this on us. Then she hung up, and I haven't been able to reach her since," Sam explained.

Dean cast his eyes downward and shook his head. "That stubborn woman. Doesn't she know that I--we--would drop everything to help her? That hunting alone in a highly emotional state is dangerous? What if something goes wrong, what if she zigs instead of zags and she ends up getting hurt? Or worse?" he whispered the last part.

Sam studied his brother as he ranted about you and your decision to hunt alone. Granted, he had the same thoughts as Dean, that he was worried about you, but with Dean....it was more. "You care about her, don't you?" he asked.

"Of course I do, Sam! She's my best friend," Dean snapped.

Sam gave his brother an epic bitch face. "C'mon, Dean. You know what I'm talking about," Sam admonished.

Dean couldn't form the words at first, so he just nodded. "Been wanting to tell her for a long time, man. I decided that last night was time to 'nut up or shut up', which is why I waited until our Movie Night in the 'Cave. I was going to tell her everything," he explained. "She's amazing, Sam. So sweet and kind, smart, she's got the best sense of humor and she's an awesome hunter. Damn gorgeous, too."

Sam chuckled softly at his brother's assessment of you. "So, you said this had something to do with Ruthie. Wouldn't Ruthie's house be the first place she's going to go?" Sam asked, to which Dean nodded. "Okay. I'm going to go shower, then we're gonna pack up and head in that direction. You with me?" Sam inquired, his hand out for Dean to take.

"Yeah, let's do this," he said as he locked hands with his brother to bring him in for a bro hug. Dean caught a whiff of Sam's shirt and immediately drew back, waving in front of his nose, which was wrinkled in disgust. "Whoa, dude, you reek! Get to the showers, man, before I pass out!" he grinned. Sam shook his head, and as he left, Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder.

After Sam left the room, Dean pulled out his phone and dialed your number, only to have it go straight to voicemail. He decided to lay it all out on the line and let the chips fall where they may.

"Hey, sweetheart. Listen, Sam told me you're on your way out of town, on a case. I-I know you have your reasons for doing this alone, and I hope you'll tell me sometime. But please, honey, whatever you do, be careful," Dean pleaded.

"I'm....I'm not gonna lie to you, I'm kinda freaking out right now, 'cause you're out there, alone, and you don't have to be. I wish you were here with me, because then I'd know you were safe. Please call me back when you get this," he ended the message and started packing.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ruthie was sitting on her front porch when you pulled your car into her driveway. You got out of the car, grabbed your duffel bag with your clothes and headed into the house. Ruthie's husband, Jim, was waiting inside the door and gave you a hug when you came in. He took your bag and put it in the back bedroom, where you would be sleeping. Ruthie gave you a hug as well and asked you to join her in the kitchen while she made you something for lunch.

A plate with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, chips and two cookies was placed in front of you. "EAT. Then, you're going to tell me why you didn't want the Lumberjack Brothers to join you on this case," she remarked grimly. "You know, they've been calling me, asking what's going on and if I've seen you. They're worried about you, sweetie, especially Dean. He sounded miserable," she added.

You dropped your head to the table. "Oh, man, that is the last thing I wanted. I thought I'd come here, take care of things and that would be it. Zip, zap, no muss, no fuss. I can see now that was a mistake," you admitted. You pulled out your phone and turned it back on, only to see about 10 missed calls and 4 voicemails from Sam.

There were twice as many calls from Dean, but only one voicemail message. You punched in the code and waited for the recording to start. What you heard was the last thing you expected. Instead of an angry tirade, you heard the concern, the understanding, but mostly the fear in his voice that you were out here on your own. You realized that you had made a huge mistake in thinking you could work this case without them. Time to face the music, you thought.

With trembling fingers, you accessed your contacts list and selected Dean's number. You wondered if he'd even pick up, and if he did, how would he react to you calling him? You had to try, had to start somewhere. Just as you were about ready to hang up, you heard, "Hello? Sweetheart, is that you?" he asked.

"H-hey, Dean, it's me," you answered. There was an audible sigh of relief on his end. "Dean, I'm sorry for leaving and not telling you where I was going. I--" you started to explain, tears threatening.

"Never mind that right now, just listen. Sammy and I are on our way to Ruthie's right now, so stay there with her and Jim, where it's safe. We should be there in a couple of hours, hopefully less. I am very much looking forward to hearing your explanation of why you thought hunting on your own was such a good idea," Dean replied sternly.

You swallowed back a sob at hearing the disappointment in his voice. "Yes, Dean," you choked out. "I promise I'll wait here, talk to Ruthie and see if we can figure out what's going on," you whispered.

Dean agreed that talking about the case with Ruthie and getting some details down would be a good idea. "Hey?" he called.

"Yes, Dean?" you answered.

"Whatever this is, whatever is going on, we'll figure it out and fix it together. Remember, sweetheart?" he inquired softly.

"I do, I remember, Dean. See you soon," you responded.

After you hung up the phone, Ruthie pointed down the hall and ordered you to go get some rest. She said she would wake you up when Sam and Dean got there, and then you all could talk about the case.

You thought about protesting, but you figured you'd made enough bad choices already. Finally, you relented and trudged to the bedroom at the end of the hall. Once inside, you changed into more comfy sleep clothes and crawled beneath the blankets. As soon as your head hit the pillow, you were out cold.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Around a couple of hours later, you awoke from your peaceful slumber to voices and laughter in the kitchen. You splashed some water on your face, took a swig of mouthwash then pointed yourself towards the voices. Ruthie looked up to see you standing in the doorway. "Hey! There she is! Did you enjoy your nap, honey?" she asked.

You nodded. With your eyes transfixed on Sam and Dean, mostly Dean, you tried to gauge their mood. Sam rose from the table, coffee cup in hand. He motioned that he was going to get a refill on his coffee, and as he passed by you, he squeezed then patted your shoulder.

"I'm going to get some coffee," you mumbled. As you walked by Dean, he stood up and you knew he was following you.

He brushed his knuckles up and down your bare arm. "Can we talk?" he murmured. You nodded and led him by the hand out to Ruthie's back porch. Dean stood next to you at the railing, neither of you speaking at first. You turned to Dean and opened your mouth to say something, then closed your mouth again as if you'd thought better of it.

"Okay, I'll start then," Dean remarked. "That night I asked you to watch a movie with me, this was what you were talking about with Ruthie? A case?" he asked.

"Yes. She told me about the stupid class reunion a while ago, and I had already decided that I didn't want to come back for it. But, when she said something else was happening here that was 'our kind of weird', I had to check it out," you replied.

"But why didn't you tell me or Sam about it? Why did you think you had to do this all on your own?" he demanded.

"Dean, we just got back from a series of back-to-back hunts. You and Sam were exhausted, I was trying to give you guys time to rest. Besides, you two have enough going on, you don't need me adding to your list," you retorted.

"So, what, you don't think you need rest as well? Last time I checked, you got thrown around pretty good on that last salt-and-burn we did," Dean snapped.

"Dean, she's my sister! No matter what, no matter when or why, if she calls, I drop everything and come running. That's how it works," you shot back.

He put his hands on your shoulders then ran them down your arms and cupped your elbows to pull you closer. "Sweetheart, I understand that, really I do, but you are just as important to us. If you had brought us in on this case, exhausted or not, we would've dropped everything for you," he affirmed.

You laid a hand alongside his face. "I know, Dean, and I'm sorry for running out like that on you and Sam," you replied gently. "Let's go back inside and Ruthie will fill us in on what she knows. Then we can hopefully fill in the blanks," you started to walk back into the house.

Dean caught your hand in his and pulled you back to face him. "Hey. I'm still a little upset with you," he declared as he narrowed his eyes at you a bit. Then he cupped your cheek and caressed it with his thumb. "But I'm also glad you're okay and that we're working this together," he added, softening his gaze. He pressed his lips to your forehead in a lingering kiss and you closed your eyes to savor the moment. "Come on, let's head inside to see what we're dealing with," he said.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You and Dean walked back into the kitchen, hand-in-hand, which did not escape anyone's notice. "I was just starting to tell Sam what I know, Sis," Ruthie informed you. "I was in the grocery store the other day, and I heard someone mention Trevor Morrison's name."

"Ugh," you remarked, rolling your eyes and making a noise of disgust. "And?"

"And, they were saying that he just got back from some overseas trip, and that there was a late-night delivery to his house the following day," Ruthie explained.

"How big was the delivery? Did anyone see any strange markings on the package?" you inquired.

"No one mentioned seeing anything strange on the box. Size-wise, not that big, maybe the size of a phone book and about as thick," Ruthie answered.

"Sam, do you think you can patch in to the cargo plane manifests and figure out what it could be?" Dean asked.

"Let me see what I can do, Dean," Sam replied, taking out his laptop.

While Sam was getting his laptop set up, Dean noticed the troubled expression on your face and pulled you aside. "What's the deal with you and Trevor Morrison?" he asked.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself before responding. "He's an ex-boyfriend from high school. We were supposed to go to Prom together, but we sorta didn't after I found out that he cheated on me with the head cheerleader," you muttered.

Dean put his arm around you and rubbed his hand up and down your back. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, sweetheart," he murmured.

"I got it, here it is. The Grimoire of Astaroth is what Trevor had delivered to his house," Sam swung the laptop around to show everyone the packing slip.

"So, what's the significance?" you asked. "Who's Astaroth?"

"Astaroth is a demon, who makes his appearance by riding a dragon-like creature and carrying a viper in his right hand. The lore says he knows the answers to the Past, Present and Yet to Come, and can discover all secrets," Sam explained.

"That's an awful lot of power in the hands of one man," you warned. "We need to get in to his house and retrieve that Grimoire."

"Leave that to me, dear sister," Ruthie said with a smug grin on her face.

You quirked an eyebrow at her statement. "And just how do you propose to get us in there?" you asked.

"I can get everyone tickets for the reunion. You go in with Sam or Dean, then Jim and I will go in with you. Whoever doesn't go in is in charge of surveillance, telling us where the cameras and security guards are. Sound good?" Ruthie suggested.

You, Sam and Dean looked at each other in silent communication. "It's worked for us in the past, I don't see why it won't work this time," you acknowledged. "Which one of you is going in with me?" you asked.

The boys looked at each other, brought up their fist for Rock, Paper, Scissors. You and Ruthie both rolled your eyes at the way that this was being decided, but you knew this was the easiest way. "Okay, winner goes in to the party, loser is stuck with surveillance," Dean said.

"Ready? One, two, three!" Sam counted. He chose paper, while Dean chose scissors. A smile as wide as the Grand Canyon broke out over Dean's face.

"You bring your 'Fed threads'?" you asked.

"Always, sweetheart. What about you? Do you need to go shopping for something to wear?" Dean inquired.

Ruthie spoke up. "I'm sure I have something she can wear. I might have picked something up for her when I was out shopping for my own dress," she added with a wry grin.

Your eyes narrowed at her. "Did you set this up just to get me out here?" you exclaimed.

"Relax, would ya? No, I did not set this up, but there is definitely something weird going on. You coming out here is just a nice little side bonus," she stated simply. "Come on, let me show you what you'll be wearing."

"I'm going out to the car and get our bags," Dean announced.

As you walked by Sam, you caught him chuckling quietly to himself. You took hold of the open sides of his flannel shirt and yanked him downward. "You lost on purpose, didn't you? You KNOW he always chooses scissors, and you planned your move accordingly, right?" you remarked, then let go of his shirt.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. If you'll excuse me, I have to set up surveillance," Sam replied, still with a smirk on his face. "But you're welcome," he said in a sing-song voice.

"Yeah, right, you have no idea what I'm talking about," you mumbled. "Ruthie! Where's this dress you have for me?" you barked then walked down the hall towards her room.

"Step into my office, sister dear. It's time to make some magic!" Ruthie declared.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Where did you get this dress? It's gorgeous!" you whispered.

"You'd better hope Dean's wearing socks, because you're going to knock them off of him when he sees you," Ruthie smirked.

"I don't know about that, but thank you so much for this," you turned and gave Ruthie a hug.

The floor-length dress was a one-shoulder, with the strap encrusted with crystals in a starburst pattern. The bodice was black, which continued down the length of the dress until it faded into a deep red at about knee-level. There was a band of crystals at the waist to divide the top half from the bottom half. A pair of black pumps completed the outfit.

Ruthie even did your makeup for you which was great, because as a hunter, you didn't have much call for it. She curled and fluffed your hair, pulling it back on each side with crystal-encrusted clips. "There, I think that should do it, don't you think?" she remarked.

You stared at yourself in the full-length mirror, trying to recognize yourself. "Whoa. This can't be me. Is it?" you asked.

"Of course it is, silly," Ruthie chuckled. "Now wait here while I get ready, then we'll walk out there together. I'll go first, save the best for last," she giggled, while you just shook your head at her in amusement.

While the two of you were getting ready, Dean slipped out and found a place that was able to rent him a tux at the last minute. He was looking forward to going to this party, because it meant he'd be going with you on his arm.

Ruthie was wearing a floor-length navy blue dress, strapless, with a gathered bodice. The pattern was criss-crossed in the chest area, so it held everything in place. "Okay, Sis, it's your turn. Come on down!" she called.

You stepped into your black suede pumps and nervously strode down the hall, fidgeting nearly the entire way. Sam saw you first, a look of surprise mixed with wonder flitted across his face. But his was not the opinion you sought, the one that meant the most to you was yet to be determined.

Dean raised his head and locked his eyes with yours when you stepped fully into the room. His eyes widened and his lips slightly parted in amazement, then closed. He slowly walked towards you and held out his hand for you to take, which you did. Dean raised your hand to his lips, brushing them gently across your knuckles. "Wow. Sweetheart, you look gorgeous," he rumbled in that deep, sexy voice of his.

You could feel the heat rising from your neck, all the way to the ends of your hair. "Thank you, Dean. Might I say, you look particularly handsome yourself in that not-Fed-suit tuxedo," you noted with a small curtsy.

"Whaaaat? This old thing?" he replied then held out his arm for you. "Shall we, milady?" he asked.

"We shall, good sir," you answered, taking his arm and feeling him tuck yours in close to his side. "Here," you reached into your small handbag and pulled out the keys. "You can drive my car, because I know there will be valet parking. And there's no way you'll let anyone park Baby except you," you remarked.

"You're right about that, darlin'. You trust me to drive your car?" Dean asked.

You stopped him and stared straight into his emerald eyes. "I trust you with my life, Dean. Why wouldn't I trust you with my car?" you reasoned. When the two of you reached your car, Dean opened the passenger door and waited to close it until you and your dress were all settled.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The short ride over to Morrison Manor was mostly silent, except for the rumble of the engine. Dean took hold of your hand and interlaced your fingers. Every once in a while, you'd catch him looking in your direction, so you sent him an encouraging smile. He would respond by lifting your joined hands to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. The toothy grin he gave you afterwards was more than enough to make your heart flutter in your chest.

Dean pulled up to the valet station, stepped out and hurried over to your side of the car to open your door. He held out his hand to help you exit the car, which you readily accepted. Just before you entered the manor, Dean tugged on your arm to pull you back a little. "You ready for this?" he asked softly.

You looked at Dean and gave him a soft smile. "Yep. We go in, get the Grimoire, then get out. The rest of it, facing everyone in there? That's nothing. I don't owe anyone an explanation, nor am I required to have lived up to their expectations. I'm good with who I am, with who you and Sam are. I'm proud of us," you replied while you walked into the event.

Dean leaned over and placed a lingering kiss to your temple. "Let's do this," he murmured against your skin. You nodded slowly and the two of you walked in behind Ruthie and Jim.

Sam's voice came over your earpiece. "Okay, I've found it. The book is in his study, but unfortunately, so is he at the moment. You'll have to do something until he's clear," he informed you and Dean.

"Come on, sweetheart. Dance with me," Dean said, leading you to the dance floor. You followed, and Dean took your left hand and curled his fingers around it. His other hand snaked around your waist and splayed across your back. The contact of his fingertips on your partially bare back caused you to gasp at the sensation.

"Relax, darlin', it's just dancing," Dean whispered in your ear.

Easy for you to say, you thought, with your heart beating a mile a minute. At that moment, the voice you never wanted to hear again was demanding your attention. Your dance with Dean was interrupted by none other than the former head cheerleader, Amber.

Dean must have sensed your apprehension because he tightened his hold on you all the more, making sure you knew he was there for you. "Do you trust me?" he asked. You nodded slowly.

Amber stood in front of you and Dean, holding on to Trevor's arm. "Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her presence. I thought you weren’t coming," she drawled. Shifting her attention to Dean, Amber let out a low whistle. "Wow, she must have paid a fortune for you," she sneered.

"Excuse me? That happens to be my wife you're talking about, and I think you should be a little more respectful," Dean snapped.

"Ha! You expect me to believe that? You and her, husband and wife? Prove it. Let me see the ring," Amber demanded.

You looked around nervously, but when your eyes met Dean's, he gave you an almost imperceptible wink. "Honey? You left this on the sink in the bathroom, remember? You must've taken it off while you were getting ready for tonight," Dean pulled a ring out of his pocket and slid it onto your left ring finger. He brought your hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss to where he'd just placed the ring.

Amber gave you a snort of disgust and stormed off, while Trevor shook his head at Amber's lack of manners. "Excuse me, I have a business matter to attend to," he left you and walked off in the opposite direction as Amber.

"That was smooth, and quick thinking, thank you. Where did you get the rings?" you inquired.

Dean wiggled his left hand for you to see his ring before grasping your left hand. "Remember that museum job where we went undercover?" he asked, to which you nodded. "Well, these are the rings we used for that case. Good thing I kept them in the glove compartment all this time," he declared.

"Thank you, Dean. I don't know what I'd do without you," you remarked, leaning into his embrace.

"No thanks necessary, darlin'," he replied while his hand settled on the small of your back.

"Uh, guys, I hate to interrupt, but a window of opportunity just opened to go into the study and grab that book," Sam interjected.

Dean released you from his hold and grinned as he searched your face. "Ready?" he asked. You nodded your head enthusiastically and took his outstretched hand in yours. "Then let's get this thing and go home," he remarked.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Around 90 minutes, a couple of slices of pizza and a beer or two later, everyone had returned to Ruthie's house to relax. The Grimoire of Astaroth was safely stowed in the warded compartment in the trunk of your car to escape detection. Once you returned to the bunker, it would be catalogued as had been done with other charmed or cursed objects.

"Who's up for another round?" you asked, rising from your chair at the kitchen table. Everyone raised their hand, so Dean got up to help you. Before you could open the refrigerator door for more beer, Dean caught your hand and motioned for you to follow him outside. Curious, you slipped out the back door to the porch and into the cool night air.

"You warm enough?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm okay," you replied just as a shiver ran through you.

Dean chuckled. "Come here," he said as he unzipped his sweatshirt and wrapped his arms around you from behind.

"Mmm, that feels nice, thank you," you sighed and closed your eyes.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you," Dean began. "You've been my best friend for the longest time, and I wouldn't trade that for the world. That's why what I'm going to say next is so difficult," he added.

You turned around in Dean's arms to face him. "Dean, no matter what it is, you know you can tell me and I'll still be your best friend," you tried to assure him.

Dean looked up to the starry sky and took a deep breath then locked eyes with you again. "I hope so, sweetheart, because I wanted to tell you I'm in love with you," he declared.

"What?" you whispered.

"It's true. You're smart, kind, you have the best sense of humor, even though you still laugh at my feeble attempts at telling jokes. You have the biggest heart of anyone I know, and your dedication to family is almost stronger than mine. As was just recently proven, I believe," he chuckled.

"Yeah," you returned his chuckle.

"And for me to say you're so beautiful just doesn't even cover it. From your eyes that look at things from a different perspective, to your cute little nose that crinkles when you're researching. From your smile that brightens up my day just to see it, to hands that are tough when swinging a machete and soft when sewing up an injury. Ones I can't wait to have roaming over every inch of my body while I'm taking my sweet time to learn every inch of yours," he explained.

"I had no idea you felt this way, Dean, but I'm glad you told me. Kinda makes what I have to say next so easy, which is I'm in love with you too. I have been for a long time, but I didn't want to give up what we had if you didn't love me. So I kept my feelings to myself," you finished.

"Oh, sweetheart," Dean whispered.

"There are so many things I love about you. Such as, you like to show the world how tough you are, but I know about the flip side of that. The one that tenderly patches me up after a hunt or takes care of me when I'm sick. Or holds me in his arms so I feel safe from my fears, real or imagined. The side that knows when something's bothering me and won't let up until it's out in the open. And believe me, you're no slouch in the looks department," you giggle at the last part.

"Really? Well, don't stop now, baby, I think you're really on to something," he replied.

"Let's start with the eyes. I know I can tell you anything and I won't see an ounce of judgement in them. Plus, they kind of shine when you talk about the things you love, like music," you started.

Your index finger began tracing a line down the edge of his jaw. "Your smile is contagious and it lights up the room. And last but not least," you whispered, inching ever closer. "I really want to know how soft your lips are. So, for the sake of science," you closed the gap and meshed your lips together with his.

The kiss itself was perfect, all you'd ever imagined, and then some. Your lips left his for a brief second until he recaptured them and dove back in for more. As your mouths moved in tandem, Dean's tongue swept along your bottom lip to request access, which you readily granted.

"Mmf, sweetheart, I love you so much," he murmured against your mouth. He nudged your head upwards to trail a path of open-mouthed kisses across and down your neck. Once he reached the place where your neck met your collarbone, he attached his lips and sucked at the skin. When he pulled back, he had left a mark there for all to see. "Now everyone will know who you belong to," he grinned.

"My heart was always yours, Dean. Always and forever," you sighed. "I love you."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tags:

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[sachigram]

With Teeth Chapter 4

((click here to read on ao3!))

The next few days pass by normally for Shizuo. He's been making more of an effort to be social, doesn't want to make his friends feel left out of his life. He could see how it hurt them before when he pushed them away. As a result, he has more things to do, and he feels better than he has in ages.

Tonight, he's sitting across from Tom, next to Vorona. They're all having drinks to celebrate a successful week at work, and Shizuo is looking forward to the weekend. He doesn't have any plans on his off days, but he likes not having to worry about tracking down some low-life, even if he's only free of it two days a week.

“Any plans this weekend?” Tom asks them both. He's flushed, clearly tipsy already. Shizuo has a high tolerance, and he's pretty sure Vorona does too, because she's drinking faster than either of them, and she seems perfectly sober.

“Negative,” Vorona replies while Shizuo merely shakes his head. “I may go to the bookstore tomorrow.”

“Your checks all go to books,” Tom says. “You should live a little.”

“To acquire knowledge is life's goal.”

Tom looks from her to Shizuo and raises his eyebrows. Immediately, Shizuo feels like Tom is about to do something stupid.

“Why don't the two of you hang out together? Since neither of you have plans.” Tom sips his drink, a smug look of satisfaction on his face. Shizuo's blood boils.

“I—“ he starts, but is interrupted when Vorona speaks.

“That would be nice.”

“Huh?” Shizuo asks, turning to face her. She's looking at him with her usual indifferent gaze, not the least bit affronted by the idea.

“If it would be agreeable for Shizuo-senpai, I see no reason we cannot meet tomorrow,” Vorona says, and she tosses back the rest of her drink. It's straight gin, no mixer, no rocks, but she doesn't even flinch. Just the smell of it has been burning Shizuo's nose.

“Oh, um. If you want to,” Shizuo says, unsure of what's even happening.

“So it's a date then,” Tom announces, and he goes to get them all more drinks.

***

“You shouldn't have done that,” Shizuo grumbles later, after Vorona has split away from them to go catch her train. “You made her feel like she had to agree.”

“Shizuo, come on, man. How do you miss the way she looks at you? She's had a thing for you since she started working with us.” Tom is stumbling a bit as he walks, and Shizuo considers letting him face-plant if he falls.

“She does not. And even if she did, what the hell am I supposed to do about it?”

Tom looks up at Shizuo, giving him such an incredulous look that it's almost reminisce of the way the flea looks at him.

“What are you supposed to do about it?” Tom repeats, and then he laughs. “Oh, my god. You're killing me.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean. I'm not someone that anyone should have a thing for. I'm dangerous, and it's only gotten worse.” Shizuo looks up at the sky, sees the lights of airplanes flying overhead. “I don't want to hurt her.”

“You don't hurt people who don't deserve it,” Tom replies, and Shizuo thinks of that strange dream he had before, the one where Izaya was there, seeing his worst memory. “Give yourself some credit, would you? Have fun. Try to be happy.”

“I am trying. This is a bad idea.”

“Well, too late now. If you stand her up, you really will be an asshole,” Tom says, and then he falls on his face. Shizuo makes no move to help him up.

Shizuo doesn't sleep that night. He's too anxious about his “date” with Vorona, has no idea what they'll do or what they'll talk about. He's tried before to think of himself as the kind of guy who would be lucky enough to have a pretty girl on his arm, but it's always too much of a fantasy, something unattainable and pointless to hope for. Vorona is strong, and she's seen him fight, knows what he's capable of, but it's different to behold someone dangerous from the sidelines and then up close, when it's turned on you. He imagines her look of indifference changing to real fear when he lunges at her, and he doesn't realize until he's waking up that he actually managed to slip into unconsciousness.

“Fuck.” He gets up from the bed, moving to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. He's terrified of what will come, of what he is. More than anything, he's sick of being so terrified. His reflection is older, maybe wiser, but all Shizuo can see is that same snotty kid who hurt someone he wanted to protect once.

***

He meets Vorona at the train station. She's dressed the same as she always is, and he's grateful she didn't do anything different in her routine for his sake. She lifts a hand in greeting, studying his face.

“You appear tired,” she says.

“Yeah. Didn't sleep well last night. Sorry.”

“No apology necessary. Perhaps we could get coffee first, both wake up a little more.”

As it turns out, following Vorona around isn't too different from trailing after Tom. She doesn't talk nearly as much, but she doesn't seem to mind taking the lead, and she doesn't take his silence as disinterest. They wind up going to the bookstore Vorona mentioned, grabbing coffee from a little kiosk outside before wandering the aisles. Vorona picks up a book every now and then, explains it to Shizuo in a way he can understand without being pretentious about it, and he finds that he's actually enjoying himself.

After Vorona purchases some new books, they make their way down the street to a restaurant she says she's been wanting to try. This is the part Shizuo was worried about, having to sit alone with her and have her realize he's got absolutely nothing interesting to say, but they manage to keep the conversation going. It's easier than Shizuo expected, and he finds himself thinking he should thank Tom later for setting this up.

“You seem happier than before,” Vorona says when they're walking out of the restaurant. “You were so quiet for so long.”

Shizuo opens his mouth to ask what she means, but he thinks he knows. He was feeling sorry for himself after the bite, wanted to keep everyone out, pushed them away. He is happier now than he was then, but he's still a coward, and he's still scared of anyone learning his secret.

“I'm better now,” he says, feeling that it's true.

“I am very glad,” she replies, and she gives him a rare smile.

That night, as Shizuo walks home after escorting Vorona to the train station, he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket.

“Yo,” he says, picking up the call.

“How did it go?”  Tom asks.

“It was...nice,” Shizuo says. He can practically feel Tom's frustrations through the phone.

“Nice? That's not telling me anything!”

“We had a good time. It was much better than I thought it would be.”

“I guess that's all I'm going to get from you. Either way, I'm glad. I think you'll both be good for each other.”

“Yeah,” Shizuo replies. For the first time in his life, he can picture a girl on his arm. “Me too.”

***

The days that follow are slow, but enjoyable. Shizuo goes to work, hangs out with Tom and Vorona, makes plans to spend time with Vorona again on the upcoming weekend. He's almost able to forget all about his ailment, and the bullshit alliance he has with Izaya, who has been silent since storming out of his place the morning after the full moon. Shizuo will have to see him soon so he can stock back up on his potion, and he's not looking forward to it. Part of him worries what Izaya might do if he learns Shizuo is dating Vorona. Izaya wants to ruin every good thing in Shizuo's life. There's no way he wouldn't interfere.

Still, Shizuo is enjoying his period of peace. He's able to sidestep his involuntary entanglement with the other world, with Izaya. He's enjoying feeling like himself again, whoever that may be.

Friday night, before his date with Vorona on Saturday, he's able to find sleep easily, but it doesn't feel like sleeping. He closes his eyes in his room, opens them somewhere else. He hears the sounds of crying, of screaming, and while he should move away from it, he finds himself moving closer. There's a familiar scene before him, one of himself standing in front of a small boy cowering in a corner while two toddlers scream in their cribs. It feels like he's been here before, but he can't place why, not until the small boy looks up at him.

“Izaya,” Shizuo breathes. He doesn't know his own age here, but he can see how small Izaya is, how scared. It's unsettling. Shizuo has never seen fear on Izaya's face before.

“Who are you?” Izaya asks him, looking up at him with wonder.

“You don't know me?” Shizuo asks in disbelief. Izaya has his webs of deceit stretched over everything, over everyone, so time and space probably mean nothing to him either. But when Izaya shakes his head, Shizuo finds he instantly believes him.

“Am I dreaming?” Izaya looks around. “Are you a vision? You're not a ghost, right?”

“No,” Shizuo says. “I'm dreaming. I don't know what the fuck you're doing. You're a witch, right? You've gotta be the one doing something.”

Izaya flinches at the word “witch”, and he looks nervously around himself before looking back up at Shizuo.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Shizuo snaps, and Izaya flinches even more. Shizuo feels concern for the kid in front of him, even knowing who he is, or at least who he'll grow up to be. Is this real? It's not real; it can't be real. It's a dream, one of those lucid dreams he's heard about. He'll ask Shinra about it later.

“Your mind is loud,” Izaya says, and he stands up, padding across the floor to stand in front of Shizuo. How is the flea so tall? He's a small kid, can't be more than twelve if the twins are still toddlers, but Shizuo is looking in Izaya's eyes. Izaya snorts, amused. “I'm not tall. You're the same height as me.”

Shizuo looks down at himself, realizes he's a kid here, too, but with all his memories of the future. He looks back at Izaya, dubious of him, and the amusement drains from Izaya's face.

“You really don't like me,” Izaya says, and he fidgets.

“You ruined my life,” Shizuo spits. “Or you will, anyway.”

“Oh.” Izaya's voice is small. “I've sensed terrible things to come in the future. Things for myself, especially, but I don't know how to stop any of it. I don't think it can be stopped.”

“The future is shitty already, but you make it worse. You enjoy making people suffer. The Izaya I know is—“ Shizuo stops himself, realizes he was yelling. Izaya seems terrified of him, but also curious, his eyes shining even in the darkness of the room.

“You're the realest vision I've ever had,” Izaya says. “I hope I remember you. I forget them sometimes when they're over.” The lights of the room begin flickering on and off, and Izaya puts his hands over his ears. “Go away!” he shouts towards the corner of the room.

“What's happening? Who's doing this?” Shizuo asks, feeling like he should protect this child version of his greatest enemy. The Izaya before him is just a kid, and Shizuo doesn't know how or why, but he can feel how incredibly lonely Izaya is.

“A ghost,” Izaya replies, and he narrows his eyes at Shizuo as if daring him to argue. “I see them all the time, and they want me to help them, but I don't know how. They won't listen to me when I say that.”

“Where are your parents?”

Izaya shrugs, and Shizuo feels rage boiling inside him. He remembers hearing from Shinra once that Izaya's parents were never around, that Izaya raised the twins practically on his own. Mairu and Kururi are weird, certainly, and Shizuo isn't fond of the idea of letting them anywhere near his own brother, but he think they're good kids, all things considered, especially if this is how they were raised.

“My grandparents are around,” Izaya says, seeming to read Shizuo's thoughts. “Or, they will be tomorrow. They already came by today to bring food.”

“That's so fucked up,” Shizuo blurts, and to his surprise, Izaya smiles.

“My parents aren't bad people. They're incredibly busy, and they weren't expecting to have more kids.” Izaya looks to the the twins, who are watching him, still warbling even though the lights have stopped flickering for now. Their little hands are reaching towards him through the bars of their cribs. “As for my grandparents, they're not in great health. They can't do much to help aside from cooking and checking in every now and then.”

“Sounds like a lot of excuses,” Shizuo says, thinking of his own family. His mother never even wanted to leave their family overnight, much less weeks, months at a time. Izaya shrugs again.

“Maybe so. It doesn't matter much to me anymore. They never listened to me even when they were here.” Izaya studies Shizuo for a moment. “Your mind is—“

“Loud, yeah. You keep saying that.”

“It's more than that! It's like static and whirlwind mixed together. I can feel you wanting me out of your head, but you keep letting me back in, pulling me in, really. It's like you want me to hear you.”

“I don't,” Shizuo says flatly. “How are you doing any of this, anyway? I'm not anywhere near you in the present right now. Why are we sharing the same dream?”

“How should I know? I was born with this power, but I don't know how to use it all yet,” Izaya says, and Shizuo frowns at him, wants to bring up the future and all the terrible things Izaya will do once he does master his stupid power, but it would be pointless. This Izaya has no idea of the future, probably isn't even real. This is a dream, probably, Shizuo's brain attempting to humanize the flea.

“You called me a witch,” Izaya murmurs, more to himself than to Shizuo.

“That's what you call yourself,” Shizuo says.

“I've never had a word for it before. I just knew I was...different. People romanticize it, you know, being different from everyone else. Standing out. Maybe for a while, it was fun. But lately I'm like an island in myself, and every day the distance to the mainland grows.” Izaya pauses, as if hearing himself say so out loud is illuminating in some way. “I'm being dramatic, aren't I? I didn't mean to say any of that.”

“I know what you mean,” Shizuo finds himself saying. He doesn't elaborate, but he doesn't really have to. He can feel Izaya in his head, like a prickle on the edges of his subconscious.

“Why aren't we friends?” Izaya asks, and the question is so earnest, so innocent, that Shizuo finds himself bolting upright in his bed, jerked back into wakefulness.

“Fuck these fucking dreams,” he hisses, rolling over to check his phone. It's a little after seven in the morning, an hour before his alarm was set to go off. He's already got a message from Vorona, telling him she's looking forward to their outing.

He doesn't know why he can't get Izaya's face out of his mind.

***

Shizuo's second date with Vorona goes well.

They meet at Sunshine 60, have some drinks with their food. Conversation comes easier this time, and there's hardly any silence between them. While they walk, Shizuo finds her hand in his, and he doesn't hate it. Her hand is soft, but not too soft. She has the same callused hands he does, and it reminds him that she can take care of herself, that she can handle him, so long as he's careful to remain human around her.

He drank enough to have a little bit of a buzz going as they make their way up towards the observatory. Vorona says she hasn't seen it yet, and wants to. It reminds Shizuo that this is the sort of thing people who visit Ikebukuro find exciting, while it remains mundane to the locals. He trails after her as they walk, and he doesn't know why he notices a familiar face off to the side, outside a comic book store, but he does notice, and he stops in his tracks. Vorona looks up at him questioningly.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Hey, I'll meet you up there. I need to ask someone something really quick.”

Vorona studies him. “Affirmative. I will go on ahead.”

Shizuo watches her go for a moment, and then he turns back to the comic book store, making his way through the crowd. A redheaded man is leaning against the building, his arms crossed. He grins up at Shizuo when he notices his approach.

“Well, well. Heiwajima Shizuo. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I don't remember your name,” Shizuo says bluntly, and the man laughs.

“Yeah, why would you? I'm sure you've got more pressing things to manage these days. You can call me Akabayashi, if you bother to remember it.”

Shizuo recognizes him from all that shit with Akane. Akabayashi also was there with the twins that day at the dojo, Vorona's first day of work.

“You know, don't you?” Shizuo asks, keeping his voice low. Akabayashi raises an eyebrow.

“You'll have to be more specific.”

“Cut the shit. You know what I am, and you know who did it. I wanna know why.”

“Well, let's see,” Akabayashi says, scratching his chin. “As I recall, you don't keep your head down much. In fact, you've gotten involved in plenty of things you shouldn't have been. You know that already, so your pressing question really is who, isn't it?”

“I already know Izaya ordered it. I wanna know who it was that did the dirty work.” Shizuo glowers at Akabayashi, hating how amused the man seems. He's not scared of Shizuo in the least. It's refreshing, but it's also irritating.

“Don't make assumptions that we take orders from the likes of that brat. Anyway, yeah, I know who did it, and so would you, if you saw him. He's laying low for now, under orders. I can't give you a name. You understand.”

“Bullshit, I do!” Shizuo snaps, and he lifts Akabayashi up by the collar of his suit. “Give me a name, dammit! It's the least you fuckers can do after you all stood back and let me turn into this— thing!”

“This is the problem with youngsters like you. You're too emotional. It's okay, kid, I was like that before, too, but this city has a way of beating passion right out of you.” Akabayashi doesn't seems concerned at all, even as his feet dangle. In fact, he looks like he's having a blast. “You'll know in due time. A little patience would do you good.”

“It's been seven months,” Shizuo says, offended at the idea he hasn't been too patient already.

“And? What do you want, a medal?”

“You fucker—“

“They had it! They really had it!” A small, excited voice says, and Shizuo finds himself looking down into the wide eyes of Awakusu Akane. She's carrying a bag from the store, clearly over the moon about her purchase.

“I'm glad,” Akabayashi says. “You can tell me all about that story of yours while we get lunch.”

“Shizuo-san...” Akane whimpers, and Shizuo releases Akabayashi. “You're not here to fight, right?”

“I was thinking about it,” Shizuo admits, “but I decided against it.”

“I'm not ready to fight you yet!” Akane says, her voice more determined now. “But I will be! I'm trying extra hard at the dojo, and I can challenge you soon!”

“I look forward to it. Just don't work too hard, okay? Getting strong means taking it easy sometimes, too,” Shizuo says, putting a hand on her head.

“Right! I'll do my best!”

“Anything else, or can I take the little miss to our lunch date?” Akabayashi asks, and Shizuo glares at him.

“I'll ask you again later.”

“Go for it! Maybe I'll give you an answer. Maybe you could ask that information broker friend of yours, too.” Akabayashi turns on his heel, pulling Akane along with him with one hand, his cane in the other. “Or then again, steer clear of that one. He's not right in the head.”

“Bye, Shizuo-san!”

Shizuo growls after them, and then he goes to meet Vorona. Akabayashi was right; Shizuo does have more pressing things to worry about.

***

After parting ways with Vorona at the train station again, Shizuo considers going to see Shinra and asking about the dreams he's been having, but he decides he'll do it later. He had a good day, and he doesn't want Shinra dampening it with his overstepping. Especially while Shizuo has something else even more terrible to deal with.

He knocks, and it takes a few moments for the door to open. Finally, an irate brunette appears, glaring at Shizuo.

“What do you want now?” she asks, and her voice sounds accusatory, as if Shizuo is interrupting more than just her current peace.

“I'm here to see Izaya,” Shizuo says, and she rolls her eyes.

“I didn't think you were here for anything else. Come in, I guess.” She steps to the side, allowing Shizuo inside. He doesn't see Izaya anywhere.

“He left something for you,” she says, moving to the corner. She emerges with a large box in her arms, and she shuffles towards Shizuo, letting him take it from her. “He said he knew you were coming, and that he didn't want to see you.”

“Of course,” Shizuo spits, taking the box that's filled with his potions. He doesn't know why he expected to see Izaya here, why he's disappointed he didn't.

“Please tell me you didn't give him anything to use against you,” the woman says. Shizuo frowns at her.

“What was your name again?” he asks.

“Is that really relevant? I'm your mortal enemy's secretary, and I also hate him. Watching him be angry about you is one of my few joys in life.”

“That's pathetic,” Shizuo says, feeling a vindictive sort of satisfaction when her lip curls at him.

“I wasn't looking for your approval. Answer my question.”

“Where is Izaya?” Shizuo asks, bypassing her and her scrutiny.

“Does it matter? Out. I thought you'd be happy. Now answer me, dammit. What's he holding over your head? Is it worth seeing him so frequently? To my understanding, the two of you only crossed paths before by accident, and it was always antagonistic.”

“If you hate him so much, you shouldn't work for him,” Shizuo snaps, disliking her and her unwanted insight into his life. “You seem capable enough to handle yourself. What do you need him for?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she says flatly, and he scoffs.

“Yeah? Well, I asked you first. The thing is, we both know what we're getting from him, right? And neither of us feel the need to share it with anyone else.”

“Whatever. Sue me for wondering. I won't take pity on you again.”

Shizuo is all but shoved from the apartment, the box of potion vials in his arms. He doesn't like anything about the way he feels, but he trudges home, his stomach in knots the entire way. Not seeing Izaya feels like an omen of sorts, like a harbinger of things to come.

***

He dreams later, first of nothing, and then of that same room, of the twins screaming in their cribs, and Izaya crying out in fear. It seems like the slate has been wiped clean, like this version of Izaya never spoke to any version of Shizuo. But that's accurate, isn't it? This is all pretend. It's all just a dream.

“Why do you keep coming back here?” Izaya's voice asks, and when Shizuo meets his eyes, it's the present version of Izaya. He's standing in the corner, right beside his past self, who doesn't seem to be able to see either of them now.

“I don't know,” Shizuo says. He's not a kid this time. He's towering over Izaya, but of course Izaya isn't backing down. “How are you doing this?”

“Me?” Izaya asks, incredulous. “How am I doing what? You're the one spying on my past.”

“I'm not the one with magic!” Shizuo roars. “Don't act like I'm invading your privacy, not when you're the one who's always linking us. It's not my fault that it goes both ways.”

Izaya pales, as if this thought only just occurred to him. He recovers quickly, schooling his features, turning away from Shizuo in a show of nonchalance.

“You got what you wanted from me. You got your potions, the ones that keep you so fucking tame—“

“Who are you to tell me what I want?” Shizuo interjects. “I never wanted to deal with you at all, especially so frequently. And even then, you couldn't leave well enough alone, right? You had to start haunting my dreams, too.”

When their eyes meet again, Shizuo is filled with a sudden onslaught of understanding, thoughts he knows aren't his own. Izaya isn't doing this on purpose, doesn't know how it keeps happening, doesn't like it any more than Shizuo does. Shizuo's mind is almost impossible for Izaya to pull away from, like a black hole, and even with Izaya trying to pull back, Shizuo doesn't seem to be allowing it. In fact, Shizuo is strengthening the link by being here, by interacting with Izaya's past. He's the one pulling Izaya in, like a child in desperate need of company.

“That's not true,” Shizuo growls, not appreciating Izaya's comparison. He can't help looking over to the younger version of Izaya, who is still crying pitifully. Shizuo feels the need to protect him from his future self's callous words, too, even if he can't seem to hear anything other than the twins and the ghost terrorizing them.

“In case you haven't noticed, I have been leaving you alone. I'm incredibly busy, and every time I actually manage to sleep, here you are, poking around. Snooping. Don't you have better things to do, like entertain that Matryoshka doll of yours?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo whirls back to face him, his mouth a twisted snarl of rage.

“Don't you fucking talk to me about her.”

“Don't talk to me at all. Get the fuck out!” Izaya shouts, and the door behind Shizuo opens. He's yanked backwards by an incredible force, and he falls through the doorway. He keeps falling through black nothingness, images flashing before his eyes as he does, memories he knows aren't his own. He tries to grab onto them, tries to make sense of any of them, but he can't. They're gone as soon as they appear.

Right before he hits whatever ground is below, he jerks awake, finds he's twisted himself into his sheets and managed to topple over into the floor. Cursing, he untangles himself, and he thinks back to the dream, at least, the parts of it he can remember. The image of a young, nervous Izaya talking to older men in fine suits is at the forefront of his mind.

Miles away, he knows Izaya is awake, too.

[lovehugsandcandy]

One-on-One: Love (N*FW, ColtxMC, ROD)

A/N: This is a birthday gift for the lovely @desiree-pow (HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABE! I hope that this bday is AMAZING - you deserve it!!!). This is also the last (maybe?) one-shot in the Colt!basketball AU that no one asked for. (Series here)

Length: ~1,800 words 

Rating:  N*FW (Swearing and sex)

Summary: That’s one way to improve morale after a loss.

.

Ellie bounced Jaylen on her lap, trying futility to keep him occupied as the final seconds ticked by. The Knicks were down by 11; even with thirty seconds on the clock, this game was over.

“Ugh,” she moaned, standing at the final horn and turning to Brandi, the sole friend she had made amongst the other players’ wives. “This loss means Colt is going to be in a god awful mood tonight.”

“Oh no,” Brandi replied, fixing her with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t mind when they lose. Kevin gets all his anger out in the best way, if you know what I mean.”

Ellie blinked, mind slowly catching up to the implication, as she cradled her son closer. Her thoughts raced before finally settling on awe. It was a fantastic idea; she was amazed she hadn’t thought of it before. 

She knew Colt better than anyone. 

She knew he liked winning.

But she knew he loved her more, desperately, ferociously; she had seen it repeatedly, from callused fingertips tracing ever so gently over goosebumps emerging on her bare skin to his willingness to temper even his worst impulses for her sake. His absolute adoration had quelled many of the ceaseless on-court fistfights, though the smart mouth spitting insults remained. His devotion had convinced him to refuse multiple trade requests for the sake of their family. And it had even reduced the constant bickering targeted at Logan, though nothing would squash every jab.

Together, they had navigated graduations and parenthood, dissertations and Championships.

Of course she could get him over one loss.

It was brilliant.

~~~~~

She heard the front door creak open right as Jaylen drifted off to sleep, easing the nursery door closed as quietly as she could, Brandi’s words still bouncing around her brain, she waited two beats to make sure that he didn’t stir before creeping away.

When she edged downstairs, bare feet slow on the carpet, it was quiet but, if she focused, she could hear quiet clicking, tapping of fingers on a keyboard barely audible from the living room. She peeked in; the laptop screen illuminated Colt’s face, game tape already rolling in front of him.

“Hey, Colt?”

He didn’t respond, eyes glued on the movement in front of him, tight fingers reaching for his cell phone.

“Colt?”

“Hmm? Is the baby asleep?” He didn’t look up, not even when she stalked closer to lean over the couch and drag her palms over his chest, damp hair from the locker room shower tickling her cheek. “That fucking asshole,” he murmured, still transfixed by the screen; she rolled her eyes.

“Colt, come to bed.”

“In a minute, I gotta-“

“Coooolt.” Her teeth grazed his earlobe, and he shuddered, tremble rolling up and down his spine, but still his gaze remained on the screen.

“Baby, I-” His fingers were tense around the phone but his words cut off sharply, inhale whistling harshly through his teeth as her fingertips walked slow, teasing circles underneath his t-shirt, down the taut muscles of his chest.

“The tape will be there tomorrow.”

“But I need to-“ He sucked in a breath, again, as her teeth teased the tendon in his neck, and he grabbed hold of her hair when she paused, gently keeping her pinned in place as she nibbled a possessive mark into his skin. “Baby…”

“Come on.” She stood, edging backwards toward the stairs, and smirked when he turned to face her, leather couch creaking beneath him. His eyes trailed down, flashing greedy and dark, intent on where her fingers fiddled with the bottom hem of the grey sweatshirt.

“Logan’s supposed to call me, we’re gonna go over tape.”

She raised her eyebrows, saying nothing, and pulled her sweatshirt over her head, noting the exact moment when his eyes drifted down to the jersey underneath, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“We’re supposed to…” He trailed off helplessly as the phone in his hand began blaring, glancing between the lit screen and to where her hands were making their way to the front of her jeans. “Baby, this isn’t fair.”

She bit her lip when she popped the button, taking her time with the zipper, and had just started inching the denim down her thighs when he dropped the phone, still ringing as it bounced to the ground. He leaned forward, eyes intent on the emerging skin, and she grinned in victory, kicking away the fabric when it reached her toes.

She had just put her fingers on the hem of her jersey when he leapt clear over the back of the couch; she giggled as she stumbled backwards, but he was faster, long legs tracking her as if he were streaking towards the net. However, instead of the basketball, she was the prize. 

And Colt always demanded his prize.

“Fuck no.” He pulled her hands away from the Knicks blue, dragging her against his chest. “Leave it on.” 

“You are such a narcissist. You just want me wearing your name.”

“Our name,” he corrected, sliding warm fingertips up her sides to settle underneath her bra. “And it doesn’t matter ‘cuz you know you’re gonna be screaming my name in a minute.”

“You are such a- oh.”

His teeth were against her neck as she sagged against him, back resting against his chest as strong fingers dug insistently on her hipbones, leading her towards the stairs. “That was completely unfair. You cheat worse than the fucking Nets.” Behind them, Colts cell phone was still blaring from somewhere under the couch, but she could only focus on the hushed promises being dropped into her ear. “And, when we get to our bedroom, I’m gonna take you apart just like I did them in the fucking playoffs.”

But they didn’t make it to the bedroom, anyway.

She sassed back, “I think I can play tougher defense than they can.” But it was difficult walking, Colt plastered behind her, chuckling against her neck before his lips moved to the curve of her shoulder, teeth print on her skin marking her as his as much as the six letters on her back. He teased the line of her panties, fingertips dipping incrementally closer as revenge for her sharp tongue; by the time they got to the bottom step, her words were gibberish, unintelligible, and the muscled arms around her waist were the only things keeping her weak knees from giving out.

She made it one step, then two, the line of his chest solid against her back and his cock stiffening against her ass, grinding in an utterly distracting and entirely indecent way, and she couldn’t be blamed for missing the next step, collapsing to her knees on the plush carpet.

“Fuck, Ellie.” He followed her down, pinned to her the entire way, and his hands curved over hers on the step. “Ok?”

“Please,” she whined, the only coherent sound she could make through the fog over taking her body and mind. “Just please.”

“Fuck.” The word landed hot against her neck and he moved, shifting back, and she heard rustling, fabric being pulled away, her underwear tugged down to a rushed tangle at her knees, and then he was lining up behind her. Her forehead dropped to a stair as he slid inside her, her eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open as the familiar stretch sent lightning up her nerves. “Ellie, God, you feel incredible.”

She inhaled, trying to somehow get oxygen into her heaving lungs; he felt incredible, joined as one and hard inside her, hands warm and solid on her hips, teeth digging designs at the curve of her neck. “Colt, move, just move, please.”

He huffed a laugh against her skin and obliged, slow at first, settling deeper and deeper until he was just right, her thighs clenching as pleasure flickered and flared up her spine, then back down, jolting every nerve ending until she could feel it in her toes.

She moaned, low and lusty and downright filthy, and her nails scratched against the carpet as his hips moved faster; she worried for a moment that she tore a thread from the floor but, with the next thrust, it didn’t even matter because all she could do was moan into the carpet. Her hand flew to her mouth to dampen the keening cry pulled from her lips, but Colt only dragged her hand away, interlocking their fingers as he moved faster, hips pushing her forward and forehead sliding over the rug.

“Fuck, I want to hear you, El.”

“But the baby…”

“Don’t care.”

“But oh God, Colt there, please- I can’t-”

He pivoted his hips just so and the noise that came out of her mouth was unnatural, high and debauched and inhuman. The world shook around her as her vision swam, carpet fading in and out of vision as she tightened her fingers around his, something to cling to as the world fell apart. She barely registered when he shifted, fingertips of his other hand digging into her hip bones to pull her hips flush against his, or his moan, low in her ear; she was still shaking, weakened body sinking lower until she and Colt landed flat on the stairs, a pile of limbs and ragged breath. 

She was a sated, pliant mess when he eased her up off the stairs, guiding her to their bedroom to tug off the jersey, her bra, and his entire tracksuit, now wrinkled and defiled beyond repair. He was just kissing down her ear when she bit her lip and grinned. “Are you feeling better about that loss now?”

“What loss?” he murmured into her skin.

She chuckled, craning her neck back as he reached that sensitive spot at her shoulder and continued down. “The game tonight?” It was getting harder to form words.

“What game tonight?”

She laughed again and had a smart reply at the ready before a tinny cry cut through the air. Colt dropped his forehead against her stomach. “I knew you’d wake the baby.”

“He has the absolute worst timing.”

“Colt?” She ran her fingers through his hair. “Can you…?”

“What? 

“Maybe go see if you can put him back to sleep?”

He looked up, eyes narrowing. “Ellie…”

“Please?” She put on her best pout, curling her fingers over the sensitive spot behind his ears.

“But this was your night.”

She stuck her bottom lip out further, batting her eyelashes.

“Oh, my God! I can’t believe-” Colt groaned, standing up in a huff. “Fine. Fine.” He threw on some boxers, feet stomping heavy as he gave her the evil eye the entire time. “You are so lucky I love you.”

She laughed, listening to his footsteps recede down the hall; gradually, the crying quieted, then ceased, followed by a soothing voice and quiet coos. Twisting the ring around her finger, she smiled and whispered to the universe, “Yeah. I really am.”

.

Tags:

Perma @desiree-pow @leelee10898 @emichelle @client-327 @choicesgremlin @brightpinkpeppercorn @thequeenofcronuts @lilyofchoices @choicesarehard @peaceinmidstofchaos @ritachacha @burnsoslow

ROD @omgjasminesimone @mskaneko @lovemychoices @troublemakerinspace @zaffrenotes @alyssalauren

Colt

@deimosensblog @alegria1580   @thefarrari @moonlit-girl-wonder @going-down-downtown @soniadotalves @jolietmaraud @flowerpowell@poeticscolt @zaira-oh-zaira @akrenich @sibella-plays-choices  @maxwellsquidsuit  @liamzigmichael4ever @octobereighth @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction @theeccentricbibliophile @dancingboba @tempesrature @romewritingshop @shondideaira-blog @winchesterwolves @riyana

[burnedbyshoto]

Fifteen Kisses

pairing: todoroki shouto x reader

warning: fluffy fluff, implied smut, tiny angst, cussing

word count: 7,054

a/n: a super late birthday to todoroki shouto, the loml. this took forever im so sorry.

Synopsis: Fourteen different kisses you give Shouto, and the one he gives you.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

One.

Shouto smiles as yet another one of his classmates wish him a happy birthday. Today was his eighteenth birthday, and to say the least, it had been a good one so far. Most of his presents had been cute anecdotes of his relationship with everyone in the class. Plus the few gift certificates to his favorite restaurant was a good thing in his eyes. 

Not that he had been counting, but he was missing one gift: from you. 

He hadn’t seen you all day, only catching your swinging hair as you seemed to avoid him. Now the two of you were close, and you had even stayed up to send him a birthday text at midnight this morning, but now you were avoiding him better than most. 

Seeing that his birthday landed on the weekend, he didn’t see you at breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Hell, he was sure you hid behind Shoji when singing a happy birthday. To say the least, he was confused and had wanted to spend the day with you. You were one of his closest friends, and it annoyed him that you weren’t around. But it was too late.

Nearing eleven at night, Shouto called it quits on seeing you today. 

His hands were shoved into his sweatpants as he climbed up the staircase, his brows furrowed as he wondered just why you weren’t around. Opening the door to his floor, his eyes trailing to the right side of the hall, the ball that held the girl’s dorms. 

Loud and boisterous arguing of the girls echoed in the halls, and Shouto watched as you were somehow fighting off all six girls of your class. He stopped in his tracks as he watched you fend off Uraraka’s hands while resisting Tsuyu’s and Jirou’s hold on you. Mina and Hagakure screamed as they tried assisting Uraraka, and Momo was talking loudly in an attempt to stop them all. Shouto’s lips quirked into an amused smirk as he watched your body slam against the floor as you wiggled out of the hole you were in. 

“YOU HAVE TO DO IT!” Mina screamed over the loud noises you were all making. 

“I WAS JOKING!” You screeched as three pairs of hands grabbed your thrashing legs and began dragging you down the hallway. 

“Y/n, you don’t have to— oh! Todoroki-san!” Momo’s eyes widened as 

“Hi,” Shouto replies as your torso shoots up from the floor. Your face is flushed from the struggle. Your hair a mess from being dragged on the floor and your eyes are full saucers. “You okay, y/n?”

“Shouto!” You squeak as you stumble onto your feet, your hand immediately scratching the back of your head as you laugh awkwardly. “H-How are you? Um, happy birthday!”

“Thank you,” Shouto smiles as you nod as you laugh loudly again. 

“So, see you tomorrow!” You exclaim moving to leave, but the girls are five steps ahead of you. 

A present is shoved in your hands, and you’re pushed into Shouto’s chest as the six girls hurry away.

“Don’t let her go until she gives you her gift!” Mina yelled as they disappeared behind the corner. Shouto’s eyes looked down to your face that looked ready to die. 

“Um, so you want to come to my room?” Shouto asked you, and to his enjoyment, you agreed.

It didn’t take long for the conversation to flow out from you two, a whole day without a discussion being made up as you entered his room. Your eyes shone with unworldly energy as you sat down on his bed, your arms shooting in animated fashion as you explained a story you had fallen asleep while explaining to him last night. 

Shouto crossed his arms as he sat beside you as you finished the story. 

“So, what did you get me?” Shouto asked, nodding towards the blue bag in your hands. 

“Arrogant much?” You playfully scoff pressing the bag to your chest. “It’s actually a present for me!”

“From yourself?”

“A girls gotta treat herself!” You snark as you giggle, shaking your head, you hand over his gift. “Open it.”

Shouto’s body warms up as he opens the bag and pulls out a bag of his favorite chips, a new outfit, and a handwritten card from you. 

“Sorry, it sucks,” you whisper as your eyes glance up at his. “Things are super expensive, and I’m broke!”

His eyebrow quirks as he looks at you, “I love it, thank you for the present y/n.”

A relieved smile spreads on your face as you clasp your hands together. 

“Well, I’ll leave you alone now! Goodnight, Shouto, sorry for ignoring you all day!”

Shouto watched as you stood up, your hands flattening your leggings as you smiled. 

“Why were you ignoring me? Did I do something? I just… don’t understand why you did that, and then you were fighting with the girls earlier?”

Shouto stood up, his eyes locking on your frantic eyes. 

“I lost a bet,” you speak slowly, your head dropping to keep your eyes hidden from his own. “I’m supposed to repay today, but I’ve been a coward.”

“How can I help?” Shouto asked as his arms fold again, “If it’s money, I can give it to you.”

You laugh, shaking your head, but there’s a tremor to your shoulders as you look back up to him. 

“Promise you won’t hate me…”

“I could never.”

Shouto watched as your face turned severe, your lower lip trembling with uncertainty, with fear. Concern filled him as he wondered just what exactly he could do to help you, what was the terms to the bet? He hoped it was nothing… serious.

There was something warm and soft pressed against his lips strawberry and vanilla flooded his senses, and everything felt perfect. Shouto couldn’t process what was happening as you pulled away just as quickly. 

“Good night! Happy birthday!” You squeaked as you ran into the door before managing to open it and run away. 

As the door to his room closed, Shouto’s fingers pressed against his mouth as your kiss seemed to be imprinted into him. A memory he wished he could change now that it was over. 

Did that mean… Did you like him?

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Two.

The kiss wasn’t spoken about. 

Shouto might as well dreamt it, but he knew it was real on account of the giggling female classmates of his. They seemed to increase in chaotic energy whenever he was around you. Knowing smirks, sparkling eyes, and teasing words. Had it not been for them, he might’ve convinced himself it was fake. 

But there was also the fact that you could never seem to look him in the eyes anymore. Shouto was too awkward to talk about it, his words continually failing him when he went to sit next to you. However, even with the subtle change in your relationship, some things didn’t change. 

It was one in the morning, and Shouto was wide awake as a knock pressed against his door. 

Getting up, Shouto opened the door to see you holding a blanket and a pillow. 

The yellow luminescent of the hallway lights seeming entirely too bright as Shouto’s eyes adjusted from the darkroom. 

“I can’t sleep,” you whisper, and as he always did, Shouto let you in. 

It was something that started this year after the first-semester hero work disaster. You suffered a horrendous villain attack that left civilians dead, and you had to watch. Many nights you stayed awake unable to sleep. Typically going into the shared space until you were tired, until one day at three in the morning when an awoken Shouto needed water and found you staring at the wall with tears in your eyes and eye bags staining your face. 

Shouto invited you to sleep in the same room with him that night, and the rest was history. 

Slipping into the bed next to you, Shouto stares at you as you breathe in deep. He grabs your hand and places it on his cheek so that your fingers could trace his skin instead of digging into your skin. Your fingers trace his face without saying anything, eyes focused on the tip of his finger rather than him. 

“What happened?” Shouto whispers as you draw nameless shapes onto his cheeks. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Your head shakes as your thumb shifts to glide over his cheeks. His skin is soft despite all logic, toned, and warm. It soothes you as your finger brushes against his lower lip, and Shouto forgets how to breathe as your steady breathing fans gently across his skin. You take long and slow blinks as you shift closer to him, and Shouto’s heart stops as your eyes finally meet yours. 

“I’m sorry for kissing you on your birthday,” you whisper as your thumb traces the line between his lips. Your eyes are apologetic and sad, tired yet awake. “That was my losing bet.”

Shouto’s heart both shrinks and grows at your words, “Sorry for being a horrible kiss,” he teases. “It was my first one…”

Your thumb stops tracing his lips, and your eyes widen in horror, “Fuck, I’m so sorry!” you exclaim as humiliation spreads across your face. “I didn’t know!”

“Well, I’ve never really cared about my first kiss, it’s not something I’d concern myself over,” Shouto calms you as he presses a gentle kiss to your fingers. “While I can’t say this is what I imagined for my first kiss, it wasn’t bad. I’m only sorry that you left right away.”

His chest pounds as the words slip from his lips, what a fucking idiot?! Why did he say that!

Your chuckle is light as your head shakes softly, “Me too.”

“Can I try again?” Shouto whispers his tone full of desire and hesitation. Your thumb resumes it’s tracing on his lips as an embarrassed smile stretches on your face. 

He watched silently as your eyes fell to his lips, and Shouto froze as they locked again on his. The fingers tracing his lips moved from his mouth to the bottom of his mouth, kissing him as if he was glass, one second from breaking.

Everyone frets about their first kiss, but Shouto would forever remember his second kiss from you— with you.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Three.

“Shouto, that’s not working!” You howl in laughter as he tries evaporating the pouring rain with his fire. 

“We don’t have umbrellas, and your quirk doesn’t work, and the ice was too much work!” Shouto chuckles as he brings you closer to him. “The fire should work!”

“All it’s doing is burning half my face instead of you hold my hand to warm me up!”

Shouto laughs at your complaint as he shifts his jacket more towards you. His school uniform jacket was being used as a makeshift umbrella as the rain was relentless and unforgiving. 

The two of you had hero work in some small town and being a few kilometers from the train station, and with nothing but your bodies, you were succumbed by the rain. 

“Careful with the puddle!” Shouto shouted as you looked down, but you sorely missed the puddle and water sloshed entirely into your shoe. Your entire foot and sock were soaked to the bone, and you shrieked loudly as your sloshing footsteps to keep up with Shouto was uncomfortable.

“Idiot!”

“You were distracting me with your fire!”

Shouto looks at you with a wide grin, “Come on, there’s that bus stop right there.”

Your eyes locked in with the weathered bus stop, which held dry ground underneath it, nodding, you turned to start running towards there. However, Shouto scooped you off your feet and ran off towards the bus stop.

Face burning with embarrassment, Shouto placed you down underneath the bus stop. The rain was loud as it fell onto the ground and the metal overhead, and you were out of breathe as you stare up at Shouto who’s wet hair plastered against his forehead. 

His skin shined in the dull light, and he looked dewy as he runs a hand through his hair. 

“Do you want me to dry you?” He asks, his eyes meeting your unsuspecting and laboriously checking out eyes. You stepped back startled as you averted your gaze, your head nods. 

“My shoes and socks, please,” you mumble as Shouto smiles fondly. 

Your eyes lock on Shouto once more as his left-hand places against your muddied feet. Warmth spreads through your body at his touch, goosebumps rising up as he dried both of your feet before standing up. He was too close to you, your face moving backward as he stood straight. 

Despite your now dry legs, the rest of your body remained cold as water dripped from your hair and clothes still. Your gaze fell again on his partially opened lips, they were full, soft, and wet from the rain. They tinted red from the cold, and you wanted nothing more than to press your lips against his.

“Should we wait until the rain clears up?” Shouto whispers as if scared to break this enchantment the two of you had placed yourself under. 

“I think so,” you respond as you lift onto your toes and kiss him wholeheartedly. 

Your lips glided together, still slick with the rain, and your arms snaked around his neck, drawing him in close as his hands held your waist gently. Tilting heads and open mouth kisses continued, and your chest felt like it was lit on fire as your chests pressed together. 

The rain continued to pour down as the two of you continued to kiss. 

This marked your tenth kiss with Todoroki Shouto, and both of you were still single.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Four.

“This is the final final exam, and you’re really going to give up?” Shouto asked from across from you. 

The two of you sat in your room studying for the English Final. 

English was not your favorite subject, the grammar rules were complete bullshit, and when talking with visiting American students, they basically said grammar didn’t matter. So you couldn’t understand why you were here struggling over these rules when English students didn’t even abide by them! How fatuous! 

“I just don’t see the purpose of learning grammatically correct English,” you groan as you fall back onto your pillows.

Shouto sighs as he places the cheat sheet on the piles of papers on your bed. There were seven different subjects to prepare for, and so far, the two of you finalized three. 

“Come on, y/n,” Shouto sighs as he takes your hands in his, “sit up. Let’s see what’s confusing you.”

“What’s confusing is realizing that I should be rich as fuck, but I’m not,” you pout as you let him pull you into a sitting position.

Your cheeks turn warm as Shouto shifts over to sit right next to you, his knees touching yours as you look at your immaculate study notes. Shouto’s arm pressed into you as he explained the different verb tenses in English and how punctuation was such an important thing. The truth of the matter was you were quite adept in English, it was just a subject that had understood relatively easy after a certain age, but Shouto tutoring you was enough reason to pretend not to have a single clue.

“Do you get when to place the gerunds?” Shouto asked from the side.

“Place it in on action word when I feel like it, or whenever it makes sense,” your respond back with an amused snort. 

“I mean… that’s not wrong, but it’s not right,” Shouto responded, shaking his head, and you scoffed, snapping your head towards him.

But Shouto was a lot closer than you had assumed as your cheek and lips dragged across his lips.

Your eyes widened as you shot away, the two of you had promised each other many kisses ago you had to stop until a relationship was defined. But with growing tensions in the villain world, neither one of you wanted to set your feelings in fear that it would be for naught.

Still, there was something magnetic and undeniable about him and you, and as the seconds in time seemed to pass for eternity, a crashing force compelled the two of you to meet in the middle. Your hands rested on his chest as he grabbed your chin. Heads tilting to the side to allow a deeper angle as your lips danced as only lovers knew. The sounds of your joining and separating lips made your head spin as you pulled away, cheeks burning as his eyes fluttered open.

“We should get back to studying,” you whisper as Shouto clears his throat, agreeing.

“So, adding the -ing…”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Five.

Your fingers trembled as you pulled on your hero costume.

You were so nervous. You’ve been fighting villains since your first year, but this was different; this was preparation for war that would end with death. Your steps where fast and your breath was quick, short, frantic as you walked out ready to meet up with your classmates.

Tomorrow was to be your graduation and yet here you were, unexcited for what the following day would bring.

“Y/n,” Shouto’s voice called for you, and your eyes focused on the man who held your heart and admiration. 

Still, your relationship went undefined, and who knew if either one of you would be here in the next twenty-four hours.

“Shouto,” you smiled as the world seemed to blur as he stopped in front of you, his hand taking yours in his. His grasp was warm, wary, and gentle. It gave you unrealistic hope that everything would be okay, but you knew you had to be okay, you were a hero, and you needed to be reliable.

“I have something I need to tell you,” he whispers as you nod, you were listening. “When this is over, I’m going to take you on a date.”

Your eyes widen as a small and nearly scared chuckle left his lips, “It is long overdue.”

Shouto grins at you as his fingers hooks under your chin, and your lips meet him in a gentle kiss. It doesn’t last long, not at all, and before you could memorize the feeling of his lips against yours, he’s pulled away.

Fluttering open, your eyes lock on Shouto’s who has gone rigid. Tension sits heavy in your throat and your bones as you fear what’s to come. What if this was it? There was already too much you regretted, and it seemed that Shouto was on the same page as your lips slammed back together in a crushing force. It was sloppy, hungry, and passionate.

Tongues unable to battle as they desperately sought touch, teeth clashing against each other more often than not, and hands memorizing the outline of each other’s silhouettes. His lips were hot against yours, and the calming smell of his scent overwhelmed you until you forced yourself to push away. You were heading to different areas of the upcoming battlegrounds.

“Good luck,” you whisper.

“Don’t die.”

You turned and began running off, making sure to take one last look at Shouto, who was running off too.

“I love you.”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Six.

Tears streamed down your eyes as you stared at the collapsed and defeated figures before you.

Stupid emotionally manipulating quirk.

Brushing the streaming tears off your cheeks, you sniffled as you looked at Shouto of whom you had saved from these two characters. Your costume was torn, blood was dried on your legs and arms, and sweat poured against your skin. The battle was still ongoing, but as you studied Shouto, who was in a similar state to you, the world went quiet again.

“Glad to see you’re still alive,” you partially tease, partially speak the truth as Shouto stands to his feet.

“I have an important date to get to after all this,” he smiles as his shoulders relax. “I won’t go down yet.”

Two loud explosions are heard from polar sides, and the reality of the situation comes back in full effect.

“We should get going,” you whisper as your feet immediately start moving towards the explosion to your right. “Be safe--”

“Kiss me,” he breathily demands, and you pause in your movements. 

His eyes are firm and desperate for you to comply to his demand, and so in the quickest response, you could give him your lips planted against his again. It was soft and too fast as you pulled away before he could even place his hands on your waist. 

“Stay alert,” you whisper before pushing away.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Seven.

Cheers rang heavy in your ears as you swayed to your feet.

Everything hurt, but by the sounds of it, you guys had won. Pressing off the floor and onto your feet, a splitting headache shot your nerves as you groaned. Arms surrounded you as victorious hugs went around, but you could barely keep up with who was hugging you as more and more people came around.

Relief flooded you as you saw your friends all safe and sound, or at the very least not dead. The reality of what had just happened, of what not only you third years but Pro-Heroes and first and second-year students went through slammed through in this almost anxious cry. You all could’ve died.

There could have been no survivors.

Crushing what-ifs slammed through you as you made your way out of the huddle of people who had gathered in wistful celebration.

Hands found your tear-stained cheeks, and you looked up with blurred vision at a familiar face.

“You’re okay,” he whispered as you nodded, unable to speak as your crying grew even more. “You’re safe, I’m safe.”

“I-I know!” You blubber as your hands grip the collar of his costume and slam his lips against yours.

This wasn’t your usual kisses that flowed with feelings and passion, this was desperate. A kiss meant for the beginning of the war, not the end. Tears mixed between your lips as your arms wrapped him, eliminating any space between the two of you, yet it wasn’t enough. Your fingers raked through his messy hair, trying to convince your brain that this was real, he was real, this victory was real. Shouto responded with the same level of energy, and despite your burning lungs, you wouldn’t break apart.

No, not yet.

The two of you continued this desperate and needful kiss until you could kiss no longer, and his bruised red lips quirked into a smile as he brushed your hair to the side.

“You’re beautiful.”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Eight.

Somehow everyone thought that this first date with Shouto was going to be one to go down in history.

Well, they weren’t wrong per se.

The first date was short of a disaster, and it was so awkward.

Your hands lay stiff at your side as Shouto walked you back to your new apartment. The air was silent between the two of you as neither one of you spoke. For two people who have all but fucked, finally turning to put a label on this had made a typically relaxed duo into wooden statues.

Only a week ago, the two of you had sunk to the ground in a desperate kiss, and now you couldn’t make eye contact.

Pathetic, truly pathetic.

 “Tonight was… fun,” Shouto spoke up as you entered the building, his hand opening the door for you as you stepped in.

Hearing that he was trying to overlook the apparent tension of the date, you laughed as you nodded your head, “It’s going down in the books as one of the best nights.”

“I don’t blame you,” he continues to joke as you climb up the staircase with him a few steps below you. “Well, I also can’t compare you to anything else.”

“Are you saying that I only get the best date pass because you’re a virgin dater?”

“...I sort of hate how you phrased that, but yes.”

Your lips curl into a smile as you turn around to glance as Shouto, who is emulating the same smile on his face.

“I feel so lucky,” you sigh as you step out onto your floor.

It goes quiet again as you make your way to the front door of your space.

“So… I’ll see you tomorrow for Bakugou’s birthday?” You ask as you unlock the front door, your body twisting to look at him as you were unsure of what to do now.

“Yeah, do you need me to pick you up?”

You nodded as you contemplated hugging or kissing him. Would embracing him be a spit in his face granted the many exchanged kisses beforehand? Would kissing be too forward after such an awkward date?

Deciding on a kiss on the cheek, you went in for your goodnight, but it seemed Shouto had the same idea.

Your lips met in an awkward kiss.

A peck almost that sent you stumbling away as you laughed loudly in an attempt to disguise your painful awkwardness, “See ya tomorrow!”

“See you…”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Nine.

The awkwardness of the first date thankfully never repeated again. 

“I’m not sharing with you, so stop giving me those eyes,” Shouto grumbled as he took another bite of his strawberry cheesecake.

“But Shouto,” you whine as you try pushing up on his chest to take a bite from his sweet dessert, he moved it further away, and you groaned falling onto his chest, “I haven’t even taken a bite out of it!”

“Yeah, but you ate the entire another slice after claiming you ‘weren’t hungry,’ love,” he rolled his eyes, but there was no malice behind it as you laughed into his chest.

Turning your head, you watched as Shouto placed the last bite of the deliciously sweet cheesecake into his mouth. You needed a taste of it, you craved more.

Licking your lips, a grin faded into your mouth as you pushed up off the couch, your eyes meeting Shouto’s unsuspecting but cautious eyes as he stopped chewing.

“Wha’ are you -- mmph?”

With the cheesecake still in his mouth, your lips pressed against his in a passionate affair. Your fingers rested on his jaws as you felt Shouto trying to finish the food in his mouth, but in the act of pure stupidity, you pressed your tongue through his lips.

The taste of the strawberry cheesecake flooded your senses as Shouto sat up, his hands on your hips as you adjusted correctly. The taste was light and sweet without being overwhelming; your grin widened as Shouto whined against your lips, and a sharp pinch was felt on your ass.

“What are you doing?!” Shouto wheezes, recomposing himself after you jolt away from him due to the pinch on your butt.

“Getting my fair share of cheesecake,” you innocently state while batting your eyelashes.

“You’re a brat…”

“A hungry one at that!”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Ten.

“Another kiss…”

…

“One more…”

....

“Don’t leave yet, not until I have my kiss.”

You laughed so loudly it boarded a cackle as you once against pressed another kiss to Shouto’s lips. You had work today, and Shouto did not. In your attempt to leave, he had been demanding more and more kisses, unsatisfied with the ones you had been giving him.

“You call me the brat, but look at you, mister--” your lips press against his warm ones-- “You won’t let me leave, will you?”

“Fuck your job, come and stay here with me.”

Brushing his messy with sleep hair out of his face, you smiled at your boyfriend, who was borderline pouting.

“I actually love my job,” you insist as Shouto tries to pull you into a hold you knew you wouldn’t be able to fight off. “I need to go.”

“One more kiss before you leave,” he says again as if you hadn’t already given him twenty additional kisses past the initial farewell.

“Fine,” you cave with no resistance as you lean down and press your lips against his one last time. Your hands rested on his warm skin as your lips pressed in a soft and sweet kiss. But it seemed that Shouto was determined to get you to stay as his right hand tangled into your hair.

Amusement shot through your veins as you’re prevented from pulling away. So doing what you could only do, you pressed into the kiss harder, your body moving to manipulate Shouto under your will, and the moment your ass sat against his hips, he broke apart to sigh.

That was all you needed.

He came back in with his lips partially open, but you blew a stream of air into his unsuspecting mouth, and his eyes snapped open, the spell broken as you tumbled off of him, your hands waving as you finally left to start your day. You could only hear his groan as you giggled, eventually making it out of the door.

“I love you!”

“Love you too…”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Eleven.

It was nearly one in the morning, and you sat at the kitchen table with a blanket wrapped snugly around you. A teacup rested in your fingers as you took another sip of it. Shouto sat in a few seats away from you, paperwork splayed everywhere on the table as he studied the ones in front of him.

There had been significant issues with the paperwork surrounding a few cases he had solved, so taking it upon himself to figure out alone, Shouto had been studying fifty casework paper meticulously for the past seventy-four hours straight.

“I think it’s time for bed,” you call standing up. Downing the rest of your tea, you went to wash it, but your eyes refocused on Shouto, who hadn’t even reacted to your claim. “Shouto?”

His bloodshot eyes snapped up to you as he nodded, his attention quickly returning back to the paper, “I think I’m going to stay up for a little longer, I’ll meet you in bed.”

You didn’t want to agree. You shouldn’t have, but Todoroki Shouto was by all, and every means stubborn at times.

Nodding, you pressed a goodnight kiss to his temple, a kiss he attempted to return but kissed the air.

Going to the bathroom, you finished getting ready for bed, brushing your teeth, washing your face, you climbed into bed.

A little longer, that’s what he had said.

Blinking, you turned toward the alarm clock that displayed a 2:00 a.m., and you groaned. A little longer your ass.

Sliding out of bed, you walked to the kitchen, where Shouto was circling and highlighting different areas of his work.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, he didn’t even flinch at your arrival. He lay his head against you for a millisecond before returning to his work, you could feel how tense and tired he was, yet he was trying to pretend he was okay. Sighing softly, it seemed that you were going to have to force him to sleep. So determined to make your boyfriend sleep, you began to press gentle kisses against his stiff neck.

Never leaving his soft yet tense skin, you pressed more kisses against his neck, trailing down to his shoulder and back to his neck. The kisses are tender, sweet, unhurried. They speak of your want to get him to bed, and it seems Shouto, at the very least, is put under some spell.

His breathing has piqued as your lips continue their senseless trail. His eyes have closed, and his pen is seconds from falling from his fingers.

“Come to bed with me, handsome,” you whisper as your lips find themselves behind his ear, the sweetness and innocence of your affection still very much in tack.

“I gotta… I gotta finish this,” he almost slurs as he seems to be battling this internal war.

“You will finish this,” you promise him as you finally relieve your lips from his skin. Pulling out his chair, Shouto remained glued to the seat as his hands fell dead to his side.

He was exhausted.

A sad smile overcame you as you moved to stand before him, your hands cupping his firm cheeks to make him look at you. His eyes were red, they were exhausted, they were wet with oncoming tears.

“I’m so tired,” he whispers as you nod in understanding.

“I know, baby, so let’s go to bed.”

“But the paper…”

You sigh through your nose as you press a soft kiss to his lips. They speak of how you needed him in bed with you, how this would be finished tomorrow, but he needed rest.

“Tomorrow, my love,” you promise as you pull him to his feet.

“Tomorrow…”

As you finished getting him ready for bed, Shouto fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, and after tucking him into bed, you turned on your heel, making your way to the kitchen again.

You would finish this for him.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Twelve.

Gentle. Comforting. Relieving.

Those were among the words you would use in describing your relationship with Shouto. It was a relationship between equals, and it was soft, it was loving. Most nights were seen leaving the two of you curled into one another passed out with love and happiness pouring from you.

Tonight was not soft, but it was loving in a different sense. It would definitely leave the two of you passed out with love and happiness, but again for a different reason.

The moan that escaped your lips was muffled by Shouto’s tongue that swirled around in your mouth.

You were up on your tiptoes as you allowed him to lead you about in the hallway. Yes, the two of you hadn’t even made it back into your apartment before enacting your horny feelings. Your lips were almost chaotic against one another, desperate to show just how badly you wanted each other, eager to prove that tonight was going to be magical.

Of course, this was partially your fault for being so aggressive in your kissing in the elevator, but the two of you had been dressed up smartly for a gala, and well, you could no longer resist your man in a fitted all-black suit.

A grunt of discomfort came from your lips as your back was rammed into the doorknob of your apartment, Shouto apologizing against your lips as he struggled to unlock the door while kissing you with his eyes closed. The door opened, and you both stumbled through the threshold blindly and passionately kissing. 

The next thing you knew, Shouto had you lifted in the air, your legs immediately wrapping around his waist. Your hips took no time to grind against his crotch, to which he loudly confirmed that it was a feeling he enjoyed.

Clinging to him desperately, you attempted to strip him of his clothes.

The kiss did not still in its levels of passion, only seeming to grow exponentially as his jacket landed on the floor with a thud. Noises of approval, cries of lust fueling both of you on as your lips dragged heatedly against one another.

His hands gripped your breasts as you slammed into a wall, and your head slammed back as you cried his name.

Shouto wasted no time in latching onto the swell of your breasts, his teeth nipping at your exposed skin, his hips bucking against your grinding hips, increasing the monumentous pleasure by one hundred.

“The bed,” you whimper as your fingers string into his hair, pulling and tugging at the two colored strands as you needed more as the heat between your legs only grew in the passing seconds and actions. “Please go to the bed.”

“It’s too far away,” Shouto gasps as his teeth sink into the sweet spot on your neck, and you cry in electrifying pleasure as you once again increase the speed of your humping. “Fuck!”

Your lips quirked into a smile at the feeling of his palpable excitement as he tumbles to the couch that was a mere few strides away. Crashing into the softness of the cushions, your eyes sparkled as you began to hastily remove your dress.

“I hope you’re ready,” you grin as you pull off the dress, revealing to Shouto the lingerie you wore underneath. Your grin turns sly as you watch him gulp harshly, his eyes roaming your body as his shirt and tie fall to the ground. Standing up you pulled onto the belt loops of his slacks and easily twisted to have him stumbling and now sitting down. His eyes took you in again as he groaned softly and your eyes focused on the excitement in his pants. “I’m in charge tonight.”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Thirteen.

The taste of salt filled your senses as you pulled away from Shouto’s tear streaming face.

“Do we have to do this,” he whispered as you look away.

You had to.

“I’m sorry.”

“Was I not enough for you?”

A heavyweight sat on your chest as tears fell from his eyes faster than you could kiss them away.

“You’ve always been more than enough.”

“Then why are you breaking up with me?”

You willed yourself not to cry, trying not to remember the real reason why you had to break up with him.

“Because I’m not good enough.”

“Don’t fucking bullshit me, y/n,” Shouto snaps, his lips curling into a sneer as he glares at you. “If you’re going to break up with me, do it because you want to do it. But don’t fucking lie to my face like a coward.”

His words are hateful, spiteful, and bitter. The acid in your stomach seems to shoot up your throat as you watch Shouto standing up, his head shaking.

“You know what, forget about it. I don’t want to fucking know.”

“I don’t know what else you want to hear,” you snap, your words vomiting up as frustration flares through you. “That’s the fucking truth, I’m not lying! So instead of being an asshole, fucking leave.”

You watched with streaming tears as Shouto scoffs, and without so much as a goodbye, he turned and left. The door slamming closed, rattled your apartment, and you with it as you dropped to the floor weeping.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Fourteen.

You opened your front door with bleary eyes.

It had been a little over a week since breaking up, and even if it was for the right reasons, you were wrecked.

To your surprise, Shouto stood in front of the door. His gaze concentrated on his feet as his lips were pulled into a solid line. His hand held a bouquet of your favorite flowers and what seemed to be takeout from your favorite restaurant.

“What are you--?”

“I know why you broke up with me,” he interrupts you, his frown growing as he locks eyes with you. His gaze is sharp, steady, and desperate. “I know that you think this is to help me, but it’s bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit,” you mumble as you look away, “but it doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“I was an asshole the day you broke up with me,” he sighs, his shoulders slumping as his free hand scratching the back of his neck. “I was cruel and mean, and I want you back.”

“I can’t get back with you yet…”

Shouto sighs as he shakes his head, “Why are you stubborn? Why do you want to face this alone, y/n? Keeping me away is only hurting you, I’m trying to see if from your point of view, but every time I only see it as you protecting me. I don’t need you to--”

You hated that you were so compelled and so in love with Shouto because your lips silenced him.

Your hands rested on his shoulders as if to ground him, and he held your waist to make sure you wouldn’t leave.

It was a passionate kiss, a kiss that somehow apologized to him, a kiss that told him you were in the wrong, a kiss that relayed how scared you were of the past that finally caught up with you. He returned it in full. His kiss forgave you, his kiss understood your worries but promised he wouldn’t let something as trivial as that make him lose you, and his kiss apologized to you as well.

It wasn’t a long kiss, nor was it that physically intense, but as you parted, your eyes remained closed for some time. As if you were overwhelmed with the message and emotions behind it, and you wanted to remember how it felt to have him pressed against you in such a way.

With a little more time, your eyes fluttered open to see Shouto’s still closed, his breathing shallow with his emotional high.

“Do you want to come in?” You ask, gesturing into your apartment.

His eyes snapped open, and you both turned to see the flowers and food that had been dropped during the kiss.

“Please?”

You let him in as the door closed behind you two, “I guess I owe you an explanation?”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Fifteen.

Shouto stared at your shocked face.

If your jaw went any lower, he feared you’d accidentally hurt your muscle.

The crowd that had gathered around the spot that was supposed to be private were all whispering as cameras shone on the two of you. Shouto cleared his throat as he finally asked: “Y/n, will you marry me?”

A ripping sob escaped your throat, and Shouto stood up off his knee in a panic, the velvet box ignored as he came to you, holding your trembling form as you cried.

“Y-Yes,” you cry as you slam your face into his chest. “Yes, I’ll m-marry you!!!”

Shouto’s lips curled into a broad smile as you finally looked up at him with streaming mascara, and his hands rested against your cheek as he whispered, “I love you.”

Before you could even respond, his lips connected with yours into a chaste, delicate kiss. Your hands gripped onto his biceps as you returned the kiss just as delicately. Not wanting the moment to end, and uncaring of the crowd, Shouto intensified the kiss, moving his lips fervently against yours as he draws you closer.

It didn’t matter that there was a crowd; in fact, the screaming only seemed to fuel Shouto on to continue kissing his fiancee, and you were not slowing down in this passionate exchange either.

“I love you.”

[starrysupercell]

Sooo... Now that its my wif- Tara's birthday... Are the Mystics (And Bo) gonna celebrate it :D? I can imagine Gene trying to set up some kind of surprise party for her, that would remain a surprise for like 4 minutes...

DANG IT. Past 12. TwT

But here you go! An outline for how Tara’s birthday is celebrated this year. 🧿 best fortune teller in Starr Park tbh. Your wife says hi 💜

I really gotta start keeping track of the Birthdays to have these things planned out.

~

One of the many good things about how much time Tara and Gene have known each other, is he knows she'll figure it out.

The surprise for her will be not the fact that there's a party because she can easily see that, but the extent of it, because she can promise not to sneak a peek at it.

(But now she's curious! Also, she's so used to checking on the future,* it takes a very conscious effort to not do so.)

So, while Gene keeps Tara preoccupied by taking a walk around the Park, Sandy, the Tribe, Gale and Mortis (because they're also friends with the Mysticals bc of the skins, shush.) are in charge of decorating.

So, with only two responsible adults in this group, how well do you think this is going to go? :)

Gale: So do you have a plan for the setup?

Sandy: hm? >.o oh. Yy*yawns*eah. here you go... *hands him a paper*

Gale: ...this just has a rough sketch of the main room and a couple of balloons.

Sandy- mm..felt sleepy but there's still.... -.-...time to...zzzz....

Gale:

Mortis laughs because well they'd just have to wing it! (He would definitely ask Emz for help, but she's busy with the teen crew for plot convenience) As long as decorations are already bought, it should an easy thing in setting it up the way they want it to look.

....decorations are already bought, right?

Sandy softly snores, and the Party Crew realizes that's their answer.

~

Meanwhile, Gene and Tara walk through the Park. The plan is picking up a few extra gifts along the way before heading back to the main party.

Their first stop is Barley's for some drinks! He gifts one bottle of Tara’s preferred drink, but does charge for the rest. Along the way, we see Brawlers greeting Tara and wishing her well on her birthday.

Colette’s very enthusiastic! She knows all the Brawler’s birthdays, and wanted to make something for Tara!

She doesn’t really have extra money recently, since there was some recent change in management, and she usually makes more detailed items, but because of the money problem, couldn’t buy as many materials she needed, but she’s derailing, so she hands Tara her wrapped gift.

It’s a cute hand-made Shade Plush!

Tara is delighted and thanks her for it. It’s a pleasant surprise, and she appreciates it. Colette fangirls a bit, thanking her, and then waving bye as the Mystics carry on.

~

Back at the Bazaar, they're trying to brainstorm on what to do. Well, half of them present are. Sandy is asleep and Nita + Leon are playing around the house.

Mortis says the only things he has back home are.. well, decorations of a more... gothic type..you know,.. (Halloween decors. they’re Halloween decors.)

Gale also offers up... some Snowtel hangings, but again, ‘tis not quite the right season to be jolly.

Bo suggests makeshift decorations. The twins are good at crafts! .. but more so along the lines of forest materials, not sand and...

Everyone’s drawing a blank, and decide that they could gather up their own share of materials, and see what could work best. Their time limit won’t really allow a break after all.

So Gale contacts Lou and asks him if he could meet him halfway with everything he can carry. Try not to get caught by the Penguin boss. Lou, ever the chaotic good guy agrees.

Bo gathers up Leon and Nita and they head out to see what they can scrounge up.

Mortis wonders if he should call up Frank too since he’ll be here later to set up and provide the music, but decides to be ~generous~  and just send a flock of his Bats to pick some things up for him. He sees them off adoringly.

With a content sigh, he lounges back and waits for his precious lovelies to return with his ideal decorations. Sandy sleeps on...

~

Back with Gene and Tara, the next item to pick up is the cake. Piper has the order ready-- a black forest chateau cake.

“Magnificent taste, darlings!” she compliments. she has it all boxed up very fancily. “It’s on the house. Take it as my gift for you. Happy birthday!”

She’ll also be attending the party later. Tara thanks her for the cake. She and Gene then take their leave.

Along the way to their last stop at the new Castle environment for the food, (because while they don’t know Ash very well yet, Tara loves trying out the new items and pizza is always great for a party.)

“Hey, Tara! ...hold up.” Edgar jumps down from a building they’re passing, just because he can and . “...this is from the rest of the Gang. Me too, I guess. Happy birthday.”

~

The party squad are actually worse off than before.

The Shaman Tribe are back, and the Twins became interested in using fabrics to try and make something too. so they’re playing around with it pretty much.

Gale just arrived, with Lou joined along because he was interested in the party planning too. (So, the snowtel is understaffed right now.) but they’re just chatting instead of working.

Mortis’ bats haven’t arrived yet, and he’s getting worried. They don’t usually take this long in running errands for him.

Leon and Nita are practically playing catch right now. They knock over something that looked priceless. Oh, a crystal ball, perhaps. Bo reprimands them.

They haven’t gotten much closer to making up the room...

There’s a knock, and the group freezes because oh no, they’re out of time. but it ends up being Frank. A very unhappy Frank who was suddenly surrounded by screeching batties who kept picking apart the house while he was packing up his set up for the party. They followed him there afterwards, along with several things.

Mortis tries joking it off ;; , and then very quietly and off-handedly apologizes when Frank doesn’t find it very funny.

But then so hey!!! you’re here so decoration time, everybody! let’s hop to it!

Gene’s Lamp, Sliver, floats in. Sent by Gene himself to check on the progress. They were nearing after all. The Lamp’s alarmed by what it sees. That is, absolutely nothing.

It glares around, and spots Sandy still sleeping. Sliver floats over to him, and hops on him-- Wake up!

Sandy does so, but is very grumpy. “what?”

Tara’s Birthday.

“yeah? what about it?”

Don’t you care?

“obviously.” he swats at the lamp. “it’s tomorrow.”

>:( Today. It’s TODAY.

“,” Sandy looks around, as wide-eyed as he could be.

broken crystal ball, a mix of decorations, and nobody currently fixing up anything from the looks of it.

They’re on the way.

Sandy makes a face. “ok... game plan on the fly.”

~

The final stretch of the day out.

Gene and Tara are nearing the Bazaar, and along the way, Gene starts to get heartfelt.

He reminisces how they first met, how far they’ve traveled together, how much longer they’ve yet to go.

He wishes he could think of something to give her that meant something like the other gifts that she received that day.

He was a Genie, but after everything they’ve been through, she deserves much, much more than what he could ever imagine to conjure up for her.

Tara smiles. “(Don’t... put me on too high a pedestal, my Friend.”)

Don’t sell yourself short either. You’ve done so much.

“(Yes. I have.)” Tara muses unhappily, thumbing the doll.

Gene suddenly gets the idea of what his gift could be, but he needs his Lamp to start on it.

~

Right before the two opened the door, a pair of bats were hanging up the last decoration.

And when the two walked in with the final party supplies at hand and are amazed at the display.

intricate ice sculptures and a more snowy feel set up where the food would go. the music section where Frank set up (who was talking with Mortis.) had a darker aesthetic, including the balloons over there.

Lastly the rest of the place was decorated with very cute works of art. no doubt the Tribe kid’s handiwork. she recognized it from when they stayed over, and the gifts Bo’s gotten from them and shown her.

You’d think that the seemed like the mix of fancier silver decorations, a more gothic theme and natural crafts would look odd together... and well, it was quaint, but it was very pleasing to see.

a patchwork of oddities, not unlike this park, really. She’s always been fond of odds and ends. Tara loved it!

Sandy yawns and walks over to them. “we actually just got done with the set up. but if it makes you feel better, we can still hide right now and yell surprise.”

Tara laughs. It’s okay.. it isn’t like she could be-- but she appreciates it. Sandy shrugs, like he didn’t just call all the shots and work in a hurry with the other eight. “you’re welcome.”

Lou offers to help set up the food and cake. Gale helps too, after presenting his gift too.

Frank and Mortis notice the arrival of the Birthday Gal and wave her over. They chat animatedly-- it’s been so long since they’ve had the chance to catch up! They should plan something soon. Tara agrees, and their gift is from the both of them. I can see it being a very nice piece of clothing, though I’m drawing a blank as to what.

The Lamp reunites with Gene, and their perspectives merge again. Oh. the party was really cut close, huh? but it worked out well! what a relief. a scrap book of actual memories is what you have in mind? how very sappy.... She would like it.

Lastly, Bo walks up to Tara, greeting her and wishing her well on this day. He hopes she likes what they helped with ....he then has the Twins apologize for breaking a few things around the house--

Tara dismisses it easily. They can be replaced. The Twins, that is. (joke to scare them.) But really, as long as they were careful from now on, it was okay. the cub and chameleon agree with no hesitation and then run off to cause more mayhem, but quieter this time.

The Psychic smiles. The guests would be arriving soon, and it was already so lively.

Time to party~!

_______

*I’m still deciding on the extent of her powers, so future sight might not be a thing, because of the characterization I have for her. I’m thinking something along the lines of “Can see past events, and make very informed guesses based on what she knows about people, but cannot see the future itself.”

[bqstqnbruin]

Teach Me Something

I am slowly but surely making my way through the requests that I have and I am sorry that I suck at writing them, but here this is. Also, ignore the fact that this can’t actually happen how I have it set up, but I started writing the beginning and really liked it and then looked up more information about the Stampede and didn’t want to change it (don’t judge me).

Thank you, thank you, thank you to @luvsherleafs​ for reading through this and helping me figure this out, you are an absolute angel human and I appreciate you.

Here is the original request! Hope you like this!

EDIT: Read the other parts: part 2 // part 3 // part 4

__________________

“Alright, I need you guys to start cleaning up, the bell is going to ring in five minutes! Beakers in the cabinets, lab goggles away, paper towels in the garbage. Lab calculations are due at the start of tomorrow’s class, and you have your nuclear quiz when?” you yell to your students as they finish up their lab.

“Wednesday,” some of your students answer.

“Cooper and Eugenie, when is the quiz?” you say louder, trying to get two of your students to stop distracting each other.

“Wednesday,” they chorus, the rest of their classmates running around the room trying to get everything away. 

“That’s right!” you say with a smile, trying to keep your teacher face on for the last few minutes. It was the end of the day, and you had to get home and change before you went over the Stampede for the show that night. What sucked, was that instead of doing just a July week of shows, they decided it would be fun to do a preview night for some groups in March in some tent instead of outdoors like normal, overlapping with your school year. 

The bell rings, your students scrambling to get out the door. “Bye, guys, see you tomorrow,” you say as they scurry out, saying things like ‘thank you, bye Ms. Y/L/I, see you tomorrow.’ You sit down at your desk, letting out a long sigh as the sound of students in the hallway gets louder from chatter, lockers, and overall high school chaos. Going through your lesson for tomorrow, you get lost in typing out your plan that the administration wanted to see, finishing the worksheets that you needed to print, and figuring out what other prep you needed to do before leaving for the day. 

You lean back in your desk chair, debating whether or not you should send the worksheets to the printer now and make the 100 or so copies you needed, or come in and do it during your prep that you had first period tomorrow. “Hey Ms. Y/L/N, any chance you could tell me about capillary action?” you heard a familiar voice say from the doorway. 

“Considering you learn about that in Biology and I teach Chemistry, I would say no,” you laugh, getting up to go greet your boyfriend, closing the door behind him as he steals your desk chair. “The US education system failed you, didn’t it?”

“Well, it’s not like I paid attention in science anyway,” he shrugs, “But what are you doing tonight?”

“I’m out tonight,” you say. You and Matthew had only been dating for about two months, and you still hadn’t brought up that you were one of the dancers with the Stampede. You didn’t know why; it just never came up. “Why, what did you have in mind?”

“The guys and I were going to go out for some Flames promotion thing, I wanted you to come.”

“If you guys go out after ten, I can try to catch up with you, but I also need sleep with school tomorrow,” you say as he pouts. You also needed more money, but that wasn’t something you were about to tell him. You ruffle his curly hair, him swatting your hands away as the pout turns to a smile. “You can come and make copies with me if you want. You have to wait to leave right now anyway, the buses are still outside,” you tell him, sending the documents to the printer down the hall. 

“Do I get to press the buttons?” he asks like a child, getting up to follow you down the hall.

You start walking, the sound of your heels echoing through the hallway as Matthew trails behind you, some of the students trying to figure out what he was doing in their school in the first place, him not knowing where he was going with you. “No, the thing is ancient and I don’t trust you not to break the one copier on this floor because then I’m the one who’s responsible for fixing it.” He starts to pout again, following you into the room with the copier. “Ok, then do you want to fix it when it stops working?” 

“That would end well for no one,” he says, looking down at his shoes. 

You can’t help but laugh as you go to start making the first set of copies that you needed. You sit down at the table in the center of the room, taking Matthews fidgeting hands in yours. “So, how did you even get into the school, to begin with? I didn’t know you were coming to tell the office.”

“You’d be amazed by what you can do when you’re a professional athlete. I just said I was visiting you and they told me I could go once the bell rang,” he shrugs. 

“That is an issue on so many levels,” you say, him just smiling and kissing the back of your hand. 

“Eh, well. Are you sure you can’t come out with us tonight? The guys love you and I think you’d have a really good time tonight.” 

You hear the copier stop, groaning as you get up to make the next batch. You could have just queued them all up at once, but that would make the copier angry. “What are you guys doing?” 

“It’s Flames night at the Stampede, so a bunch of us are going.” 

You stop what you’re entering into the copier, thankful that your back is facing Matthew. You should just tell him you were going to be there tonight, too. If you told him you were going to be there with other friends from work, that wouldn’t be a lie. Why weren’t you telling him in the first place? Maybe it was because you were slightly upset that you had to have two jobs just to make ends meet while he was living a life of luxury on one paycheck. But at least both jobs were ones that you loved, so that made things a little better. “Oh, cool. I’ve never seen one of the shows there, actually,” was all you could get out. That wasn’t totally a lie; you couldn’t see the show when you were in it.

“See, more of a reason why you should come out with us tonight!” 

“I said maybe. That’s not a no. Now come on, I need to get home,” you hand him the stacks of paper to bring back to your classroom.

“Can we at least do something tomorrow night?” he pleads, putting the papers down on your desk. 

“I need one copy of these in the yellow and orange folders and one copy of this one in the pink folders, and one copy of this in the blue folders,” you instruct him while you check to see if you have another rehearsal or anything that you need to be at tomorrow night. “But what do you want to do tomorrow night?” 

“Uh, well, I was planning on getting in an early workout with Noah and Johnny the next morning since we have a late flight to Colorado so nothing that involves anything late,” he says, trying to concentrate on putting one piece of paper into each folder. “Why do you do this again?”

“Nothing late is the best, so I’m down for whatever.” That also, hopefully, meant that it was something that involved little to no money being spent, “And it helps me know who is missing that day or just didn’t take their papers and it helps them make sure they get their papers. I put them out before each class and they take them when they walk in.” He just shrugs, not completely understanding the method to your madness, but it worked for you and your students, so who cared? “How much time do you have before you have to meet the guys?” You ask him, even though you really don’t have time yourself. 

“I gotta run; this was the only time I had to see you, so I wanted to come by,” he says, putting the folders in neat piles, handing them to you. 

“That’s so sweet. I feel like we haven’t gotten to see each other a lot lately, with the season picking up and all.” You put the folders on one of the counters in your room, dropping the two on the top.

As you bend down to pick them up, you hear Matthew exhale, “Is it bad that all I can think of is picking you up and doing some very bad things to you on that counter?”

You turn around, pretending to be disgusted. “Matthew! The students leave their water bottles here!” you squeal, thankful that your classroom door was closed since students were still roaming the halls. “That might be something we can do tomorrow night, just not on this counter.” You pack your computer in your bag, grabbing that, your keys, and Matthew’s hand to drag him out of the school before he says anything else that shouldn’t be said around children. 

“Can I at least kiss you in the parking lot?” he whines.

“Nope, my spot and therefore my car faces the track, some of my advanced kids are on the track team and I do not need them bringing up my romantic rendezvous with my boyfriend in class tomorrow and for the rest of the year. But where are you parked?”

“I ubered. Can I get a ride?” he says, giving you the puppy dog eyes that always made you say yes to him.

“Get in, pain in the ass.” You drive him home, the entire drive spent with him constantly begging you to go upstairs with him, but you really did have to get home and change. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Your place or mine?” 

“Your pick, just text me when you decide,” he says, leaning over to give you a kiss. “Wait, are we far enough away from the school for you to kiss me now?” he teases, ghosting your lips as a mischievous smile dancing across his face. 

“Shut up and kiss me,” you say, taking his face in your hands, kissing him instead. 

“Are you sure you can’t come upstairs for just a minute?” he begs once he pulls away, his forehead against yours.

You wanted to, but he did say he had to run and you definitely had to get home and change. Looking at the clock out of the corner of your eye, you had about an hour to get home, get ready, and get over to the grounds before the parking was so full that walking from your car to the grounds would be considered your warm-up. “I’ve really got to go,” you say.

“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, though,” he says, giving you another quick kiss before getting out of your car. 

“Yeah, bye,” you call as he runs inside. You did have to tell him eventually that you had another job, but he was going to find out tonight anyway. Would he be mad that you kept something like this from him, especially when he told you that he was going to be there tonight and you stood there and didn’t say anything? 

You spend your entire drive home freaking out a little. This is a pretty big part of your life that you hid from him, especially since dancing has been part of your life for as long as you could remember, but you just couldn’t figure out how to tell him you needed a second job to live. What if he hates you because you’ve been keeping part of your life a secret from him? No, he couldn’t hate you, could he? Not for something like this. In all your freaking out, you completely mess up your makeup. Frustrated and in a hurry, you now had to completely redo your face in what would be record time, or be late enough that you risked walking a mile from your car.

You restart your makeup, deciding that you were going to do as little as possible, only to be distracted by your friend Rory's face popping up on your phone with an incoming call. “So is your hunky boyfriend going to be at this thing tonight?”

“Hello to you, too. And yeah he told me he was coming.”

“So he knows you’re going to be there?” 

You hear her drop something on her end, which is perfect since it gives you time to avoid her question, pretend not to hear it as your finish your face and try to run out the door. “Sorry, Ror, didn’t catch that, I’m running out the door to my car,” you tell her. 

“That translates to: no, I didn’t tell him.” 

“Well, he’s not stupid, he’ll be able to figure out it’s me when he sees my face. It’s not like I look that different when I have makeup on.” 

“You could call him and tell him right now.”

“Nope. He’ll find out when he gets there if he even notices.”

“Alright, love. Just make sure you find me after he freaks out,” she says, hanging up. He wouldn’t freak out, right? It’s not like you were lying per se, you were just not telling him the truth of things. He might be a little mad about not telling him exactly where you were going tonight, but none of what you told him was wrong: you were out with people you worked with. You just didn’t say you were going to actually be at work. 

You spend your entire ride trying to justify to yourself why you shouldn’t be freaking out over tonight, which then inadvertently caused you to freak out anyway. After parking what felt like a mile away and pretty much running to the room where you got ready, Rory is standing at the door, waiting for you. 

“Come here, I’m finishing your makeup.”

“I finished my makeup!” you protest as she takes you by the hand and drags you in front of a mirror.

“If your boyfriend is coming tonight, then you need to look better than that.” 

“He came to my classroom earlier and I almost never wear makeup to school. I look fine.” 

“Eyes closed,” she instructs. You do as she says. You can hear the crowd coming in to watch the show that you were about to put on for them. You were in the opening act, one in the middle, and then the end, so you had plenty of downtime to worry, pace, and freakout, while trying to remember your routine and get a headstart on your lessons for next week. “I don’t understand why you’ve spent this entire time dancing here with us and then dating him for what, two months now? And he still doesn’t know that much about you? Like I understand keeping mystery in the relationship to keep everything exciting, but this seems like basic information that should have been shared. It’s not like you’re doing something illegal.”

“If my eyes were open, I’d be rolling them at you,” you mutter. You didn’t need a lecture from her about this. You were already well aware of the fact that this was something you should have told him, but what could you do about it now?

“I’m just saying,” she starts again.

“Yes, I know, I know. You have been just saying since I first showed you his picture.” Thankfully, she stops talking, finishing your makeup in less time than you thought it would take. You can hear your phone buzzing in your bag, Matthew’s face lighting up your screen. “Hey, what’s up?” you ask, trying to change while also holding the phone to your ear. 

“Just wanted to say hi before the show started,” you hear him say, the guys screaming in his ear about him already being whipped. “Shut up,” he yells at them. “I thought I saw your car in the lot, though. Did you and your friends end up coming here or something?” 

Shit. You hear someone calling that it was almost time for the show, everyone needing to get ready to be in their place as you struggle to get your other shoe on. “Fuck, sorry, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later, bye!” you spit out, hanging up before he can say anything else. 

“Ready to be exposed?” Rory asks, getting next to you with the lights out.

“That’s what she said,” you slip in, the music and lights coming on, blinding you instantly as you went into the routine like it was something you were born to do. At one point in the routine, you’re off to the side, out of the spotlight and giving your vision enough time to see the audience, make out their faces and see who was paying attention and who was on their phone and trying to hide you. You glance to the left, seeing a sea of red, each man wearing the familiar C logo that you were suddenly mortified to see. You spotted Matthew’s curls instantly, thankful that you weren’t able to tell if he could see you or not since you had to go back under the light, erasing the outside world from you. 

The routine ends, you running back to where you get ready to see your phone lighting up with texts from Matthew.

Hey, what the hell?

Anything you need to tell me?

I’m going to be by your car once this is over. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was mad. He was breaking up with you. This was it; your best relationship was over before it really got started. You should have just told him. Why didn’t you tell him? “Did he see you?” Rory asks, breaking you out of the trance you forced yourself into. 

“Yep, and he’s mad. After tonight I’m going to be single again, so that’s fun.”

“Well, Ryan’s had a crush on you since you started here, so there’s always him.”

“Rory!” you yell, trying to tell her she’s not helping without actually saying so. 

“Are you going to be ok to go on?” she asks, sitting you down on the floor with her. 

“I don’t know. I just want to talk to Matthew,” you admit. You can feel yourself start to cry, the commotion of everything around you muted as she just looked at you.

“Hey,” she says, putting her hand on your knee, “Why didn’t you tell him?”

You take in a deep breath, shaking your head because of how dumb the real reason is. “Do you know what it’s like to date someone who makes so much money that he can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants financially? I’m not mad about it, it’s just difficult when I have to work two jobs to make ends meet and that’s just not something he has to worry about. He always wants to go out with the guys and begs me to come but then I’m sitting there with like, ten dollars to my name meanwhile all of he and all of his friends can buy the bar if they wanted to and still have enough money to jet off to Australia or somewhere.”

“If he really likes you, then that kind of stuff shouldn’t matter. His first clue that you didn’t have a lot of money should have been when he found out you were a teacher.” You shoot her a look, “Ok, ok, but you know I’m right. From what you’ve told me, he just wants you to be happy. Go talk to him.”

“But the show?” 

“I’ll find your partner and tell him not to go on unless he can find you first. Ok?” Rory says, picking you back up off the floor, “Go to your man.”

You send him a text to meet you out by your car as soon as he can. You beat him to the car, pacing back and forth in front of the hood. You see him walking towards you, your heart beating like crazy. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you blurt out to him before he can even get a word in.

His eyes meet yours, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You just shrug, trying to figure out the words to say. “It never came up? I don’t know. I should have. It’s not a big deal, I just have to work the two jobs to make ends meet, especially since this is normally during the summer when I don’t have school and I can get a paycheck and I told you that I’ve been dancing since I was like three, I just left out the part about me still dancing and I’m sorry are you mad?” you let out all in one breath. 

He shrugs back, his hand in his jean pockets as he kicks a pebble back and forth with his foot. “That’s not the real reason. I know you well enough, Y/N, you’re not a good liar.”

 “You have everything. I have to struggle to make ends meet, and even doing this, it’s still tough. I love both of my jobs; I was always worried that I would have to choose between teaching or dancing, and yes I have to do both in order to survive, but I would do both even if one was enough. I’m sorry,” you say again.

“This isn’t something that’s going to work if we keep things from each other. I mean, what if I had a secret family? I mean, the guys know who you are, too. What do you think it was like having them see my girlfriend dancing out there and me sitting there like an idiot not even knowing this was something you do?” he counters, his hands starting to wave around with frustration.

“Not telling you about a job is a lot different than you keeping a whole family from me. It’s not like this is some sort of scandal, this is something that I’m insecure about, I don’t know what else to tell you. Sorry I made you look slightly stupid in front of your friends.” you turn away from him, starting to go back inside when he grabs you by the arm, turning you towards him. 

He bites his bottom lip, face scrunched like he’s trying to figure out what he’s going to do next. “This is something that makes you happy?” 

“Yeah.”

“What about teaching?”

“Same feeling.”

“Then that’s all I care about. Come on, you think I would be angry that you had two jobs, or something? I would be angry if you had two jobs and you hated both of them. You’re doing what you love. Every time you talk about what you did at school that day, your eyes light up and I don’t even think you realize how much energy you get just thinking about your students and I feel so proud to be with someone who’s so passionate about what they do. If you’re like that about this, then oh my, god, I think the guys are going to kill me for talking about you so much.”

“Aw, you talk about me to the guys?” 

The line in his lips turns into a small smile as he moves towards you, pulling you closer to him. His hand finds the small of your back, lips close enough that you’re sure he’s about to kiss you. “Are you kidding? I don’t shut up about you.”

“I talk about you a lot here, but if I did that at school my Principal would get very angry at me for not teaching.”

“Damn, your kids would go wild if they knew you were sleeping with one of their favorite athletes.”

“Yeah, and I would be fired for telling them and also lying to them since their favorite player is Sean.” 

He pulls away, a shocked look on his face, “I’m better than Monny,” he says, acting like he’s hurt. You throw your head back laughing as he pulls you closer to him. “Is it bad that I’m still thinking about fucking you on the counter in your classroom but now you’re wearing this?” 

“How about somewhere that my students don’t have access to and I wear one of your jerseys instead?”

His eyes grow wide before he closes them, obviously thinking about it, “Fuck,” he lets out, his face going towards the sky. “Please do.”

“Calm down there, Tkachuk, you still have the rest of the show to get through first.” 

[thirstyforoc]

🎂

I know his birthday was a couple days ago but my brain doesn't work that well and I'm always early for everything else, I can be late for this.

Here's something to read that's probably not great and wordy and rambly and really only relevant to my own interests. I had to hammer this out because I just had to and it took longer than I expected because I can't shut the fuck up. Read it if you feel like it or don't, I'll still love you either way.

Using real names so don't keep going if that bothers you. I didn't post the picture but I make a reference to that one pic of him at Medieval Times, you know the one, at least I hope you do. Enjoy.

Idk, I just like picturing every single birthday Dustin and Jim have spent together since they became friends. Sue me. I have too much time on my hands and like to think about their relationship so I have to get this out. Here. Take it.

It's early in their friendship, a few years in. They're in Philly for a show and Dustin knows it's almost Jim's birthday, he's aware it's coming up but he forgot what day it fell on and that it was so soon until Jim brings it up. He's never super sober or super clear on what day of the week it is, that's just how he lives. If anyone has a problem with it that's on them. Jim never seems to take issue with it though. Maybe that's why their friends?

It's the Friday before his birthday. They're hanging out at Dustin's place before heading to the show and Jim reminds Dustin when his birthday is. "Tuesday? Your fucking birthday is on a Tuesday this year? Gross. Jim Day on a Tuesday. Lame."

Jim laughs a little, the soft laugh he always gives Dustin when he's being a certain kind of ridiculous or obnoxious, like he can't believe he's saying what he's saying. "You know I don't get to pick what day my birthday falls on, right? Tell me you know that. I need to hear you say you know that."

"I mean, yuck. What's there to do on a Tuesday?"

"I dunno. I don't really have any plans this year." Truth be told Jim's not all that concerned with how he's going to spend his actual birthday. Perhaps he'll do something with friends or family back in Jersey? Maybe he won't. It's not a big, special, milestone birthday or anything. No reason to go all out.

Dustin absolutely, positively will not shut up about it. No matter how many times Jim grunts or rolls his eyes Dustin just keeps talking and babbling about how it's a crime for someone's birthday to fall on a Tuesday. Jim's on the verge of asking Dustin exactly what is wrong with Tuesdays anyway when Dustin pauses to look right at him. "We should just start now."

"Huh?"

"Today."

"Today?"

"Yeah. Like, spend the whole weekend partying. Today is your birthday. Tomorrow is your birthday. Keep the Jim Day train on the tracks through Sunday, Monday, your actual birthday. You said you didn't have plans, right? Just stay. You'll stay and it'll be like...like one long birthday instead of a fucking boring ass birthday on a Tuesday of all days. Yeah, you'll stay and...and you'll stay and we'll find things to do every day. So, you'll stay." It's never a question. It's already been decided that Jim's going to agree. Dustin never sounds uncertain, says it with such confidence. He's not fearful even for one second Jim might say he isn't down.

Dustin wants him to stay so Jim does. Sure, he's got things he could be doing at home, was planning on staying maybe through Saturday and heading back Sunday morning, Sunday evening at the latest but he could stay. Yeah, he will stay. Dustin wants him to stay so he's staying.

Work will go on without him. He'll call his family and tell them something came up. If his parents or siblings are upset they can find a way to celebrate his birthday once he's home and recovered from what's bound to be a bender if he knows anything at all about Dustin. Dustin wants him to stay. He'll stay.

Man, go home where he's made no plans, where there's no party, and most of all no Dustin or have the time of his life all weekend with one of his best friends? Wow, that's a hard choice. Dustin really seems to want him to stay so he's staying.

Friday night they head to the nearest bar after the show is over, close down the damn thing and stay up laughing and talking on Dustin's couch for three hours once they get back. They're not even paying attention to the time, neither one cares. Drinking and partying with all their wrestling friends was fun but at the end of the night it's nice that it's just the two of them. It's nice.

The next morning is a bit rough. Ok, they aren't conscious until afternoon but 2pm counts as morning when it's Dustin and Jim you're talking about. Saturday-it's Saturday, right?-is pretty much the same only the drinking begins much earlier, like pretty much as soon as they're both showered and get some food in their stomachs. Day drinking is a lot of fun, so much fun that a short nap is necessary before they head out to meet their friends again. Actually, they kind of passed out together on the couch watching tv, it was completely unintentional and unplanned. They probably would have slept the rest of the day away if not for Dustin being startled awake by Jim's loud snoring. "Thank god we don't live together." Dustin thinks for a moment while watching Jim sleep. Well, maybe that wouldn't be all bad. Whatever, can't think about it too long, they have to get up.

Saturday night is even wilder than Friday night. They drink too much. Way too much. They're tanked. Bombed. Blitzed. Completely fucked. Dustin kept buying them shots and when their bar tab got a little too high he simply shifted to telling everyone who would listen it was Jim's birthday, coaxed a bunch of other drunks into buying them more shots.

Sunday is the worst. They're suffering when they finally roll out of bed and off the couch for good and both agree easily, immediately they should take it easy today. There's a shitty, cheap diner close to Dustin's place so they stop there to eat dinner, share a huge plate of greasy diner food that Dustin pays for. Friends keep asking if they're coming to the bar again but both of them are in rocky shape from the night before. They sit Sunday night out, convalesce on Dustin's couch quietly, chug water and make small talk while they recover.

Monday evening Dustin takes Jim to Medieval Times because the little guy has talked about it so many times since they first met, drops hints constantly about how he wants to go-not this weekend but Dustin remembers him mentioning it-so Dustin figures now would be good. It's the little hunk's birthday after all.

On the drive there they swear they're going to take it easy, agree to have a couple glasses of wine with dinner and call it good. What a crock of shit. After cracking open their third bottle of the night Jim insists he's going to sit on that throne because he'll look badass so Dustin follows. He follows his little drunk blond friend everywhere, why wouldn't he? Gotta keep tabs on him, make sure he's safe, keep eyes on him. Jim doesn't ask but Dustin takes several pictures of him on that throne, laughs the entire time because Jim is hilarious and fun and cute, really fucking cute, especially with almost two bottles of wine in him.

"Ooh. C'mon." Jim grabs Dustin's wrist so fast he damn near drops his phone, leads him towards the photo booth in the lobby. The little shit is lucky Dustin has some cash on him, Dustin can tell from the look on his face he isn't going to take no for an answer. Jim shoves Dustin in first and almost crashes down on his lap, drunk on wine and apparently really fucking excited about them taking pictures together.

The booth is tiny. The seat is narrow. Jim's a compact little guy but Dustin's certainly not. To say they're crammed in there would be an understatement but they manage. Dustin forgets to look where he's supposed to look, far too preoccupied with staring at the little blond planted on his lap. "King for a day." Jim laughs, flashes Dustin a huge, vibrant smile as he points to the novelty crown on his head.

Maybe Dustin's going soft? Maybe he had more wine than he thought? Maybe they've spent a little too much time together the last few days? Maybe. Maybe not. All Dustin knows is it's easier for him to blame the urge to kiss Jim right in this photo booth on one of those things instead of being honest with himself and admitting he has feelings for the guy.

"Maybe Jim shouldn't have such pretty pink lips if I can't kiss him." Definitely can't say that out loud. Hold on. Rewind. Go back to the beginning. Jim's drunk and smiling and the booth is still snapping pictures of them. "Say something that doesn't involve his lips, you moron!"

Easier said than done. Dustin's brain makes it sound so simple. The truth is it's really difficult, borderline impossible to stop thinking about his pretty mouth. Jim's still looking at him so Dustin smiles back, reaches over and brushes his fingertips across Jim's cheek. "You're always a king to me, baby." Why the fuck did he say that? He would have been better off just kissing Jim. Jim just laughs, a huge, easy laugh that goes on until the little voice in the booth tells them to wait outside for their pictures to process. Jim climbs off his lap and the moment is over, gone, finished just as quickly as it came. Oh well. Maybe next time. It's not like Dustin's going to forget he wants to kiss him anytime soon.

They're so drunk at the conclusion of their night at Medieval Times they need to leave Dustin's car there and catch a cab home. Whatever. He'll have someone drive him back so he can pick it up in the morning. They had fun. No harm done. A friend gives them both a lift to pick up Dustin's shitty old car and they're already out so they kick off Tuesday by going out for brunch. It's a lot pricier than the greasy spoon diner by Dustin's place and they'll both be broke by the time they're done celebrating but that doesn't really matter does it? Birthdays only come once a year and today is literally Jim's birthday. It's Jim day.

They're full of delicious food by the time they're through and stop at a liquor store to buy supplies for mimosas to drink at home because they both agreed it'd be the cheaper route. They're not trying to get hammered, just sip throughout the day and maintain a nice buzz until it's time to head to the bar. It's Tuesday. Fuck, when did they start this again? Who cares. It's Tuesday. It's Jim Day. It's not until almost midnight on Tuesday that Dustin realizes neither one of them has bothered to talk to a single girl all weekend. Huh. Weird.

Shortly after midnight they toast with a couple shots of whiskey. They call it a night before last call and pick up the most unhealthy food they can find on the way back to Dustin's place, devour it while relaxing on his couch. That's where they fall asleep too, Jim slumped over in a heap on Dustin's shoulder, Dustin simply smiling before putting an arm around the little guy and drifting off shortly after.

Wednesday is pretty chill. Jim's actual birthday has passed and they've been going pretty hard for the last few days. Dustin's suggestion to hit up the grocery store and make dinner at his place is half because they're almost broke and half because they're both sorta worn out. Jim agrees, seems happy about it if Dustin's being honest and that's a relief. He's not much of a cook but for Jim he'll make an exception. It is his birthday, or was his birthday. It may never end, may never stop being his birthday.

They leave the dirty dishes in the sink and waste the rest of the night playing video games, stay up damn near long enough to see the sunrise before they remember it'd be a good idea to get some sleep. It's strange watching Jim curl up on the couch that final time. Dustin knows he's got to go home at some point. The guy doesn't live in Philly, doesn't live here. He's got a life to go back to. He can't just spend all his time hanging out, that's ridiculous. Dustin knows it's completely, utterly ridiculous but he wants Jim to stay. He can't stay.

When they finally wake up on Thursday Dustin is oddly nervous, uneasy. They've never spent such a long stretch together, this is easily the most he's seen of Jim, the most time they've shared since they became friends. It's difficult to admit to himself but Dustin liked it. He liked having Jim around. He liked what he saw. Yeah, they were already friends, best friends but it seems different now and Dustin isn't sure what to do with that knowledge, that feeling.

Time for Jim to leave comes quickly. Before Dustin's had an opportunity to process everything that transpired from the time Jim got to his place Friday afternoon to now Jim's ready to make the trip home. It sucks. There's got to be another excuse, another reason to ask Jim to stay, right? No. He can't do that. He won't do that. Jim can't stay. His birthday has passed. Back to normal, regular life. He'll see Jim in a couple weeks for the next show anyway. He can't stay.

Dustin's not expecting Jim to hug him goodbye. Normal people, friends hug goodbye all the time, he's not sure why it comes as a surprise when Jim's hands are on the back of his neck and the little guy is mumbling something about how much fun he had, thanking Dustin. "You're welcome. Happy birthday." Dustin barely manages to say. Fuck, he's such an idiot. He's not even hugging Jim back. He really should do that.

He does hug Jim back after a few awkward moments, squeezes him a bit too tight judging by that little noise Jim just made. Why else would he make a sound like that? Dustin eases up, lets go of his waist and looks down at his little blond friend. Yeah, this sucks. What, like he's supposed to spend almost six full days with a guy like Jim and not be bothered when it's time for him to leave? He can't stay.

He can't stay but Dustin's not about to let Jim escape without joking around with him one last time. "So, same thing next year? Holy shit, your birthday is gonna fall on a Wednesday next year! Lame. A birthday on a Wednesday is even worse than one on a Tuesday. Gross, dude."

"Shut up. Your birthday rolls around first, remember? Let's plan for that first."

"Deal."

[lilbabycee]

Hello! I have fallen in love with miles and I was wondering if we could have another one about a family barbecue with the avengers 🥺 I live for his relationships with his aunts and uncles! Thanks so much 🥺❤️

anon, yes!:

it’s tony’s suggestion initially

he wants to “boost morale” and thinks that “it could be a lot of fun, babycakes” and you shrug, nodding because it’s not a bad idea

but then he gets mad and leaves because you ask him innocently: “but who’s gonna cook? cause i know for a fact it’s not gonna be you”

so you stand in the hallway as you relay the information to your husband and your very sleepy, newly three-year old son miles, one of miles’ arms circled around steve’s neck and his other hand on the end of the pacifier that bobs in his mouth, eyebrows furrowed as he listens to you, his long lashes sweeping his cheeks

you shoot steve a look when you see the paci because you’ve definitely been hiding it so that you can wean your son off of it

(it’s still better than sucking his thumb) but as you glare at your husband, he simply smiles because he’s a pushover

“sounds good, sweetheart,” steve kisses the crown of your head and when the both of you fall silent, miles raises his hand patiently looking between the two of you

“go ahead, bud,” steve laughs at him

putting down his hand and pulling the paci out of his mouth, miles still looks lost: “daddy, why are we having a-a bar-bar-barbecue? is there a birthday?”

“no, miles,” steve smiles, “uncle tony wants to have a barbecue because he thinks that it’ll be fun.”

“but it’s a party - you can’t have a party if it- it- there isn’t a birthday!”

miles says it with exasperation and smacks his hand on his forehead, like it’s so obvious and the both of you are idiots for even suggesting otherwise

“honey, people can have parties when it’s not their birthdays too - sometimes having a party can just be fun and that’s why people do it.”

miles listens to steve’s explanation patiently, blinking up at him and then nodding slowly, handing his dad his pacifier - steve throws it on the table and you make a mental note to hide it later - and looks far more alert than before, a smile spreading on his face

“mama, can we go to the barbecue?” he looks up at you pleadingly, hope shining in his cerulean eyes and you can’t help but roll yours because that’s the exact same look that your husband gives you when he wants something

“of course we can,” you boop the end of his nose playfully and he scrunches it up, giggling and squirming in his dad’s hold while you tickle his sides

“mama, stop, i gotta get ready!” he slides down and falls through steve’s arms, shocking you - “oh my god, miles, stop that!” - because he must’ve dropped at least five feet onto a hardwood floor

he sprints to his room and steve shakes his head fondly as you bury your face in your hands because your son is a maniac

(the barbecue is also tomorrow but you help him pick out his outfit regardless)

miles is up extra early the next day, jumping on both you and steve at 5:30 in the morning, before steve even has the opportunity to head out for his run

“okay okay, bud, we’re up,” steve groans encasing his son in his large arms and pulling him down to lay on the bed while you shove a pillow over your head and try to get back to sleep

“mama, get up!” miles whines and you can hear the smile in his voice

“yeah, mama, get up,” steve teases, nudging you with his foot and you rub your temples because you live with the most exhausting human beings

you make a light breakfast for the three of you after you all fall back asleep at your insistence, giving miles a bath and washing his hair while steve takes his own shower

then you trade off, steve putting miles in his chosen outfit while you go and get ready

you wear a sundress, appropriate for the scorching heat outside, while steve emerges wearing a white t-shirt and light wash blue jeans; he’s carrying your son who’s wearing a red, white, and blue striped shirt under a pair of denim overalls

your heart melts because he is so his father’s son and looks so cute and you can’t help but kiss all over his face

“so cute, baby,” you tell him and he smiles so sweetly that you kiss him again. “alright, let’s go.”

and so you do, leaving your house and heading to the compound where tony has set up a very extravagant barbecue and although you guys are on time, the place is already bustling with all of your friends

miles jumps (yes, jumps...again) out of steve’s arms and runs towards where peter and shuri are sitting, clambering on top of shuri’s lap to throw his arms around her neck (”hi, auntie shuri! i like your hair!”)

he then turns to peter, parking himself in his lap and grabbing his hands, presumably wanting him to “do the web thingy” (even though peter’s explained a million times that he has web shooters, he still entertains your son’s pestering)

“you made it,” tony, dressed in a silk hawaiian shirt and shorts - and pepper, who has her hair down in loose waves, approach you - the former claps steve on the back and his wife kisses your cheek

“this all looks great, you guys,” you compliment them, steve’s hand on the curve of your waist to tuck you into his side

“thank y-”

tony’s interrupted by pepper slapping his shoulder, to which he lets out a loud “ow!”

“thank you,” she says instead, giving you a bright smile. “i’m not just gonna let him take all the credit now, am i?”

“no, dear,” tony grumbles, cracking a beer open and handing it to steve

“let’s get you a drink,” pepper winks at you, looping an arm in yours and dragging you away from the men but not before steve presses a kiss to your forehead

“he’s still so in love with you,” pepper gushes, looking at you with wide eyes and a grin

you shrug, suddenly feeling bashful, and avoid eye contact with her. instead, you see that miles is now on his auntie wanda’s back, the two of them running away from natasha. the redhead catches your eye and smirks, speeding up her jog to a run which makes miles squeal and hold on tighter to wanda

“i guess so,” you admit, grabbing a mimosa off of the table. the two of you toast to “i don’t know, y/n... what about happy and healthy marriages?...no, that’s corny - let’s toast to good sex.”

pepper leaves you to go and find tony because “he was supposed to be getting dessert but i have a feeling he forgot”

“what’s poppin’, lil bit?” sam greets you with a cheeky grin, slinging his arm over your shoulder as bucky sidles up next to you on the other side, playfully shoving you with his shoulder because he’s carrying your son on his other side 

“hey, doll,” bucky grins as well, short hair framing his face wonderfully, although miles seems to miss it because he keeps running his hands through it with a slight frown on his face

“hey sammy, hey bucky,” you lean over to make a funny face at your son, distracting him temporarily from bucky’s hair. “sam, i thought you were gonna be cooking today.”

“i did, but then big guy over there insisted that he should take over,” sam rolls his eyes and jerks his thumb over to point at rhodey who is wearing an apron that says ‘trophy husband’ and it makes you snort out loud

“whose apron is that?”

“i think it’s tony’s,” bucky answers, miles now out of his arms, running away from him and towards his uncle tony who is standing with “momo!”

miles and morgan embrace each other dramatically and then morgan starts what is presumably a game of tag, sprinting away from miles and giggling happily while your son chases after her

“cute,” you say and bucky chuckles

“but isn’t my apron better?” sam stops the three of you in your tracks so that you can stare at sam’s white ‘kiss the chef’ apron

“meh,” you and bucky shrug, laughing loudly when sam shoves you and bucky, grumbling something about jealousy

bucky goes after him, giving you a wink before jogging lightly after his friend

miles is now sitting in nakia’s lap, t’challa and thor telling him stories that have his eyes wide and mouth wide open in awe - you make eye contact with nakia and she blows you a kiss that warms your heart

(“uncle thor, where’s your hammer?”...“uncle ‘challa, can- can you- what about your claws?”)

sam is now trying to wrestle the spatula out of rhodey’s grip, the two men fighting beside the grill while bucky and clint look on in amusement

“hey, dollface,” steve’s hand slips around your waist and he pulls you back into him, dropping a kiss on your lips. “having fun?”

“yeah,” you sigh. “you?”

“definitely. i’m kinda hungry though-”

“food’s ready!” tony calls out right on queue, obviously having broken up the two chefs and deeming it time to eat

lunch is delicious and so much fun that your stomach hurts afterwards, not from overeating but from how much you’ve been laughing

miles sits on sam’s lap the whole time, the two of them pestering “uncle ‘ucky”, but since it’s miles, bucky doesn’t mind at all

(he’s shooting sam looks that could kill but the gap-toothed man only smiles charmingly and continues throwing food at his head)

you’ve had enough mimosas to be a little tipsy, just enough to feel relaxed and loose, leaning into steve’s side as rhodey tells another one of his stories that makes everyone groan

but then nat and clint take over, sharing tidbits about what happened in budapest that have everyone on the edge of their seats

the sun is setting by the time people start leaving - you’re tempted to stay longer but miles is getting sleepy and a little whiny

“mama,” he tugs at the bottom of your dress and his blue eyes are barely open. “m’tired.”

“yeah?” you swing him up into your arms and his head immediately rests on your shoulder, arms around your neck and eyes slipping closed. “okay, baby, let’s go home.”

and so you do, saying your goodbyes and driving back home

you and steve are on the couch, cuddled up next to each other while soft music plays in the background, the low lights in your house making you tired

miles is still sleeping on you (you tried to put him down earlier but he wouldn’t go to bed, so you’re waiting until he’s deeper asleep)

“sleepy, baby?” he glances at you, eyebrow raised and voice quiet. you nod, yawning and burying your face in his shoulder. “okay then: sleep.”

“what, right here? we’ll just go to bed, babe-”

“i’ll take you both to bed later. i’m comfortable and i’m sure you are too, so sleep, sweetheart.”

“...okay.”

and when you fall asleep not even two minutes later, steve admires the way the planes of both of your faces look in this light and his heart flutters at the sight - he can’t believe how lucky he’s gotten and presses a kiss to your cheek and then miles’ because he can’t help it

you sigh and shift in your sleep, curling further into him and it’s in moments like these that he knows he wouldn’t trade his little family for the entire world 

i am in love goodbye