#i didn’t know he was british i swear i found out later

[clusterhu-g]

you guys know the chef from that movie the menu

yea i like him too

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Simple Gestures

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> You and Logan, despite getting off on the wrong foot, find yourselves falling in love through simple gestures.

Disclaimer: Mostly cute fluff, an almost kiss in the snow, stargazing, stealing clothes, a little violence in the beginning, a meet ugly, simple gestures of love. Light swearing, happy ending. Not Proof Read.

Yourself and Logan had fallen in love through simple gestures. Although, that wasn’t how it always was. 

In the beginning, neither of you had exactly been in the other’s good books. Though, you supposed that had something to do with what Rogue would call your “meet cute” rather than your individual personalities. 

Your “meet cute” (as Rogue put it) had been when Xavier had first tried to recruit you to join X-Men. 

At the time, you had been living in Colorado and was spending most days either working at the library or working at the local bar. And one evening when you got home, you found three strangers on your veranda meaning they had misread your “Keep Out” sign at the pathway entrance, or had completely elected to ignore it. 

“I don’t know what you’re selling but I’m not buying.” 

You walked through the three of them and their huddle, opened up your screen door, unlocked your front door and slammed both in their faces. 

��Logan,” you heard a British voice sigh before an American one replied with; “I’m on it.”

Maybe he was Canadian?

Either way, he didn’t sound thrilled to be having to do whatever he knew was being asked of him. 

But you soon found out what that was because a few moments later, he was opening up your back door. 

So, as any woman would do when a stranger is ignoring her polite “fuck off, please” and trying to get through the back door of her home. 

You threw a book at him. 

And it wasn’t just any book. 

It was a hardback copy of Kings and Queens of Britain. 

“Wha- Jesus!”

Stumbling back, Logan caught hold of the door frame as his head mended his new found concussion. 

“Get out!” you screamed. 

Finding yourself walking towards him, you were about to shove him out when he noticed what had hit him and before you could throw a punch to his face, he caught your wrist. 

“Whoa, hey, wait. We’re not here to hurt you.”

“Said every intruder ever.”

“Please, Ms Y/l/n.” The British guy was back. “We only wish to talk.”

“Yeah?” You looked around at the three of them before you looked back at the book. Logan’s grip squeezed on your wrist to get your attention. 

He had it. 

“I wouldn’t think about it.”

Glaring from Logan, you turned back to the Brit. “Please. Just five minutes of your time.”

Once more you looked around them and yanked your wrist from Logan’s grip. Turning, you picked up your book and placed it back where you had found it. 

“You have a funny way of showing it,” you grumbled to yourself as you walked further inside. 

The three of them entered and stood around your living room as you walked from your kitchen and back in again. It was more of an open floor plan so they could still see you. Not that you were trying to hide from them. 

“So why are you here? Other than trying to break into my home?”

“We wish to offer you a job,” the woman said. 

“And you are?”

She smiled at you. So far, she was the only one you liked. “Ororo. But you can also call me Storm. And this here is Logan.”

You looked at him. “We’ve met.”

Logan mirrored your look to him. 

“And this is-”

“Professor Charles Xavier.” He introduced himself. 

You nodded. “What sort of job?”

“It’s to be a part of our team. The X-Men.”

You took a gulp of your drink. “And I want to be a part of this…why?”

The Professor rolled forward. “Ms Y/l/n-”

“Y/n.”

The Brit smiled. “Y/n. Our team is made up of some of the best people we know who are like us. Mutants.”

You paused. “Mutants?”

“Ororo here can control the weather. Hence her nickname, Storm. And Logan-”

“Is what? Catwoman? I mean, with the breaking and entering and the little kitty ears for hair, it sure does fit him.” 

Storm chuckled and Logan looked less than amused. The Professor held back his laugh, too. “Actually, Logan is, well…”

Turning his head to look at him, Logan rolled his eyes a little and gave a short sigh before bringing his fist up and clenching it just as metal claws came out. 

You grimaced. “That’s super gross.”

Logan rolled his eyes once more and put his claws away. 

“Like I was saying, our team is made up of mutants, who can help people. And with your reputation preceding you, I figured we might as well come down here and ask you ourselves.”

Looking around them all, you debated the idea. 

“Why me?”

“Your mutant abilities might prove a successful part in building our team.” Ororo explained. “With talents like yours and by joining our team, you’ll be able to help more people than just the locals here. Those in serious danger could use your help, just like they could use ours.”

“And you just expect me to join you? Like that?”

“There are other parts to your job, such as becoming a teacher. I run a school for the gifted. For mutants. To help them earn a well rounded education as well as helping them learn how to control their powers.”

Logan was baffled. “I thought we were here to put her on the team, not give her a teaching position. She can’t be a teacher.”

“Why not?” Storm asked. 

“For one,” Logan gestured to you. “She works in a bar.”

Your arms crossed your chest. “Someone’s been reading my CV.”

“You really think making a bartender a teacher is a good thing?”

Your brows knotted for a moment. “I’ll have you know I do have a teaching degree and working in a bar is only part time. I also work at a library.”

“She has a teaching degree and she’s not even a teacher.”

The Professor shrugged. “This gives her a chance to put it to good use.”

“What will I be teaching?”

��Well, considering your degree is in English and History, you’ll primarily be teaching English to our students.” The Professor smiled. “And you can take some of Logan’s classes as we move closer to final exams for our older students.”

You looked at Logan, a little shocked. From the jeans and leather jacket, you figured he’d teach something like gym or shop. That’s if he was even a teacher and not just hired muscle. 

“You,” you pointed at Logan. “Teach History?”

A little offended by your shock, Logan nodded. “I’ve lived through most of it.”

“How old are you?”

By your tone, Logan was nowhere near being less offended by you.

After more than just a five minute conversation, you agreed to take the job. And six weeks later, you had your things packed, had moved into your new room and was already teaching some new classes. 

However, considering you were already taking one of Logan’s classes a week as he helped the older students prepare for their mock exams, and neither your or Logan had gotten off on the best foot, things were a little…icy. 

“You need to get neater handwriting.” Logan blurted out one afternoon as you were both sitting in the teachers break room. 

“Excuse me?”

Logan practically slammed another paper beside his thigh. “You write like a five year old.”

“Fast handwriting is a sign of intelligence,” you pointed out. 

“Fast, maybe. But illegible isn’t.”

Another paper went down by his side. 

“You know, maybe if you took your time to actually read, you’d be able to see what it said and it wouldn’t look so much like a blur across a page.”

Logan sighed, marking another paper. “I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have.”

“Logan, I practically read for a living. I’m living every introvert's dream.”

Logan sighed, shuffling his finished papers. “And I mark for a living. Fixed your handwriting.”

Placing half of the papers back with you, Logan walked out carrying the rest with him. And as he did so, you took the top paper from the pile and read where you had written your feedback for the student. 

“It’s not illegible.”

Six months in, not much had changed. 

You and Logan still held small hostilities to one another. Though, on the handwriting front, Logan stopped mentioning it after three months so either he gave up on ever trying to change your handwriting, or he got used to it enough that he could finally understand it. 

And as time went on, the students started to gather their own opinions on you and Logan, both as individuals but also…

As a couple. 

And it was simply by luck that neither you or Logan had found out about it. 

The first teacher to find out was Storm during one of her classes, to which she mentioned it to Jean who later heard the same from her students before she shared it with Scott in the privacy of their bedroom as they were getting ready for bed one night. 

Soon enough, all the teachers save for you and Logan knew of the group of students “shipping” yourself and Logan. 

But things between you and Logan began to change almost a year into you starting your position at the school. 

“But she’s annoying.”

You already knew Logan was talking about you. Over the course of a year you’d somehow become accustomed to the tone and tune of Logan's voice when he was talking about you. 

“Oh, please,” you grumbled as you entered the Professor’s office, still dressed in your pjs. 

Though, considering you had fallen asleep in lounge wear that consisted of joggers, an old t-shirt and a black hoodie which you were 40% sure had been Logan’s at some point, you figured you could get away with being dressed the way you were at eleven in the morning. 

“I annoy everyone,” you told Logan.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Logan mumbled. 

“You’re nothing special.”

The Professor smiled to himself. Storm and the others would get a kick out of this later. 

“Thank you for joining us.”

“Why aren’t you dressed?”

You drank your coffee. “Not all of us sleep in jeans, Logan.”

“I don’t sleep in jeans.”

“Please, you’re never out of them.”

The Professor cleared his throat. “As I was just telling Logan, since final exams are coming up, I would like you and Logan to work through a plan together for next semester's classes. It seems we have a few more students than we had planned, taking History as an option next year. I’ll leave it to you both to work it out, but when you’ve finished, please give me a copy of your schedule.”

“Oh,” the Professor continued. “And please let it be an actual plan this time, Logan. Not a scribble on the back of a napkin from the kitchens. I’ll make sure the library is free tonight so you can both work without any interruptions.”

So there it was. 

After almost a year, you and Logan were being told to spend time alone together after half of the team had worked their hardest to try and make sure someone else was in the room when it came to you two in fear of you both finally snapping and doing more damage than what an encyclopaedia could do to an adamantium skeleton. 

And when Logan found you that night, he felt something shift. 

Both universally and inside of him. 

Walking into the library, he was expecting to find you absent from your chair. But instead he found you sitting at one of the desks, your ankles crossed beneath your chair, multiple notebooks around the place, two pencils in your hair, one between your teeth, pens across the desk (some without caps) and you frantically searching for something. 

On one of the smaller tables behind the sofa, Logan found a familiar notebook which he knew belonged to you, flipped open onto a page. 

Somehow in the past couple of months he’d become fluent in you. From comparing your handwriting to that of a five year old, it wasn’t long until he began to pick out words and eventually became a master in your handwriting. 

Even the others came to him, most of the time shoving your note in front of him and asking him to read it. 

“Looking for this?”

You looked up at Logan and gave a look of relief. “I thought I’d left it upstairs.”

You took it from him. “Thank you. Now where did I put my pen?”

In a similar fit of desperation, you started looking around for your pen, but something made Logan smile. Leaning across the desk, his palm on top of a couple of sheets of loose paperwork, he raised his other hand and you stopped. 

“What? What is it?”

Reaching up and behind you, you felt Logan pull something from your hair before he presented it to you with a soft smirk. 

“Is this what you are looking for?”

You looked from the pen to Logan and back to the pen before plucking it from his fingers. “Thanks.”

Logan watched as your gaze flicked from his back to your work. He stood up. “What’s all this?”

“Just things for lessons. Oh, uh, here.”

You pulled a different notepad from beneath the chaotic pile. “This is my plan for the lessons next semester. Tell me what you think.”

Logan watched as you went back to scribbling before he opened up the notepad and read through it. 

“This is good. I can take a couple more classes closer to Christmas, though. Kids’ are gonna need you for the English exams.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

“How long have you been sitting here?”

You shrugged before holding down the paper you were writing on, almost like it was about to fly away. “Couple hours. I’m almost done.”

Logan looked from you and back to the pad. “I can take more lessons before Spring Break, too.”

Picking up one of the uncapped pens, Logan made his adjustments to your plan before pulling out a chair and sitting across from you. 

And for the first time, there was peace between yourself and Logan. He used your notepad to draw up a copy for the Professor on his laptop whilst you finished up your rougher lesson plans for the next couple of weeks. 

It was in the moments Logan looked at you, sitting across from him, that he felt something shift. He couldn’t tell what it was exactly, but somehow, rather than arguing with you over the fact you were wearing his hoodie that had gone missing a few months ago, he found himself admiring you in it. How cosy you looked. How warm and comforted you looked. 

And something sparked in him when he realised something of his brought you that. 

Time pressed on and those civil moments that seemed to be saved for one day out of the year, became less and less rare. 

In fact, you now found yourself looking forward to spending time with Logan. 

A sentence you never thought possible. 

You’d spent so long bickering and fighting and glaring at each other over the smallest things, that you’d both failed to realise that you could actually be quite good friends.

At the beginning of the new academic year, the students and even some of the teachers thought someone had lost complete control of their power and had set something on you and Logan. 

But no. 

You had both simply…made friends. 

Now rather than frosty mornings spent poking fun at each other, mornings were calm and a little warmer. Of course, you and Logan still bickered occasionally. Mainly when you had pointed out the change in your dynamic. 

“No, this is too weird.”

“What’s too weird?”

“Us,” you gestured between yourself and Logan. “We’re friends.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

You almost whimpered. “Don’t you find it weird?”

“That we’ve gone from not being allowed alone in a room together to being friends?” 

You nodded. 

“No.”

Logan continued hanging up the posters around your classroom. 

You sighed. “You know, sometimes you can agree with me?”

He nodded. “I know. But it is fun watching you squirm.”

“I don’t squirm.”

“You’re squirming right now because rather than bickering, which we are still doing, we’re friends.”

 You sighed and handed Logan another poster. 

Soon the days began to feel like they were bleeding into one until finally Christmas break came around and you found yourself sitting in the kitchen on a snowy day, eating some soup. 

“What is it?”

Logan had walked in to find you looking at your soup with a confused look. 

“Something’s missing.”

Less than twenty seconds later, Logan dumped some crackers beside your bowl. That’s what was missing. 

“You’re missing snow day, by the way.”

You dipped one into your soup and ate it. “I’ll be out later. If I can just find my hoodie.”

“You mean my hoodie?”

“It became my hoodie a long time ago,” you told Logan. 

Then you watched as he smirked a little before walking out of the kitchen and towards the laundry room. When he returned, he was carrying the black hoodie and handed it to you. It was still warm. 

“You left it in the library the other night after you spilled some milk down it. So I washed it.”

You smiled, almost vibrating in your seat with excitement to have a freshly washed and warm hoodie. It warmed you instantly, for more than just being fresh out of the dryer. 

A few hours later, it was keeping you warmer still as you were being pelted with snowballs by a couple of the students and eventually found yourself being chased by Logan down the field after you had sent one flying to the back of his head causing it to run down the back of his clothes. 

He caught you, spinning you both before you both found yourself rolling in the snow. Except, as you both came to a stop, Logan was flat on his back, his arms still around you and you were lying against his chest, your faces mere inches away from each other. 

And as the laughter died down and the smiles remained, you felt something shift. 

Looking from Logan’s eyes, you own dropped to his mouth for a moment before coming back up again. And you couldn’t help but notice he did the same with you. Suddenly, his hands that had kept you steady were now creeping across your back and his touch was practically seeping into your skin. 

Only, before anything could happen, you were both hit with a snowball. 

“Come on you two, we’re dying out here!” Rogue yelled before narrowly missing a snowball being thrown at her. 

You and Logan laughed before scrambling to your feet and heading back into the game. 

Later that evening as you and Logan were doing the last rounds of the school, you’d found a couple of kids fast asleep in their pjs, clearly having snuck out of bed at the last minute to watch the late night snowfall. 

Yourself and Logan carried them back to bed, you shutting the light off as Logan closed the door quietly. And as he bid you goodnight, a part of you couldn’t help but wish that you weren’t going off to a different room, two hallways down from him. 

However, it was only a few mornings later when Logan came and woke you earlier in the morning than usual to bring you down to breakfast where everyone was up and ready for the day. It was a surprise field trip and by the time you had gone back to your room to get dressed, you gave a small yelp as you opened the door back up to find Logan already standing there. His fist was held up, just getting ready to knock on. 

“Jesus, Logan. Give a girl a word of warning before you go to knock her out.”

Logan chuckled a little. “You ready?”

You grabbed your bag. “Yeah, let's go.”

The day was fun but it was long and after spending half of the night convincing yourself of “one more chapter, then sleep” – it was safe to say you were knackered. 

So when Logan pressed his hand to your head and brought it down to rest on his shoulder as he leaned back, you didn’t protest. 

Only, since your eyes were closed, you had missed the small smile on his face when he noticed you were nodding off and the comfortable sigh that left him when he realised you were fast asleep against him. 

Halfway back to the school, he’d felt you shiver a little. 

“Rogue?”

She pulled out her headphones and looked back at him. “Yeah?”

“There’s a blanket in the cabin above your head. Pass it to me.”

Unbuckling her seatbelt, she did so, but took time to take in the picture before her as Logan covered both himself and you up as you slept. 

“What?”

Rogue just smiled, “Nothing.”

And she sat back down. And for as much as Logan wondered what Rogue meant by her smile, the thought left his head when he looked back down at you and you snuggled in closer to him. 

Once you all finally got back, Logan led you to your bedroom and slipped the shoes off your feet as you climbed under your covers. But as he went to walk away, you reached out and grabbed hold of his hand. 

And for a moment, he soaked it all in. 

The feeling of you holding his hand. The feeling of you falling asleep against him. The feeling of you. 

Until you let go.

It was only a few months later that you held onto his hand again, except this time you were fully conscious and didn’t let go until after the plane had landed. 

You had known Logan was afraid of flying since you first met him. You’d gotten onto that plane to take a short tour around the school before you officially accepted the job. Only, as you stepped onto the plane, you noticed Logan became tenser. And when it finally took off, he seemed like he was either wishing to pass out or he was gonna puke. 

“You’re afraid of flying.” You said almost with a smile, delighted to find out that the gruff man you’d thrown a book at merely an hour before, was afraid of something. 

Logan's stomach churned. “If man was meant to fly, he’d grow wings.”

You leaned back watching him with a smile. “Some already have.”

Logan just looked at you and tried to put his focus elsewhere. 

Knowing this, and finally being his friend, you found a seat next to him. The flight was going to be a long one. 

“How can you be afraid of flying? Weren’t you in the army for like…a gazillion years?” You asked as you boarded on with him. 

“You try nearly dying each time you get in one of these things, see how bad you’re itching to get back in one again.”

Logan put his bag in the compartment at the back before taking yours and placing it with his. As he buckled his seatbelt, you found difficulty with yours and just as you were about to give up or, at the very least, swear at the inanimate object, Logan’s body turned and helped you do it up. 

“These can be tricky.”

He clipped it together. “Thanks.”

He looked at you before sitting back in his seat, trying to find something to concentrate on as the jet started to lift. 

Only, his search to find something else became distracted when your hand reached across and held onto his. And for a moment, he was shocked. And then he smiled. And relaxed a little. With a little bit of turbulence, he squeezed your hand but never enough to truly hurt. 

But you never let go. 

And when the jet finally landed and you both found tarmac under your feet, you felt the climate hit you a lot more than you had been expecting. Except, less than a minute later, the familiar scent of Logan surrounded you and you found his jacket spreading over your shoulders. 

You smiled, letting your senses drown in his scent and warmth before you slipped your arms through the holes and found your way to your intended location. 

A week later, you were all sitting around in the living room, reading different things or watching TV. However, Logan lay on the sofa with his head in your lap, slowly dozing off to the sound of the TV, you turning your book pages every now and again and your heartbeat which only seemed to be amplified when he pressed his ear to your leg, hearing the blood rush around your body. 

By the time he woke up, everyone had disappeared, the lamps were on, the TV was on low and you were sitting on the floor, not too far from his head, going through a small pile of essays. 

“Hey.”

His voice sounded a little rougher than usual. You turned your head and smiled. It wasn’t often you got to see sleepy Logan, let alone comfortable Logan. 

“What are you doing?”

“Just some marking. Ooh, now you're awake, can you read what this says?”

Logan took the paper from you and looked at it. “This is your handwriting.”

“I know but I can’t tell what it says.”

But Logan could. 

You thanked him before taking the paper back. “Sometimes I think you know my handwriting better than I know my handwriting. Case in point.”

“You’re your own language.”

You smiled. “And after a year, you’re an expert. Maybe you missed your calling. Logan, the Language teacher. Read and speak in English, grunts, kitty cat and my handwriting.”

Logan groaned, trying to hide his smile. He was still waking up. His muscles couldn’t fight it off just yet. “I’m not a cat.”

“You have quite literal claws.”

“I’m Wolverine.”

You jokingly scoffed. “You’re a cat. But it’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.”

Logan just rolled his eyes with his smile and brought his hand over to cover your mouth. “You done?”

You eventually nodded and went back to marking the essays whilst Logan simply watched you. 

He’d found himself doing more of that recently; watching you. Not in a stalker kinda way- at least, he hoped not. But just small things you did in the day. Grading papers, scribbling on paper, walking down the hallway and somehow avoiding every pillar and post on the way despite your nose being buried deep inside whatever book you were reading. 

And he’d noticed more things about you, too. 

How you walked, how you moved. And when you were in the zone, it was almost like watching you dance. You knew what you were doing, ten steps ahead of time. You’d caught more students talking and passing notes more than even he had. 

Some days, when he was on his lunch break, he’d sneak into the back of your classroom. The class would be fully engrossed in whatever it was you were talking about, so he mostly went unnoticed. So, he’d pull up a chair at the back and sit in the sea of students. 

And when he forced himself to pay attention to what you were saying, rather than just checking you out and watching you, he managed to learn a thing or two. 

It was also on some of those days, you’d find a protein bar and a coffee at your desk by the time you returned back to class. 

For another year, these small gestures continued. You, holding his hand during a plane ride, him bringing you coffee and a snack, both of you falling asleep on each other, him routinely finding lost pens and pencils that most of the time were stuck in your hair or behind you ear. Even going so far as to bring each other meals when you knew the other had missed one. 

That was how the “dates” started. Sometimes in the library, other times in the kitchen or out in the garden. If one of you was missing for a meal, the other would wrap leftovers on a plate. 

Across a couple of these nights, some of the students had gone unnoticed when passing the rooms. Because, when you and Logan looked at each other, everything else faded away. 

And then one night everything changed. 

Everything went from the small moments and small gestures and a friendship that made you question if that’s all you wanted when it came to Logan, to both of you confronting your questions with the answers you’d both known, deep down, for a long time. 

Or maybe it was just one answer. 

“Yes.”

Logan turned and found Rogue leaning in the hallway. He placed down the photo frame he’d been holding. 

“I was just looking at some pictures. Found one of you.”

Logan picked up a second and held it out for her to see. “Cute. But, I don’t think that’s why you were looking here.”

Rogue put the photo down and picked up the familiar frame. The picture Logan had just been holding. 

“You know, if you asked her, she’d probably say yes.”

Logan put the photo back down. “Say yes to what?”

“You know what.”

“No, I don’t.”

Rogue gave a smirk as she watched Logan walk away. And she followed after him. 

“You can’t just run away from feelings, you know. They’re inside of you. Unless you can outrun your own skin, you can’t leave them behind.”

Logan looked at her. “Don’t you have a class to be in?”

“My final exam is tomorrow.”

Logan pushed open the door. “Then shouldn’t you be studying?”

“Giving my eyes a break.” Rogue hopped down the steps behind him. “It’s just a date, Logan. Everyone already knows you’ve completed steps 4 through 20. Just need to complete the first three.”

“Three?”

Rogue followed Logan into the garage. “Ask her out on a date, first kiss and first…time.”

Rogue smiled up at Logan a little, watching him blush a little before awkwardly walking away. “I forget you’re old enough to know about stuff like that.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s just sex, Logan. But the more important part here is step one. Asking her out on a date.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Step twenty.” Rogue told him. “You’re in love with her.”

Logan paused what he was doing and turned to look at Rogue. “Logan, you can’t just keep running away each time you feel something for someone.”

“I’m not running away.”

“Then where are you going?”

“To the store. We need some things.”

Rogue sighed, getting back to her point. “Look, I get your whole “lone wolf” act, but you keep forgetting something.”

“Really? And what’s that?”

“A lone wolf can still find a pack. Better yet, build one of their own.” 

Logan took in Rogue’s expression as she held onto the door on the other side of the truck. He sighed. 

“Do you need anything from the store?”

“Period pads.”

By the time Logan got back from the store, it was almost nightfall. He left the bag of products inside Rogue’s door before he headed into the kitchen and found it…quiet.

“Where is everyone?” Logan asked as he put the milk away. 

You looked over your shoulder from the stove. “Jean and Scott are out on a date, Ororo took the kids out with the Professor. Last minute deal – they get to spend a night inside a museum.”

“Anyone else home?”

You shook your head. “Just us.”

“So,” Logan eventually found his seat across the kitchen island from you. “What do you want to do?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t really have a plan outside making dinner and eating outside.”

So that’s what you both ended up doing. Sitting outside, under the stars, backlit by the lights from the kitchen, eating dinner. 

Logan washed up inside, looking over his shoulder every now and again to see you stood outside, looking up at the sky. 

“You know, back home you could see all the stars. I think I was about ten when I finished mapping out all the constellations I could see.”

Logan leaned against the backdoor, listening to you explain. Then with a smile and a kick of his feet, he made his way over to you. 

“Here.”

“What?”

Logan opened up his jacket for you and you thanked him quietly as he helped you slip it on. It was big, the sleeves managing to cover your hands more than your own jackets did. 

Twirling you around, Logan pulled the jacket close by the collar and you found yourself inches from him. 

“Figured you’d get cold.”

You smiled. “Thank you.”

And for a while, you both just looked at each other. You’d noticed Logan always had this look on his face when he looked at you. You just couldn’t pin it. But then it shifted. Like you could see the cogs turning in his head, but he had come to a conclusion before you could ask. 

“What?”

“Do you want to go on a date?”

You felt yourself reel back a little, trying to decide if he was bullshitting you or not. And it took a moment or two, but once you realised he was being serious you said…

“Yes.”

“With me?”

You nodded with a smile. “I’d love to.”

“Are you sure?” Logan asked, his hands still holding onto the jacket. 

You raised your brow slightly. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

“Good.” You gave a short nod before looking back at him. “I like a man who knows what he wants.”

Brushing the hair from your face to behind your ear, Logan smiled. And so did you. Feeling his warmth through his palm as he caressed your face, he drew you in. 

And when his lips finally met yours, something seemed to click into place. 

That feeling that had been growing inside of you, ever since you saw him for the first time when he’d pulled the pen from your hair all those nights ago, was finalised. 

This had been the shift. This was the change. You’d both taken a step forward without realising it and had found not only comfort but love in each other's presence. 

“Are you busy now?”

You shrugged, your arms looping around the back of Logan’s neck. “Depends. What for?”

“For our date.”

“Now?” You asked, a little shocked. 

Logan nodded. “Come with me.”

Holding onto his hand, he hurried you down the stone steps and towards the garden. You laughed. 

“Logan, slow down. Where are we going?”

He smiled. “You’ll see.”

And you did. 

He’d taken you to the greenhouse, climbing up the spiralling staircase and out onto the small rooftop. 

Looking up to the sky, you took in a breath. 

“It’s gorgeous.”

You were in amazement. The greenhouse was far enough away from the school that none of the lights from it polluted your vision. The sky was as clear as it had ever been and you felt like you could see for miles on end. Most of it was woodland, covered with a blanket of stars. 

It was one of the most extraordinary things you had seen in a long time. 

However, when you looked to find Logan to gauge his reaction, you just found him looking at you. 

[doromoni]

Gear Shift Failure | MV1, LN4

Ships : Lando Norris x presenter! Reader , Max Verstappen x presenter! Reader

Genre : Fluff , Angst

Sub tags : Mutual Pinning , She fell too early , He fell too late.

Summary : A new f1 presenter and journalist has entered the paddock and she brings chaos along the way. And as competition looms , will the current Champion be as fast outside the track?

Face claim : Sofia Wylie

A/N: Upon receiving many requests, here’s the continuation you lovely goblins 🤍. Also I am still continuing the Clash of Champions ~ i promise (finals end this week!!)

Part 1.

You fought the smile that was forming on your face, as you re-read your conversation with Lando from yesterday.

It has already been a week since your interview with Lando, yet you somehow found yourself in constant communication with the young British Driver. You weren’t going to deny that you enjoyed spending time and talking to him. And maybe going out on dates with Lando would do you good.

“ Ok, so I have a friend and she has a dilemma”

You suddenly broke the silence in the room. You were in your designated office inside Sky yet again, but this time you had the older drivers lazying around your space. Some with a book in hand — while the rest just played on their phones.

“What’s your dilemma muñequita? “ Fernando asked as he set down his phone, giving you his entire attention.

“Not me Nando! My friend” you exclaimed at the Spanish world champion who was lounging on your couch still munching on the chips he found in your stash.

“Mhm… yes your friend. Continue, sweetie~ “ Lewis urged you to speak, as he settled further into your couch right beside Fernando

“ Yes, let the girl speak! What is it Liefje” Nico added as he clutched your oversized plush into his arms, a half-opened book dangling in his hands.

“My friend likes this guy right? The two of them are very close and they share this connection that to others seems more than a friendship- and at one point my friend thought that he felt the same with her a—“

You once again didn’t finish your sentence when Nando interrupted you once more.

“Really? What happe-“The Aston Martin driver was invested

“LET THE GIRL SPEAK!”

“FERNANDO! “

“MATE, I SWEAR!”

They all collectively scolded the Spanish driver — prompting him to laugh and raise his hands in surrender

“Ok. So my friend thought that the guy that she liked was starting to like her back. But not a week later, the guy that she liked was rumored to have a girlfriend. And he started to avoid my friend…. This was 3 months ago by the way.” You finally finished your story, and now you look at their reactions

Fernando, Lewis, Nico, and Valterri had all fallen into thinking.

“So how long is the guy and the new girl going out? And how does your friend feel” the quiet Finnish driver gently asked you.

“Oh, officially for a few weeks, I guess? My friend felt hurt of course. But it gets less painful overtime… uh she said that to me”

“Oh. That’s good for your friend, liefjie! By the sound of it she slowly moving on” Nico uttered, a sense of comfort rushed through you

“How is your friend now, Is she feeling ok?” Lewis asked empathically

“ She’s great, and you’re right Nico. She slowly moving on.”

“So what’s the problem muñequita?”

“Well, another person had asked her out and she feels guilty because she doesn’t want to use him to get over the guy she likes” you explained to the 4 older drivers.

“WHO ASKED YOU OUT !? Young lady tell us this instance!” You didn’t expect Lewis’ outbursts — you expect Nando to react that way, but not Lewis!

“It’s not me!!” You tried to bluff once more

“Y/N, we know it’s you” Nico explained with a smile, while you pouted as they all chuckled.

“OK FINE! It’s me” You utter as you gave up the act.

“So I assume the guy you were talking about was Max, right?” Valtteri asked, finally speaking.

“I’m very obvious aren’t I?” You said defeated, as you stood up from your seat and wedged yourself beside Nico.

“Everyone with a pair of eyes knew something was between you and Max, “ Nando said as Valterri nodded in agreement.

“Young lady, you haven’t answered my question. Who asked you? Is it another driver?” Suddenly you felt like you were on the hot seat — as all their eyes focused on you with eyebrows raised. It felt like you were being questioned by your dad.

“Uhmm yes, it’s another driver… it’s Lando” You said as you picked on your nails. A shy smile graces your face.

“ He finally had the balls to ask huh?” Nando snickered

“What?? You also knew?!” You asked flabbergasted. You surveyed the room and saw all of them snickering amongst themselves.

“He did ask for my permission, sort of… it was just jumbled words that didn’t make sense then” Lewis explained as he visibly got less tense.

“Lando asked permission from you?? What are you, my dad?” You asked amused, come to think of it Lewis was sort of a father figure to you. Being that he always supported and guided you ever since the start of your journey in Formula 1

“Well, you sticking around me like a toddler in your first year here doesn’t help, sweetie.” Lewis could only laugh at the memories of him taking care of you. Memories like Lewis driving you around, giving you food, telling you to talk to others.

“And what are you guys? My uncles?” You asked the 3 drivers, who only shrugged and nodded.

“Well, should I say yes to Lando then?” You asked dropping all pretense and just laying it all out

“It wouldn’t hurt to try, Liefjie” Nico advised

“Yeah try something new, Dear. Max had his chance and he didn’t take it. So go have fun with Lando!” Fernando added, patting your hand.

You set your eyes on Valtteri — who only nodded his head with a smile.

“ You have our approval, and we’ll support your decision, sweetie! Do what will make you happy” Lewis said comfortingly

the.Y/N

liked by lewishamilton, landonorris , maxverstappen1, and 472,002 others

the.Y/N Apparently, @lewishamilton is my father?? I was only made notice now, ok I guess.

lewishamilton thank you for the flattering pictures , sweetie 🥲

the.Y/N oh no worries, pops! More to come I swear🤍

user1 Y/N please don’t dogshow the old man 😭

user2 HAHAHAHAAH I swear Y/N is a different breed

user3 Awwww! I always loved it when Lewis calls Y/N sweetie.

user4 The grid father and daughter pairing 🤍

landonorris Oh, You weren’t aware?

the.Y/N No, I was not :)) . I was made aware when someone asked for permission.

landonorris well glad to be of service

lewishamilton @landonorris get your act straight! I already approve

landonorris @lewishamilton will do my very best, sir. Thank you 🫡

the.Y/N I hate and love you both 😮‍💨

User1 Approve of what Sir Lewis?? Lando is approved for what??

mercedesamgf1 family photo with Roscoe when?

the.Y/N already have tons of it in the gallery 😛

You continued to scroll past your feed and Kelly’s post appeared …

kellypiquet

liked by maxvestappen1 and 638,073 others

kellypiquet Happiest when with you 💙

view all comments

maxverstappen1 💙

You knew that you shouldn’t feel jealousy or anger, but you couldn’t help but frown as you saw Max and Kelly acting all sweet. It still stung that you didn’t mean anything more to Max, all the memories you’ve made you’ve looked at rose-tinted, shattered.

So you strengthened your resolve and focused all your thoughts on your work. You then remembered that you had a date with Lando. You went back to your conversation a while ago

Then slowly, without noticing, a smile bloomed on your face at the thought of Lando Norris.

One date with Lando turned into two, two turned into three, then four and five.

the.Y/N

liked by landonorris, lewishamilton, charles_leclerc, fernandoalo_oficial, and 629,920 others

the.Y/N So much fun , laughs , and food 🧡 10/10 would do again!

charles_leclerc you aren’t sneaky with that orange heart y/n

the.y/n 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

lewishamilton stay safe and go home early ~ i’m watching you two.

the.Y/N hehehe will do, promise

User1 Ms. Y/N are you seeing someone 🧐

the.Y/N I dunno~ maybeeee

User2 ok! Im invested. Who is it @the.Y/N?? Please spill

User2 this is so Lando Norris coded I swear.

User 6 I know!! Golf and karting? Could they be more obvious. Ughh I ship it🧡

User3 you look sooooooo pretty Y/N!! who ever’s dating , I hope they could fight . 😤

liked by landonorris

User3 LANDO NORRIS LIKED MY COMMENT??? HELLO?!

User4 Lando????!!

You were progressively forgetting your feelings for the Dutch Red Bull Driver . How can you not? When Lando Norris had been showering you with so much love and affection.

Then finally, Lando asked you to be his girlfriend. You said yes. You were ready to let someone else in your heart— and this time you were sure that there was someone to catch you when you fell.

your story close friends

viewed by landonorris , charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 , and 35 others

story replies

charles_leclerc I made this couple 💪 It was all MEEEE.

landonorris 🧡🤍 someones getting bolder ey?

maxverstappen1 haha i’ve been replaced as your bestfriend 😂

landonorris story

viewed by the.Y/N , charles_leclerc , carlossainz55, maxverstappen1 , and 5,628,926 others

the.Y/N And I was bold? Ok soft launch ~ Kudos mr. Norris! I won’t go down without a fight tho 🫡

charles_leclerc someones being braveee

carlossainz55 Landino! Are you and y/n ready to share to the world then?

The two of you kept everything on the low, yet you didn’t keep it a secret — only very select few knew. Lando and you wanted to enjoy what you two had to yourselves first. Everyone outside your circle thought that the two of you were just friends.

But that didn’t stop either of you from posting online.

Max saw your posts and the feeling of something clawing in his stomach resurfaced. He didn’t like it one bit. It has been 2 months ever since he found out that Lando held feelings for you. And it has been a month since the two of you properly spoke. And if he were honest to himself, Max missed your presence dearly.

Kelly didn’t have anything in common with him. And most of the time, he grew bored and he just wanted to crawl back to his sim and drive constantly.

Max missed talking about everything and nothing with you. He missed how you shared his interests and how the two of you explored every one of them. Max just missed… You.

The longer he stared at his phone screen, the deeper his anxiety rose. He didn’t like what he saw, not one bit. He needed to do something about it.

***

You are lounging in your Boyfriend’s condo, dressed in a hoodie that you stole from his dresser. Soft music played on the centralized sound system.

Lando was inside his streaming room live on Twitch, while you made your way into his kitchen and started to cook dinner for the two of you. Lando did love your cooking.

Then suddenly your phone rang and to your surprise it was Max calling. Without any further thought, you picked up the call.

“Hello, Y/N?” You heard Max’s voice on the line, the usual butterflies present in your stomach were now absent. You didn’t feel the bubbling sensation you used to feel when Max unexpectedly called.

Then suddenly, you heard Lando shout nonsense, probably at his best mate. A smile grazed your lips as you heard your boyfriend’s shout in the distance.

“Oh, hi Max! What’s up?” You asked curiously, balancing your phone on your shoulders as you took out the ingredients from the fridge.

“Where are you, right now? No one’s answering the front door” Max’s reply startled you. Why is he at your house all of a sudden?

“What? You’re in my house… uh why?” You asked, a tone of confusion present in your voice

“It’s Wednesday, Movie night remember” You were filled with even more perplexity for the Red Bull driver. The two of you haven’t talked one one-on-one for nearly a month, not even through chat. Movie nights with Max were long forgotten.

“Max…. We haven’t had movie night in 3 months.” You replied carefully.

“Uhm, we can start again?” You sensed the hopelessness in his voice.

“I’m sorry Max, I’m at Lando’s right now… and I don’t think your girlfriend would appreciate it if we suddenly continued movie nights”

“You’re at Lando’s? Y/N its already la-”

“Max I think it’s best if we kept our distance… yeah?” You suddenly interjected, clearly stating your boundaries.

“What?! Why?” Max asked incredulously

“Max … you have a girlfriend! I don’t want to create any misunderstandings. And I don’t want Lando to have doubts … considering that I used to have feelings for you before. But we can still hang out … but in a group setting”

You didn’t mean to spill everything and tell Max of your past feelings for him, but you found yourself relieved of letting it out of your chest. Now you could truly say that you have moved on.

There was silence before Max had finally answered. “Oh… ok. I understand”

“Bye Max” At that you ended the call, leaving that part of your past behind.

The sound of the call ending echoed in Max’s head. The words you’ve said slowly dawned on him.

You liked him? Since when? Suddenly understanding and relief filled Max. He realized that he liked you more than just a sister. He didn’t look at you as just a friend. He suddenly understood the emotions that he was so afraid to explore before. What he felt for you was something so strong that it scared him. It wasn’t like what he felt when he was with Kelly, no. But with you, He felt vulnerable, He felt like everything was on the table because you understood him so well.

Then suddenly Max froze, as if cold water was dumped all over him. You said liked … past tensed. You didn’t like him anymore. Max was suddenly filled with dread, chest hurting as if tons of weight pressed on it.

He had his chances in making you his, and his alone. Max Verstappen maybe the fastest driver on the grid , but outside the track — he had failed to switch gears from making you from a friend to much much more. He had lost you and it was all his fault.

landonorris

liked by the.Y/N , mclaren, carlossainz55, lewishamilton, charles_leclerc , and 1,639,829 others

landonorris the world should see the forever view of my camera lens. Love you , stranger 🧡

tagged @the.Y/N

the.Y/N I love you more, stranger🧡

taglist: @spookystitchery @bibissparkles @newlifeforus @steamy-smokey @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp @charizznorizz @evesfile @j-lesca @gr1mes-cc @ironmaiden1313

[grogwrites]

The Sound of Sunshine - L.N. 4

Part Two • Navigation

Summary: Lando vacations in Hawaii for the first time over the winter break, where he meets a carefree surfer who turns his world upside down

Pairing: Lando Norris x Female OC

CW: so much fluff that you might get a cavity, mentions of being hungover/vomiting, very slight swearing if you squint hard enough

A/N: 🌞💛 Divider by @enchanthings-a • Full Fanfic Soundtrack can be found here ✨

Word Count: 1.8k

* DISCLAIMER: I do not know any of the people in this fanfiction personally, these are all just the works of my imagination.

As the bright, Hawaiian sun filtered through the curtains in his suite, Lando groaned in annoyance. His head was throbbing in pain. He sleepily covered his face with his hands in a poor attempt to block out the light. He regretted his drinking yesterday, especially without any water. As he recounted his poor decision making skills, he was hit with a beautiful reminder:

Kiki.

He quickly dropped his hands, then clumsily fumbled for his phone on his nightstand. Even without the liquid influence in his bloodstream, Lando’s little crush was definitely still bubbling inside of him at the thought of the girl. When he turned on the device, he saw her familiar name flash across his screen:

Kailani: is the celebrity too busy for a bike ride later today? ;)

The lack of modern emojis made Lando laugh under his breath. Something about her made his adrenaline pick up speed, and crave for more. Like a damn drug. His thumbs quickly got to work, as they slid across the phone screen to type out a response.

Lando: Never too busy for you. What time?

As he locked it again, the realization dawned on him that he probably needed to make an attempt to cure his hangover—throwing up on a bike ride with a pretty girl was not something he wanted on his agenda for the day. He climbed out of bed, beginning the motions for his morning routine: shower, brush his teeth, get dressed, and continuously check his phone for any texts back. It was mildly embarrassing, having felt like he was a teenager all over again. 25 years old, and this hippie music teacher was driving him insane…in a good way, of course. In a great way. He had to remind himself that texting back on a flip phone took longer than it would on a smartphone, but god he was an impatient man.

Once he pulled a t-shirt on over his head, he grabbed the keys to his rental car and hotel room, then made his way towards the small restaurant in the resort—silently praying that they had something greasy for a hangover remedy. When his phone buzzed again in his pocket, he excitedly reached for it.

Kailani: school gets out just a little after 3. pick you up at 3:30?

Lando: it’s a date x

He wasn’t actually sure if that was her intention, but he wanted her to know that he had every intention on pursuing her. If there was anything he wanted to accomplish on this winter break, it was getting to know her. Lando was riding that vacation-situationship high, and he was going to ride the damn thing to the grave.

.

Kailani attempted to steady her breathing as she watched anxiously for Lando. Inviting him for this bike ride was a long shot, considering he was pretty far gone when they met yesterday. She wasn’t sure he would still be interested, or even remember her for that matter. She tugged at the straps on her overalls, finding literally anything to occupy her energy.

The weather was perfect today—not a cloud in the sky, or a breeze in the air. Kailani planned to take Lando through town to hopefully swing by her favorite smoothie bar, but it just depended on if he could bike that far. Sure, he said he was a race car driver, but she didn’t have anything in her disposal to back up his claim. She had her work computer, but with the Christmas program a few days away, she barely touched the thing within the last few weeks. Trying to wrangle over eighty kids in one small gymnasium was…a lot.

“Hey, stranger.”

The familiar British drawl pulled her from her thoughts, as she turned to find Lando sauntering over to her. Kailani was never very good at hiding her feelings, but why would she want to? Life was too short to try and beat around the bush—she made a promise to herself three years ago after treatment ended that she was going to live every day as if it were going to be her last. So, she smiled at him. She was going to continue to ask him on dates if he’d allow her, and she was going to make sure he knows that she’s interested in him. If you don’t swim, you’ll drown.

“You’re sober!” She happily observed, which elicited a laugh from him. His dimples alone could’ve killed her on the spot.

“If I knew I’d be meeting you yesterday, I probably wouldn’t have gone so overboard,” he replied with a shrug. He looked down at the two rental bikes that Kailani had propped up behind her. “Where’s your truck?”

“At home,” she explained while walking around the bikes. “I usually walk to work.” Lando frowned, then met her gaze again.

“How did you get these here?”

“I walked,” she repeated as she kicked the stand up on one of the bikes. She grabbed ahold of the handles, then swung her leg over to sit on it. “Now, are you done asking me questions, Romeo? I wasn’t aware that walking was such a controversial topic.”

“It’s not,” Lando laughed once more, holding his hands up in defense. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She watched as he climbed onto his bike. “You just…continue to surprise me.”

Kailani felt her heart flutter. Lando could say anything to her, and she’d swoon, she thought.

As they began their bike ride, they kept a comfortable pace, riding side by side. This was what she enjoyed the most about leaving her car at home: feeling the sun on her face, smelling the ocean, seeing the tourists and her neighbors walking through town…she loved life. She loved living. It took a lot of downhill slopes to get to where she was, but it was worth it—so beyond worth it. It was why she got rid of her phone, her TV, and her computer. It was why she often walked or biked around the island if the weather allowed—because it reminded her to look up at the world around her. She never wanted to miss a day, or a chance, or a moment ever again.

“So, Kiki,” Lando finally spoke up, breaking their comfortable silence. “Other than music and surfing, what do you do?”

“A lot,” she admitted. “Having no electronics has permitted me to learn a lot of different things. I crochet, sew, paint, make jewelry…sometimes I think I have too many hobbies.”

“You make jewelry?” Lando laughed. “Like what?”

“Mostly necklaces,” she smiled, glancing at him briefly. “I use shells that I find at the beach to make them.”

Kailani led them down a small side road, which she considered to be the scenic route to the smoothie shop. It took them through a small cobblestone path that was surrounded by palm trees, and beautiful plumeria trees. She could see Lando’s face light up at the different colors they passed, which made her chest warm. She wanted to do anything she could to make him smile like that again. She slowed her bike down by one of the trees, with Lando following in suit.

“Tell me more about your racing,” she requested as she propped her bike on its stand again. She began to pick a few plumerias—the orange ones were her favorite.

“Oh,” he paused. “Well, I began karting when I was seven. I’ve been in Formula 1 for almost six years, now.” Kailani looked over to him. She made her way back, handing him the plumerias she picked.

“So what exactly brings a race car driver to Honolulu?” She hummed as he tentatively accepted the plant from her. She watched the corners of his mouth twitch as he delicately held the orange flowers in his hand.

“Ah, a break,” he finally responded, meeting her gaze again. “We just won the Constructor’s Championship. I’m off until March.” She raised her eyebrows at him as she climbed back on her bike. He quickly followed, sticking the plumerias behind his ear.

“So does that mean I get you for a whole three months?” She teased as they turned back onto the main road. Lando smiled next to her.

“You can have me as long as you’d like.”

.

As they walked back to the resort, Lando had completely lost track of time. He didn’t even realize the sun was setting until they left the smoothie bar. By the time they returned the rental bikes, the sun was gone completely. He watched as Kiki happily chewed on her straw, observing their surroundings intently. Lando had noticed today that she was particularly intuitive to the world around them. She was emotionally present in their conversations, while also soaking in every ounce of energy that was around them. He could tell she loved where she lived, but he couldn’t blame her. It was beautiful here, and he was only three days into his trip. Despite knowing Kiki for a short twenty four hours, he somehow knew that leaving was going to be incredibly difficult. But he didn’t want to think about that. Not now, anyways. Not when things felt so…perfect.

“Can I give you a ride back to your house?” He offered. She looked up at him.

“If you would like to,” she sighed happily. “I’m used to walking at night, though.” Lando internally fought with himself on the decision to wrap an arm around her, before making himself pull the move. Much to his surprise, she seemed to reciprocate the gesture as she nestled herself closer to him. He could feel himself blush, and thanked god it was dark outside.

“Hmm,” Lando looked at the resort ahead of them, “I would like to give you a ride. I’d feel better about it, plus it gives me more time to spend with you.”

“How chivalrous,” Kiki teased, lightly nudging his chest with her elbow. “Lando, would you have any interest in joining me at the school tomorrow?”

“Am I even allowed to?” He laughed, looking down at her. He hadn’t even realized she was laying her head against him until now, which practically skyrocketed his heart into space.

“Of course,” she shrugged before taking another sip of her smoothie. He finished his drink ages ago, but he noticed she’s a rather slow consumer. “You could be my classroom helper for the day.”

“Wow, that sounds like a lot of responsibility,” Lando smirked as they stopped by his rental car. Kiki stepped out of the embrace, then looked up at him.

“It is,” she stated firmly, though her tone wavered with a hint of sarcasm. He could tell she was trying to hide her smile as she spoke. “So don’t mess it up, Romeo.”

“I won’t,” Lando held his pinky out to her. “I promise.” Kiki gave into the smile as she interlocked her finger with his. He held on to her hand for a moment, letting the simple gesture sink in. Who knew that something so small would eventually mean the world to him.

.

* None of my writing is available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated.

©️ grogwrites, 2024

Taglist:

@lilaissa @cabbyhabs @gogeroni @fat-meh @xivilivix @henna006 @hadids-world @i-need-to-be-put-down @gigicisneros @ash88-yep

[buzzyb33]

Moral of the story

Prompt: after Y/n and Ethan broke up a year prior and seeing each other again just pisses off the girl and excites Ethan, they didn’t end their relationship on good terms but he’s still got the feels for her.

Warnings: swearing, ansty

I was walking down the streets of London, my coat wrapped around my waist as I treaded to my apartment.

I have my head down as the weather was foul, the biting winter hitting hard.

I keep walking before I slam into something hard and I hear a soft ‘oof’

I go to apologise but as I look up and make eye contact with the man we both freeze.

“Y/n?”

“Ethan..”

-

Last year, I was working on my photography and YouTube channel, I was big on the side of British commentary and met people that helped me grow, I put more budget into my videos and in 2 years I was one of the biggest female alone British channels.

I met bigger YouTubers and came close with the sidemen, especially Ethan.

We went out and drank together.

We fell in love.

We were happy for 2 and a half years, until June 2023 that was.

He was going out more which was fine, I couldn’t keep him on a lead.

He grew more distant but that’s fine, he’s stressed, I’m not his whole life.

He became more antsy, that’s fine, he needed some space.

I gave him space and he got drunk and fucked Mia Malkova as she stayed in the uk after their recording, I didn’t find out till three weeks later.

The worst thing was he didn’t seem to feel bad at all, I found out through friends of friends.

My heart broke and when I confronted him he got on his knees in front of me and begged.

He said how ‘he was drunk’ and ‘she doesn’t mean anything to him’

He spoke about things he didn’t mean the whole time I started packing my shit with tears pouring down my cheeks.

“Ethan! Stop!” I say in between broken sobs as he tries to hug me but I push him off.

I put all my bags in my car and wipe my eyes as Ethan continues to plead behind me.

“Y/n- I swear! Please don’t go- you mean so-“

I cut him off.

“I’ll send cal round tomorrow for the rest of my shit.”

I slam the door to my BMW and go home, I drive in to my road

I call Callum (Callux) and ask him to come round.

“N/n- is it important?” He said and I responded with a simple ‘yes’

He came round and knocked on my door.

I opened Ito and immediately hugged him.

“Woah, n/n-“ he began as I started to cry again.

“What’s happened..” he muttered to me as he held me to his chest.

I tried to stand up but he shushed me and sat on the floor with me between his legs as I calmed myself down.

His back was against the door as he held me gently.

“… was it Ethan?” He asked me gently as if I’d break if he spoke any louder. I nod between sobs.

I hear him exhale deeply.

“Can- I ask you yes and no questions?” He uses the same time with earnt him another nod.

“Have you broken up?” He asked me with a sickening soft tone, especially for his character.

I respond with another nod.

“Okay- did.. he break up with you or-“

I shake my head and he exhaled again.

After cal realised Ethan had cheated on me, he let me sob into his hoodie for a while.

Keeping away from each other was difficult, especially when he wanted to just ‘talk’.

You can’t excuse sticking your dick in another girl while in a relationship though.

I got my pre recorded videos out when appropriate and announced I was having a break.

Ethan had trouble talking to the boys about what had happened.

“Where’s Y/n? Why’s she having a break?.” Simon commented as they were having a break from the set of their sidemen Sunday.

“What? Oh we broke up.” He said averting his gaze to his finger nails as Tobi chokes on whatever flavour of prime he’s drinking.

“What?! Why? You two are like-“ Tobi sputtered.

“I don’t know lads- I don’t wanna talk about it..”

He started and Harry looked at him.

“What did you do?” Ethan’s face turns a tint of red.

“Not-“

“Mate, what did you do, I’ll just ask cal, they’re like- weird friends. They tell each other everything.” He eyes him, having his own guesses.

Harry starts and Ethan’s mind goes to the way Cal looked at him when he came to collect the rest of Y/na stuff.

He’d never seen him so.. angry.

“I- was drunk boys! I just-“

“You cheated on her? Ethan man..” Josh tuts, clearly disappointed.

“Well-“ he sighs. “Yeah, lads, I did.” Doesn’t even have it in to defend himself. Why should he?

“Mate, you’ve well and truly, fumbled the bag.”Having his friends almost ashamed of him wasn’t good.

They were in the same friendship circle, made videos with the same people, Ethan’s best mates were her best mates, this would cause problems and they knew it.

No sets together. No among us together. No joint colabs. Just. Y/n and Ethan.

On some nights, Y/n went too see Freya and they spoke, one time they got too drunk, Josh heading giggles from the other room before the tone switched up.

“Freya- I- miss him.. maybe it was an accident.. cal told me to-“ I exhale. “Cal told me to not let him get to me- I saw it coming..” I say as I rub my eyes.

“Maybe- he never loved me- you know, he was my first real boyfriend since I was like 17.” I say as tears rim my eyes.

“N/n.. just- let time take its course- maybe, you’ll be okay without him.” She said to me, I could hear how unsure she was.

I nod and sip my wine.

It would never hurt less.

-

“You- look good.” He smiles uncertain, opening his mouth to talk again. “Do- you want to talk?”

“Uhm. No, move the fuck out of my way, Ethan.” I spit, urging him to move from the sidewalk.

“Y/n, please, just a talk.” He pleaded, his blue eyes showing desperation, utter desperation.

“There’s nothing to say!” I say in a defeated tone and meet his eyes.

“I loved you- I don’t understand why- alcohol isn’t an excuse either! I don’t want to talk to you!” I whisper- shout as people swerve around us.

Since before this, we haven’t spoken to each other, at all. In a year and a half. Cal got all my stuff and I could avoid him.

This was a lot right now.

“Y/n- you don’t understand how sorry I am- I hate myself everyday for it! Please- just- a coffee?”

He pleaded, his hands clasped together.

“Once a cheater, always a cheater.”

I shove past him and keep walking.

He stands there, lost.

He wants her back.

He well and truly fumbled the back a year ago, but who was to say he couldn’t get it back?

He turned around and saw his ex girlfriend storm away from him.

He’d take his chances now, he pulled his phone out and called Callux.

“Yes mate?” He picked up after two rings.

“Can you set me up with Y/n? I know- but- I’m just trying to at least make things right.”

No, he wanted her in his bed arms. Both.

He stayed quiet for a while.

“Mate- she.. I don’t think she would want me bringing you up at all- and I’m like her gay best friend- who isn’t gay- so- setting her up is just..”

He trailed off as Ethan thought of something else.

“Just- ask her how she feels about me.”

He says into the phone as his legs take him further down the street.

“Oh I know what she thinks of you- she fucking hates you, she said you broke her heart, you ruined how she looks at men- how she thinks a stupid ginger prick- her words- have her trust issues and how she doesn’t want to miss you.”

He says matter of factly.

“So she misses me?”

Cal sighs: “listen mate- there’s nothing I can do- you can ask freezy to arrange a video or something- that’s your best bet- also- you should like listen to what else I said. Not just the missing bit.”

Ethan sighed down the phone before letting out a small 'yeah, okay' and hung up.

This girl. She trusted him and now what? Would he be that pathetic and got on his knees for her? Yes. Yes he would.

-

“No, fuck off.” I say the second the words leave his mouth.

“N/n it’s a charity video. Are you that much of a bad person to not contribute?” Cal says as his hands grip my shoulders.

His stubbles growing in. That meant another talking stage.

“Yeah. With the sidemen, Cal- Ethan-“ I start. “And don’t guilt trip me.” I huff.

“Yeah. The sidemen. Not your ex boyfriend it’s the sidemen. The YouTube group. No strings attached with so many over people. It’s a massive set. Challenges. A twelve hour stream.” He pleads.

“I’ll be there! Just- I’m begging you!” He shakes me lightly.

I couldn’t say no.

“Okay..”

A week and a half later I was preparing my camera around my neck as i mildly listened listen in on freezy and will talking about F1.

I sigh as I enter the set.

“Ten minutes!”

I sit next to Freya and Cal and lean my head back.

-

His eyes snap up. She came. Looking beautiful.

-

Time passed; the stream went on. I leave set to fill up my water and Ethan is behind me.

“Bella..” he says and I close my eyes.

“Ethan.” I say.

“I- want to say sorry. I didn’t even explain myself at the time properly. I just.. tried to get myself out of trouble.” He says, looking down at me.

“Thank you.” I say reluctantly.

He picks his words carefully from the way his mouth opens and closes a few times.

“I.. miss you.” He says.

“I miss what we were, too.” I say simply and he gulps.

“Can.. we stop avoiding each other? Just.. be.. mutual.” He smiles weakly.

“Okay..”

Maybe I was healing. Well: that was until he called me while drunk.

“Hey pretty..” he slurs.

“You fucked someone else? Drunk, came to say sorry?” I say a little bitterly as I leave my phone on my desk, loudspeaker my fingers editing my video.

“… harsh.. miss you.. just..” he hiccups. “I don’t want your body.. well.. that would be nice.. but, more than anything, n/n.. I want.. I wantchu.. a hug..”

I blink.

“And, just.. i hope.. you can forgive me.. and hug me.. in my heart it’s enough. More than.. enough but in my soul.. fuck, pretty.. I wanna marry you.” He slurs with a small laugh at the end.

“Love you, y/n.” He mumbles after a few minutes of silence.

“I love you too.. I miss you..” I whisper. All the walls I’ve built up cracking. But I hold out.

“Come over when your sober.” He hums and I hang up.

Two days later I get a knock, I open my door and see Ethan, his hands cupped around some water lilies.

“Uh..”

He says.

I take the flowers.

He smiles.

“I.. miss you.. so much.. please.. just..”

I nod and his arms immediately go around me.

“I’m sorry baby..” I say softly. “I just.. can’t.. trust you again..” he gulps and pulls away.

I stick my pinky out.

“Friends?” I ask and his pinky extends too, though shaky.

“Friends.”

Masterlist!

[luvfae]

okay hear me out, 26 & 1 from the scenario list w/ eddie please 🫶

BED SHARING

1: only one bed

26: x overhearing y has feelings for them

fandom: daisy jones & the six

parings: eddie roundtree x f reader

warnings: swearing, smut, fingering, choking

You didn’t sleep last night. You couldn’t. You were frozen in place, eyes wide open for majority of the night. Eddie, your friend since you were 14 and long term crush, was sleeping right next you. The close proximity made your heart race, you were so full of adrenaline that sleeping was far from your mind.

Eddie had offered his bed to you after you met up with the band in New York and decided to tag along with them. You didn’t think that when Eddie said, “you can sleep in my bed,” he meant right beside him, otherwise you would of found an alternative.

“You’re annoyed that you have to sleep next to Eddie?” Karen’s charming British accent rang through said boy’s ears as he walked past where you and Karen were sat backstage during rehearsals. Eddie came to a halt, hiding close by so he could listen. “Y/N, I thought you were infatuated by him why on Earth would sleeping beside him annoy you?” Karen laughed.

Eddie’s eyes widened at the words, his ears burning red. “Because I was turned on, Karen,” you replied, as if it was obvious. “He was right behind me and there wasn’t a single thing I could do because he clearly doesn’t feel the same way.”

“You don’t know that… you haven’t even asked him!” Karen exclaimed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Y/N, he looks at you like you put the sun in the sky.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Then why hasn’t he made a move?” You asked, standing up from your seat. “It’s fine… only one more night, by the next show Rod will have booked me my own room.”

Later that same night, as you were getting ready for bed, Eddie was pondering his decision. He thought about sleeping on the couch, but it wasn’t even comfortable to sit on let alone sleep on, so he decided against it. You liked him, he had heard you say it and little did you know, Eddie liked you too.

When you entered the room Eddie was already laying down in bed. You considered slipping out of his suite, convincing Karen to kick Graham out of her bed and let you sleep next to her, but Eddie had already spotted you. He was smiling, pulling the blankets back for you.

Your heart raced, laying down next to him, pulling the comforter over your shoulders after turning the lamp that was sat on your bedside table off.

“Goodnight,” you said, rolling over so your back was facing him. Eddie didn’t reply, instead he stared at the back of your head. He had the upper hand, he knew that you liked him back, so what was he waiting for?

Eddie shuffled closer to you, his hand pushing on your hip, forcing you to fall onto your back. You furrowed your eyebrows at him, the faint light from the outside world beaming in through the curtains allowing him to see your facial expressions.

“What’s wrong-“

Before you could finish your sentence Eddie’s lips were on yours. The kiss was hungry, needy, his tongue slipping inside your mouth. You didn’t protest, you let him kiss you, sad once he pulled away.

“I overheard you today,” Eddie said, pressing a sloppy kiss against your jawline and then your neck. “Talking to Karen, about me.” You froze, your skin heating up.

Eddie’s hand slipped under the waist band of your pyjama pants and you gasped, feeling his cold fingers dance along your skin.

“Eddie, what are you doing?” You whispered, afraid to speak any louder, confused as to what was happening right now.

“Shh,” he coo’d, his free hand rubbing your cheek softly. “You should of told me the truth, Y/N,” Eddie said, his fingers pushing your panties aside. “I feel the exact same way about you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as he plunged two fingers inside of you without warning. Your fingers gripping the sheets below, mouth opening slightly, staring into his eyes as he smirked down at you.

“If I knew I was turning you on I would of taken care of it last night,” Eddie said, pushing his lips against yours again as his fingers worked their magic inside of you. Your hands moved from their grip around the sheets and tangled through his messy blond hair. “Does this feel okay?” He asked, his tone full of lust.

You nodded your head. “Yes- fuck,” you gulped, your back arching off the bed as he hit that spot. He curled his fingers inside of you, a moan breaking free from your throat, you slapped your hands over your mouth.

Eddie pried your hands away from your face. “Don‘t,” he said, his voice stern. “I want to hear every pretty noise that comes out of your mouth, Y/N. I wanna hear just how good i’m making you feel.”

You let out a shaky breath as he wrapped his free hand around your neck. “You look good like that,” Eddie whispered against your lips. “With my hand wrapped around your neck.”

“Harder,” you whispered, staring up at him, brows furrowed in pleasure.

Eddie‘a face changed, his eyes darkening, his grip around your neck tightening, making you whimper. “Beg for it,” he said.

You gulped. “Please,” you said, but obviously that wasn’t enough. “Please, Eddie,” you moaned, but his pace was steady. “Jesus Christ I need it, please!” You cried.

Eddie smirked down at you. “So needy and desperate,” he said, pushing a third finger inside of you and giving you what you wanted, finger fucking you with so much force it made your eyes squeeze shut. “Eyes open, baby,” Eddie teased. “Keep those pretty eyes on me.”

You stared at him, your face contorting into a look of pure bliss, sinful noises escaping your lips, your fingernails were digging into the skin of his biceps, his hand still around your neck. “You’re gonna make me cum,” you moaned out, hips rolling in time with his fingers.

“Do it,” Eddie said. “Go on, cum for me.”

His words pushed your over the edge, a euphoric feeling washing over you as your lips stuttered and your core spasmed against his fingers, your moans growing whiner and whiner with every passing second. Eddie rode out your high, slowly pulling his fingers away from you, drawing out one final moan from your sweet lips.

You watched him as he brought his glistening fingers to his lips, sucking your juices off as if he had been waiting to taste you.

“Is it clear now that I like you?” Eddie asked, his hands wrapping around your waist, pulling your chest against his.

You smiled, a fuck out look on your face as you pecked at his lips. “Yes,” you sighed, happily.

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

The Disgraced Prince

CHAPTER SIX: The Offer

My name is James Cole, PR chief to His Majesty, King Charles III. My job is to drum up good press and to neutralize any disgrace and embarrassment to the British royal family. More importantly, keeping his tryst between his new fuck boy a secret. Another being Prince Andrew, who has been reduced to nothing more than Lord High Dogwalker, keeper of the royal corgis under Charles' rule, who I'm also a fuck boy too. And he wants me to use my status to help him become a 'working royal' again. But recently, I introduced him to a hand picked rent boy to keep him occupied.

On today's agenda, His Majesty wants me to encourage Andrew to leave the Royal Lodge in Windsor in exchange for Frogmore Cottage. Apparently, the brothers have reportedly been at odds over a sweetheart deal cut between Andrew and his late mother, Queen Elizabeth II, to give the Duke of York lifelong possession of a grand mansion on the grounds of Windsor Castle. He doesn't need all that space, and also the optics are absolutely terrible that someone who stepped back as a working royal in disgrace is in this huge grace-and-favour property. And now it's my job to make the offer.

After the meeting with Charles, I headed over to the Royal Lodge in Windsor to break the news and maybe fuck him. When I arrived, I was escorted into the sitting room where Andrew was. The closer I got to the room, I heard moaning, swearing and loud noises that sounded like slapping. Having heard the sounds of sex before, I excused the sevant hurried into the sitting room and to my surprised found Andrew fucking Fergie doggy style. The two were fucking like rabbits as I to watch unnoticed. Randy Andy was insatiable, still fucking his ex I thought before saying, "Don't let me interrupt."

"Sorry Mr. Cole… Fergie and I still like to get togetherfrom time to time." Andrew said as he helped Sarah to get dressed to leave.

"Andrew, I don't care who you fuck or from who. Just as long as there legal and your careful that no ones finds out." I said after she left.

"Had enough?" I asked after noticing his still hard erection.

"Of course not."  

"Well, we can't have that now. Can we?" I said as I knelt in front of him and took his cock in my hand, looked at it, admiring its stiffness and straightness.

Then I licked his balls, taking each in my mouth and alternatively sucking, then ever so gingerly, biting on each. Hearing Andy moan, I wanted to bring the hubristic prince to the height of excitement before sucking the cum out of that lovely cock. And once his cock passed my moist lips, I instantly tasted Fergie's pussy as Andrew stared down at me with a smile.

Moments later, we were both naked in bed with me bobbing up and down on Andrew's cock. I alternated licking up and down his cock and balls, making sure Andrew didn't cum too quickly.  

"I love the way you suck my cock." The prince said, when I stopped. I slid up his body, stopping to kiss each nipple on his chest before I pulled my face up even with his and placed a wet kiss on his mouth.

It was wonderful to share the taste of his cock with him as we locked our tongues together, sucking on each other’s tongue. And the prince’s kisses became more passionate the longer we embraced. But I wanted to feel his tongue on my cock. I pulled my face away from him and moved up and straddle Andrew's chest and pushed my dick against his mouth.

"Suck me." I said.  

I didn’t think The Duke would open his mouth, but then I guess he was so turned on he didn’t know what he was doing. The next thing I knew Andrew was sucking my dick and it felt wonderful. But even better was looking down at Andrew's face while he had my dick in his mouth. He remembered what I did to make him feel good and tried to copy my technique, bob his head up and down just as I had done earlier.

"That's it, just like that." I said as I reached behind me and grabbed Andrew’s dick and started jacking him as hard and fast as possible while he sucked my rock hard dick.  

I worked on it with such skill that he began moaning deep inside his throat as he sucked my dick until we came together. I shot off in Andrew’s mouth and he squirted his big load onto my naked back. He gagged at first, but swallowed all my load before pulling it out. But even as I climbed off him and onto the bed, I could tell Randy Andy still wasn't satisfied. Neither was I.

I moved down, hoisted his legs up over my shoulders and I spit on the head of my dick. Andrew knew I was going to insert my thick meat up his ass. But he was so worked up he was ready to let me do whatever I wanted as I pressed the swollen red head of my cock against his tight royal hole. I put more and more pressure against my dick until it popped into his asshole.

The entitled, arrogant prince cried out as my dick slowly plunged into his ass, stretching it to accommodate my thick dick. I leaned over and kissed him as I drove my dick deep into him. Andrew reached up and pulled my face hard against his as I sent my tongue down his throat. He couldn’t cry out, just moaned deep in his throat as I rammed my dick up to my balls inside of him, fucking the decadent upper class twit brutally. I was fucking him so hard that the bed creaked with the weight of two of us squirming in ecstasy. Andrew was clutching the bed sheets as he was now enjoying the fierce pounding that I was administering.  

Suddenly, the hubristic prince was screaming, "Fuck me James, Fuck me!" over and over again, surprising me.

The passion we exchanged sent me into a sex craze as I was pounding his ass pussy like he must have pounded all the pussy in his life. The slapping sound was getting more intense and I started to wonder if anyone of the servants could hear.

"You like a cock up your ass. You love it. You were born to be fucked like this Your Royal Highness!"

I got so much pleasure out of controlling him, of spitting my words at him like he'd done to his servants, that I suddenly shot my load inside of him. And as my orgasm flooded through me, Andrew suddenly released his second load between us. He held me tightly for a few moments before I collapsed on the bed beside him.

After resting for a few minutes, I finally made Charles' offer, but Andrew saw it as a demotion and said no. Looking at him, I thought this entitled, arrogant asshole is never going to be a public-facing member of the Royal Family again deserves worse. But he's a good fuck, better than Charles. So I'll continue to string him along. I fucked Andrew long into the night, making him cum again and again. Between sessions, I allowed him to plow my ass. We thoroughly enjoyed each other until we were totally spent.

[godblessthisfuckingfandom]

Season 2 episode 47

disclaimer: much swearing about to happen

FUCKING MICHAEL

FUCKITY FUCK FUCKING MICHAEL

WHAT THE FUCK

WHY DOES HE SOUND SO CREEPY

AND WHAT DO U MEAN YOU NORMALLY REMAIN NEUTRAL BUT THE ARCHIVES GETTING DESTROYED WOULDVE UPSET THE BALANCE TO SOON?

AND WTF DO YOU MEAN “I don’t want to tarnish your ignorance prematurely”????

WHAT IS HAPPENING

WHO ARE WE AT WAR WITH HERE

PRENTISS IS GONE AND I DONT THINK THEYRE GONNA BRING HER BACK THAT WOULD BE TO MANY HOOPS TO JUMP

ALSO WHY THE FUCK ARE THERE SO MANY THINGS ABOUT BOOKS, EYES, AND THIS FUCKING JURGEN LEITNERS LIBRARY

AND THE BONETURNER’S TALE

Can we talk about the fucking boneturner’s tale for a fucking second what the fuck is happening with that

why is it messing with so many people

and that fucking circus

The the something I don’t remember what it’s called is that what the calliope chilling in storage is from cuz it sure as fuck sounds like it

and omg I comepletely forgot about the weird vase in there to

omg wait

This is making me remember so much

wait is Sasha’s voice still weird

like is it still not Sasha

I’ve been switching between the transcripts and the podcast so I don’t know what her original voice sounded like and I don’t know if she’s still labeled as Not!Sasha when she has lines

I need to do research on that

Oh yeah and SOMEONE ELSE HAS BEEN IN THE FUCKING TUNNELS????

THATS SO SCARY

AND JON GOT STABBED???????

BY MICHAEL??

THAT FUCKER THAT IS MY BRITISH MAN CHILD

AND WHY ARE THERE SOOOOO MANY ACTUAL CREATURES AROUND NOW

Like the statements used to be oh the creepy thing happened to me and we just didn’t get an explanation why

now there’s things

there’s creatures

doing things

I hate this

omfg I’m so scared

also the ending of 47

Michael just like “remember the door she left through?” And Jon just like “sorry what wait what wait FUCK”

and the whining the recorder was making that scared me to fucking death

I cannot handle this at all

oh but I completely understand the Jon/martin shipping now and I am completely on board that vessel if u even care

OH AND gonna break the fourth wall here i wanna know how we have access to the recordings

cuz Jon was saying oh Sasha we lost ur recording of ur experience with Michael we need to make that again that was one of the tapes that got “lost”

what do u mean lost sir

I heard that tape

I know that story

what do u mean lost I just listened to it

how come I have it and u don’t

what is happening

please don’t be dead and the police found all ur tapes hidden in the tunnels or smth I will cry and die

also wanna know smth creepy I literally had to make a presentation on a Roman city for school and I picked Alexandria did it and not even the next day was the tape with Gertrude asking the dude hey that creepy thing that u saw in what was probably the library of Alexandria yeah did u put the grate back over the top so it couldn’t get out oh you don’t remember hm yes excuse me while I cut the eyes out of my pictures and books just so Jon can find them later and record about it and scare them listeners asses off

god this show is gonna give me a heart attack one day

in conclusion hehehehehehehhe Michael sounds kinda like Michael Jackson and that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard today even though he still scared the shit out of me alright that’s all end recording

[autumnelaine]

History (Overview)

Autumn has had many, many jobs. Her first job, when she was 13, was simply delivering baked goods for a local bakery. It didn’t pay much, of course, but she was a child–she didn’t need much. They also let her take home any pastries that were left at the end of the day.

She worked there for about a year. It was around then that she first left home. It wasn’t really for any particular reason–initially, she just wanted to see what was around her. Her hometown was small. The type of place where people knew her as “Lucas’ daughter” or “the Aubert girl”. So, she wanted to step out of that bubble.

She didn’t run away, she did tell her parents what she was doing. They agreed to let her go–once she lied to them about having an apprenticeship in Paris. What would it matter? She’d find something like that and return in a few years.

She wrote her family letters semi-regularly. She didn’t always have the resources or time to send a letter, so correspondence was sporadic. She picked up odd jobs as she wandered for a few years–helping out with traveling theater troupes, working for several weeks on a farm, stepping in as help at inns and hotels (she much preferred working in the hotels, but she only saw those in the big cities), and everything in-between.

When she was 17, she decided she was sick of the odd jobs and bouncing around to a new town every two weeks. She needed to improve her chances–she needed something beyond simple labor and hospitality skills. 

Surely, of all the people she’d met and worked with, one of them had to know someone who could help? She remembered an innkeeper who often housed sailors and knew many captains. That could be something.

Three weeks and two conversations later, she had an agreement to go to London. There, she would use the libraries to learn the basics of cartography and would be allowed to sit in, quietly, on proper teachings of it. She picked it up quickly. She’s always had an excellent memory and has always been good with her hands, which worked very well for cartography. Months later, in late Spring, she returned to the captain with proof that she could handle the cartography for him. After some back and forth, and further pressing that ‘this was really her work and didn’t he swear she’d have a place on his ship if she could prove her skill?’, she was officially a cartographer for the British Admiralty and set to accompany them on their upcoming Arctic voyage. Not her first choice, certainly, but she wasn’t going to argue. 

It took years, and was, at times, beyond miserable. She made hundreds of maps for the voyage, their professionalism varying considerably on their purpose. 

And then, it was over. She joined small journeys in the following years, but never joined any other expeditions. She eventually left the British Admiralty, but was still requested as a cartographer for expeditions every now and then.

At 23, she left London. She found herself falling back into familiar habits of wandering, until she ended up in Germany. Finding a place in Hamburg for a while, she decided to send a letter to her family. She received one back within the next three weeks. She expected most of what was in it–why were they only now hearing from her? They thought she’d died. What was she talking about, an Arctic expedition? What happened to Paris? What does she mean to do now, after all that?

What she didn’t expect, was the very last line:

“I suppose it’s good you’re already in Germany. Go to Berlin. Your mother is there.”

A few days later, when she arrived in Berlin, she found her mother was dead. Well, nearly. She looked like a corpse; Her cheeks were gaunt and her skin was gray. Autumn could swear she could count the bones in her fingers if she tried. Strangely, her father had failed to disclose that. 

What was her mother doing in Berlin? When had she gotten sick? Where was her father? Or her sister? Why had neither of them explained anything? 

She would not get the answers to any of those questions, especially not in the moment, so she turned her attention back to her mother. Her heart hurt seeing her like that. She felt guilty–could she have done anything, had she been home? She missed so many years. Almost a decade. She took her hand and nearly gasped at how light it felt–how insubstantial. She was angry now; where were her father and her sister? How could they leave her to die, alone, in a foreign city?

Her mother gasped suddenly, and an inky blackness seemed to seep and spread beneath her skin until it covered her entire body. Autumn stepped back, confused, and opened her mouth to shout for help–for anyone–but the room fell silent. Her mother had died. She sat in the room, next to her mother, for hours. But she knew she had to leave eventually.

She sent off a letter to her father and sister with the details of the funeral, though this was merely a formality. She knew they would not come–if they weren’t here now, they wouldn’t be later. As far as she knew, her mother had no friends in Berlin, so her funeral was small: just her and a priest.

Autumn decided to stay in Berlin–she had everything with her and there were probably more opportunities here. The first obstacle would be learning German. She knew French and English, but she doubted that would be particularly useful in Germany.

She began working at a small cafe. She only needed basic German to start and it would be useful in learning conversational German. The owners were kind, and she taught them some English in return. She stayed there for a few months before moving on to work at a publishing house. She could read and write German decently well now, and speak it–at least conversationally–quite proficiently (albeit with an accent). She had a small role, so the work was easy and not something she minded, and she continued working there for her entire stay in Berlin.

She was in Berlin for a few more years. Now, at 26, she received the news that her father had passed and her sister couldn’t make the trip to clear his house. Autumn would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little sad about leaving Berlin–she’d built a quiet little life for herself and enjoyed the city and its people. But, like with her mother, duty calls. So she made the decision to move to Paris after she wrapped up her father’s affairs.

That’s where she is now. She’d finished clearing her father’s house, learned things she wished she hadn’t, and moved to Paris to try and ignore what she’d found.

[renee-writer]

The Changeling Chapter 13

AO3

Wee Ian and his sister, Maggie, exam the newcomers with wide eyes. Maggie has never meet her uncle and Wee Ian was just her age the last time he saw him.

 

“You have grown so big and braw,” Jamie addresses his nephew, “and what a beauty you are, Maggie.”

 

“Uncle Jamie, who is the lass?”

 

“Wee Ian, this is my wife and your Auntie, Claire and our son William.”

 

She smiles at the children. “Hello.”

 

Both react the same way, moving away from her, their eyes wide. The lad finds his voice. “Why Uncle Jamie, she is a Sassanach!”

 

“Aye, but dinna fret. She is a good one. I swear it.” Murtagh is holding laughter back. It is good to know that the bairns are being raised as true Scots.

 

“Ian Murray, Margaret Murray, Claire is your auntie. You shall treat her with respect. Is that clear?” Jenny’s stern glance meets their eyes.

 

“Aye mam.”

 

“Aye mam.”

 

“I understand,” She hands William to his daddy so she can kneel to their level, “the English can be fearsome. I am not fully English. I was raised all over the world. My dear uncle, may his soul rest in peace, he was an archeologist, dug up the past,” the irony of this hits her and she almost burst into laughter. Wasn’t she raised perfect for this adventure she is on! “So even though my voice is English, I am a Scot, for I am married to one and a mam of one.”

 

“That be good.” Wee Ian nods to himself, “very good.”

 

Maggie toddles up and rests against her. She carefully touches her dark curls. Everyone holds their breaths.

 

“Maggie’s Auntie Claire.” She declares. Jamie watches, his eyes full of pride.

 

Later, after the children are tucked in bed, they sit down to talk about the pardon.

 

“Sae this Lord Abernathy is helping cover up Randall’s crimes?”

 

Jamie nods. He understands Ian’s feelings about the man. He has, after all, came close to assaulting Jenny. It was something they don’t discuss.

 

“Aye, it makes sense. There has to be someone high up to allow him to get away with his despicable acts.”

 

“Ned is hoping to persuade him to arrange a pardon for Jamie in exchange for keeping their secrets.” Claire explains farther.

 

Jenny is silent, to silent. Ian looks at her. “Jenny?”

 

“As much as I want Jamie to be pardoned, I loath that he will continue to get away with it.”

 

All nod in understanding.

 

“He won’t for long,” Claire’s declaration has all eyes on her, “there is to be an upraising, we will raise up against the British. Unfortunately, it won’t succeed but, at the last battle, Black Jack will be killed.”

 

“How do you know that? I ken knowing the future but one person out of it, knowing his fate?”

 

“I know, Ian, because before he dies, he will marry a lass named Mary Hawkins. From their union they will have a son. Years after, my first husband, Frank Randall, will be born.”

 

Total silence.

 

“You married one of them!” Jenny hisses.

 

“Frank was nothing like his ancestor. He was interested in the family history. In his research, he found the information about Black Jack.”

 

“Jenny Mon ghrá, remember this is two hundred years in the future. Claire then didn’t know. She can’t be blamed. Her knowledge may help Jamie be free and help us prepare for this coming upraising, eh?”

 

She smiles at him before turning back to her sister -in-law. “Forgive me Claire. I just loath him so much. The knowledge he isn’t long for this world is a comfort.”

 

“I understand and I can help prepare for what is to come.”

 

She explains the upraising and it’s aftermath.

 

“We should stay out then, remain loyalists?” Jamie questions.

 

“Yes. I would love it if we won and could break off their control it isn’t just now. To keep the family safe, we need to stay true to the British.”

 

“We will do as you bid.” Ian says. They discuss what to plant and when, hiding resources away from the conquers.

 

“I am afraid the whole clan way of life will end. The wearing of tartan will be forbidden, the speaking of Gaelic. It will return in our great- great- grandchildren’s lifetime.”

 

There is a solemnness in the air. Her words, though needing to be said, carry a heavy weight.

 

“Thank you Claire. We shall prepare as we can. We shall keep the Gaelic in our hearts. Our children will learn it even if they can only speak it in secret.”

 

“Ian is right,” Murtagh has been quiet, listening for most of their conversations, “the bloody English will never fully conquer us.”

 

“Amen!” Jamie cries.

[winderlylandchime]

1/2 Hello, I’m finally getting around to sending you the Out of the Box review. I’m a bit late even tho this all happened on Wednesday(i think) but that’s due to the fact that afterwards we continued to watch B99 and during the ep found out about Andre passing away. So in true brother fashion, doctor check ups got postponed due to family emergency and he has been in mourning since. Also sorry this is so long:

I legit just sat him in front of the interview and pressed play. So I didn’t even give him the chance to be ready for it. These are just some of the highlights because he was watching so quietly, you’d think Gale would be able to hear him if he was too loud: ‘Bria- wait no, not Brian. But Brian suits him. Fuck it, look it’s my pretty boy but all grown up! WITH GLASSES!’ Not even a minute in and he paused it and went ‘he looks like he’d rather be waterboarded than be here in front of a camera’

Here is where I forgot that his sexuality gets brought up in the first two minutes where the interviewer says “playing gay characters particularly for non gay actors” and he loudly went ‘NON GAY?’ And looked at me in shock and confusion. But then the topic immediately goes to Gale’s upbringing so he actually thought the interviewer was talking about other actors and not Gale…*gale mentions that he grew up pentecostal* ‘he grew up in a CULT? (I swear i only looked at him) *points to me* its all a cult one way or the other. Especially if you go to church 5 times a week.’ And then after a minute of silence he went ‘from a cult to fake fucking guys on tv *raises his soda* my man!’

Gale says he can’t really talk about his brother ‘me with you…but not for whatever reason he has which b-t-w *sings it out* shaaaaady, i just think people won’t care about the baby our parents found on a bus stop.’ He was just staring at the screen and then whispered ‘he’s pretty. How long ago was this filmed? I really fuck with the glasses. But a bit of a beard would be nice on him like in Criminal Minds (at this point im gonna give him your new fic to read since he’s obsessed with the beard/glasses) Gale says he went to San Francisco ‘i went to San Fran once, i did end up there cause I got lost though *long pause while he continues to watch* some very nice homeless people live there.. like my boy Ronny, i miss him’ They mention QAF ‘AH OKAY SHUT UP! Now we’re talking important stuff! Spill the secrets! Who hated who? Who fucked who? Who we still don’t like?’ *he actually scooted closer to the computer screen* (Gale mentions Aiden Gillen/UK qaf) ‘Aiden Gillen? The dude from king Arthur with the hot guy from Sons of Anarchy? Wait *pauses the video* there is a BRITISH version of it? Why?’ (Literally seconds later Gale mentions an ex girlfriend and he hits pause and stares at me) ‘girl….friend? Does he mean that like a girl thats a friend? Or like….they did kisses and stuff? Was he experimenting? You know what? We all have our moments, it’s okay’ Gale says that he has no personal knowledge about how it is to be a gay man and apparently my brother has decided to go full denial for some reason bc he lifts his soda and goes ‘ahhhh, yes, bisexuality’ and then just lifted his cast like a fist while sitting back. Gale mentions that he got blackout drunk before starting to film and he goes ‘i like him. I love him but i also like him. Two different things. I want to hang out with him in a non creepy way, i swear I’m capable of it but also if i had to date him id be down’ Gale is asked if Randy knew he was straight: *hits pause* ‘straight? STRAIGHT?! AS IN HETERO?! LIKE ME? STRAIGHT? LIKE…like..STRAIGHT?! *looks at me in disbelief and whispers* straight? STRAIGHT?! *gets up and immediately sits down* straight? Like he likes women? Like as in like huuuh?’ He then just stared into the screen with paused Gale on it and then whispered to himself ‘straight’ then he rubbed his whole entire face with his hand and then looked at me and went ‘oh this changes so fucking much. I have to alert my boys…and my girls…fuck what is mom gonna say to this? I feel….lied to. Not by him. But by you! *takes a deep breath* its okay..its cool..straight. Just like me….i think..Oh fuck’ Then he sat back on the couch, covered his face with his cast and after like 5ish minutes went ‘soooooo, i guess him and blondie fucking flies out the window, huh? Boy, i was way off with that one, huh’ I need you to know that trying not to laugh during all this was the biggest challenge in life. When I described this to our cousin, she compared it to the Bone scene with Holt and she was pretty spot on. Gale is now talking about working with Randy: ‘He IS extremely talented! (Gale mentions they have similar taste in stuff) *looks at me* do you think he listens to Lil Nas X as well? Please tell me they’re still friends. I need to know if they hang out. Or at least hung out. I got scared cause theres so little bts moments of them but they hung out all the time. I mean i could tell they were friends duuuh’ This is a moment i never even caught but when talking about Sharon, i think Gale messes up Vic/Jack names and my brother goes ‘who the fuck is Jack? Did i miss something or is my very pretty boy forgetful?’ The interviewer starts bringing up the prom scene and he says the he wants to talk about something that for viewers was the most difficult to watch and my brother goes ‘ahh yes, the proposal’ (interview says Brian going to prom) ‘oh yeah, that was also tragic’ ‘we need to watch the prom episode later. They were friends! He cared about him!’ A few minutes later the interviewer says “before we leave babylon” ‘lets NOT leave it. I left it once and it fucked me up for life’

Welcome back dear sweet anon and brother anon!

Are you watching B99 for the first time? I have a friend who’s watching right now for the first time. Either way, so very sad about Andre’s untimely passing. I’ve been devastated and rewatching my fave Captain Holt episodes.

I love your brother calling pentecostal being in a cult. I’m not going to disagree.

“There’s a British version? Why?” Does your brother know that the “British version” is actually the OG version?

His denial about Gale being straight is HILARIOUS. He’s twisting everything like people do for gay people “girl friend… like a friend who’s a girl” and “ahh yes bisexuality.”

And then “straight. Just like me….i think” DID GALE AWAKEN SOMETHING IN YOUR BROTHER?

STRAIGHT!

Captain Hold BONE is so absolutely the correct response to this both timely and accurate.

Here’s the thing. If you’ve listened to the Call Me By Your Shame or any of the subsequent episodes where Randy discusses the artist, you absolutely over to over enunciate LITTLE NAS X the way Randy does. I don’t know about Gale listening to LITTLE NAS X but I think they both listened to Bjork while filming.

“something that for viewers was the most difficult to watch and my brother goes ‘ahh yes, the proposal’ (the interview says Brian going to prom) ‘oh yeah that was also tragic’ CERTIFIED ICONIC. The proposal was hard to watch (for my prince) and also tragic for many reasons. But, yes, Brother Anon most people would say prom.

he looks like he would rather be waterboarded than be here in front of the camera. WELL if that doesn’t sum up Gale, I don’t know what does.

I’m glad your brother is here for glasses and beard. I have always said he has good taste.

[spctrsgf]

the next stop

summary: sometimes it’s a tad bit hard to hear your boyfriend on a busy train. (part 18 of @/ham_zero (TT)’s HTS)

word count: 1.1k

warnings: language (like once, I don’t think I’ve even sweared this little in a fic before), a lil suggestive ig

a/n: i found this tiktok account and i loved their high tension scenarios so i think ill make it a series ! here’s our favorite british gift shopist to kick it off (:

You pulled at your sleeves nervously as you and Steven speed walked towards the train station, all jazzed up. Steven was caught up in his phone, mumbling an incomprehensible jumble of words as he tried to pull up your tickets.

“Steven, hon, do you need help with that?” Your hand reached out to rest on his lower back, guiding him to the left to avoid a pole. “No, I got it,” Steven responded distractedly, batting away your other hand from grabbing the device. “I can figure this out on my own.”

You giggled. “Yeah, seems like that’s going well.”

“Hey. Not nice.”

You shrugged. “Just telling the truth.”

“That- come on! It was supposed to be right there!”

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” You came to a stop, looking up to your clearly frustrated boyfriend.

Steven hummed softly, not sparing you a look up.

“Steven,” you grabbed his phone. “Let me help you.”

“It’s pointless!” He threw his hands up. “You’ll never find it. I wasn’t able to and I’ve been looking for twenty bloody-“

“Found it!” You placed the phone back in Steven’s hand with a triumphant smile.

“Wha-“ He gaped.

“C’mon,” you yanked on his hand. “We gotta catch the train.”

He huffed, letting himself be dragged along. “You won’t tell me how you did it, will you.”

You turned back to him with a sly smile. “I gotta be useful for something.”

——

“Hurry!” You laughed, running towards the train. “We’re gonna miss it!” Steven finished his cup of coffee quickly, tossing it in the trash can to his left before chasing after you. “Hey,” he said once he fell in line with your strides. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine, we’re not gonna miss the show.”

You shot him a glare as you got to the train stop. “You don’t know that.”

He caught your fidgety hands in his own. “I do. Relax.”

You huffed. “Trying.”

“Good.”

Barely a minute later, the train pulled up to the station in all of its glory. “Oh, bullocks,” Steven grumbled beside you. “It’s packed. You can’t hear a thing in there.”

You swallowed sharply. “Glad I’m not claustrophobic, jeez.”

Steven chuckled, placing his hand in yours as you ventured together into the train. “Me too.”

The two of you found a place near a pole, you holding it and Steven holding your waist. There were barely two inches in front of you, trapping you in the position you were in. You looked up at Steven, smiling softly at the man you had the privilege of calling yours.

His eyes were cast outward, surveying the London landscape with bright, eager eyes. His curls were askew from your previous running excursion, blowing lightly from the train fan. His strong jawline was so close it would take practically no movement at all to kiss it. The notion was tempting, and you had to set your own jaw to stop yourself.

And his outfit. Gods, you were sure he was wearing it just to drive you crazy. The navy slacks that fit snugly, the white button up, the navy blazer that matched his pants. And his rings. You’d never coined Steven as the type of person to want to wear the rings (Marc ran more along those lines), but you had to admit it fit him perfectly.

You let your eyes trail Steven (almost) shamelessly as he was caught up in his own world, occasionally shaking his head at the sound of a stop so that he could gauge how long you guys had until you needed to get off.

Your brain went a million directions the longer you stared, and before long you were enveloped in your own world as well. So long that you didn’t notice your stop was coming up.

Steven, on the other hand, did. He shook himself out of his thoughts and squeezed your waist as if to tell you without vocalizing it. When you didn’t shake, he looked down to find you glassy eyed and lost in thought. He smiled. “Love, we’re getting off on the next stop.”

You didn’t answer, only smiled softly as if thinking of something funny. Steven realized then how loud the train was, and that you probably couldn’t hear him. He chuckled softly when an idea hit him, leaning down. “Hey, our stop is next.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, placing a kiss there before pulling back just enough to see your face turn bright red, but not far enough to properly stand.

“Got it!” You shoved his shoulder abruptly, nearly knocking him into the person next to him. His strong hand tightened on your waist and brought him back to you, prompting him to shift to stand right behind you and rest his chin on your head. You frantically willed your face to calm down, bringing a hand to poorly cover your face in embarrassment.

“You alright?” Your boyfriend’s voice floated from above, his jaw moving against your head. His sharp jaw. You flushed a deeper red, struggling to get a grasp. “Mhm!” Your voice was pinched and you were sure Steven could tell you were flustered.

“That wasn’t very convincing.”

You elbowed him lightly. “I’m fine!”

“Y/n.” You could hear the smirk now.

“Please just give me a sec.”

A laugh broke loose. “Alright, I’m just playing.”

You rolled your eyes, focusing back on the task at hand. Your face was barely contained by the time the train met the next stop, Steven grabbing your hand and dragging you out. He bounced on his toes as you made your way to the theater. “Steven, hon,” you pulled your arm to alert him. “Calm down, you’re yanking my arm out of its socket.”

He slowed immediately. “Oh bullocks, I’m sorry.”

You giggled. “Hey, like you said, we’re not gonna miss the show. We’re like twenty minutes early.”

He nodded. “Yeah, alright, it’s just…”

“You’re jumpy, I get it. I was the same way earlier, remember?”

“Yeah, you were, yeah.”

You nudged his shoulder playfully, turning to watch the sunset that framed him. The oranges and blues and pinks offered the perfect background as Steven’s face was sheathed in a warm light from the fading sun. “Gods.”

Steven looked down at you then, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Huh? Did you say something?”

“Wha?” You played it off, cheeks dusting a rosy pink. “No, I just- nothing.”

Steven’s lips lifted knowingly. “Uh huh, and your glassy gaze and red cheeks from earlier were nothing, too, yeah?”

You glared at him. “You bastard.”

“That’s a bit rude to say, innit?”

You tutted at him mockingly. “And you’re making fun of me. Guess we’re both being a bit rude.”

He laughed, a belly laugh that shook his whole body. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Steven.”

[wanderingtrash]

Him

Starting off my return with a new series, new faces, and new emotional distress 😮‍💨 this is part one of a series called “Him”

series: in which Harry is his university’s most elegible bachelor and yn is his hot fashion design major girlfriend.

//

The wind picked up on the UCLA campus as the sun began to set. Two figured walked across the fountain in the main entrance of the university. Feet heavy and tired, as spring break had amaneced.

“And then the asshole had the audacity to tell ME that I was going crazy? Can you believe that? What kind of gaslighting shit is that?” A redhead yelled into the sky at her bestfriend as they walked to (Y/N)’s car. “He really pulled that card on me, and to make matters worse not only did he ditch me BUT he posts a picture of himself with his damn shirt off?”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but laugh at the antics her friend was spitting. Usually she would be concerned, but there had been plenty of times where she had warmed her about the man she hated at the moment. He was no good, all the red flags and couldn’t even pump his own gas, that was a light for (Y/N) to make a face everytime she saw him. “You know I don’t want to say I told you so, but I told you so bitch” (Y/N) hums, mockingly but jokingly of course. “Should’ve ran when he asked you for $20 and then acted like he didn’t know what he was talking about when you brought it up again.” The girls says shaking her head and rolling her eyes as she remembers the infamous day she got a call from her screaming friend. Playing with the soft blue acrylic on her pink nail (Y/N) looks towards the parking lot. Her eyes land on a guy with a muscle tee and some gym shorts on almost immediately. A smile grazes her features. Now there’s a man worth talking over.

“Prince Charming!” But of course her bestfriend beats her to it, announcing their presence before she herself even could.

“Shut the fuck up Milan!” (Y/N) hisses as she looks around at the people leaving, none of them even caring to look up as they were all desperate to get door rooms to pack for their trips for the week. However, he did notice them, one of his AirPods in his hand as he turned his head, a dimples on his cheeks.

Once they reached their designated part of the parking lot, Harry wasted no time linking his arm around his girlfriend’s waist. “There she is, I was about to call you.” He says with a husky voice, obviously out of breath as he has probably just gotten out of the schools gym. Gently pushing him off his girlfriend laughs.

(Y/N) and Harry had known about each other since their freshman year of college. She would see him around campus sometimes, with his friends. Or catch glimpses of him talking with a group of girls (and sometimes guys) as they all locked their eyes on him and nodded with every word he said, eyes trained on his lips or his arms. Plenty of times she had seen him at some frat parties too, although she never spoke to him, she did find him attractive and developed a small niche crush on him. Who wouldn’t want to jump on the bones of the fall British hot guy who just happens to be going for a degree in medicine and surgery?

But it wasn’t until about three months ago, well into their junior year of high school that they really began to converse with one another. Although (Y/N) was always an extrovert, something about Harry made her stomach flip. She was beautiful and she knew it, she had a lot of confidence in herself and the way she carried herself, often finding herself rejecting people simply because she thought she didn’t have the time, until she met him. Their first conversation was a quick one, exchanging numbers and social media, and then one thing led to another and before she knew it a month after meeting him she found herself in his car blasting Fleetwood Mac and kissing him as if her life depended on it, which at the time it really felt as if it did.

Now two months later and (Y/an) swears she’s in love. Two months later and Harry thinks he’s in love, two months later and no one but their close friends know their together. And they liked it that way. Two months later and (Y/N) was heading to London to meet Harry’s family for the first time.

“Alright you two break it up.” Milan said, her arms finding them tugging on her friend’s arm while a small smile prodded her own lips. “Miss Met Gala YOU have to take me back to the dorms before you leave tonight so I can swallow in my self pity waiting for you to come back!” She said dramatically as she threw her head back and began to fake cry as loud as she could. “I hate you Styles!” She sniffled and wiped away fake tears.

“Me? See how I don’t do anything n’ get blamed for it anyway!” Harry exclaimed back shaking his head. Palming his face before pressing a quick and sneaky kiss to his girlfriend’a lips, his hand wandering down her back and to the curve of her ass where he left a cheeky grope and snickered when she yelped. “I’ll pick you up around 7 yes? Our flight leaves at 10 but I want you to myself for a little bit before my mum is squeezing the life outta you and not letting me have you.” Harry whispered, his eyes staring into hers. And permanent smile on his face as she nods and her love sick eyes bury back into his.

“Ok”

///

“You know you really didn’t need to pack for 400 people love.” Harry says as he watched his girlfriend wheel two suit cases to his car, her outfit was paired with some slippers.

“You know sometimes you can really mind your own business.” She teases back and punches his side as she walks in front of him, reaching down he grabbed one of the suitcases and shook his head, carrying his own suitcase and bag.

“You’re Impossible.” Harry laughs and leans down to place a quick kiss to her her forehead. Pulling his hoody up a little bit more he opened the door for her like a true gentleman and let her in before walking in himself behind her. It was only 9 pm and he figured the airport would be bustling with life. But everything was quiet and people were either sleeping on the chairs, or impatiently pacing as they waited to be boarded for their own flight.

“It’s scary how quiet it is in here isn’t it?” (Y/N) asked as they both walked side by side to check their luggage in, so ready to board the plane that was taking them to Harry’s hometown and in front of his family.

“Thank God” Harry mumbled as he rubbed his eyes and placed both their luggage a on the conveyor belt that was carrying other peoples things as well. The white tiles under them feel squeaked as both their bodies got closer and before either of them knew it. Harry’s arms were wrapped around her waist and she was tucked away in what she liked to call her safe place. Her own arms went around his torso. Her head safely in his chest as she sighed heavily.

“Do you think they’ll like me?”

“Hmm?”

“Your mom? Your sister? Do you think they’ll like me?” With a nervous tone on the edge of her tongue as she contemplated what she had been thinking for the past week. It has truly been eating her up inside. Although (Y/N) was very family oriented, it wasn’t her own mother or father that provided that kind of love. But more her little sister whom she loved very much, the 8 year old that gave (Y/N) the will to live all those years ago. That little precious girl was the one that made her heart flutter at the thought of her own family.

“I know they’ll love you, mum and Gem are always asking about you, n’ asking when they’re finally going to meet their precious ‘sister and daughter in law’ as they call you.” Harry laughs at the nick name. His lips finding the crown on her head. Of course his girlfriends body finds itself relaxing and melting more and more into his very comforting touch. The smell of his cologne fluttering her nostrils, but somehow it smelled like home, familiar, and deepened the love she had for him, even if she didn’t know how to express the feeling into words yet.

“I don’t want to disappoint you, or them…” Trailing off and then looking up she had this slight change in her eyes that Harry had only seen a handful of times. When her little sister Kai had fallen off a swing and she has gotten a call from back home from a teary eyed little girl at the hospital stating how much she missed her and wished she was home, when (Y/N couldn’t don’t the right kind of fabric for a project she was doing for her Design alterations class, or when he would wake up in her dorm room, her beside him and her knees tucked into her chest as she had another nightmare, but didn’t dare wake her boyfriend who had an exam the very next day.

Even though it was a feeling she hated expressing, because she had buried it away deep within herself, She let Harry see it more times than most people could say they had.

“None of that, you could never disappoint me, or them for that matter. I understand the stress you must be feeling. Angel you’re single handedly the most special person in my life right now. If you’re not comfortable with going we can always-“ Harry said without hesitation. But as (Y/N) watched his lips move her ears began to ring, in a good way. She canceled out all the negativity in her mind and focused on the man in front of her explained all the other things they could do for their break if she didn’t feel comfortable going to Holmes Chapel with him yet, putting her above himself no matter how much he missed his family he was willing to take her to her dorm right now and watch those slasher movies she loved so much, eating cheap greasy pizza (no matter how much he stated he hated it, (Y/N) knew he could never pass a good slice of New York pizza from the diner across the campus street).

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please make sure to check through security before boarding flight 222 to the United Kingdom if you have not already, as this flight leave in 45 minutes, thank you’”

Placing a solid kiss to his pink lips, (Y/N) shushed him and laughed against them. “I love you so much, come on we can’t be late or else those tickets you paid for are gonna go to waste.” (Y/N) smiled at him widely and with the tint of sadness in her eyes gone, pulling his hand he began to walk with her. His eyes widened, and she had taken notice but didn’t say anything about it.

“…I love you too Angel .” He replied back watching her walk with a more excited step to her walk.

It was when she turned around and winked at him that he truly felt what his mother has told him ever since he was a kid.

“When you know your person came into your life, it’s kind of like when you’re walking through a field of scorching hot flames. And yet you seen them on the other side and no matter how much the pain hurts you want to keep getting to that other side.”

[warnersister]

Pen Pal

John Lennon x Reader

Warnings: mentions of war (a lot of it), WW2, swearing, death, sexism, mentions of smut but doesn’t happen, HISTORICAL INACCURACY.

(I know VE Day is the 8th of May, but I messed up the times line, I’m really sorry!)

The Beatles Masterlist

John Lennon Masterlist

It originally started as a way to boost your spirits. It was early September of 1942, the War still ranging on in the society around you. You were on the way to the factory (having been working there as a contribution to the home from) and saw a flyer, well: multiple flyers, which were advertising a thing called a: ‘pen pal’. You stopped, and read it. After all, you were early and it didn’t seem as if the blitz were suddenly returning. (The rubble had only just been completely clear). You shook your head, attempting to rid the horrid thoughts from your mind.

‘PEN PAL EXPERIMENT

SEND A LETTER TO A SOLDIER. BOOST THEIR MORALE.’

It had the address of an enrolling office and a small ticket to take. You ripped one off, shoving it into your pocket - not thinking much of it, as you went about your day. It slipped your mind when you were assisting with building the ammunition, a level of unimportance rising within the small slip of paper.

It was only when you got home, that your memory rebooted. You were loading your washing machine, digging into the pockets, when you found it. You assumed it was worth a shot, grabbing your bag and heading out of the house, tuning into the radio beforehand for any air-raid warnings, hearing that the sky was clear - much to your delight. It was a cool, almost calm night. It offered a sense of relief to the most tragic world around you.

You reached the steps, and inside were a few men. Some: elderly or disabled. Others: young and peaceful protesters. They raised their eyebrows on your way in. “Can we help you, miss?” You had gathered respect since women had helped the war effort, but were still getting mixed feelings for the more sexist of the British Common Wealth’s population. You nodded, smiling lightly as you handed the younger man the slip of paper. He returned your grin, leading you into the next room.

“It’s good what you’re doing, you know - really going to boost someone’s spirits, love.” He told you, skimming down a list, consisting of names you had assumed, and he picked one. “Ah, perfect.” You gave him a questioning look. “Some of the lads signed up to get a pen pal. They get lonely, you see. It really helps what you’re doing.” He explained. “And obviously with the war efforts, thank you for that too.” He spoke quickly, under his breath. You appreciated it, being recognised for your assistance by a man. Maybe the world was changing.

“Right, if you just fill this out, then we’ll send it off and you’ll make a soldier a very happy man.” He handed you the clipboard, and you nodded beginning to fill out the information. It consisted of: your name, date of birth and your address. “Right, give it a week or two, and you should receive a letter in the post. Thank you.” He told you after you had given him the paper. He showed you out, thanking you once again, grateful for your volunteering.

In the span of a few days, you had simply forgotten the ‘pen pal’ thing. Whether you were busy with work, or trying to maintain independence in a world like this, you had just forgot. That was until the lady who delivered your post knocked on your front door a week or two later. “Morning, (Y/n)!” She said chirpily. “Morning, Louise!” You replied, taking the letters politely from her grasp. “Not a bomb in two weeks. You reckon it’s nearly over?” She asked, creating the kind conversation you nearly always had, unless none of you was in hurry. “How longs a piece of string?” You laughed, and she joined in. “You’re right there, love.” She agreed. “See you later!” And with that, she carried on with her rounds, although uncertain of when you would actually see her again.

You flicked between the unpaid bills, the newspaper - bored of the same old shit. That was when a letter in scribbled cursive caught your eye. “France?” You asked yourself, reading the stamp on the front. ‘Miss (Y/n) (L/n) - (Your Address), England’. It read. You didn’t recognise the writing, and did you certainly didn’t know anyone from France. You turned it over, and it immediately clicked in your head. ‘The PEN PAL EXPERIMENT’ an alternative stamp said. Sure, it had crossed your mind over the past fortnight, but you hadn’t expected a letter, nor a reply so quickly. “The post is faster then it was before.” You told yourself, but it was understandable. Urgent transmissions, trying to keep the boys in the fighting spirit, you know - morale.

You opened the sealed envelope, sitting down at your kitchen table to read what your pen pal had to say.

‘Saturday the 19th of September, 1942.

Dear,

Miss (Y/n) (L/n),

I do apologise if my writing is too scribbly, or hard to make out, or even the odd mistake here and there. You see, I am hurriedly writing this as we are moving posts again tonight. Typical of them to give us a last minute warning. But you know the Germans, as if they would cooperate with the British Military. However, I am very appreciative of your interest in this letter business. My mother passed of tuberculosis last year, and my father died when I was a young child. So to me, this means a lot. My troop is my family, I suppose. My brothers. Just having someone to talk to, even a stranger, just gives me the hope to fight through this, as the fighting doesn’t seem the be getting any lighter, nor easier. I hope this helps you too. I’d love to know about you. I’d love to make a friend. My name is John Winston Lennon, I turn twenty in a few weeks time, the 9th of October, and I am from Liverpool. It would be delightful to have a response - I’m sure you will be offered my next address and whereabouts?

Sincerely,

Your pen pal,

John.’

It made your heart melt when you read it. It contained a lot of personal things, but you understood the fact that he had no one to confide in - it gave you an overwhelming sense of trust. Going to put the letter back in it’s envelope, you discovered an address, of which it told you to address your letters. It went onto explain that they would then send it to your pen pal, not being allowed to send them to his direct locations, due to the confidentiality of their whereabouts, and the massive risk of interception but Nazi forces. You placed the envelope into a small, prior to this encounter, empty basket and set out to reply. You address it as he did, but was way too hyper to keep it extremely formal.

‘Monday the 28th of September, 1942

Dear,

Mr John Lennon,

I’m not sure entirely sure what to begin this letter with, other than hello. Thank you for the introduction, and the sense of trust you are offering me. I promise to help you as much as I can, practically be a shoulder to cry on from miles away. I, myself, live alone. My dad went off to fight in the war. And my mother was placed into a mill making clothes for shoulders, a while away from here I work in the factories you see, I make ammunition and only hope I’m helping you lot. It’s not much, but it’s what I can offer. As you know, my name is (Y/n) (M/n [if you have one]) (L/n), I also turn twenty soon - (Your Birthday), but it’s a while away yet, and I’m from (Home). And Happy Birthday, John! I do hope the chocolates haven’t melted in the envelope?

I look forward to your reply!

Sincerely,

Your Pen Pal,

(Y/n) (L/n).’

Enclosed, you added your ration of chocolate for that time, unsure of whether you were actually allowed to send it or not, but you still did it, adding the return address, and making your way to the post box near the end of your street. You, (im)patiently awaiting the man’s long-awaited response although you had only sent it, merely moments ago.

Over the course of a year, you and John grew close. You sent photos of one-another, all of which; you posted on your fridge, and him - kept in his coat. To him, you were the warmth his dull heart needed. You brightened his day. Your letters were frequent, and always awaited by the latter (whoever that may be). It kept his spirits up, and kept you going. Well, it was the way your parents met dusting The Great War, so that gave you a sense of hope. To John, you were a dream, you were his lady without even asking permission. He was head-over-heels in love with you, at least that’s what his troop were guessing from the way he’d beg the correspondence men for your letters. You two shared interest, finding out he loved to play the guitar and sing, himself and a friend who he was stationed with, Paul - decided they we’re going to form their own band when they got out. He loved when you wrote about your own aspirations, reading them over and over until they were branded into his head.

John made your heart flutter, made the postwoman wonder why you were always so chipper, why you begged her for the stack of bills in her hand. You two were in love, and didn’t even know it. Well, until John mentioned in in one of his letters, in the late July of 1943. The one that was addressed differently.

‘Tuesday the 27th of July, 1943

Dearest (Y/n),

I write this to you with a heavy heart. Not of sadness, but of hope and love. For you. My love, I dream of the day I should marry you, the day I hold our children, the day we get to meet, the day I get to love you. But until then my darling, I must confess through the use of our conventional letter. To which I hope you understand, the day I wish to whisk you away, and take you by the hand. If you would be ever so kind to let me, and to this is strongly plead, would you be my girl? I promise when this is over we’ll be together. Have a cottage in the country. Love and cherish past the mortal world of living, after death do us part. Make you (Y/n) Lennon as soon as I shall return. Darling I do not know if I should make it, for I walk blind in this war. But would you make me the happiest man alive, and be mine?

Sincerely,

Your pen pal,

Your soldier,

John Lennon.’

He was scared of sending it you, shaking as he handed it over, loosing the chance to take it back and risk everything he loved. Everything that was you. He fought for you, he would even die for you, but for now, he awaited your response. If it was ever to come, of course.

‘Monday the 9th of August 1943

My darling John,

I write to tell you your heavy heart is not necessary. I’d give my life for you, my love. It would be my honour to be your girl. And I shall impatiently await the day we can make all of our dreams come true. I promise to stick by your side; whether by pen or person. John Lennon you made my heart full. I can’t wait to run into your arms the day you get back. I hope this war should finish soon. To create a family of our own back here, home - in England. Today you made me the happiest woman alive. It would be my upmost honour to become (Y/n) Lennon.

Sincerely,

Your pen pal,

Your girl,

(Y/n) (L/n).’

John practically jumped around with glee when he heard this, making the others think he were mad - shell shocked, perhaps. Even when they were moving posts. “What’s getting you so chipper?” Another asked him, who was sulkily trudging through the poring rain of the trenches. “I’m just counting down the days to go and see my missus That’s all.” He said, with a shrug. A large smile on his face despite his drenched clothing, and low spirits of the other men.

You conversed back and forth, more than ever before. And the few times he was forced to go a form of ‘radio-silent’, almost killed him. He was the one, well - more like you were the one keeping the spirits up. And without being able to send or receive letters was a stab in the heart. How could you check he was okay? How could he check that you were okay? He wrote you a letter every day. Not knowing when he was allowed to send them. You had done the same, patiently waiting until you got his letter to ensure his safety to do the same.

The girls at work noticed you weren’t your usual high-spirited self, and it showed. They would ask if you were alright and you shrugged it off. The only person you wanted to talk to was him. And you couldn’t. But what was a few weeks of silence compared to a lifetime of sorrow? One of the girls whom you were particularly close with, even knew about your ‘friend’, walked up to you, held you close, and simply said: “Is it John?” Your tears burst from your eyes, with wails of sadness streaming down your cheeks. You all had a little intervention on your lunch break where you all spoke about what was going on, none of you even ate. Just chatted, and more importantly - listened.

You explained your situation and to your surprise - a lot of the women knew what you were going through. Some had husbands in there, others a writing buddy (like myself), and the rest were amazing comforters for the rest of us. It felt nice to have someone to talk to about things like that. It made you feel a bit better.

What truly made you feel better?

When there were bags of letters being delivered to your house.

“Lover boys writing again!” The postwoman said, and you almost began crying again, but you gave her all of your letters, as she said that she was willing to send them for you, first-class, as well. You read them all. One by one.

‘Thursday the 4th of November, 1943

My sweetheart,

The Germans are close. We have been to defend British and allied territory and remain radio silent. I’m not sure if you should ever get this letter, nor do I know if I shall ever get yours. I will write daily, my love - just keep dreaming of you and I. The day this is all over and I can kiss you for the first time.

I love you, my sweet (Y/n) Lennon.

Sincerely,

Your love,

John Lennon.’

Thats the day the letters started. Of course, tears were shed while you read.

‘Friday the 5th of November, 1943

My dear,

We have arrived.’

‘Saturday the 6th of November, 1943

My love,

It has only been a day but I already miss you. I look at your pictures as a way of consoling myself.’

‘Sunday the 7th of November, 1943

Sweetheart,

The Germans are nearing.’

‘Monday the 8th of November, 1943

My life,

I am scared.’

‘Tuesday the 9th of November, 1943

Darling,

We’re going into battle. I’m not even sure we’re in France anymore.’

‘Wednesday the 10th of November, 1943

My love,

Are you okay? I miss you dearly.’

‘Thursday the 11th of November, 1943

My princess, I have been without you for a week now.’

‘Friday the 12th of November, 1943

My darling,

I don’t know if I can go on.’

‘Saturday the 13th of November, 1943

My darling,

I love you.’

Until December. Every bloody day. You read every letter, every poem, every hopelessly romantic word that kept you hanging on.

‘Wednesday the 15th of December, 1943

My dearest (Y/n),

We’ve finally stopped fighting today. They’re sending us back to our previous post. We won, but there have been many casualties. My darling, I am finally allowed to send my letters. I can’t wait to receive yours. I have missed your beautiful words, your voice through the page. Sweetheart I’m unsure of what will happen. When will the fighting stop? But I am sure of one thing, my princess.

I love you and I always will.

Sincerely,

Your soldier,

John Lennon.’

You smiled broadly, the wet visualisations of relief running down your cheeks, your dear John Lennon was alive. He was well. He was here. Despite the numerous letter you had already sent, which were drastically similar to his, except the broad subject of fighting - as you didn’t have the experience to talk about that. You spoke about the factory. And the girls. Your friends; your sisters. You felt impulsed to send another.

‘Tuesday the 21st of December, 1943

My darling John,

I have received your letters. All of them. My god have I been worried sick. I have prayed the nights away for you safety, and by god I hope the war is to be over soon. Sweetheart, I am fine now that I know you’re okay. John Lennon you make me the happiest woman alive. You are my hero, John. You saved me and this county. I love you. So so much. Merry Christmas, my love.

Sincerely,

Your girl,

Mrs Lennon.’

You applied an evenly generous layer of red lip stick to your lips, and kissed the corner of the page, offering him a small confession of love.

John was overwhelmed when he received the heap of parcels. The man came in, gave the others their letters, leaving a desperate John until last. “John Lennon?” He read off of the list. His head quickly shot up, as he addressed himself. “There’s not much.” The man said sarcastically, but John just wanted your letters. Even if I just said one word. The man turned the bag over, and tipped the letters in front of him, almost creating some sort of pile. “You’re missus must love you.” He said, whistling at the amount. “Aye.” John smiled for the first time in weeks. “I think she does.”

One by one, he opened all of your letters - eagerly reading all of them, his heart melting into a splotchy pile in his stomach when he read your love-sick, worried words. He felt warm inside despite the coldness of the French winter. His heart rapidly pumping bloody into his love-stuck body. Cupid striking again.

You had even sent a present. A small box, with brown paper and a white string bow. It was a pair of gloves. Thermal winter ones, may I add. Your mother had made them in her work-mill, but she added a special touch to it, upon request. A small: ‘John & (Y/n)’ stitched into the lining. Along with a letter inside one of them, it was small and square shaped. ‘Thank you for giving my daughter hope. I look forward to meeting you - my son in law. Stay strong. (Mother’s/Name) (L/n).’

He tucked it into his pocket, behind the photos he had of you, slipping on the gloves and practically basking in the warmth they offered his almost frost-bitten fingers, lovingly tracing the lining with each of your names. That’s when he remembered it was Christmas Eve. Amidst all the low-spiritedness and the fighting, he completely forgot that is was Christmas. And he wasn’t giving his girl anything? Well, he didn’t have much to give. But he told himself that was only an excuse - determined to reply to you in a letter along with something special. Just for you.

‘Friday the 24th of December, 1943

Princess,

I wish I could spend Christmas with you. I wish I could hold your hand. I wish I could hold you close. I wish I could kiss you. I wish I could do unholy things which shan’t me mentioned in a letter. My darling, Merry Christmas. I will shower you with gifts when I return, make you feel like the only girl in the world. But until then, I hope you should find my heart adequate.

I love you my dear,

Sincerely,

Your man,

John Lennon.’

And attached, his compass. You giggled giddily, a belated Christmas present close to New-Years. You ran your thumb delicately over the intricate detailing of its outer shell, holding it to your chest as you inhaled a deep breath - grinning with delight.

‘Wednesday the 29th of December, 1943

Darling John,

I wear your gift with pride. Thank you. I have shown the ladies at work and they all want to meet you. You are the luckiest thing to have happened to me, John. I wish you the happiest new year. And hopefully sometime soon we should be able to celebrate it together. Just you and I.

I love you,

Your girl,

(Y/n) Lennon.’

You always addressed your letters like that now, (Y/n) Lennon. Yes, it was highly unconventional, but you could only think of the smile on his face he had described to you in his letters.

‘How it brings a warm feeling to my cold heart.’

He had told you, bringing you to say it over and over again. It was iterated within your letters, you would do it until the day he returned to you, having never actually left.

Your letters continued through the new year, speaking constant declarations of love to one another. After every letter, came another. Every day of January, 1945. And every day of February, 1945. A memorable letter arrived, on:

‘Wednesday the 14th of February, 1945

My love,

My life,

My world,

My everything,

The war keeps going, the fighting bestowing,

Noble men, with the job of ten,

I write with a full heart, though we are apart,

I dream of you, just us two,

A family of our own, our names written in stone,

We shall marry, happy and merry,

As on this dreadful day, we shall shout with joy,

Like every girl and boy, as I love you, my lady.

My girl,

My (Y/n) Lennon.

Sincerely,

Your Valentine,

John Lennon.’

A poem. He writ you a poem. A poem just for you. His girl, his darling, his love, his future wife. He was so proud he showed it to his ‘brothers’, Paul, George and Richard. The men all wolf-whistled for him, cheering him on as he wrote your address onto the letter. “That’s it, Johnny Boy, getting the girls.” They teased and teased, but all he did was laugh - mind clouded with thoughts of you.

John stood on the front line, mindlessly shooting into the bright flashes across no-man’s land. He shot and shot, cold fingers, and numb toes. Yet his chest was warm, the photos of you making his blood rush, making his heart beat quicker.

He looked down at his fingers, clad in his gloves, he smiled. John thought about you, and what your life would be like. Just shooting.

Shooting.

Shooting.

Shooting.

He was pulled away from his thoughts by an unbearable, sharp pain in his right shoulder - the sheer force sending him back into the border of the barrack walls. His ears began ringing, heart thumping, eyes growing weak, as his fellowmen gathered around him.

As his eyelids fell closed, he murmured one last thing, “(Y/n).”

You paced back and forth, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. Was he ignoring you? Was he forced into transmission silence? Was he…

You refused to think about that. You wouldn’t let yourself, but the horridly graphic images in your mind thought otherwise, carelessly wandering into the drastic thoughts of what had happened to John.

No letters.

For two whole weeks.

Two bloody weeks.

Nothing.

Not a word.

There was a knock at the door, the first in a while. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t answer it with crossed fingers, praying that there wouldn’t be two men stood their; giving you the unbearable heartbreak of news.

But it wasn’t. It was the postwoman. Thank god it was the post woman. You broke down into her arms when she handed you a letter, all she did was hold you. It broke her heart, she knew how much of an impact your soldier had on you, it brought a tear to her own eye. “He’s okay, sweetheart. He’s okay.” That’s all she said before you were left to your own devices, left to read his letter.

When you had calmed yourself and sat down, you were quick to discover it wasn’t your lover’s handwriting. It was something morphed from a typewriter. Your feeling of unease set itself upon your shoulders once more, as you read the stamp - the same confusion within you as when you had first received a letter from your lover addressed via France.

‘Hospice’

In red writing, as well as your address. You ripped the sealing, immediately reading the neatly written contents of caused distress.

‘Friday the 23rd of March, 1945

Dear Miss (Y/n) (L/n),

As Mr John Winston Lennon’s listed next of kin, we have written to inform you of his whereabouts. Mr John Winston Lennon was shot in his right shoulder in Northern France. Thursday the 15th of February, 1945. Fortunately, he is alive and well, recovering under the treatment of a remaining unnamed hospital in France, away from the current circumstances of war. We have attached an address to send your letters, until Mr John Winston Lennon has made a full recovery, and is able to return to the Front Line. He is awake, and is awaiting your letter.

Sincerely,

Staff at Hospice.’

The tears that ran down your cheeks screamed in relief, he was okay. He was injured. But he was okay. John was okay. Your brave, brave soldier was okay.

You grabbed your pen, and began scribbling, as well as steadily copying down the address as neatly as humanly possible. This letter happened to be the most informal one you would ever send to John Lennon.

‘Tuesday the 27th of February, 1945

My love,

John,

Thank God you’re alright. I’m not religious yet I’ve prayed for days for your safety. I’m sorry if this paper is covered in tears. I’m crying as I write - as I have the past few weeks. I need you, John Winston Lennon. And so help me God if I need to come over there and drag you back home with me, I will. Stay safe. Always.

I will always love you,

Sincerely,

Your very worried love,

(Y/n) Lennon.’

John sat, arm in a sling - reading along with a gentle smile on his lips, desperate to reply. He threw his head back, looking at his hand in the sling, your photos laced in between his fingers. The nurse walked over par his request, smiling gently at him. “Can I help you, sir?” He nodded at the elder woman. “Are you able to help me write a letter?” He watched her lips quirk upwards, as she hurried over to grab a pen and some paper. “Is this for family?” She asked, he was about to address you as his girlfriend, but he knew from experience that people were unwilling to help when there was a chance that the letter fell upon careless hands. “My wife.” He felt good saying that. A simple word. It wasn’t lying, he was just foreshadowing the future, for when he arrived home. His future wife.

“What would you like me to say, sir?” He thought for a moment. He never actually told anyone what words he spoke to you. Each of yours privacy valuable to him. He cleared his throat,

‘Saturday the 31st of March, 1945

My darling (Y/n),

I am terribly sorry for worrying you, princess. And I shall make my reply simple. I shall also make my recovery as quick as possible. I love you dearly, and long for my arrival with you, at the end of this godforsaken war. I love you so very much, I love you so much that you couldn’t possibly imagine. I not only fight for my country, but for you. Just for you. If the handwriting seems unfamiliar, my dear nurse Darla has written upon the uselessness of my writing hand. It’s her birthday today, she turns seventy-two. (Our postage is slow, and may be delayed - Darla).

So farewell,

Sincerely,

John Lennon and his new friend, Darla Trevvors.’

Your heart melted when you read the letter, it reflected on the sweet-natured personality of your John. You were quick to write your response.

‘Wednesday the 4th of April, 1945

To my perfect John,

And his friend Darla,

Darla, thank you for taking care of my John. Goodness knows he needs a friend without his brothers there. I will be forever grateful to you. John, the women at work have also wished for your speedy recovery, but I hope this doesn’t sound selfish when I say I hope it is slow. I’d rather you be safe in a Hospital, than risking your life out there. I could speak the words of Shakespeare to express my love for you, but it could never amount to your incredible songs and poems you bless me with, my sweetheart, and his carer.

Until we speak again,

Sincerely,

(Y/n) Lennon.’

‘Thursday the 12th of April, 1945

My sweet princess (Y/n),

(Again, apologies for the late response, and / or arrival time).

(Y/n), my arm is quickly healing, a week or so more and I am back to full strength, able to write to you freely. Although the restrictions of best-rest will confine me for another few days after, I shall be free to go back to fighting for my country. For our freedom. For you and I. I can imagine the saddened look on your face, and my dear do not worry. I shall be more careful. You see when I was wounded, I was thinking of you. You will be the death of me, my sweet girl. And I will hold my word to that when I marry you.

I shall be writing soon,

Sincerely,

Your love,

John Lennon, and his friend, Darla Trevvors.’

You weren’t fond of the distance between exchanged letters, but were contempt with the fact that your lover was alive and well, recovering in a hospital, although distant. It was true, you weren’t fully happy with the idea that he would return to the dangers of the constant fighting, but it was selfish to think like that. He was determined to fight, and you weren’t in any place to stop him. You may never have exchanged verbal words, but you knew him well enough to read between the lines and know what he wanted. And he wanted to be with his friends. You could all but love him and await his return.

‘Thursday the 26th of April, 1945

My dearest John,

I hope by now you have no sling. And are able to write to me with full mobility. Although I have come to love your nursing companion, Darla, I have missed the gorgeous cursive curls on your writing, and how you scribble my name. I miss you, although I am unaware how. How can you miss someone you have never actually met? But I miss you, my love. I can’t describe how much I’d love to be with you, help you recover.

See you soon,

Sincerely,

(Y/n) Lennon.’

At this point, John’s arm was almost completely useful once more. His right arm had been released from its horrible prison, and now just a bandage on his shoulder replaced the past of injury. So now he was sat, reading your letter weeks after it had been sent, angrily swearing at the postage system from which he was positioned, for keeping him away from your gorgeous words. (Although extremely appreciative of what the hospital had done for him, in this time of desperate need).

‘Friday the 11th of May, 1945

My gorgeous love,

I finally have my arm back. My shoulder is painful, but it is merely a healing wound beneath a clad of bandages. The days are long, the nights are sleepless. My ears still ring with the gunshots, as if a white noise for me to sleep. But during this time however, I have been busy. I have written a song for you, my love. When I see you, you’ll hear it. I’ll play it to you on my guitar. I am unable to send you the rhythm through words, but I hope the poem through the words is music enough. I shall return to fighting soon, so my address will return to what was.

Sincerely,

Your solider,

John Lennon.’

Attached, was the most beautiful thing you have ever read. And instead of going in your letter basket, it was pinned to your fridge with the help of magnets.

‘I give her all my love

That's all I do

And if you saw my love

You'd love her too

I love her

She gives my everything

And tenderly

The kiss my lover brings

She brings to me

And I love her

A love like ours

Could never die

As long as I

Have you near me

Bright are the stars that shine

Dark is the sky

I know this love of mine

Will never die

And I love her

Bright are the stars that shine

Dark is the sky

I know this love of mine

Will never die

And I love her’

You read it again and again, over and over. It was about you. You. Your perfect love wrote a song about you. About you. You were over the moon. Both about the song, and about the fact that he was recovering healthily. But that meant he was back in the trenches by now. Back fighting by now. Back in dancer by now. And you were back to praying to an entity you didn’t believe in. God help your John Winston Lennon.

‘Monday the 28th of May, 1945

My love,

I expect you are back in the trenches by now? I hope your spirit is not lowered. Of course I worry for you, but I understand how you want to fight, and win. How you want to leave with a full heart of accomplishment. So I will write to you so proud of your resilience. Say hello to the boys for me, would you? I know you find the drama of my work place amusing, so I will tell what happened the other day. One of the ladies I work with, Angelica, (we don’t really like her that much), had been sleeping with our boss. That surprised all of us, but I am now five pounds richer, having betted on that’s why she got nice new shoes on a working woman’s pay check. And thank you ever so much for the song, I, sure you’ll be pleased to know it’s pinned on the fridge and I read it every day when I walk past it. I have it memorised actually. I do hope this reaches you quicker then the last ones.

Stay safe, my brave soldier,

Sincerely,

(Y/n) Lennon.’

You wanted to keep his spirits as high as possible now that he had returned to the bottomless pit of a depressive hell called the borders protruding through France. He found the gossip and drama amusing, pretty much knowing everything about what was going on at your factory while he was away. He was not only your lover, but your best friend, also.

‘Saturday the 2nd of June, 1945

Princess,

I am ever so optimistic. The yanks truly have been helping us. With every aspect of the fighting effort. I feel this prolonged few years is finally coming to an end, and I will be able to hold you in my arms soon enough. I am so glad you liked your song, there will be many more to come when the band gets on its feet. Thank god the postage is quicker, as well. During my hospital stay, they took the mick. Snail post, if you will. And that doesn’t surprise me with Angelica, wasn’t she the one that slept with Sylvia’s husband, a few months back? She’s like a bloody rabbit, that woman. Anyway, my morale is high and I am determined to keep it that way, I am almost certain we should be together soon.

Sincerely,

Yours truly,

John Lennon.

(P.s. I hope you don’t mind, the lads wrote you a letter, and begged me to send it).’

He had written, a small smiley face at the end. There was a glowing warmth in your chest when his happiness radiated out of the paper, almost visible through his carefully written words. You turned the envelope upside down, finding another piece of paper, with an array of messy handwriting in it.

‘Saturday the 2nd of June, 1945

My dearest (Y/n),

Just joking, love. We just wanted to say hello. I’m Paul, Paul McCartney, Good old Johnny boys on cloud nine. You’ve made him a happier man. It’s soppy, but it keeps everyone else happy, and I suppose that’s what we need. (I helped him with that song), no doubt he’s nicked all the credit like a cheeky git, I can’t wait to meet you - see what angelic beauty John is always bragging about.

So long,

Paul.

Hi! My names Richard Starkey, but everyone calls me Ringo - it’s something weird the lads call me because of the rings I always wear, anyways I just wanted to write to let you know we’re taking good care of your John, and we’re all eager to meet you. (With the way he talks about you it’s like you’re the Ruler of England). And can your mum make me some of those gloves? They just look so nice and my hands get a bit cold.

Bye, thanks pet,

Ringo.

Bonjour, je suis George. I don’t know if that’s right, some of the soldiers taught me it, but for all I know I could be saying anything. It’s nice to meet you (finally), even though it’s though paper. You make our John Boy so happy, and I also wanted to ask if you’d make him give me his spare chocolate. He’s got a load and is stashing it. Nice talking to you!

The much more handsomer than John,

George.’

Their letter caused you to laugh, their handwriting almost unreadable. You showed a few of the ladies at work, who told you to: ‘keep that John lad’, while you were all gossiping about Angelica and the boss. Julie had already called dibs on ‘maid of honour’ position, making you roll your eyes, attempting to construct the twentieth gun of the morning.

‘Saturday the 9th of June, 1945

My handsome John,

(And I suppose Paul, Ringo and George),

I’m over the moon to hear your optimism. Hopefully any day now. It was nice to hear from your friends, and please thank Paul for his contributions to my incredible fridge decor. And tell George if he wants chocolate, just give him yours and I’ll send you some special from my rations (I’m sure they’re better than the muck they give you over there). And when you all get back, I’ll get you as much chocolate as you all want. And please give the gloves to Ringo, he very politely asked for some, and I just couldn’t say no. But in all seriousness, stay safe, my love.

Sincerely,

Your girl,

(Y/n) Lennon.’

The following letters were uneventful for a few weeks, but it was comforting for him to finally have a nice feeling of normality, not a suicide mission waiting to happen. It was also amazing that John had such great friends, ones he could confide in, and them the same. You also had a routine, going to work and back, talking about what each other had been up to, listening to the radio. Telling John about your day. It was comforting.

You even went to the library for the first time in a while, finding the opportunity on the way home from work one day. Life was going up, you were sure of it. Not by much, but since the Americans had truly contributed to the war effort, Germany was quickly loosing all sense of control they had one the outcome of the war, perhaps there could be a happy ending, after all.

‘Thursday the 16th of August, 1945

My love,

My life,

My world,

There has been talk of this all ending. Many of us attend a funeral today. A British spy ran across no-man’s land, and was unfortunately shot by his own bullet. It’s difficult whether to decipher friend or foe, whether carrying a flag or not. It hurts, you know? These men have girlfriends, fiancées, wives, children, they have families. And it’s all being given up for the fault of power hungry, selfish men who sit back and watch noblemen die for a pointless cause. And in moments like these I can help but think of you, my love. My inspiration, my reason to keep fighting. It’s you, it’s all for you. Every man I shoot, every trigger I pull, every effort I make, it’s for you.

Stay strong my princess,

Sincerely,

John Lennon.’

The days moved quicker now, like a cycle, it was a comforting feeling - was the world going back to how it was? No. Certainly not. It never will, never can. But everything has to change eventually. And if that meant being left to fend for yourself with a pen and paper, then so be it. Maybe, just maybe, it was actually going to be over.

‘Tuesday the 21st of August, 1945

My dearest,

I am sorry for your loss. As I am sorry for everyone’s. I hope the boys got their gifts, and you are all doing okay. I’m right here, John. Right here. Believe me, if you needed me to, I’d march my way to France myself. I just need you, as much as you need me. Not much longer now, hopefully. You can stop winning a loosing battle that wasn’t yours to be fought.

Sincerely,

Your soulmate,

(Y/n) Lennon.’

‘Monday the 27th of August, 1945

My everything,

There has been a lot of fighting these past few days. More than usual, which says a lot for the crisis of a war. The Germans have given up a lot of land to us, retreating their territory further and further back. It’s like a final surge to the end, to victory. It has been hard, and I would be lying to tell you I haven’t struggled. I can hardly describe in words how much I just want to hold you, kiss you, love you, dance with you, sing to you, make love to you, marry you, do unholy things with you that are forbidden to be mentioned in writing. I need you (Y/n). My beautiful girl.

See you soon,

Sincerely,

John Lennon.’

‘Friday the 31st of August, 1945

My one and only John,

The days are peaceful now. Now that I have a true hope of having you home. I have been listening to the radio religiously, my love. It only speaks of good things. My heart is yours, John Lennon. Finish it. Finish everything these horrible men started and come home. I love you ever so much. Just keep fighting, for me. For you. For us.

Sincerely,

Your (Y/n) Lennon.’

That was when it happened. The day two longing heart leapt for joy, after three years of bottomless hope. The day the guns fell silent. All the guns, fell silent.

‘Sunday the 2nd of September, 1945

Baby,

It’s over. It’s fucking over. They still haven’t given me your letter, but it’s over. I cry while I write this. My darling it is finished. I shot my final bullet. I killed my final man. The war is over. It was over in the west months ago, but not here. Here, is where I don’t know. But what I do now, is. The fighting is done. I’m coming home to you my sweetheart, I’m coming home.

Sincerely,

Your John Lennon.’

‘Sunday the 2nd of September, 1945

My sweet John,

They told us on the radio today that it was over. That it’s finished. That this Godforsaken waste of a war is over. It’s bloody over, John. They’ve announced it in stages it started in May and took practically years to get to you, my whole life. Please hurry and come home. Please.

Sincerely,

(Y/n) Lennon.’

It took ages to get John home. That ages felt like an eternity, just waiting for your beloved to come home. They were sent home in groups, depending on where you came from, and the Liverpudlians were send home in Early December. Thursday the 6th of December, 1945 - more specifically.

‘Thursday the 6th of December, 1945

Love of my life,

I am finally coming home. We have been moved countless times, just to be kept in this foreign land of which I am unaware. But now I am seated on a ferry, back to port in Liverpool. I will update you in a few days to let you know which one, when I am told. (If you even receive this letter). I didn’t want to get your hopes up, just for nothing, but now. I am actually coming home. Home to you. I estimate it should take three days from here (wherever here is), to you. What’s a few more days of waiting, after almost four years?

I’ll see you soon,

Sincerely,

John.’

You received the letter on Friday the 7th of December, it was sent first class, along with a new return address to send your own, and a pack of first class stamps, of your own. Apparently now they thought it was more important than ever to connect loved ones. And as his first of kin, yours and his letters took priority over distant relatives trying to talk back and forth.

‘Friday the 7th of December, 1945

My sweet darling John,

I have received your letter, and should only hope you have received mine. I am currently on a train to Liverpool, and I have booked into a hotel by the port. I’ll be there when you get here. I hope the journey isn’t too treacherous, and the seas remain calm. Tell the lads I said hello. I’m off at the next stop, just tell me where you are, and I’ll be there, John.

Sincerely,

Yours,

(Y/n) Lennon.’

John was due to arrive at port in Liverpool, on Sunday the 9th of December, 1945. He and his mates just sat below deck, singing, and just enjoying their freedom. “We still gonna be in a band when we get back to port, lads?” Paul asked, I’m all seriousness. They all hummed in agreement. “We all live in walking distance, we should be able to.” Ringo suggested. “Yeah, that’s if John Boy here doesn’t pack up and move somewhere with his missus.” George joked, elbowing his friend, to which John disagreed, shaking his head ‘no’. “We’ll stay in Liverpool. I’ve inherited my parent’s house, got the letter a few weeks ago.” He took a swig out of his water bottle. “What if she wants to go, lad?” Paul retorted, raising an eyebrow. John just shrugged. “Then we’ll go.” They all looked at him. “I’ll go anywhere with her. Home is where the heart is, and the heart is with her.” He explained. “Yeah ‘cause I thought she loved where she lived?” George asked. “She did, but I know her, it holds a lot of bad memories that place. Bad, bad memories.” They didn’t say much more, when the post came around, John thanking the man for his routine letter.

“We’re arriving tomorrow, lads.” The post man told them, about to walk off, before being stopped by John. “Where we docking?” “At the port.” The man raised an eyebrow. “Which one?” “The only one left.” This took them all back. “What d’ya mean?” George asked. “The Blitz, were lucky if there is anything left of Liverpool.” That brought an uncomfortable silence upon them all. Was there any home to go back to? John shook his head, opening the letter, and was quick the respond with his own.

‘Saturday the 8th of December, 1945

My darling (Y/n),

We should arrive at port tomorrow. The only one there, apparently. The Blitz hurt my home, I’ve just been told. Me and the lads are trying to not let this ruin our spirits, we’re almost home, after all. Will you stay in Liverpool? With me? It occurs to me that we never actually decided. The lads say hello, and I’ll see you tomorrow. You’ll see us coming, promise.

Truly yours,

Sincerely,

John.’

That brought you to now.

You were stood on the port of Liverpool, surrounded by many other women and children, also waiting for their lover’s return. You grasped his letter tightly, twiddling your thumbs as you rocked back and forth on the balls of your feet. The woman beside you looked the same, but she smiled at you. “Excited?” She asked, her lips trembling also. “And nervous.” You nodded appreciatively. “You?” She also nodded. “Just happy he’s safe.” She told you, causing an anxious laugh from the two of you. “God, I know how you feel.” You agreed, but you were both silenced by the horn of a nearby vessel coming into port.

Many men were stood over the edge, waving their hats in a stampeded cluster. Everyone began clapping, a deafening noise as it drew ever closer. It felt like an eternity just waiting for it to dock, before the sound appeared over a nearby megaphone: “ladies, your men are back.” You all whistled, clapping off the bravery that the men had forcibly surrendered to, for the past six years.

One by one, they filed off of the boat, each going straight to their loved ones, an overbearing feeling of love and companionship surrounded you, clouding your thoughts with the man who had invaded just three years before. John Winston Lennon. “Good luck.” The lady next to you said, before running forward into the arms of a man who spun her in circles, and fluttered her face in kisses. You smiled thoughtfully, happy that her love was home safe and well.

You looked around you, watching as ones left in twos, the port slowly becoming less and less crowded, as more and more men returned home. You looked down at your shoes, trying to be patient in waiting, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to collect yourself. You inhaled deeply, iterating to yourself that everything was going to be okay.

“(Y/n)?”

Your eyes shot open at the unfamiliar yet homely voice. You were frozen, staring at your shoes. Slowly, you looked up, and were met with the most gorgeous of hazel eyes staring back at you, his mouth agape, the messy mop of hair on his head as flowing incoherently in the breeze as your mind finally accepted who it was.

“John?”

Your feet became unstuck, and your worries melted away. Your feet moved fast than ever before, as did his. Your eyes flooded with tears, loud trembles heard as you ran into an embrace. John wrapped his arms around you, and held you so close that it was like he was afraid to let you go. Like you would get away from him. You stood like that for a moment, both crying into each other’s shoulders, holding each other so tight it was suffocating. He pulled your face up to meet his own, his eyes red and puffy. He leaned down to capture your lips with his own, a slow, desperate, long-awaited kiss. When you separated, it didn’t feel like long enough. It never could be. “I love you.” He whispered, kissing you once more, each kiss more fiery and sensual than the last. “I love you too.” You replied wholeheartedly, crying now more than ever. He looked at you for a moment, just appreciating you - holding you close.

John quickly released you from his grasp, digging into his pocket for something. He slowly lowered himself onto his left knee, holding a gorgeous ring in his right hand, his left was linking with your own. “(Y/n), I’ve wanted to do this since the day we first wrote. Since the first hello. I realised quickly that I needed you. That you were what my life was missing. I realised what I was fighting for. Why I was fighting. It’s all because of you. Every time you address your letters as (Y/n) Lennon I imagine our wedding all over again. Imagine our lives together. (Y/n), I need you. I always have. And I always will. You put a smile on an injured soldiers face. I don’t deserve you, (Y/). No one ever will. But here I am, asking you to fulfil our promises. Will you be (Y/n) Lennon? My gorgeous pen pal, will you marry me?”

You couldn’t breathe, God you were hyperventilating. You listened to his speech, and your heart broke and pieced itself together allover again, in one go. You nodded, you nodded so hard you felt as if your head was going to fall off, separate from your neck. “Yes, yes, of course I will.” You managed to say between sobs, his own colliding with yours, as he slipped the small diamond ring onto your finger.

Your soldier,

Your soulmate,

Your darling,

Your fiancée,

Your pen pal,

John Winston Lennon.

[weasleywinchester]

Save Yourself - Ch. 16

Tell Your Secrets to the night

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

(we get a little Claire, Alex and Jack this chapter!)

My brain and I are very excited to write in the current timeline of Seasons 12 but MY CHUCK I could not figure out what the flow of these next few chapters would be. (It does not help that I am not in the mood to break my heart, but it's also not time for that yet). So sorry it's been so long, I've been dealing with another BFF of mine moving out of state, a few of my loved ones passing and trying to get a promotion at work. And very little sleep. But now we are almost past that mound of stress and we can get back to Us and Dean <3 Warnings: Swearing, Smut, Fighting

Series Summary:

“I promise.” Those two words would trap you in a life you never wanted. You are an artist, a hunter, a Winchester. And yet the pain in Dean’s eyes as demanded you live the life he wants you live, you couldn’t say no. You met the Winchesters by chance, found out they were real people. And you figured it was a once in a life time thing, but then Dean called you, and so did a new job. Both leading to the life you wanted, a family that didn’t begin or end in blood and a once in a life time love. And he said leave it and him behind, forget. But you can’t.

Chapter Summary: Between the British Men of Letters, hunt for the devil's spawn and a whole lot of secrets, you and Dean need to hit the breaks and talk. But you and Dean are stuck in the cycle of trust- something goes wrong- hide feelings- confess feelings- back to trust. But maybe it's time that Dean accepts that the Family Business needs the whole family. (timeline for this chapter middle/end of season 12. Also quite a bit of time passes between each scene because I didn't want it to feel like all our problems were quickly resolved)

A few months later.

“Ya, I took a look at the latest edit and I’ll send my revision… now.” You say into your phone. Both Mary and Sam had pleaded that you tag along on the hunt, despite your need to take care of your ‘normal’ job. You had told them both no way would Dean let you anywhere near monsters, or the Men of Letters, after your latest stunt anyways. Turns out, he wasn’t going to let you out of his sight.

You got to follow them for a little bit, but with the deadline for your latest contribution to the Supernatural: The Book Series looming in the not so distant future, you ended up staying in the motel for the last three days. Which Dean was very happy with. Every time he came back to the motel you were doing what he’s watching you do now: flit from the bed, to the little dining table and back to the bed as you talked on the phone.

But now the hunt is over, the team has no new leads on Lucifer’s kid and he would very much like your attention.

“You wanted this.” Sam mumbles across the table, looking up at you as you point to a stack of paper on the table, which he hands you. Dean shoots him a glare and takes a deep swig of his coffee.

“You don’t get to choose when she’s busy and when she’s not.” Sam remarks, giving his brother a disappointed stare.

“This is the first time in weeks we've been in the same place, at the same time, with no need to run off.” Dean grumbles into his coffee. You’ve been on too many planes in the last month, which gives Dean heart palpitations just thinking about it.

“Now you know how she feels when we’re in the middle of a big case.” Sam gives him a pointed look as you get up from the bed.

“(Y/N)?” Dean tugs your shirt as you walk by. You stop and take one of your earbuds out. “Ready to head out?” He asks softly. 

“Let me finish this meeting.” You whisper, putting your hand to his cheek. He sits up waiting for a kiss but you walk back to your laptop. He watches you for a minute; you’re frowning, your eyes tired from looking at a screen for too long. Just regular stress, better than hunting stress… I think.

“Dean.” Sam warns. He knows that look in Dean’s eyes, it’s the look that appears when he’s about to pick a fight about something stupid instead of talking about what’s really bothering him.

“Let’s pack up.” Dean chugs the last of his coffee and grabs both his and your bags.

“Ya, ya i got it. Nope, I will get that to you soon.” You sigh, hanging up the phone.

“You ready?” Dean asks as Sam and Mary make their way out to the car.

“Yep.” You answer sharply, grabbing your purse and stomping off to the car.

You zoom by Sam, who turns to give Dean a puzzled look. He knows you both have been stressed as hell but you two haven’t stopped moving long enough to talk about anything with each other. He glances at Mary, who gives him a concerned smile.

Dean catches up to you in a few large strides as you put your hand on the rear passenger door. He quickly opens the front passenger door and waits for you to slide in. You give him a mumbled thanks and buckle up. He takes his time walking to the other side, not sure when you both started dreading sitting next to each other on a long car ride.

“Do you think they’re both mad or just one of them?” Sam whispers to Mary.

“They just need to breath for minute, talk things over.” She sighs, giving Sam’s arm a squeeze before sliding in behind Dean.

You flick the radio on as Dean pulls out onto the highway, keeping it just loud enough to hear above the engine but not loud enough to drown the deafening silence that fills the car.

“You wanna talk about something?” Dean hesitantly asks, eyes flicking to you.

“Nope.” You pop your mouth. “Did you want to talk about–”

“No.” He immediately replies. He winces when you jump; he didn’t mean to say it so fast, and like that. 

“How’s the baby search going?” You ask no one in particular.

“It’s not.” Sam quips from the back seat.

“So what was the hunt you guys came from?” You frown, turning around to look at him.

“Werewolf. With Claire. And then bonus demon that mom found out here.” Dean begrudgingly answers. It nearly ripped him in half to almost lose Claire, he couldn’t imagine if something like that happened to you.

“I told her not to go without me.” You sigh, a little louder than you meant to.

“Excuse me?” Dean bellows, stomping on the breaks; the three of you jerking against the seat belts.

“Fuck.” Sam sighs, earning a glare from you and Dean. Dean gestures for you to start explaining.

“I told her not to hunt without supervision.” You answer, praying that he’ll leave it at that.

“Not the part I was talking about.” 

Shit.

“You’ve been hunting without any of us?” Dean gestures to the three of them; he tries to keep his voice level, but this is just…

“You told me to watch her. She was going to hunt no matter what; she wouldn’t tell Jody or Alex or you two. I figured if she at least had to go with me that she would keep her distance when I couldn’t go.”

Dean is trying his best not to yell, it’s never gotten him anywhere with you. And despite it being a Winchester worthy plan, it was too dangerous.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks, his voice calm; which makes you furious because he’s trying to get answers out of you.

“I tried.” You snap. “But between the hellhound, the memory spell-”

“Who told you about that?” Dean demands. He’s gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white. You were never supposed to know about that.

You can see Sam and Mary shift in their seats, and you feel embarrassed. Sorry guys.

“Rowena.” You finally answer.

“And she just kindly offered you this information? For free?”

“She called while I was on a case with Claire and... told me.” You look down at your hands, your wedding ring catching the light.

Dean deflates, closing his eyes in defeat. “You could have died, or worse.”  He shakes his head.

“Can we talk about this at home?” You finally look over at him, flicking your eyes to the back seat. He looks at you for a minute longer; you’re something fierce but he can see it’s taking all your might to keep the tears in your eyes from spilling out. He glances both ways before throwing baby back into drive and speeding toward home.

_______

Coming back from a hunt is one thing, but this was different. This was a two way street of hiding things from each other and it was not good. But you can’t possibly tell one person everything right? And who has time for that? You should. You should have time to be there for Dean and for him to be there for you.

A swift knock at the window pulls you out of your downward spiral; you look to see Dean giving you a small frown. He puts his hand on the door handle and waits for you to nod that it’s ok for you to open it.

“Guess we still have the same thinking spot.” He comments, gesturing for you to scoot over.

“Baby’s a good listener.” You meekly smile. You can smell his soap; it was something you picked up in a little boutique not far from the bunker; it surprised you how much he liked it, especially when you used it too.

“We can take a drive…” he suggests, wishing you would look at him. You just nod, leaning against his shoulder. He fires up the engine and guides the impala out into the night. He doesn’t have a destination in mind, hoping that just driving will help you both clear the air. He eventually turns off the main road, driving along the forest lined street until he comes to the lookout point. Tonight the view is crystal clear, the stars twinkling despite the brightness of the moon.

“We seem to always end up here.” You whisper to the trees. You hear Dean take a deep breath in and shift in his seat. 

“Here at the lookout or at this point in our marriage?”

“Both.” You answer. He doesn’t comment, both of you sitting in the quietness of the night.

“What were you thinking about earlier? When I knocked?” He glances at you, still unsure if you’re mad or sad.

“Straddling two lives is exhausting.” You answer. Soon you wouldn’t have to worry about two lives anymore; you had completed your current book deal with the Flying Wiccan Press and trained a new person to take your place for the Supernatural Empire, as Becky called it. She understood where you were needed, happy that you would remain her business partner, just a little more silent then before.

“What life would you pick?”  The Family Business, he silently answers for you.

“Whatever one has you in it.” You answer simply. Your gaze meets his, his eyes searching yours for an explanation. “I would never make you walk away from hunting. You are built for this life, you were made to flourish in it. I knew what I said yes to those years ago;  just thought-“ you take a big breath in to keep the tears away, “I thought when you asked me to marry you that I would walk beside you. Instead I stand behind the police tape that surrounds your world.”

Dean mulls over your words. It’s not that he wanted to keep you out, just to keep things away from you, away from every human. 

“When we got married…" he begins, "I wanted so badly for us to fit in the cookie cutter suburban life. Married, little house with a picket fence, everyone asking when we were going to have kids, Sam crashing on our couch when he came to visit.” He chuckles. “Scared the shit out of me when I realized we belong in the Family Business.”

“Then why-“

“I can’t– I can’t bring you back. Not with Billie as Death. And if I lose you…” Dean balls his fists against the steering wheel, trying to keep it together.

“Dean. If we lived ‘normal’ lives, that fear doesn’t go away. You’ll always feel that, like you’ll always fear losing Sammy.” You scoot closer to him, taking his balled fists and prying them open so you can put your hands in his. “I love you. But in the name of Chuck please just live your life. We are the same; we have that older sibling guilt, we are the ones ‘carrying’ the family. We sacrifice everything for them. But we are allowed to exist outside of that.”

“What if that’s all I am?” His brows knit together.

“Then that's all I am too, but I have proof that it’s not.” The tears that have been waiting at the ready finally free fall down your face; Dean quickly wipes them away. “Rowena said that the spell you were hit with makes you forget everything. But when she zapped me to you, you remembered that you loved me.”

Deans mind races, he swore that was a hallucination, his mind trying to give him a little peace before death. He touches his forehead to yours, wishing he could just telecommunicate everything going through his mind.

“I want to tell you everything.” He whispers.

“And I want to tell you everything.” You hiccup.

“You and Me, family business.” He sighs.

“Little at a time is all I ask.”

“Okay sweetheart.”

_______

A couple weeks later

“Ya, We’ll take the case. Alright, thanks Toby.” Sam hangs up the phone, turning to Dean. “New case in Louisiana. Sounds like a demon.”

“Done. I need to hit something.” Dean slams his empty beer down. “Hit the road in a bit?” He says over his shoulder as he picks up the collection of empty bottles from last night. When Sam doesn’t answer he turns and shoots him a ‘dude!’ glare.

“Take (Y/N).” Sam nods in to where you’re sitting. 

“What?”

“Take (Y/N). You two haven’t done a solo case in a while.” He shrugs. After the whole Cas killing Billie and then disappearing you and Dean have been working together, just not together.

“Last one was simple and you were gone for four days.” he adds under his breath. 

“Alright smartass.” Dean puts his hands up in surrender, quickly giving Sam two middle fingers as he walks toward you. He knows Sam’s right, you’ve worked your ass off the last few weeks to find Cas and the kid; unfortunately none of you had turned up anything.

He saunters over to the easel Cas had given you when you first moved in; it currently holds a painting that looks like two hands holding onto each other. He wraps his arms around your waist, tucking his face into your neck. Your hand gently slides into his hair, scratching it just the way he likes.

“The girls say hi.” You giggle. He looks up to see your phone is propped next to the painting; Georg, Tammy and Tabitha giving a wave. He flashes a smile and a wink while taking one earbud out. 

“Hunting trip in Louisiana, leave in a bit?” He asks, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“Sounds good.” You nod, pulling him in for a full kiss. 

“Wowza. You two need to be alone?” Georg teases; you  even hear a distant gross from Sam. Dean gives you one more kiss before making his way to the bedroom to pack.

“Hey check my gun? Been a while since I’ve used it.” You yell after him. He gives you a thumbs up as he disappears down the hall.

“A romantic weekend getaway? Didn’t think that would include hunting.” Tammy comments.

“He likes to hunt, and I like playing with guns. It's a win win and the drive will be nice.” You remark.

“Not a family hunting trip?” Tabitha pipes up. She’s the only one who knows you two hunt monsters, not deer, and that Dean was never fond of you hunting.

“I have no idea…” you turn to Sam who’s at the war table. “Sammy! You going?”

“Ugh, no. Just you two love birds.” He smiles.

“Just the two of us.” You sing to the girls.

“You can make it if you try!” Tammy and Georg sing in unison. You giggle, shaking your head at them.

“Ok. Well I gotta pack, apparently.”

“Hey. Keep talking things out with him. No good ever comes from holding things in.” Georg warns, the other two nodding in agreement.

“Yes ma’am. Love you guys.” You air hug the space in front of you.

“Love you!” The three shout as they hang up. You quickly tidy your work space and walk over to Sam.

“Your idea or his?” You ask as you throw your arms around his neck. Dean’s had you on desk duty the last few weeks, which is better than no hunting activities, but not what you were hoping for.

“Pretty sure he invited just you.”

“Hasn’t stopped you from coming before.”

“There always has to be a Stark in Winterfell, right?” Sam laughs, patting your hand as you unwrap your arms from him. “Have some fun. You two need to relax.”

“Winchesters don’t relax!” You yell as you make your way to the bedroom.

_______

“Probably shouldn’t have eaten the whole chili burger.” You groan as you and Dean step out of the car.

“Worth it.” Dean sighs happily.

“You’re not the one who has to wear the skirt.” You grumble, sliding your jacket on, strapping your gun and your badge to your waistband.

"You heard anything from Cas lately?" You ask, he's starting to worry you.

"No. He'll turn up soon." Dean says, handing you a few demon bullets.

"If he doesn't get his feathery ass home-"

"We'll hunt him together." Dean smiles. You flash him a smile too and walk toward the house.

“Can I help you with anything?” A sheriff asks. He’s leaning against his cruiser, the deputy glued to his side. You glance at the house; it’s nothing special, a little single family home way out in the boonies of New Orleans.

“Agents Blake and Blake. Friend of ours pointed us in this direction.” Dean answers, both of you flashing your badges.

“Must be throw the lower agents a bone day.” The sheriff remarks, his deputy snickering. 

“Said it sounded like our thing. And that you were… spooked.” You smile. Both of their handlebar mustaches drooping.

“Finally, someone who’s not afraid of the monster under the bed.” A woman loudly announces from the front door of the house. She snaps her gloves as she peels them off, quickly walking up to the four of you.

“Helps when you know how to kill everything.” You smile. She laughs and sticks her hand out to you.

“I’m Jesse Grant, local corner. This is Sheriff Henning and Deputy Thompson.” She gestures to each of the men. 

“Is it a drag carrying the ol’ ball and chain around?” Deputy Thompson asks Dean, electing a smile from his boss.

Wouldn’t try to be a smartass if I were you. Dean smiles to himself.

“You would have to ask your wife that.” You deadpan, staring him dead in the face, wishing he would poke further. His smile waivers at your look, his eyes glancing between you and Dean. After a moment of silence you turn to Jesse, gesturing for her to lead the way.

“You’re literally my favorite person right now.” Jesse giggles.

“Should see her when she’s at the top of her game...” Dean chuckles, squeezing your hand.

“So you two are…”

“Married.” You and Dean answer in unison.

“Didn’t realize the FBI let couples work so closely together.” She comments, moving the caution tape and leading you into the living room.

“I’m normally in the office, he’s the one who does the leg work.” You slowly answer, looking around at all the blood.

“Not much on field work?” She asks, slowly looking between the two of you. 

“Love the field. But they say jump, and you say how high.” You shrug. Jesse hums, giving you a look, not convinced by your answer. Lovely that strangers can see right though both of you.

She walks you through the crime scene, giving you every detail she knows about the victim, possible suspects and what could be the possible cause of death.

“Thanks for the run down-” You feel your phone buzz and glance at the caller, “Uh, excuse me for a moment.”

Dean and Jesse watch you as you walk toward the impala.

“Can I offer you some advice?” Jesse asks. Dean gives her a small frown but motions for her to continue. “She likes the field. She’s probably working the office job so you won’t worry-” she holds a hand up as Dean tries to protest. “But she’s scary good, and I’ve only seen her analyze the scene. So maybe take a step back, let her do her thing.”

Dean slowly nods. Maybe it is time that he stops holding you at arms length... or maybe he's holding you too close. He glances over at you, You no longer look like you've been through hell. You look... happy.

“Sorry about that, work call.” You announce as you walk back over to the pair. Dean has an apologetic look on his face, but you're not sure what he has to be sorry about right now.

“I’ll give you a call if anything new is uncovered.” Jesse nods, glancing at Dean before taking her leave.

“You ok?” You ask, slotting your hand into his.

“Ya. Let’s find the motel.” He squeezes your hand and leads you back to the car

_______

“Sorry sweetheart, but if I hadn’t seen you shoot him right between the eyes, with my own eyes, I would have never believed it.” Dean chuckles as he puts his gun away.

“If you weren’t there to witness I don’t think I would have even believed it!” You give him a kiss on the cheek as you hand him your stuff to put away.

“Where to?” He asks. He’s not ready to resume the devil baby search; this case has felt like the cases he and Sam took back in the day, simple, to the point and a well deserved drink when the monster is dead.

“I saw a sign a while back that said something about a scenic view.” You wrap your arms around his waist, happy when he wraps his around you. This hunt was what you two needed; alone time but working side by side.

Dean walks you to the passenger side, opening the door for you to slide in. He fires up the engine and follows the signs until you’re both staring out over the beautiful bayou.

“This hunting trip has been really nice.” You hum happily, scooting closer to Dean. He hums in agreement, his arm moving from the back of the seat to around your shoulders. The radio is playing softly a gentle breeze keeping the bugs at bay.

You look up at Dean, admiring his strong jaw, the way his eyes wrinkle in the corners when he squints, the feeling of his fingers tracing patterns along your shoulder. He’s kept his face clean shaven this trip and you know it’s just for you.

He's wearing far to much clothing.

You sit up a little, placing a kiss on his jaw. You can feel his smile as your lips move a little further down, planting another kiss. He swallows hard, shifting a little so you have more access to his neck. You gently suck each spot that you know makes him putty in your hands.

“Always know how to-” His words stutter as your hand slowly rubs his thigh. “Make me feel good.” he breathes out the last part.

You mmhmm against his neck as your hands swiftly undo his jeans.

“Naughty.” He chuckles as your hand slips under the waistband of his boxers. You gently run your fingers up and down his length, smiling when you feel him harden.

“I want to taste you, k?” You whisper into his ear.

“Yes please.” He begs, bringing your mouth to his for a sloppy open mouthed kiss. Your mind goes fuzzy as his tongue dances with yours and you almost forget what you were doing. You pull your mouth away from his, sliding down his body until you're kneeling on the floor.

You peer up at him, waiting to make sure he’s ready. He gently runs his hand along your jaw, thumb gently playing with your bottom lip. 

“Ready?” You ask innocently.

“Y-yes” he clears his throat.

You lean forward, putting just the tip into your mouth and sucking it like a lollipop. Dean lets out a grunt, his head resting on the back of the seat. You take him further into your mouth, little by little until he hits the back of your throat.

“Baby, feels so good.” he pants. He’s using all his effort to let you stay in control and do your magic.

You bob your mouth along his shaft, humming in delight as the taste of him hits your tongue. One hand stimulates what doesn’t fit in your mouth and the other gently caresses his thigh through his jeans. You can feel him gently place a hand on the back of your head and you start to move faster. A string fucks and yes sweetheart’s push past his beautiful plump lips, and you look up to see his eyes are screwed shut. You throw in a deep hum every once in a while, making him buck his hips.

“Wanna– make you cum.” He gasps, moving his hand to your shoulder and gently pushing you off.

“Not about me.” You whisper, reattaching your mouth to his cock.

“Then let me cum inside you.” He gently pulls away, and pulls you off the floor. He reaches for your shorts, unbuttoning them and swiftly pulling everything off.

“Should move yours down too.” You whisper. He tilts his hips just enough to move his pants to sit around his knees.

“Come ‘ere beautiful.” He grabs your hips so you straddle him, quickly running two fingers through your folds. “Getting off while you suck me off?” He grins.

You roll your eyes and smash your lips into his. He lines himself up and pushes into you.

“Fuck.” you mumble against his mouth, your mind going fuzzy again.

“You bring something for us to play with?” Dean grins when he feels a sudden vibration.

“Think that’s a phone.” You giggle. You reach for your shorts, quickly checking your phone. “Not mine.” You tell him, moving your mouth to his neck.

Dean leans forward for his phone, flipping it over to see who it is.

Think I found your friend.

He frowns at the message, not sure who they’re talking about. He puts it on the seat next to him and turns his attention back to you. 

You’re humming happily as you suck a path along his neck when his phone rings again. He groans and looks at it, seeing it’s the same number.

“Sorry sweetheart.” he whispers. “This is Dean.”

You stop the kissing, instead rolling your hips against him. Much more silent for the person on the other line but you can feel Dean’s fingers digging into your thigh as he tries to hold it together.

“What?” He shouts, sitting up straight. You startle and almost hit the steering wheel, but he wraps an arm around you before you do. You give him a questioning look, not much will stop Dean from sex.

He whispers ‘Cas’ and your frown deepens. Is he talking to Cas? Or maybe someone's seen him?

“Thanks man, we’re not too far from there. Will do.” He nods and hangs up.

 “Cas?” You ask.

“You remember Danny Holden?”

“Hunter we ran into on that last vamp hunt. You were peeved that he kept flirting with me.” You tease. Dean flexes his jaw at the memory before continuing.

“Well, he says hello, and I quote, to the prettiest Winchester.” Dean rolls his eyes.

“Sam’s not here.” You frown, which earns you a pity laugh.

“Says he saw Cas in New Orleans. Tried to say hi, follow him, but he disappeared into an abandoned house.”

“Back to New Orleans then.” You agree.

“But we could… you know.” Dean gestures to where you and him are connected.

“Don’t worry sugar, I won’t leave you blue.” You smile, pushing your lips back to his.

_______

“This is it?” You ask Dean as the two of you walk up to the house. Well, it’s more like a mansion; classic French Quarter style exterior, old wrought iron gate and the plants are so overgrown you can hardly see the ground.

“That’s the address he gave us.” Dean shakes the front gate, the lock mockingly jingling against it.

“Over here.” You point at where a piece of the gate has been cut away. You hop into the yard, Dean right behind you. You both scour the yard for any warding and traps but come up empty handed.

“Means we have to go inside, doesn’t it.” You look up at the house, it looming over the two of you.

“Stay close.” Dean holds his hand out for you and you slap yours into it. You both slowly make your ways through the house, and once again coming up with nothing.

“I’m going to take one more lap. Wait on the porch.” He tells you, giving you a kiss before disappearing into the depths of the house.

You wander outside, the street is quiet, which seems a bit odd with all the ‘watch out for children playing’ signs that are posted on each corner. And then you see it, that long tan trench coat that hangs over the slumped shoulders of “Cas!”

He doesn’t seem to hear you so you run after him. Luckily he was just moseying along the street so you caught up to him.

“Castiel.” You grab his hand so he spins toward you. He has his usual look of confusion as you swallow him in a hug.

_______

“I didn't see anything inside...” Dean announces as he comes out of the house. He stops when you're not waiting front and center.

“(Y/N)!” Dean yells from the porch. His eyes furiously scan the yard for any sign of you.  Don't panic... it's fine. She's fine.

“(Y/N!)” he yells again, listening for something, anything.

He hops through the fence, popping open the trunk from the impala and grabbing every kind of bullet. He cocks his gun and slams the trunk closed.

“Hey, the woman you were with,” A homeless man shouts from across the street, “Her and another fella took off toward the back.” He nods to the house Dean just came out of.

“Did he take her? Was she trying to get away?” Dean asks, his voice cracking.

“Hell if I know.” The guy shrugs.

“Go to hell!” Dean barks, running to the back of the house. The yard is filled with so many trees that Dean has to wiggle and push his way through most of them. He finally comes upon a little shed with a light in the window and slowly makes his way to it, trying to keep his heart steady.

“Who are you?” Your voice is shaky, but Dean sighs at the fact that you’re fine enough to talk.

“Well I was minding my own business. But one of your hunter friends was lookin for this guy.”

Sounds like Cas…

“So I thought I would take his form. But loud mouth told you and your boy toy. So now, I’ll just have to kill you.”

“Fuck you!” You yell. Dean hears the monster grunt, you must have kicked him. Dean carefully leans around the doorway. You’re tied to an old office chair, but it doesn’t look like you’re hurt. Dean’s eyes snap to what appears to be the back of Cas, but he can feel something is off.

“Maybe you would. If I looked like him.” The monster slouches down, shedding it’s skin to reveal Dean’s face. “Come on baby, just think about all those things you did to me just this morning.” He purrs in your ear. Holding your legs firmly to the chair you're tied to.

“Get off.” you growl.

“Oh come now, I could tell you all his secrets. Think about it, every single piece of Dean Winchesters soul right there for the taking…”

“You’re a fucking cunt, you know that?” You angrily laugh. He puts his foot in between your legs and shoves your chair into the wall.

“Times up jackass.” Dean yells, shooting the shapeshifter in the head. He quickly steps over the shifter and starts to untie you.

“You ok baby?” He asks, looking you over as he cuts the zip ties off your wrists.

“Can’t believe I fell for that.” You point your chin at the dead guy. “ should have known-“

“(Y/N), you couldn’t have known.” Dean sighs, helping you stand up. “It was a shapeshifter, even the best hunters can’t see through their trick.” He helps you walk around the body, guiding you through the trees and back to the car.

_______

A Few Weeks later

“(Y/N)? Are you listening to anything I’ve said?” Claire demands, putting her mouth as close to her phone as possible.

“Possible werewolf, a few hours from you, you’re pretty sure you can do it alone.” You grumble, your attention mostly on your own work. You two video chat every few weeks, she gets hunting tips and you get to make sure she’s keeping up with school.

“Do you not think I can do it?” She asks, her voice sounding small. 

“I know you can, but don’t you have a history exam on Tuesday?” You look over at your phone, her eyes instantly looking anywhere but at you. “Don’t you have an exam Tuesday?”

“Ugh! School is such bullshit! I don’t need any of that!” She huffs, rolling out of camera view.

“It’s not…” you start, getting interrupted by a text.

Almost back.

“So how’s the old man?” She sighs. You smile to yourself, after losing Mary and Castiel, and now that you’re hunting full time she throws in a Everyone isn’t fucked right? whenever she calls.

“He’s doin just fine, well as fine as we can be. As is Sam. I’ll tell them you said hello.”

“Please don’t.” She groans. You huff a laugh and she feels a bit happier knowing she can bring a little laugh to your day. You both sit in silence for a little bit, just enjoying not being completely alone.

“Get out.” Claire hisses. You can hear someone talking but Claire’s phone has face planted on her desk. You can hear her squabble and then the phone is picked up and you see Alex running down the hall, an angry Claire behind her.

“Hi Alex.” You smile. She slams her door closed and you hear Claire run straight into it.

“Are you ok?” Alex asks through the door, her face showing a bit of concern. A string of curses comes from the other side of the door and she takes it as a yes.

“You know you could just call from your phone?” 

“Not as fun as taking Claire's. Gotta get payback somehow.” She shrugs.

“How’s school?”

“How’s the baby?” She fires back. You inhale so fast you choke.

“Wow, didn’t know it was a bad thing…” Alex comments just as her bedroom door swings open and Claire jumps on top of her.

“Where did you guys hear about a baby?” You squeak. No way Jody would tell either of them about Lucifer’s kid.

“Seriously? You couldn’t keep your mouth shut?” Claire scolds. They start squabbling and you rub your temples. Thank Chuck I don’t have a sister.

“Guys!” You snap. They give each other a look before Alex sighs.

“We heard Jody mention taking care of a baby…”

“When she was talking to Dean.” Claire finishes.

“Trust me when I say the last thing any of us want right now is a baby in the picture. We are looking for a friend who's about to have a baby..." They both look disappointed at your words, "but if the baby is ever mine you two will be amongst the first to know.” 

Alex perks up, giving a little clap of excitement. It makes her happy that you think of her and Claire as important people in your life. She thinks you’re crazy for staying in the hunting world, but it’s nice to have some who understands living in both, and who wouldn't want to play with a Winchester baby?

Claire’s vaguely disappointed look is a surprise, she thinks you’re crazy for trying to live a “normal” life with Dean (married? Gross). But if you had a kid she could teach them all the tricks for sneaking out...

“Well, you look stressed as fuck, so go punch a vamp and we’ll chat in a few weeks.” Claire waves goodbye and hangs up before Alex has a chance to say anything. 

You lean back into your chair when the best noise in existence echoes through the halls: the garage door. You leap from your seat, speeding down the hall and into the garage as Dean pulls baby into her parking spot. He barely has time to stand up when you grab him by the flannel and pull his mouth to yours. 

He smiles against your lips, bending a little to wrap his arms around your middle. His tongue slides along your bottom lip and you open your mouth to let his tongue tangle with yours.

“Can you guys at least wait until I’m out of the car?” Sam whines, his hands shielding his eyes as he quickly gathers his stuff. 

You and Dean pull back from each other and smile. “No!” You both yell in unison, immediately locking your lips once more.

“There is a child present.” He huffs under his breath, opening the back door and shielding Jack from your display of affection. Your eyes snap open and you unlock your face from Dean’s.

“You found Jack?” You ask, looking at Sam’s back. Sam looks over at Dean, who gives him a nod to step out of the way.

“(Y/N), this is Jack. Jack, Dean’s wife, (Y/N).” Sam gestures to each of you in turn.

“Not exactly the baby we were looking for.” Dean grumbles, kissing your temple.

“My mom said it’s dangerous to be a baby.” Jack smiles.

“Unfortunately that's vert true.” You pant, still trying to catch your breath. You’re a little sad that he isn’t a baby, you were looking forward to taking care of him; although this does make it easier in a lot of ways. 

You unwrap Dean's arms from you and walk over to Jack, taking every detail about him in. They way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, his little lopsided grin, the way he stands with his arms straight by his sides.

“You look like Cas.” You smile up at him.

“You knew Castiel?” He smiles even bigger.

“One of my best friends.” You smile back, a twinge of sadness that Cas isn’t here.

_______

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[heytherejulietx]

suspect - richie tozier

↳ based on a headcanon that me and @violetblvd came up with because we have big brains :)

↳ content warnings - swearing, brief depictions of depression, aged up losers, mostly just fluff though

↳ 2.6k word count

masterlists

@bucky-j-barnes @mikewheelerc @whaddyam3an @justanotherkpopstanlol join my tag list

“are you okay? you weren’t at the clubhouse earlier, i missed you.” y/n could practically hear richie’s pout through the phone as he spoke. he always spoke in the same almost-whining tone whenever he pouted. it was adorable, really.

it wasn’t often that she skipped out on spending time with the losers. most of the time they were the reason she left the house, aside from school. they were found family and she spent as much time with them as possible. and richie, she could barely ever resist time with him. they had been dating for well over a year, and basically spent every day together. and most nights, when richie snuck in through her window.

though y/n had been feeling off recently. she had times when she’d distance herself from others, not because anything had happened, but because she just felt down and unhappy. and over the past few days she’d been feeling worse and worse. really, she knew that even if she just saw richie it would make her feel so much better. but she couldn’t bring herself to leave the house unless she had to. it just seemed like too much effort that she didn’t have the energy for.

“sorry, i meant to call and say i wasn’t going. i didn’t really feel like it today.” y/n responded, and leaned back against the wall beside the phone.

“are you okay?” richie repeated, and she could hear the worry in his tone.

“i’m okay, rich, i promise. i just needed some time alone today.” she said softly, twisting the phone cord between her fingers as she spoke.

“alright, but you know you can call if you need anything right?”

“i know,” she smiled softly at his thoughtfulness. “i’ll call if i need you, I promise.”

“alrighty. i gotta go, stan is glaring at me to get off of his phone,” richie snickered and she could then briefly hear stan complaining in the background. “i love you.”

“i love you too, rich.”

once she had hung up the phone y/n sighed, frowning a little. she knew that richie could tell that something was up. he was the only person she saw when she felt like that, and he could easily tell the difference in her behaviour. on days when he’d see her feeling down he would be sweeter and more gentle. richie would run her a bath and wash her hair or order her food (he tried cooking for her once but almost set fire to her kitchen), or he’d just lay with her in his arms and tell her how much he loved her. she really appreciated how much he cared for her, especially when she needed him the most. the thought of how much he cared for her made her want to see him more and she frowned, knowing that she’d have to wait until tomorrow.

y/n found herself back upstairs in her bedroom after she had something to eat. it was nearing seven in the evening, though despite the time she decided to just try and sleep in the hopes of feeling better when she woke up. she stripped off her clothes and pulled on one of richie’s many t-shirts that she kept at her house. originally he had brought them there in case he ever wanted to stay the night to wear something else in the morning, but most of the time she wore his clothes for bed. when richie first noticed her wearing his clothes he seemed pretty fond of it himself, which only encouraged her to do it more.

the weather had started warming up recently so y/n kept her window open as she climbed underneath the covers of her bed with a sigh and settled herself against the pillow, attempting to get comfortable. she just started drifting off to sleep half an hour later when she heard a tap at her window.

y/n scrunched her eycbrows together a little, at first thinking maybe she’d just made the noise up in her sleepy state. like when you think you’re falling right as you start going to sleep. though at the next tap, which was considerably louder than the first, she rolled over to see what it was and was met with doe eyes and a goofy grin. of course.

his grin grew as he reached his hand out to pull her window all the way open so he could climb into her bedroom. y/n couldn’t hold back a quiet giggle as he did a stupid somersault across her windowsill which caused him to land on her floor with a thump, and narrowly missed whacking his head on her bookshelf.

“rich,” she giggled, as she propped herself half-up on her elbow. “what’re you-“

“crrch,” he cut her off by mimicking the static sound of a walkie talkie, not rising from the floor. “i have snuck into the suspects bedroom, i repeat i’m in, crrch.” he held his hand up to his mouth like he was actually holding a walkie talkie, and with his free hand he slipped his backpack off of the one shoulder he had it slung over. it landed on the floor beside him before he started slowly moving across her bedroom floor, like he was making a very poor attempt at not being seen by her.

“crrch, suspect has a very pretty bedroom, safe to assume she’s also very pretty, crrch.” y/n giggled quietly as she leaned up a little to see him.

as she laughed he almost theatrically whipped his head up to see her and his eyes widened, feigning shock as he stood up so quickly that he almost lost his balance altogether. she could see in his eyes that he wanted to laugh. he always wore the same exact expression when he was truly entertained; to be honest she was surprised he hadn’t burst into laughter yet.

“crrch she’s seen me! oh god i’ve been caught!” she started laughing as he shouted, holding his free hand out with his fingers out like a gun. “crrch oh god! she’s so adorable it hurts! she’s giggling! oh she’s so pretty!” he gasped and she held her own hand out like a gun as he did. “fuck she’s armed! she has a gun crrch!” y/n laughed as he groaned dramatically, his hand flying to cover his chest as he attempted a poor act of being hurt. “i’ve been shot!”

richie dramatically stumbled over towards her bed where he finally toppled over right on top of her and fell with his back against her stomach, groaning again with his hand still clutching his chest.

“i have a wife and kids and you shot me-“ he started shouting dramatically before she clasped her hand over his mouth to get him to shut up, still laughing herself.

“you’re gonna make my parents hear you asshole.” she giggled, and sat up to see him better which left him laying across her thighs instead.

“hey, you’re the one that shot me,” he mumbled underneath her hand, and when she removed it he was grinning despite still trying to feign hurt. “you’re lethal.”

“do you want me to kiss it better, richie?” y/n raised her eyebrows, amused.

“oh please my darling that would be delightful!” he grinned up at her as he spoke in his terrible british accent, and she laughed again as she looked down at him.

“okay,” she giggled. “where are you hurt?”

“right here.” he smirked up at her as he pointed to his lips.

“in the mouth?”

“yeah, you’re really violent.” he snickered.

“if i shot you in the mouth why were you holding your chest-“

“oh just shut up and kiss me.” richie complained and y/n giggled as she leaned down towards him, smiling against his lips as they met. she felt his hand lift to rest on her cheek and his touch felt warm against her skin. she practically melted into him with a quiet sigh against his mouth. y/n seriously underestimated how much she needed to be with him earlier.

when she leaned away from him he was grinning up at her still, and his hand was no longer resting over his chest.

“all better?” she teased, and lifted her hand to reach down and ruffled his mop of curly black hair.

“yep, good as new toots. you should be a nurse,” richie leaned up to leave another kiss against her lips before he sat up completely so he was no longer laying across her. “now that i’m all better, i guess i have to finish what i came here to do.” he sighed dramatically, though he had his up to no good smirk on as he turned to face her.

“kill me? rich i don’t-“ y/n started, though cut herself off with a laugh when he turned and slipped his hands under her shirt to tickle his fingers across her ribs.

as she started to squirm away from him he moved to kneel over her, and as his knees bracketed her thighs she couldn’t go anywhere. asshole.

“richie-“ she gasped through her laughter, her attempts at pushing his hands away doing nothing. “okay okay you got me! you got me!” she laughed, and still kicked her legs even though it did nothing with where he was sat over her.

richie was grinning down at her, wearing his smug look that made her want to either smack him or kiss him, depending on what he was doing. after another moment of y/n’s attempted complaints through her laughter richie moved his hands from her sides, and instead held her hands down against her pillows as she giggled with the ghosting of his tickles.

“you’re an asshole,” y/n giggled, her face flushed red as she looked up at him. she felt his fingers interlock with hers as he pushed hers down against her pillow and she squeezed his gently, despite still lifting her leg to knee him in the back. “that was mean.” she pouted, poorly holding back her smile.

“i just wanted to make my best girl laugh,” he sighed dramatically. from where he was kneeling above her his hair had fallen in front of his eyes, curly black strands laying across his forehead in a way that made him look so pretty. richie was hot, everybody knew richie was hot, richie knew richie was hot. so usually if she complimented him it didn’t seem to phase him. though whenever she called him pretty he’d go a little pink, almost bashful. it made her always want to call him pretty. “plus i missed you today, i needed to make up for not annoying you earlier. i took it out on stan instead, i think he even grew some grey hairs.” he snickered.

y/n rolled her eyes, though found herself smiling softly again when richie had leaned down to kiss her. his hands squeezed hers, still pressed up into the pillow, and she felt him smile against her lips that time. he pulled away only for a moment, his eyes meeting hers as he smiled, before he leaned back in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. and then to her other cheek. and then her nose. he was relentless, pressing kisses all over her face until she had scrunched up her nose and giggled, shaking her head to get him to stop when his hair started tickling her face.

“you’re so pretty.” richie smiled down at her when he leaned back again, and y/n flushed pink as he left a more gentle kiss to her lips before he pulled back, and let her hands go as he sat up properly.

“you’re not so bad yourself.” she mumbled, and giggled as he poked her sides.

“is this mine?” richie tugged on the shirt she was wearing, and his hand smoothed it out across her stomach to see whatever pattern was printed over the front of it. “i’m flattered that you find my fashion sense so inspiring, sweets.”

“if you leave your stuff here i’m going to wear it.” she pointed out, and he chuckled against her lips with the next kiss he gave her.

“hey, i brought you some stuff.” like a lightbulb switched on in his head to remind him why he was there, y/n watched as he jumped off of her and went over towards his backpack on the floor. richie lifted it up and sat it on the bed in front of her, and after fishing around in it for a moment (richie had tons of junk and trash in his backpack since he could never clear it out) he pulled out two cans of coke, a chocolate bar, and some trampled flowers that looked suspiciously like the ones her mother grew in their front garden.

deciding not to comment on the flowers, y/n smiled softly as she looked up at richie and sat up properly. “rich you didn’t have to get me anything.” she said softly, and reached out to take his hand.

“i know, i just wanted to get you something since you seemed a little down on the phone.” richie smiled softly as he gently squeezed her hand.

he probably knew that she felt more than just a little down, and he probably knew exactly how she was feeling as he’d witnessed it before. but y/n appreciated his thoughtfulness nonetheless. she appreciated that he didn’t make a big fuss of it like some other people would, and was just there for her instead.

leaning over the pile of things on her bed y/n let go of his hand to wrap her arms around his middle, murmuring a “thank you“ before she kissed his cheek. his arms wrapped tightly back around her, and y/n almost relaxed completely when she felt his lips press a kiss to her temple. soft moments like that where richie didn’t feel the need to be loud and brash meant so much to her. it was lovely to be with him in such a soft and vulnerable way. she got to see a side of him that nobody else did.

once they had moved the gifts from richie onto her bedside table and his backpack returned to its place on the floor, richie slipped his shoes off and got into the bed beside her with y/n tucked against his side. one of his hands were on her back underneath the shirt as his fingers traced delicate patterns across her back, and his other was clasped with one of hers resting on his stomach. y/n had her eyes closed with her ear to his chest, and as she listened to his heartbeat she could’ve sworn that everything was perfect for one shining moment.

“thank you.” she whispered after a moment, and squeezed his hand lightly with his own.

“it’s no problem, angel. i just thought you’d appreciate some chocolate-“

“no, not for that,” she shook her head as she smiled softly. “for making me feel better.”

richie didn’t say anything in response at first, and instead she felt his lips press a lingering kiss to the top of her head. she smiled softly, growing more tired the more relaxed he got her.

“all in a days work.” he mumbled along with another kiss and she smiled briefly, though was on the verge of falling asleep. completely relaxed in richie’s arms, she drifted off with a smile on her face feeling the best that she had in a week.