#i swear that man brings up the “generational gap” talk every other day

[generalgri3vous]

my 41 year old father's attempt at slang (dear lord its as bad as you would expect)

-"These roads are clapped"

-"This traffic is, as you kids would say "cringe""

-"So things we really like are "bussin"? Does that include people?"

-"My wife is bussin!" said in the most dad-voice possible.

-"This cellphone is sus. WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING???"

-"Back in my day, clap was an STD, not slang."

-"See Honey, this is the generational gap I was talking about. Back in our day bussin was for tables."

-"So if I want to throw something really hard, I "yeet" it? Why not just say I chucked it?"

[ace-turned-confused]

mould me for ruin

marcus acacius masterlist | main masterlist

pairing: marcus acacius x virgin f!reader summary: after years of watching general acacius, you long to wield a sword of your own — an opportunity arises for your dreams to come true, in more ways than one word count: 4,6k warnings: 18+ only, reader is able-bodied / inexperienced & a virgin, probably historically inaccurate yippie!, unspecified juicy age gap, pet names, smut, loss of virginity, f masturbation, fingering, unprotected p in v, comeplay, praise kink, size difference, bit of corruption & innocence kink, some dacryphilia, dirty talk & possessive acacius, Armour Stays On, Skirt Stays On extra info: subligaculum = underwear, mamillare = breastband/bra — if this is wrong then yell at google, not me a/n: so i watched the trailer with my best friend, looked at her immediately and said “i need him to tackle me to the ground” and here we are. i couldn’t help myself. @morallyinept thank you Jett for encouraging me to write this and listening to my deranged rambling, love you so much my friend 🤍 not beta'd, live laugh love

You’ve watched him for years — defending his honour, moulding young boys into fearless soldiers, striding up the palace steps to stand before the emperor. His confidence never falters, and it’s astonishing how his men follow his constant orders, never complaining, never challenging him. He speaks, they listen — you would do the same.

You’ve always dreamed of what wearing armour like his would feel like — how it would weigh down your shoulders, how it would clunk and rattle as you walk, how the leather would flow around your legs. That’s all it’s ever been — a dream, a fantasy. You’ve found as of late that you’ve had other dreams, too.

General Marcus Acacius has always been something of a God to you, he could never do wrong in your eyes and you often thought of him at fleeting moments during your day’s duties. Now, you think of him at night, too, and you don’t know how to stop. Instead of wearing that armour yourself, you’ve started imagining how it would feel if someone else pressed it into your skin. In all of your dreams, it’s Acacius wearing that armour.

You’ve noticed it’s not just your mind that’s affected — you feel unbearably warm, a throbbing sensation between your legs that only intensifies if you ignore it. You used to squeeze your legs together to try and quell that feeling, soon finding that it turned into pleasure.

You’ve always been a curious girl — one night you pulled off your sheets and shoved your hand down to explore yourself, finding you were wet, and if you pressed your fingers into one specific spot for long enough, you felt euphoric. This happens most nights now, and you have to cover your mouth when it’s quiet to avoid waking someone up.

You wondered if anyone else experienced this too but have always been too scared to ask — sometimes you feel embarrassed just thinking about it.

Acacius would never dare to even look at you, for what would a man of his stature want with a girl like you, but there’s no harm in you continuing to look at him — lingering in the shadows during training hours, fixated on him during noble proceedings. You swear sometimes he stares directly at you in a crowd, eyes burning into you as he singles you out.

-

The sun is just beginning to set, Marcus’ final session of the day has concluded and the servants have come to harp to his every need. One brings cloth for his face, another a small cup filled with water for drinking. A young boy had nicked his arm during a one-on-one showcase, the blood now dried on his skin as bandaging is wrapped around his bicep. The boy looked terrified of what the consequences might be, but Marcus reassured him that no real harm was done.

His body aches as he longs for rest — he’s not quite as young and agile as he once was.

Trudging out of the arena, he notices you — it’s not the first time, either. He imagines you just have an inquisitive mind and are fascinated by the spectacle of physical combat, as most are — but you don’t seem engrossed by the pompous behaviour or extravagant events. It appears as though you live in hopes of being able to train, that you dream you could be the one in the arena. You step out of hiding and try to sneak off in the opposite direction.

“Something you are looking for, girl?”

You halt in your tracks, turning to face him with wide eyes. You don’t respond.

“Answer when you are questioned.”

“I did not intend to be a bother, General Acacius, I will be on my way, my apologies.”

“There is no need for an apology. I have seen you here before — on many occasions, in fact.” He steps towards you and you stand, unmoving. “Tell me, girl, why are you really here.”

Your eyes flicker around as you consider your answer, fingers twitching at your sides as you chew on your lip. Finally, you tell him, “I… simply enjoy watching. You are finely skilled, it is magnificent to witness. All of you, I do not watch you alone, of course.” Your voice wavers as you rush out your last sentence.

“Do you wish to be in the arena, yourself?”

“I could not.”

“I did not ask if you could or could not.”

Again, you don’t respond as your gaze lowers to focus on his chestplate, eyes tracing the twisting gold patterns. He considers how to get the truth from you, and his decision is undoubtedly something he shouldn’t entertain.

“Meet me at sundown tomorrow in the clearing by the lake, it is not too far a journey on foot. You have never been spotted here, so I imagine you will have no difficulty making it out there undetected.”

You sputter out a reply as he walks off, tripping over your words but don’t make any real effort to stop or counter him. Whether or not you show up tomorrow is ultimately your decision, and he will not hold it against you if you choose to remain in the shadows. He does hope you do join him, though, he hopes you might surprise him.

-

You’ve spent all day weighing up what to do. A few others noticed your mind was distant but you managed to keep their suspicions at bay. When the General caught you the night prior, you were certain you’d be in trouble but he was shockingly calm.

He stood right before you and for the first time, you could take in his features — you’ve only ever been able to admire him from afar. Grey streaks on his temples and spread along his jawline, steel gaze and curved nose, arms and shoulders even thicker and broader up close. You felt that low heat settle between your legs as he questioned you — your dreams will be far more vivid from now on.

Acacius was right when he assumed you could make it out here unnoticed, you’ve mastered the art after years of sneaking around. The sun is just starting to dip below the horizon when you hear rustling in the tree line behind you. You turn and see him break through the foliage, clad in his armour with a sword on either hip.

“You are here.” He runs his eyes over your whole body as he moves into the clearing. 

He walks out towards you and draws one sword, angling the blade to catch the light as he flips it around in his hand before presenting the grip to you. You furrow your brow in confusion.

“Unless you have one in your own possession, you will need a sword. I did not bring two for my own use.”

You take it in hand, clenching your fist repeatedly to get a feel for it, twirling the sword around — it’s easier to handle than you imagined, but still a solid weight.

“Tonight we will just begin with a few basic movements. You need to be in control of your weapon — if you fear it, that is when you will harm yourself.”

You spend hours focused on moving the sword around your body, watching Acacius’ demonstrations and then mirroring them. It’s not long before you can speed up your actions, remembering the patterns without having to be shown.

“I must admit, I am impressed. You are managing the blade well.” You glance up at him mid-performance — he rests a hand on his hip, his lips just starting to curl into a small smile. “Do you have a weapon of your own? I will not tell.”

“I have a small dagger I found long ago, I find peace in keeping it well-maintained.”

“You will carry it on your person at all times.”

“I should not.”

“This is not a case of should or should not, you will carry it. You may be secure near the arena and its surroundings, but this world is not always a safe one. Your dagger will do you more good in your hand than in your bedchamber.”

He walks towards the water's edge and looks out over the lake. Turning to face you, the moonlight bounces off the water and shines around him — he looks otherworldly. You realise now, as you stand under the twinkling stars, just how long the two of you have been out here.

“It is late, we should make our way back to town. I would like to continue your training, you have made a promising start — if you wish to learn more.”

“Thank you, General. I would like that. When will we next meet?”

“The night after tomorrow. You cannot practise during daylight on your own, and repetition is necessary for mastering an art like this. I will see you then.”

“May I ask…” You fidget with the sword in your hand. “How come we are so far out? Would it not be simpler to just train in the arena?”

“And think what would happen if someone were to see — a girl, sparring with a general in the arena after dark? You will be sent for exile, or worse.”

You hand the sword back to Acacius, eyes flitting up to his and breath hitching in your chest as his hand grips over yours.

“Goodnight, General.”

“Rest well, you will need it.”

He bids you goodnight, sheathing the sword back on his hip. You glance back at him as you retreat into the woods and he’s still watching you. You’re not sure how much sleep you’ll get, but you’ll definitely be well-rested.

-

It feels as though time had stopped altogether the past two days. Your duties dragged on for hours and you tossed in your sleep. You'd snuck off as usual to view the training sessions, but it isn’t enough anymore now that you’ve done it yourself and spent time alone with Acacius.

You ran his words over in your head, your dagger will do you more good in your hand than in your bedchamber, and he is right. What use is a weapon that you cannot use? You tried tucking it into your subligaculum, but it would dislodge as soon as your movements became vigorous. You took some spare cloth and tied it around your calf, managing to secure the dagger in a way that would remain in place without drawing your own blood in the process. You’re eager to show off your craftsmanship to him.

Acacius is nowhere to be seen when you arrive tonight, a gentle breeze dancing in the leaves and causing small ripples on the water’s surface, lamplight flickering in the distance across the lake. You can hear rustling behind you but pass it off as the wind or woodland creatures until you hear a significant snap and fling yourself around.

You’re met with Acacius, standing no more than an arm's length away — he slashes his sword towards you before you can greet him. You duck down to the ground, air displaced above your head as you look up at him in shock.

“Your reflexes are defensive… swift, but defensive.”

You rise slowly, unsure what his further plans are, chest heaving as you try to calm yourself. Staring at him, you see he’s focused on your hand, a small smirk on his face — following his eyes you realise you’d taken hold of your dagger, the blade shining as it catches the setting sun.

“I see you are carrying your blade, good girl.”

You feel hot. You didn’t know mere words could do to you what your dreams do, but you push it down and blame the adrenaline coursing through your body.

“You already know how to defend yourself, that much is clear. Here we are training to attack, to kill, if that is what will save you. Am I understood?”

“Yes, General.”

You nod and lift your tunic to your knee, still taking in deep breaths as you secure your dagger once more. What was the point of this exercise?

“How did you know I would not retaliate?”

“You would not have stopped if I had been a real threat. You know in your mind I would not harm you, just as I know you would not harm me. That is what makes a bond like this successful: trust.”

The night’s session goes smoothly after that. You do a few repeats of your basic movements and advance into cutting through the air with the blade, Acacius a safe distance away should you lose your grip. Just like your first night, the moon is high up in the night sky by the time you remember the outside world.

“You are making quick progress. How about we try sparring? No complex movements, just stick to what you know.”

So you do, and to your own amazement you do rather well — grip never loosening, you maintain your focus on Acacius the entire time as your blades clash together, dirt whirring up around your feet as you dance around each other. Neither of you back down on your final connection, Acacius grinning at you from behind both blades.

“Should you succeed in this, you shall soon stand high above the rest. Even if they do not know it.”

You both drop your hands, swords by your sides as he stays close. You’re silent as you stare at him blankly, confused by his statement.

“Do you know of any other soldier that has trained by moonlight, alone with me? Those men… those boys, they train because it is their duty. A boy is born to fight. You? Well, it would seem you were born to fight, too.” His voice is soft, his usual curt tone lost to the night breeze. There’s a fond smile on his face, eyes full of admiration as he speaks to you.

“I have often seen you lingering around the arena, I can always spot you in a crowd…” His tongue darts out as his gaze drops to your lips momentarily, before looking into your eyes again. “It is unusual for a girl like you to have such a keen interest in such a… physical activity.”

“Do you think our kind should keep to our traditions? That men should fight and women should care for them?”

“Would I be alone with you under the stars if I thought as much?”

With heat radiating from his body, it takes everything in you not to lean forward into him. His hand brushes over yours as he reaches for your sword, slipping it from your grip to sheath it.

“I think that is enough for tonight. We will keep to this schedule unless I have other commitments — a night of rest, a night of work. There are proceedings at the palace tomorrow, I expect you will be there to witness it?”

“I will, yes.”

Still close to you, he shifts his gaze between your eyes — if you were further apart you might miss the hint of a grin playing on his face.

“It will be quite the sight.” He winks at you and steps back, eyes still locked on yours. “Goodnight, my little rascal.”

You watch as he disappears through the rough, waiting until the only sounds you hear are those from the lapping water and rustling leaves. You lift your tunic hastily, pushing your hand into your subligaculum and down between your legs.

Your problem has only worsened since you properly met Acacius — you relieved yourself after your first training session and last night. Now, however, the wetness has spread to the inside of your thighs, too, the pulsing sensations more intense than usual. You press your fingers into your swollen bud, moving your hand side to side and it doesn’t take long before you come — stretching your free hand out to anchor yourself against a tree, it’s the fiercest feeling you’ve ever experienced.

You hope it won’t take long to fall asleep once you reach town.

-

It will be quite the sight — you’d tried to decipher what he meant but fell short. It seems that Acacius is rarely untruthful in his words — the events at the palace really were a sight. More specifically, he was a sight.

You had stood in the crowd, not expecting too much excitement, when a broad figure ascending the palace steps caught your eye. Billowing white cape and gold-plated cuffs, when he turned to face the crowds you realised it was him. His usual armour was replaced by, no doubt expensive, white and trimmed in gold, his skirt falling around and between his thick thighs as he climbed.

The grey in his hair and heavy arms accentuated by his new noble appearance, he stood tall and surveyed, hands clasped teasingly in front of his skirt. Just as he told you before, his eyes found you amongst everyone else and stayed on you the entire time, only breaking contact out of courtesy when others spoke with him.

You’ve never been too taken by proceedings like this, always far more keen on the soldiers’ training, but you wonder now if Acacius knows how he infiltrates your thoughts, knows the obscene way your body reacts to them. Why else would he have laid a claim like that?

It was all you could think about the entire day and night, and you think about it now, still, as you try sparring with him. It’s not as simple as the previous time, you find your movements are limited by your tunic, the fabric not as giving as before. You lower your sword and raise your spare hand to stop him, huffing in frustration.

“Is something the matter?”

“It— it is not your problem. I simply need to collect myself. Refocus.” You ready yourself with a defeated sigh but Acacius stands straight.

“Is something. The matter?”

“My tunic, it— I cannot move as I did the other night. As I said, it is not your problem.”

“You can remove it if that would help.”

You stand, bewildered at his comment.

“It is just you and I and the stars. You can remove your tunic if you will spar better without it.”

It seems he isn’t going to continue otherwise, so you place your sword on the ground. He doesn’t turn away from you, either, eyes fixed on you as you look to the floor and reach for your hem. Lifting it up your body and over your head, your skin feels blazing hot under his gaze as you stand nearly bare before him, your mamillare, subligaculum and the dagger secured on your calf your only coverings.

“You are quite the sight, even for a rascal.” You meet his eyes at his words, his gaze hungry. He finally resumes his stance and you retrieve your sword, preparing for the challenge.

The hunger in his eyes only grows stronger the longer you fight, his movements quickening as he advances and forces you backwards. He knocks the sword clean out of your grasp, the blade’s clanking muffled by the earth as he tackles you to the ground, pushing you beneath him and holding you in place.

“It seems your grip is not as secure as you believed…” He pauses as he rakes his eyes over you. “You were quite taken at the palace yesterday, I take it you enjoyed what you saw?”

“It was… quite exhilarating,” you sigh as he shifts, the edge of his breastplate catching on that spot your fingers find all too easily.

“What is wrong, rascal?” You gasp softly as he relaxes, resting almost his full weight on you. You squirm underneath him as you try lifting your hips in search of friction. You notice a change in his eyes and he ticks his jaw.

“Does that feel good?” He punctuates his words by grinding himself into you and holding himself there. “Do you touch yourself?”

“I do not know—” You knock your head back into the ground, pinching your eyes as he grinds his armour into you again. “I do not know what happens, but… it feels good.”

“Have you ever pushed a finger inside of yourself?”

You try turning to the side, his blunt words and forceful movements becoming too much for your uneducated mind.

“You can tell me.”

“I did not know I could do that. Is it not…” you look into his eyes again in search of reassurance, “Is it not shameful, what I do?”

He chuckles at your question, a hint of darkness still in his tone, “My sweet girl, there is nothing shameful about it. Many people pleasure themselves, and others — it is a wonderous thing.”

He lifts himself to push his hand under your subligaculum, fingers circling your bundle of nerves before dragging them through your folds. You feel a different kind of pressure as he repositions his fingers, pushing two inside of you and you cry out, his thick fingers slowly sliding further and further.

Leaning on his elbow, his free hand comes up to caress your cheek and you lean into his touch, heaving and gasping as you get used to the new sensation.

“When do you touch yourself?”

You make no response, your head spinning as that familiar heat that pools in your spine starts growing, only this time it’s far hotter. He grips your jaw, shaking you lightly to get your attention.

“You listen and answer to me. Do not forget that.”

“At night. I… at night.”

“And what makes you seek relief? I can feel how wet you are, my girl — what makes you wet?”

“You.” You moan to the stars as you clench around his fingers, heat coursing through your body as your legs stiffen. That night you came in this very same spot had been the best, but this easily tops it. He pulls his fingers from you as you open your eyes again, and suddenly you feel painfully empty.

“I make you wet?”

“Yes. I think of you when I touch myself. Sometimes I… sometimes I dream of you.”

He kneels back between your legs, manhandling you to push your discarded tunic under your body as he strips off the little clothing you still had on, leaving you completely naked. He smooths his fingers up and down between your legs.

“You are… so sweet, so pure. A girl like you is truly a treasure.”

Sitting up to rest on your elbows, you watch as he pulls his shorts down his thighs, tanned skin peeking through the dark leather of his skirt. He pushes the straps aside, taking his cock in his hand and stroking himself languidly, a twisted smile on his face as you stare, your lips parted in awe. 

“Have you seen a man before?”

“Not like this, no. Will it hurt?”

“It may, you are such a delicate girl… but it will certainly be a pleasurable pain.”

He leans over you, cock poking the inside of your thigh as he brings himself close, lips ghosting yours. He grabs your wrist and pulls your hand between your bodies, running your fingers through your sticky folds.

“Do you feel how dripping wet with arousal you are, my girl? Do you feel how much your body craves mine?” He takes your hand, coated in slick and twists it to rub his length against your palm. “Do you feel how much my body craves yours, too?”

You try wrapping your hand around him, fingers splayed wide as you feel how hot his skin is, thick and heavy and hard, just like the rest of his body. He sighs softly as you tighten your grip experimentally.

“Will it… will it fit inside of me?” You look at him, eyebrows knitted in worry. His two fingers alone felt like they filled you completely, you’re not sure how you could possibly take more.

“We will make it fit. A good girl like you will soon learn to take me. You were made for me — your body craves mine, remember?”

You nod lazily as he lays you down and cradles your cheek again, your eyes fluttering closed as he softly presses his lips to your forehead. He drags his cock through your folds, nudging himself just inside your entrance. The stretch stings, your face contorted as you groan, but even with the pain you can feel that fire burning in your belly again. His thumb draws circles into your cheek, tears brimming in your eyes.

“I would hate to think how another man would ruin you. You are so tight, so perfect.” He inches forward, forcing your legs further apart and he looks down to where he breaches you. “I will be the only man to ruin you.”

He thrusts into you, sheathing himself completely as tears trickle down your cheeks and past your ears. He wipes them away with his thumb, peppering your face with kisses.

“My poor, sweet girl. Tell me how it feels.”

“So big…” You whine as you clench around his length, over and over. Through glassy eyes, you can see his devilish grin as he chuckles at your response.

“Only good girls can simply take what they are given like this, you are doing so well.” He pulls your hand between your bodies again, spreading your fingers around where he splits you open. You moan, a new wave of wetness pooling around his cock. “Even in your rebellion, that’s all you want to be, isn’t it? A good girl — always apologetic, always wanting to make me proud.”

He gives you no chance to comment or fully adjust to his size as he pulls out and snaps his hips back into yours. Your tailbone and shoulder blades dig uncomfortably into the hard ground beneath you, rendered defenceless as he pins you down by your shoulders. His gaze flickers up to you, hunger in his eyes turned dark as if he’s starving. He pays little attention to you now as he pistons into you over and over, all sense of care gone as he uses you for his own bliss — and yet, you’re on the verge of release again.

It still burns, being stretched almost unbearably wide, but had you known about these possibilities, you would’ve hunted for this far sooner. His cock drags heavily against your walls, the leather and stitching of his skirt chafing against your thighs, chestplate digging into your lower abdomen and you realise he was right — it is a pleasurable pain.

“Come again for me, my girl. Reach your high again, I know you are close.”

You attempt a response, but your words are incoherent.

“Good girls do as they are told — listen, and I will reward you.”

Your legs tense as you clamp down on him, coating his cock as you come again. You think you hear him grunting, senses overwhelmed by the ringing in your ears, unsure if the stars you see are from the night sky or your own pleasure. You’re still trembling when he pulls out and hovers above you, pumping himself with a tight fist until he spills over your stomach and up between your breasts.

Panting as he comes down, you lie beneath him and your curiosity takes over again — you run your fingers through the milky ropes covering your skin, lifting your hand to watch it web between your fingers. You crane your neck and stick your tongue out to taste it, your eyes on Acacius the whole time.

“My perfect girl…” It comes out barely above a whisper, a crooked smile on his face as he leans down to kiss you properly. He’s strikingly gentle, the scruff of his beard and moustache prickling against your skin, his hand curling to cradle your head. “There is still so much for you to learn, and I am eager to teach you. You are my rascal, after all.”

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @cafekitsune

[ruh--roh-raggy]

Flowers For My Valentine (Steve Raglan x Fem! Reader) - Valentine's Day Special

Hello hello and Happy Valentine's Day my lovelies! We have some sweet and flirty Steve Raglan this time around thanks to a wonderful Anon who made a request (this was so fun thank you so much!) If you would like to see more of this, more fnaf in general, or would like to be added to my tag list please let me know!

WARNINGS: Age gap (Reader is in her late 20's, Steve is in his early 50's), office romance, flirting, mutual pining, reader very briefly talks about how she doesn't feel good enough, some swearing, not proofread, if I missed any please let me know!

You can find my Masterlist here! ~ AO3 Link!

Word Count: 6,189

“Good morning Linda!” You greet your co-worker jovially.

“Oh, perfect, you're here.” She waves you over, her long bright red acrylics clacking together. “Could you bring this down to Mr. Raglan’s office? I’d go do it, but he likes you better.” She teases with a chuckle, making your cheeks warm. She hands the pink flier over to you. It was the announcement for the office's annual Valentine’s Day party.

You walk down the plain, beige hallway, the walls lined with matching, cheap doors, their old brass hardware glinting in the fluorescent lights that hang from overhead. You paused in front of the last door on the left, ‘Steve Raglan' printed across the nameplate. You tap softly, a soft smile finding its way to your lips as you hear him call you in. He says your name softly, grinning brightly at you. “What a pleasant surprise.” He motions to the chair across from him. “Please, sit! Um, would you like some coffee? Tea maybe?” He hurries to stand, banging his knee on the desk in the process and making him curse under his breath.

“Mr. Raglan are you okay?” You hurry to his side, your look of pure concern making the older man’s features soften.

“I'm fine rabbit, being around pretty girls just makes me nervous.” He says with a wink. You giggle, growing flustered at his compliment.

“You flatter me, Mr. Raglan.” He gets lost in your eyes for a moment, the playful glimmer in them drawing him in. His gaze flashes down to the paper you held in your hands.

“What do we have here?” He smiles, taking the flier from you. He reads it over silently, running his fingers down his tie. “A Valentine’s Day party, huh?” His silvery eyes flash to yours, a playful smile lacing it’s way across his lips. “Are you going to drag your boyfriend to this thing?”

“Oh, there's no boyfriend to drag along.” You giggle. “I'm probably going to be stuck in some mindless gossip loop with some of the other ladies if I go.”

“If you go?” He repeats the last part of your statement.

“I'm not really a big Valentine's Day girl.” You admit, swaying awkwardly on your heels. “The whole holiday tends to be a bit of a let down if I'm being honest.” Your eyes widened slightly as you realized you were being far too casual. “I'm sorry, Mr. Raglan. I shouldn't be talking about this stuff at work.” You hurriedly tried to head for the door, wanting to excuse yourself as quickly as possible before you became even more flustered. You slam the door behind you, managing to slip into the bathroom just as you heard his office click back open. You silently berated yourself for looking so stupid in front of him. “Let’s just open up to him about every shitty Valentine's we've ever had!” You mock yourself in the mirror. You sigh, studying your reflection. It was silly really. For a brief moment the thought flashed through your head that maybe, somehow, some way, Steve would've asked you to go to the party with him. You splashed some water on your face, reluctantly deciding to go back to the office. Hopefully he would forget about your awkward little interaction by tomorrow.

🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰

“Alright, who is he?” You freeze in your tracks as you walk through the office door.

“Excuse me?” You ask, your gaze trailing up to the reception desk. You were met with the sight of a beautiful, elaborate bouquet made up of yellow, purple, and white flowers.

“They're addressed to you. You better not have gotten a boyfriend and not told me about it, I thought we shared everything!” She pretends to be hurt, making you chuckle.

“We do, you're my work wife, I wouldn't survive without you.” You pout, she laughs, shaking her head slightly. “Was there a card?” Both of your curiosity over the matter bubbled up as you did a quick investigation of the scenario.

“There is, but no name.” She hands the small, cream colored piece of cardstock over to you.

“I know flowers from your secret admirer are cliche, but I wanted to do something special for the woman who never fails to brighten my day.” You couldn't stop yourself from smiling as you read over the message.

“Do you think it's someone in the office?” She asks in a hushed tone.

“I don't see why not. I don't have anyone that would send me flowers at work, even as a joke.” You explain, trying to place a face to the neat script that swirled across the card.

“Wow.” Your eyes snap up to Steve Raglan. His short sleeve, yellow button down with brown pinstripes tucked neatly into his perfectly pressed pants. “Someone's a lucky lady.” He smiles at Linda, more than likely assuming they were from her husband.

“Oh they're not for me, someone has their eye on your best employee.” She states in a teasing tone.

“Is that so?” He shoves his free hand into his pocket, the other holding a comically small looking mug of coffee. “Guess someone might have a date for the Valentine's Party yet.” Warmth pools behind your cheeks as your eyes meet his striking silver ones.

“You didn't happen to see who dropped these off, did you Mr. Raglan?” You ask curiously.

He shakes his head, “I'm afraid not sweetheart, but I'll keep an eye out.” He chuckles. “I have to make sure whoever is trying to catch your attention only has the best intentions in mind for my favorite girl.” You let out a flustered giggle as he winks at you. He pulls his pager off his belt, quickly reading the message. “I'm going to have some new client paperwork that needs to be filed, I'll have it on your desk within the hour if that's alright?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Raglan. I'll take care of it.” You smile brightly at him.

“This is why you're the best!” He compliments you. “Thank you beautiful, I'll be back.” You noticed Linda’s gaze trail after him, watching him intently until he shut his office door behind him.

“Do you think Mr. Raglan might have left you those flowers?” You choke on your drink, coughing and sputtering as you try to regain your composure.

“Now where the hell did that come from?” You ask in response, unable to meet her eyes as you try to hide your nervous expression.

“Well, you're obviously his favorite, everyone that works for this company knows that. He always compliments you, he’s always telling you how pretty you look or how good of a job you're doing. If it’s anyone in the office my money’s on him.” She rattles off the first few reasons that came to her mind.

“Oh, I don't know about that.” You nervously wring your hands in your lap, staring blankly down at the stack of papers that sat in front of you. “I'm nothing special, plus I'm sure he has a wife.” You try to wave her off.

“I've never noticed a ring.” Your breath froze in your throat as you saw her attention turn to you. A smirk spreads across her lips, “and from how flustered you look right now I'm assuming that someone definitely doesn't mind the attention.” She whispers.

“Okay, okay, hang on.” You wave your hand in front of her, wanting to cut her off before she has the chance to keep snowballing her idea. “If I tell you this, not another soul hears about this, not even Mark!” You point an accusatory finger at her.

“Honey, please, my husband doesn't give a rat's ass about work gossip. Tell me everything.” She leans an elbow on the desk as she spins her chair to face you, taking a long sip of coffee from her mug as she waits patiently for the details.

“I might have a bit of a thing for him.” You admit, your cheeks already heating up at the simple confession. “He's funny and charming and handsome and… I don't know, I feel so stupid.” You groan, dropping your head into your hands.

“You shouldn't feel stupid.” She rushes to reassure you. “You are a gorgeous young woman, I'm sure he would be absolutely flattered-”

“It's not even about that.” You sigh. Linda gives you an incredulous look in response. “Okay, maybe it is a little about that. But, on top of the fact that he could just outright reject me, he's my boss, he's quite a bit older than I am, he's going to get to know me and see that I'm just some stupid young kid and it's going to make things weird here and I'm going to have to quit my job because of it.”

“I think someone is overthinking this way too much.” She laughs, shaking her head slightly.

“I get it, it's scary. There's a lot of unknowns and different ways it could all pan out. But, you'll never know if you don't try. I'm not saying burst in there right now, rip your clothes off, and try to seduce him.” You can't help but laugh at her over the top idea. “All I'm saying is maybe make a little effort to flirt with him, test the waters, see how it feels.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair, “I don't even know how to even try if I'm being completely honest.”

“Listen up, buttercup, it's time for a crash course in office flirting 101.” She laughs.

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You smooth your blouse as you stand in front of the last office on the left, repeatedly reading over the name ‘Steve Raglan’ printed in neat gold lettering in front of you as you try to build up your confidence. You tap softly on the door, waiting for the quiet ‘come in’ before entering. “Finished up with that paperwork already?” He smiles brightly at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he speaks.

“Yessir, I just wanted to come hand deliver it myself.” You shoot him a coy grin.

“Can I interest you in some coffee?” He asks, still reading from the paperwork you handed him, expecting you to flit out of the room like you normally did.

��Do you have any tea?” You saw him pause, his brows furrowing slightly before he looked up at you.

“I do.” It took him a moment to continue, still trying to process the situation. “Why don't you sit down, I'll put the kettle on.” You nod, plopping down into one of the slightly too hard chairs that sat opposite him at his desk. You can't help but giggle as you glance over your shoulder to find Steve studying you.

“You seem a bit surprised that I stayed.” He snaps himself from his thoughts.

“I am, if I'm being honest. I feel like every time I invite you to stay for a cup of tea you practically sprint out of here.” He chuckles, slowly walking back to his desk and sitting across from you. “I'm not that scary am I?”

You shake your head, “no, you're not. I think you're sweet, Mr. Raglan.” You fidget with your fingers for a moment before deciding to take a rather bold approach to the flirting Linda had suggested. “Being around handsome men just makes me nervous.” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, watching as the realization set in that he had said something very similar to you the day prior.

He breathes out a laugh, a smile lacing its way across his lips. “Well, thank you rabbit. I'm flattered that a pretty little thing like you thinks I'm handsome. Also, feel free to call me Steve, I think we know each other well enough at this point, don't you?”

“I think you might be right.” You perk up at the sound of the kettle going off, immediately hopping out of your seat to get it.

“Oh, I can-” you cut him off with a small wave of your hand.

“Steve, you have to be one of the hardest workers I know.” You fill his mug first, carrying it over to him slowly to make sure you wouldn't spill any coffee. “I think you should let someone take care of you for a change.” You wink at him, your hand trailing across his shoulder as you step next to him.

“Well how can I refuse such a tempting offer.” He grins, his silver eyes flashing across your features. You made your own cup of tea before returning to the seat across from him. You feel his gaze trailing over your much smaller form as you carefully cross your legs. “Any leads on that secret admirer of yours?” He asks casually, taking a long sip of his coffee.

“Nothing yet, but I'm hoping I can figure it out soon.” You run your finger along the rim of your mug. “I'm hoping I can manage to find out who it is before the party.” He clears his throat as he shifts himself in his seat slightly.

“Anything's possible isn't it?” He responds, lacing his fingers together as his hands come to rest on his stomach. You were both interrupted by a knock on his door.

“Steve, sorry to interrupt, you got a minute?” It was one of your coworkers.

“I'll stop by later Mr. Raglan, thank you for the tea.” You smiled softly at him, his eyes locked with yours as you stood, smoothing your clothes slightly before sauntering out of the room.

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You jump when somebody calls your name. You look up to see Steve shrugging into his thick, gray jacket. “You're still here?” He asks with a warm smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

“I had some emails to send, I was just about to head out myself.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets as he slowly approaches you.

“Would it be alright if I walked you to your car?” He asks carefully, as if he was trying to pin down the exact right way to ask you. “It's late, I want to make sure you get there safely, is all.” You could hear the slight hesitancy in his tone, that fact he seemed almost nervous made you smile.

“That's very sweet of you Steve, thank you.” You smile warmly at him. He helps you into your jacket, stuffing his hands back in his pockets as he slows his long strides so you could keep up easily. “Are you going to be bringing your wife to the Valentine's Day party?” You finally ask after walking in silence for a while.

Steve chuckles, “oh, I'm not a married man, rabbit. I'm afraid it's just going to be me.” You feel your cheeks warm at the sound of his gravelly tone.

“It's a shame, I guess we're both going to be single for Valentine's Day.” You giggle.

“What a shame indeed, I'm very surprised some dumb little boy hasn't tried to scoop you up. A pretty thing like you deserves a man who’ll make her feel special.” He smirks down at your flustered state.

“Well, maybe if I can get to the bottom of who sent me those flowers I could get to the bottom of that.” You brace against the cold as he holds the door open for you. Steve holds his coat open, pulling you into his side and shielding you from the wind.

“You never know, he could be a lot closer than you think.” He winks at you, making you let out a flustered giggle. The end of your nose tingles from the cold as you stop in front of your car. “Have a good night, rabbit.” He smiles softly down at you, his silver eyes searching yours with a subtle intensity.

“Good night, Steve.” You pull open your car door, a dull ache settling in your chest as you watch him start to head off. You called his name, making him pause. He turns to glance back at you, your smaller form moving before you have a chance to overthink the situation. You pushed yourself up onto the tips of your toes, your hand wrapping around his strong bicep as you leaned in, allowing your lips to come to rest against his cheek. “Get home safely.” You whisper, letting your eyes linger on him before you hopped in your driver's seat and watched him walk to his own car with an absolutely dumbfounded expression on his face.

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You were one of the first people in the office this morning. Having to come in early to prepare the conference room for a meeting and to send out reminder emails for said event definitely wasn't your idea of fun, but there was something oddly tranquil about the nearly empty space so early in the morning. You had been called over to one of your coworkers cubicles to help with a paper work issue, smiling at Steve as you watched him push into the room, flurries of snowflakes trailing in through the door behind him. The memory of you kissing him on the cheek the night prior raced to the forefront of your mind, your eyes widened slightly, your cheeks growing warm as you rushed off before he had a chance to confront you about it. You had felt guilty about it, he was your boss, now you've probably made whatever small relationship the two of you had extremely awkward. You looked around as you headed back to your desk, expecting him to emerge from nowhere at any second. You froze when you noticed a red, heart shaped box, all wrapped up with a matching satin bow. ‘These chocolates will never be as sweet as you, but they're the closest thing I could find.’ you smiled as your eyes drifted over the familiar neat script. Once again, the card contained no clues as to who your secret admirer might be. You carefully undid the bow and lifted the lid to find a stunning box of extravagant assorted chocolates. “Another gift from your prince charming?” Linda asks with an excited grin as she roughly tossed her purse and jacket into her chair.

“The funniest part is… these definitely weren't on my desk when I got here. They must have just been dropped off.” She eyes you curiously before looking around at the possible suitors within the small space. You noticed her lips pull into a smile as her eyes locked onto someone.

“Well, good morning Mr. Raglan.” Your blood turned to ice in your veins at the mention of his name.

“Good morning ladies, I hope you're having a good day so far.” You reluctantly turn to face him at the sound of your name. “Another present?” His eyes dart down to the half open box before returning to your face.

“Um, yes sir.” You squeak in response. “Still no name though.” You giggle.

“Shame…” he trails off as he studies you. “I hope he reveals himself soon, I'd like to know who's keeping that pretty smile on your face.” He winks before quickly turning and heading off.

“Something happened between you two, I can feel it.” She narrows her eyes, passing you your own mug of coffee as she settles in with her own. “Spill.”

“So, remember how you brought up that whole flirting thing?” She nods. “Well, I may have pushed things a little further than just, you know, giggling and fawning over his muscles, right?” Her silence was making your nerves run rampant. “I may or may not have kissed him on the cheek when we were parting ways last night.” She gasps your name in shock. “It felt right, okay!” You yell-whisper. “He walked me out to my car, I had already been flirting with him a little bit earlier, he was being his usual sweet and handsome self… I don't know what came over me, it just sort of happened.” You bury your face in your hands.

“What did he say?” She pushes your shoulder lightly to regain your attention.

“I don't know, I got in my car and I left.”

“Are you kidding me? You kissed him and then just walked away?”

“On the cheek!” You rush to clarify.

“On the cheek or not doesn't matter, what if that could have turned into something more?”

“Doubtful-”

“But how do you know?” Your mouth snapped shut at her statement. “Give yourself a little more time to feel things out, but I would say after that you should definitely try to make things a little more serious.”

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You tapped softly against Steve’s office door, a pile of folders situated neatly in your grasp. He calls you in, his back facing you as you enter the room. You wait patiently for him to finish up the phone call he was on, jumping slightly as he slams down the receiver. He groans as he spins in his chair, massaging the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “I swear, they always stick me with the worst damn clients.”

“It's because you’re the best career counselor in the state, if anyone can solve hopeless cases it's you.” You laugh softly, Steve brightens up at the compliment.

“Why thank you bunny.” He says before letting out a quiet chuckle. “I don't know about the best, but flattery will get you everywhere young lady.” He winks at you, making your cheeks grow warm.

“I brought you Mr. O’Malley’s file, along with the applications and other paperwork for the company's we work with that hire people with criminal records. Is there anything else you'd like from me?”

“For you to come to dinner with me tonight.” The request rang in the otherwise silent room like a gunshot. You could hear the blood rushing behind your ears as you processed whether or not you had heard him correctly. “You've been working a lot of late nights, if it's alright with you I'd like to handle things for you for a change.” He smiles warmly at you, you stared back at him with a shocked, empty expression as your mind struggled to catch up with your words.

“I…” you trail off, the warmth in his eyes quickly turning into an expression of panic.

“Sorry if I overstepped, you can say no I won't be offended.” He hurries to apologize.

“Steve.” You jolted slightly at how forceful your own voice came out. You sucked in a deep breath in an attempt to steady your pounding heart. “I would love to. You didn't overstep, I'm just… surprised?” It came out as more of a question but that felt fitting for the moment. You were beyond excited, still not fully believing that he had just asked you to dinner.

“Why's that rabbit?” He rests his chin in the palm of his hand as he leans on his desk, his expression more perplexed than anything else.

Your hand slid over the cool metal doorknob. “It’s just kind of hard to believe that the most handsome man I've ever met is asking me to have dinner with him later.” Your lips pull into a coy smile. “I'll see you later tonight, Steve.” You quickly slip out of his office, heading quickly back to your desk. You decided it was best to wait to mention this to Linda, your nerves were already running rampant as it was. You tried your best to get through the rest of the work day without looking suspicious, but her sharp eyes noticed how frequently you checked the time, how you nervously flipped your pen in between your fingers as you sat idly at your keyboard.

She swivels her chair to face you, her long acrylics drumming rhythmically across the desk. You internally cringe as you watch her eyes narrow. “Spill-”

“He asked me to dinner.” The pressure was immediately too much. “I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want to be thinking about it all day but I can't stop.”

“I'm sorry, you didn't want to tell me about the biggest development in your love life since I've met you? He's so into you, this is going to be great!” She tries to encourage you.

“What if he doesn't like me? What if I'm boring or I'm not what he thought I would be like outside of work?” You start to ramble out your anxieties.

“Slow down, that's not going to happen. You are so cool, I need you to remember that.” She starts to dig around through her purse, producing a few makeup products and some tissues. “Go touch up if you want to, I can hold down things here.” You quietly thank her, heading to the bathroom to freshen up your makeup.

The remainder of the day crawled by until five o'clock eventually rolled around. Linda sat at your side, fussing over your hair and trying to convince you to remove the sweater you were wearing to reveal the slinky black cocktail dress you were currently wearing as a skirt. “I'm going to freeze to death.” She practically throws her jacket at you.

“I know exactly which dress that is, you look hot as fuck in it. Give me the sweater.” She orders. You groan and reluctantly pull it over your head, tossing it at her before standing and slipping your arms into the satin lined sleeves. “Heading out, Mr. Raglan?” She couldn't hide the excited tone in her voice as you heard his heavy footsteps approach behind you.

“As long as this pretty little thing is ready to go.” You turn to face him, your cheeks warm as you try to hide your flustered expression. “You look beautiful, rabbit.”

“I'll see you tomorrow Linda.” You smile as he offers you his arm, guiding you into his side as you leave the building together.

He opens your door for you, holding your hand as you lower yourself into the impeccably clean vintage muscle car. He slides into the driver's seat with a soft groan, his gold framed aviators glinting in the setting sunlight. A smile spreads across his face as he studies you in the seat next to him. He silently starts the car, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he turns to back up. As he sits back down his arm remains in place, his large warm hand settling on your arm and pulling you to him. You lean in and place a soft kiss to his cheek, your eyes immediately darting down to your lap. He chuckles, taking your chin between his fingers and running his thumb over your bottom lip. “You better be careful, you might get yourself into trouble doing things like that.” He chuckles, watching your eyes widen under his hungry gaze.

Steve drove you to a cute little bistro that overlooked the river that ran through town. With you tucker safely away into his side to brace against the cold he led you inside. You were sat in a corner, tucked away from everyone else. He ordered for you, wanting you to just enjoy your evening. “Thank you for coming with me.” He says with a bashful smile.

“Thank you for asking me.” Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched his large, calloused hand reach across the pristine white table cloth to envelope your own.

“The Valentine's Day party is tomorrow.” He suddenly chimes in. You hum in response, eyeing him curiously. “Have you decided if you're going or not?”

“I've definitely been considering it. At the very least I'd get to see you, if anything.” You smile warmly.

“You're sweet.” He gives your hand a soft squeeze. “I'll never understand why you willingly choose to spend time with an old man like me.” Your eyes snapped to him, your heart beginning to race as you debated just putting all of your feelings out into the open.

“Well,” your voice shakes when you finally find the nerve to speak, “that's because I-”

“You folks have a wonderful night.” Your jaw snaps shut as the waiter approaches your table to drop off your check.

“You, what, rabbit?” You search his features for a moment, the building confidence spurring you forward had fizzled out in an instant. You slowly pulled your hand out of his, folding it neatly in your lap, he quickly copied your motions.

“I just think you're really easy to talk to.” You mumble, fidgeting with your fork in front of you. “It should be me who's confused.” You try your best to force out a laugh. “I'm just some dumb little post grad who can't find a job in her field, I'm nothing special Steve.”

“Did you know, it took me seven years to find a job in my field after I graduated college?” His voice came out gentler than you had ever heard it. “Bunny just because you're at a different point than you thought you'd be by now doesn't mean that you're not special or that you're falling behind or any way you could look at it. I look forward to coming to work everyday not because I give a singular fuck about what I do, let's not get that confused.” His crass statement made you giggle, you notice your lightening composure made his shoulders relax slightly. “I look forward to coming in every day because I know that you're going to be there. You're going to bounce into the office in your pretty outfits with your cute little heels and that infectious smile of yours… Honey, I know it's hard to see from the outside looking in, but you are a goddamn treasure to have in my life.” He chuckles. Your cheeks burned as you fidgeted with your fingers in your lap.

“Thank you Steve, it's nice to hear something so positive from someone I admire so much.” He settles your tab, walking to your side of the table to offer you his hand. You smile softly, allowing your fingers to ghost over his rough, calloused skin.

“I don't like seeing my girl looking so down.” You squeeze his hand, your fingers pushing through his as he gently tugs you towards the door. You rode back to the office in a comfortable silence. Steve's arm draped over your shoulder as you settled into his side, the warmth creeping into your body from his own making your eyes heavy. As you pulled in you were a bit reluctant to leave. Every subtle, slightly too long glance made your heart thrum, the way you pressed into him felt like a puzzle piece finally slotting into its perfect match. Being with Steve felt like home.

“I had a great time with you tonight.” You state softly in the small space.

“Same here rabbit.” He carefully reaches out, tucking some stray hair behind your ear. “I do have one more, albeit strange, question for you.” He chuckles.

“And what might that be?” You found yourself leaning in closer to him, your gaze slowly falling to his lips that were tantalizingly close.

“Will you dance with me?” As intoxicating as the idea of kissing him was, you were definitely more perplexed by the offer that had just materialized before you.

“I would love to.” Steve found a station playing some old love song, the trumpet’s lazy melody bringing a smile to your face as your stomach filled with butterflies. His strong arm slides around your waist, pulling you to him as softly as he could manage. He treats you as if you were made of glass, as if the smallest rough movement would have you shattering beneath his fingers. The bright light of the full moon made you glow before Steve's eyes.

“You look so beautiful rabbit.” He whispers. You allow him to effortlessly spin you around the pavement, your movements easily falling in time with his. The world around you faded away, leaving nothing but you and him and the dreamy, far off sound of the radio drifting from his car speakers. He dips you low, your body falling into his hands with complete trust. As you pull back up your eyes find his, striking silver that only seemed to draw you in deeper. He takes a step back from you, bringing your knuckles to his lips.

“You're a wonderful dancer.” You compliment with a soft giggle. He holds you close to him as he guides you back to your car. He opens your door, holding your hand in his as you lower yourself into your driver's seat.

“You're not so bad yourself.” He grins down at you, shooting you a wink. “Goodnight rabbit.”

“Goodnight Steve.” You couldn't keep the sad smile off your face as he turned to leave.

“You deserve someone who's going to choose you every day, not that it would be a hard choice.” He chuckles. “Bunny, you're beautiful, funny, kind, smart. Anyone would be lucky to have you by their side… especially me.” He states in a hurried tone before leaving you to sit in the still, silent night.

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The next morning started out just like any other. You went through your daily routine the same way you always did. But, you couldn't shake the memory of what Steve had said to you the night before. ‘Anyone would be lucky to have you by their side… especially me.’ You finished off your makeup before grabbing your coat and heading out the door. You greeted your coworkers in your usual chipper tone as you made your way to your desk. You were met with the sight of a small, yellow plush sitting on your desk, a rose situated neatly in his lap. You picked it up with a smile, rubbing its soft, velvet ear between your fingers as you study it. The note that was left with it contained a single sentence. But, those three words were enough to tell you exactly who your secret admirer had been this whole time. You struggled to keep your composure as you repeatedly traced over the neat script that you now recognized perfectly. “To my rabbit.” You breathe out through a laugh, your vision blurring as tears welled up in your eyes. You cradle the stuffed animal close to your chest, hurrying down to Steve's office. You didn't bother knocking, pushing through the door to find Steve answering emails, an alarmed expression on his face as he whips around to face you.

“Bunny are you o-” you wave your hand in front of him, cutting him off as you try to find the right words to say.

“I'm falling for you.” The confession hung thick in the air after it fell from your lips. Steve blinked a couple times, his brows furrowing together in confusion. “I'm tired of hiding this from you. I was worried what would happen if I told you, I mean, you're my boss, you could fire me right now and there's nothing I would be able to do about it.” Both of you laugh, the tension melting slightly at your small joke.

“I take it you found out who your secret admirer is.” A smile stretches across his lips as his gaze darts down to the rabbit in your hand.

“Why didn't you just tell me?” You sniffle, a tear trailing down your cheek. He pushes himself out of his seat with a soft groan.

“Because, I had convinced myself that you could do a lot better than me.” He takes your hands in his. “But, I'm starting to realize that's not true…” He smiles as he studies how small your hands were in his. “Sure, I can't give you all the money in the world, I can't buy you fancy jewelry at the drop of a hat, I don't live in a mansion…” he sucked in a deep breath to steady himself before continuing. “What I do know is that I want to be the one to pick up the pieces when your world feels like it's falling apart, I want to be the one to hold you tightly in my arms while we drift off to sleep at night. I want to be able to choose you day in and day out because I can't imagine a more perfect woman to fall in love with.” You looked away from him, your cheeks streaked with tears.

You reached out, grabbing him by his toe to yank him down to your level. His lips crashed into yours, two strong hands finding their way to your waist to steady both of you. As you tried to pull back you felt his fingertips press into the soft flesh of your hip, keeping you rooted in place as he drank in every second of this moment. You both separated with a soft gasp, your lungs burning with need for air. “Steve?”

“Yes my beautiful bunny?” He responds breathlessly, tilting your chin up gently with his finger.

“Will you be my Valentine?” He chuckles, no words were needed for you to know his answer. He captures your lips in a much softer, more tender kiss that leaves you feeling light headed.

“Does this mean I should get you more flowers?”

Tag List: @yellowbunnydreams @zoey5252 @loudchaosking @residentevilbeast @weirdoartist21 @lokanda @emmbny @yukkkiki @dij-ology @maria-moll (if you would like to be added please let me know!)

[84reedsy]

The Mentorship, Part 5

The Mentorship

Characters: Curt Hennig/FemOC , Scott Hall/FemOC

Parts 5 of ? (Parts not chapters, parts length varies)

Word Count: 4845

-----Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4----

Warnings/Considerations: Smut, Age Gap, Power Dynamics, Dirty Talk, swearing

A mandatory stop at a Waffle House did not improve her mood. She tried to stay in the car, but neither man was having it.

Scott opened her door, bending down to her level.

“Either you get in there or I'll throw you over my shoulder and take you myself.” He warned, Curt snickering behind him.

She was irritated by him still, even more so at his flirting now, knowing she was in a bad mood. 

She was the only one not in comfortable clothes and she stuck out like a sore thumb. At least the shorts held her ass in and it wasn't half hanging out. It was a small consolation.

As with any Waffle House there was little seating and she ended up sitting on the inside of the booth at the strong suggestion from the oversized men. Scott slid in next to her, his legs splayed wide open and pinning her as far in as possible. Curt sat across from her, ordering for her before she got a chance to speak.

“One waffle isn't going to kill me,” she mumbled, not looking forward to her egg whites and peppers.

“Yeah, but it might make those shorts tighter,” Scott pinched some skin around her waist and she squirmed, smacking his hand. Curt sipped his coffee, knowing that this slow rib was starting to build beautifully. The culmination would teach her a lesson she may never forget.

The next hotel was a little more stately, it had several floors and even a pool. She hoped she could get in a few laps before they left in the morning. Her shoulders fell when she realized she still had none of her things. 

She drug in bag after bag and lay them in the lobby. She was the last to get to the counter. She waited expectantly for Curt to give her their room info, but she could tell something was up.

“Looks like you are having the worst luck with rooms,” he said, “you gotta get in here quicker to get a shot at the good ones,”

“There can't be that many people here, the parking lot isn't even full. What,  do we have one bed again,” she held out her hand for a key.

“I don't,” he responded, pocketing his key, “or should I say, Ricky Steiner and I don't,”

Brinkley was stunned for a moment, she assumed she was misunderstanding him. 

“Do I have to get my own room?” She asked, “If you’ll recall, I don’t have my wallet,” she reminded him, a bit of hostility in her tone.

“Nah, you are sharing,” He replied vaguely, smirking, “after you bring our bags up,”

She couldn’t stifle her scowl; she was tired and achy and she’d been the butt of everyone’s joke for three days.

“Yeah, I lost this time,” Scott sauntered up to them, “I have to share with the rookie,”

Her breath caught in her throat and her mouth felt dry. Curt was already walking away, calling behind him, “Room 247,” and a chorus of others yelled out their room numbers as they headed for the elevators. 

Brinkley could have strangled every one of them, instead grabbing a luggage cart. She slammed the bags on it as she stacked them.

“Panties in a bunch?” Scott watched her amused, but grabbed a couple of the bags to help.

“You know, I wouldn’t know, because I don’t know where mine are,” She snapped a little, “they seem to have gone missing and like anything is going to fit under these shorts,” She rambled.

Scott’s eyebrows rose up again, his eyes darting to her shorts. She was probably right, those things were skin tight. 

“Probably should keep track of your stuff better,” He chided her, handing her a keycard as she turned to stare angrily at him. She snatched it out of his hand only to realize quickly after that she had no pockets. She jammed it in her top, hoping her boob and the material would hold it securely. 

At room 212, she dropped Eddie and Chavo’s bags - both tipped her generously. Again, she had to store it in her top. At 215, she dropped Steve and Lex’s bags and she noticed something familiar through a gap in the top flap. She grabbed the bag as Steve started to take it in his room, unzipping it completely to find the other parts of her ring gear. She snatched it from the bag.

“What about the rest,” she dug through it before he pulled it back.

“That’s all I’ve got,” He snickered, Lex holding up his hands in innocence behind him.

“I’m not involved in this at all, have a look if you want.” he motioned towards his bag still on the cart. She did and found nothing.

She stared sharply at Scott as they left the room.

“Hey, at least you found some of it.” He shrugged. 

She was going through Kevin’s bag as he answered his door. 

“Ah, she figured it out?” Kevin asked, leaning against the door frame amused as she yanked her things out of his bag.

“Yeah, she’s pretty quick, Stinger kind of messed it up though, left his bag open,” Scott explained. She zipped it roughly once she was convinced she had everything. She shoved it at him roughly and left, turning her nose up at his tip.

“Oh, she’s got some attitude,” Kevin joked loudly. 

Again she was already going through Curt’s bag when he opened the door. He looked at Scott, impressed that she’d figured it out already. She didn’t say a word to him or Rick as she dumped their still open bags at their feet. 

“What, no goodnight?” Curt called after her as she drug the now much lighter cart behind her. 

“I think she’s getting a little snippy,” Scott slapped Curt on the shoulder, “might want to send someone to check on me,”

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME,” They both heard from down the hall, seeing that she had found their room and had gone inside.

“Well…good luck, brother,” Curt laughed, slapping Scott on the back now.

Scott stood behind her in the doorway, staring at the same single king bed in the middle of the room that she was.

“Yeah, sucks don’t it,” He stepped around her, carrying his own bag and tossing it on the dresser. 

Brinkley dropped her bag, now mostly full again. She began rummaging through Scott’s bag now, knowing a few things were still missing. Buried in the side of his bag were her wallet, panties, and bras. She tried not to think that he cherry picked these items, but part of her wondered if he did.

“Everything accounted for?” He looked through the shambles left in his bag, “Oh, nope, forgot one,” he held up a lacy excuse for panties, letting them dangle off his finger tip. 

She reached for them, only for him to lift them up higher out of her reach. She tried to grab for them again, but he kept them out of reach still.

“Oh my god, just give it to me!” She huffed in frustration, his height making it impossible to grab them. 

“Aw, c’mon,” He scoffed, you gotta try harder than that,” 

Frustrated and at the end of her rope, she grabbed onto his shoulders and leapt, her thighs gripping around his hips as she tried to climb him. Perhaps he was surprised by her tactic or repulsed, but she shimmied up him a little further and quickly grabbed them from his hand. It was then she realized, his other arm had slipped under her backside and was holding her on him. She stared at him for a moment, at a loss for words.

Scott knew the long game plan wouldn’t work out quite right if he jumped the gun, he was a little disappointed he couldn’t kiss her right now. It was a 50/50 shot between her liking it and her slapping the piss out of him. 

“Um…can you let me down?” She asked softly, not really wanting him to, but not knowing what else to say. She wasn’t sure he was going to grant her request, but slowly he slid his arm away and she slipped down his body. She fought blushing, burying the panties in her bag. She felt a little better now, relieved to have all her things back, but now she had the new issue of sleeping arrangements. 

“I…I’ll let you have the bed,” She motioned vaguely towards it, “I can just sleep in the tub or on the floor,”

“Are you fucking serious?” Scott laughed incredulously, watching as she grabbed a pillow and the spare blanket from the closet.

“Well…you get the front seat, why wouldn’t you also get the bed?” She shrugged.

“Well that’s bullshit. Got a girl in my room and she won’t even sleep with me,” He smirked, noticing her shiver a little. 

“Do you want me to sleep with you?” She controlled her reply, turning it back around on him. 

“Figured I’d at least be the big spoon,” he nodded towards the bed. 

“It’s alright, I’ll just sleep on the floor.” She tried not to imagine that scenario and how it might progress.

“Suit yourself, girl,” He shrugged and moved to leave, “Be back when I’m back,” 

Brinkley was sure she’d never been so relieved to not be invited out to the bar. She relished the long, interrupted shower again, happy to finally get out of her ring clothes. Her pajamas were only cotton shorts and a t-shirt, but they had never felt so comfortable. She tried to make a palette on the floor and watch a little TV, but the floor was insanely uncomfortable and she knew her back would regret the decision in the morning.

She knew he was teasing her earlier, but she had to think he wouldn’t really mind if she took up on the bed. It was huge after all. Even with his hulking frame, he’d have plenty of space. She wasn’t on the mattress 5 minutes before she was asleep. 

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

Scott felt buzzed, but was not completely out of it. The bedside lamp was still on, but Brinkley was out and clearly not on the floor. He turned out the light first, starting to strip down while standing over her. He was amused at the idea of her waking up to seeing him undressing right next to her. She might not find it funny, but he was pent up and horny from earlier and from spending the last few hours thinking about her panties. 

She did not wake and he walked to his side of the bed, flopping down in nothing but his boxers. She was turned away from him. He wondered why Curt had set such an arbitrary timeline, he didn’t really feel like waiting two weeks to get his dick wet. Curt had been vague with details on how she was, mainly Scott knew they had hooked up twice. Why the hell couldn’t he have gotten that mentorship?

He found himself absentmindedly watching her ass as she shifted in bed and licked his lips. He wondered if he could get a quick squeeze without waking her. He felt his cock stir as he thought, and his hand absentmindedly reached out. He ran his hand over her cotton shorts, gently gripping his fingers in. He felt the firmness and hummed to himself. He had to resist the urge to smack it. He would definitely get a few in when he had the opportunity.

He pulled his hand back quickly when she shifted a little. He occupied it now reaching under his boxers. He massaged and squeezed the stiffening flesh. Maybe if the poisons left the building, his mind wouldn’t be so consumed. Switching hands, he risked touching her again, gripping a cheek more firmly. She shifted a little more, straightening one leg while bending the other. Scott cursed at how easily he could slip his fingers down and test her waters. 

He released her ass, focusing on imaging what he hoped would happen. Curt had never mentioned any restrictions and Scott could think of a lot of things he wanted to do to her. 

Brinkley woke, groggy. She felt confused again as she had previously, but felt the familiar shake of the bed. Facing away from him, her eyes went wide as she processed what was happening. Again. 

This felt different though. She and Curt had a sexual history. She and Scott didn’t. She wished that was a different story, but as of now, they had nothing. She cursed to herself unable to turn over and take a peek as Scott groaned over his self-satisfaction. She was so curious, she considered risking it and if he thought she was awake...maybe he’d make a move. She only thought a second, realizing she’d have no idea how to be with a man she didn’t know very well, a man she wasn’t sure she could trust. 

“God that’s a nice ass,” Scott hissed to himself, his fist working faster along his pulsing shaft. He didn’t take his time, imagining her on her knees, his cock in her mouth ready to explode. He grunted as he started to cum, spurts flying from the tip. He didn’t direct it, some of it landing on her thigh, “Shit…” he cursed.

Brinkley felt the sticky mass land on her skin and her mouth hung open in shock. Did he just cum on her? Was it on purpose? Perhaps there was more on her clothes…she felt violated, but oddly enough turned on. 

Scott cleaned up his mess on himself, but did not want to risk waking her. Plus, the thought of his cum on her leg turned him on. She would be blissfully ignorant, unknowingly marked by his seed. 

He quickly shoved his cock back into his boxers as she turned over partially, her face now towards him. His timing was impeccable.

She was disappointed as she turned over and try to peer through her eyelashes. He’d already concealed himself. She felt a pulse between her legs and wished like hell she could cash in her pass with Curt. She needed sex, she craved the release.

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

The hazing eased up for the next couple of days, much to her relief. Her mind kept slipping back to thinking about both men she’d shared a bed with and that they’d ended up masturbating with her merely inches away. Perhaps this was a thing with wrestlers…Maybe they had to find some way to expend their energy if they hadn’t found a ring rat or some other company. But the longer she thought about it, the more pent up she felt. She hoped that her hotel situation worked out better than it had lately. She could use her own bed, but she could also use Curt’s company. She had a hopeful suspicion that if she used up her pass, he’d likely issue another one. Or maybe he wouldn’t limit her and just fuck her silly every night.

She shifted in the backseat as they drove through the night following their show, crossing her legs as her thoughts did little to calm her libido. It was either Curt or the fact that Scott came on her or maybe both, but she knew while she was alone she was going to take the chance to try and satiate her own needs. 

The guys were a little more excited about tonight, the motel they had planned on meeting at was across from a truckstop that had an attached strip club. She tried to convince them to let her tag along. She had no problem watching women dance or strip. She could appreciate beauty and sexiness as much as the next person, but none of them were very receptive to the idea. 

SHe only carried Scott’s bag to his room and her’s and Curt’s to the one they shared. Two beds graced this room. She was surprised how indifferent she felt about it. 

“Thought you’d be jumping up and down,” Curt voiced the same surprise.

“I’m just tired,” She lied, hoping he would leave soon. She had noticed another building across the road next door to the truck stop. She had an agenda that she couldn’t fulfill with people around, “You guys going to be out late again?” 

“Trying to get rid of me?” He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off. He could see she was definitely looking at him as she swapped for a t-shirt, expecting the strip club to be fairly hot. 

She was frustrated by how much she liked looking at Curt’s physique. Perhaps the fact that he was off limits is what added to his allure. 

She watched from her room window as the group filtered out to the strip club. Once she thought the coast was clear enough, she grabbed her room key and some cash from her wallet. She quickly jogged across the road and to the shop around the side of the truck stop. She almost changed her mind as she reached the door, the three X’s on the glass making her nervous. She had never been in a sex shop before and as she gathered the courage and opened it, she felt overwhelmed. 

She wasn’t sure what to expect but everything within view was explicit. She didn’t know there could be so many different shapes, colors, and types of dildos. Vibrators were everything from small finger sized buttons to cephlapod-looking monstrosities. She knew she was blushing even though she was by herself. There was an entire bookshelf of different lubes. She grabbed one small bottle that said it had a warming effect. Out of curiosity she put it in her basket. She got lost too long in the lingerie racks, deciding on something strappy and lacy just in case she needed to get someone’s blood pressure up. She almost laughed at the video section, the names got progressively more unhinged and the graphics on the boxes were laughable. She left that section quickly as a trucker approached her to try and make a suggestion. She put some distance between them as she found a section of dildos that advertised realistic looking and feeling phalics. 

Looking them over, she found one that mimicked Curt’s length, girth, and curve. At least she knew it would hit what she wanted. She dumped it in her basket and grabbed the finger-worn vibrator button as she headed to the checkout. She didn’t want to stay much longer. More and more people were coming in and she didn’t want to be surrounded in this place. She was relieved that they used plain brown bags, at least she wouldn’t have to explain anything if it was found. She felt eyes on her and saw the same trucker still looking at her. She pocketed her change and grabbed the bag by its handles as she attempted to flee quickly. She was stopped immediately as she ran into another person.

“Mamacita, why are you in such a hurry?” Eddie steadied her and glanced down at the bag she’d dropped, some of the items falling out of it. Her face reddened like never before, “Busy night planned?”

“I….I….it’s not what…I mean, I just,” She fumbled over her words, hurriedly stuffing the items back in her bag. She almost felt like crying. 

“Shhh, I’m just teasing, mija,” He tried to calm her, “Nothing wrong with it, don’t get all worked up,” 

“Everyone else is at the club,” She said, “I just get bored,” She shrugged, noticing the stranger’s eyes on her again.

“No judgment here,” Eddie held up a stack of magazines, but quickly lowered them.

“Eddie…” She still felt eyes on her, “This guy is acting really weird…could you walk me out?” 

Eddie turned around and the man quickly looked away, turning his back. 

“Absolutely,” He set his items on the counter to pay, “Stick by me,” He said, still staring at the man as if daring him to look again. Eddie walked with her to the exit and outside. 

“Go straight back to your room, don’t answer the door just in case. Anyone who needs in will have a key. I’ll watch you from here and make sure you get back,” he said, standing on the curb, watching to make sure no one followed her. 

She hurried across the road and before going to her door she made sure no one was watching. Once inside, she felt relieved for multiple reasons. She took everything from the bag and shoved it in her duffel, reserving only the somewhat familiar dildo and the lube. She read over them as she slipped off her pants and panties. She was sure they weren’t complicated, but she was still new to these things. She climbed into the bed and under the covers, leaving her shirt on just in case. 

First she slipped a drop of the warming liquid on her finger tip and touched herself. It only took a few moments before it did indeed start to warm and tingle. Brinkley felt herself relax completely as she rubbed her own sex. She thought of the men that had been toying with her lately. She could always use her experiences with Curt, but she pictured a fantasy with Scott, too. She imagined seeing him between her legs, his stubble burning her thighs. She wished she had been able to see his dick the night before…

She didn’t rush her orgasm, instead backing off when the tingles built too much. She teased her entrance with the tip of the dildo, slowly pushing it in as she arched off the mattress. She worked it in and out of her quickly soaking pussy. She came, but did not stop, whimpering and moaning as she continued to assault her sex. 

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

“Did you see that?” Scott pointed towards the tinted glass facing the road.

“What?” Curt’s eyes followed Scott’s finger. He saw Brinkley jogging quickly across the road, carrying a nondescript bag, “Oh…guess she’s got her own plans,”

“Wanna go fuck with her?” Scott said, receiving a look from Curt, “I said fuck WITH her,” He reiterated. They both turned to the talent on stage, otherwise occupied with their traveling companions.

“Yeah, this isn’t my scene anyway,” Curt downed the rest of his double whiskey shot. 

They took their time making their way over, hoping that she would be given enough time to put herself in a difficult situation. Curt listened at the door and grinned when he heard her moan slightly. He slipped his key in the lock with a painful slowness, careful to avoid making noise. Once the knob loosened, it clicked and he opened the door. 

Brinkley heard the click and quickly stopped her self-pleasuring, bolting up in bed, but making sure the covers were up high enough to hide her partial nakedness. She tried to hide her labored breathing as she looked toward the door to see Curt and Scott walk in. She looked entirely too casual.

“What on earth are you doing in here,” Curt knew instinctively that there were no clothes under those covers. The TV wasn’t on and she was just here sitting straight up in bed, she must’ve not known how obvious she looked. Her flushed cheeks didn’t help. 

Scott smirked at her embarrassed visage. The faint smell of her sex was in the air and he picked it up quickly. 

“Just getting ready to go to sleep,” She fibbed. Some guy was following me around the…truck stop earlier,” She expanded the lie, “So I’ve been on edge since then…glad it's just you two,” She wasn’t sure she could say glad in all sincerity. But she could say she was relieved it wasn’t a creepy stranger.

“Were you having a nightmare? You look a little…excitable,” Scott said, walking over to her bed, “Need someone to give you a hug?” he teased, one knee on the edge of her bed.

“Oh god, no,” she thought.

“No thank you…” She shook her head, “No nightmares here.”

“Aw c’mon, you can tell me if you’re scared,” His large hand dug into the comforter on the bed and started pulling it. Brinkley panicked, holding the comforter around her waist as tightly as she could, but it was no secret he was much stronger. She began sliding inch by inch across the mattress. This forced the dildo that was barely inside of her to slip deeper and deeper with every tug. She had to hold her breath to keep from moaning. 

“Stop,” She begged “Maybe you were the nightmare,” She tried to skitter backwards but keep the covers. It was a tug of war that she had no chance of winning. She glanced at Curt for backup. He just stood a distance behind them with his arms folded, looking amused and not at all like he was going to help her.

Scott stopped pulling the covers towards him and leaned over, crawling towards her on the bed. The dildo wasn’t moving but was buried in her and Scott’s actions were starting to drive her over the edge. She was mortified that she might cum any moment. 

Scott flopped beside her and muscled her up against him.

“Dreaming about me, huh? Can’t say I’m surprised,” He said with a cocky aire. 

“I said nightmare,” She countered,”Big difference.”

“Poor thing, you’re shaking,” His hand slid over the top of the covers to her thigh, “I should probably stay. Help keep those bad thoughts away,” 

Brinkley was desperate for him to stop touching her as her sex threatened to betray her restraint. But she found it difficult to voice that resistance - her subconscious not wanting him to stop.

Curt recognized that Scott may very well be attempting to uncover the truth of her activities and that he may pilot the situation into motion.

“I”m going to bed, Hall, unless you two can do it silently, it's gonna have to wait,” He had to stifle a snicker at the mortified look on Brinkley’s face.

“Cock blocking me again,” Scott shook his head, “Leave it to you, Hennig,” He backed off a little, looking down toward her lap and then back to her eyes. He smirked knowingly as if silently telling her he knew she was naked. His wink as he turned to leave shook her a little.

“You’re a bad liar,” Curt was a little more openly amused now they were alone. 

“I’m not lying,” She defended herself overzealously as she tried to scoot back towards the headboard without slipping out from under the covers and prove him right.

“Baby, I could smell you the second I walked in the door,” He slipped his tshirt off and began undoing his belt as he stood at the foot of her bed, “You think I don’t know where that bag is from,” He didn’t have to point it out for her to know what he referred to. She didn’t know how he knew, but knew she had been caught red-handed.

She watched him, biting her lower lip as the dildo was still partially inside her.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” She defended weakly, “I just went across the street, I can do that if I want to,”

“Scott was about two seconds from fucking you,” he teased her.

“No he wasn’t,” She argued, unconvincingly. She watched as Curt let his jeans fall and slipped off his boxers. Her stomach flipped a little when she saw his partially hard member. 

“I’m not fucking you,” He stated, crawling under her covers, “But…doesn’t mean I can’t help you,” He reached out and grabbed her thigh, pulling her over to his side and spreading her legs. 

“Curt, you do’t ha- god, yes,” She fell back onto the bed as his hand explored, finding the apparatus she’d been using, he worked it into her rapidly, making her squirm and moan his name.

“No no no, you know what I like to hear,” his breath was on her ear, his tongue licking up the sensitive edge.

“Yes, Daddy,” she purred, enjoying the lack of control she had over her own sexual dominion. He kissed her neck roughly, his teeth barely avoided leaving marks. He used his free hand to direct her’s to his cock.

“Be a good girl and play with Daddy,” he murmured into her skin, groaning as he slickened fingers gripped and stroked him. He could feel his skin unusually warm. 

He drove her to another orgasm, not slowing the rapid pumps as she bit her lip to keep from screaming.

Curt hissed through his teeth as she toyed with his tip, flicking the ridge on the underside. A plastic bottle bumped into his thigh.  He grasped it, pulling it up to read. 

“I see…naughty,  naughty girl,” his voice sounded more like praise than admonishment.

“You seem to like it,  Daddy,” she lengthened and slowed her stroking.

“Do you hear me complaining,” he leaned down to kiss her, swallowing her sudden gasp as he began to fuck her with the new toy roughly.

[avintagekiss24]

leave out all the rest | c. beck

→ pairing: chris beck x black!reader

→ word count: 5387

→ warnings: 18+ ONLY, smidge of angst, smut, sex, breeding kink, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, hand job, explicit language

→ square filled: @badthingshappenbingo

flashbacks

→ request: chris beck + breeding kink + "babe, I’m never gonna finish this work if you keep doing that" + "I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that"

→ author note: dr. space daddy is finally here! this is also the first of my 5k celebration fics! all fics will be tagged #5k...holy god. thanks so much for the request @thedarkplume​! title from linkin park leave out all the rest (i loveeee this song); line divider by @firefly-graphics​; flashbacks are in italics. i also formatted this with the beta text post editor on desktop... so hopefully nothing looks weird and the italics/bold actually work... it is tumblr after all.

oh, hey, there’s a bit of a marvel crossover in this too!

Nervous doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel in this moment. Your stomach hasn’t been settled since you got the call two days ago. It’s been flipping and twisting ever since. Sleep hasn’t come easy either, but you’re used to that. Ever since Chris left, you haven’t slept well. It’s been almost seven hundred and thirty days— well, just three days short.

You follow the two tall military men, decked out in their dress blues, through the secure facility, your black leather combat boots thudding against the tile floors. Everything is white— the walls, the floors, the coats of all the scientists and doctors milling about— except for you and your flowery, thigh length sundress. Dark eyes wide, teeth nibbling on a sore, often bloody bottom lip from all the nibbling, small purse bouncing off one hip as a duffel bag bounces off the other.

Winding through corridor after corridor, pausing as the men lift their badges to keypads to get door after door to click open. An eerie quiet looms throughout the entire building, nothing but random beeps, your breathing, and footsteps.

Nervous doesn’t begin to describe it.

The walk gives you too much time to think about the last seven hundred and twenty seven days. All of the crying. All of the anger— the screaming. Chris trying to calm you down, assure you that they were okay— that he had to do this.

"It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?" You sobbed into the phone, staring up into the stars, knowing that he couldn’t but secretly hoping that he could see you.

"This is not easy for me," he choked back tears, his tongue heavy, "Leaving you is never easy but I have to do this, baby. We have to go back for Mark. We have to."

You didn’t answer his calls for over a week. And when you did, your words were quick and harsh.

"I can’t do this anymore. I’m moving in with my sister."

Chris was silent on the other end of the phone— too silent. He sighed after a while and just said, "Ok. I understand."

That was day four hundred and sixty three.

So you moved in with your sister. Got a job at the local bar, picked up every shift you could, sometimes working sixty, seventy hours a week— just so you didn’t have to think about him. It didn’t work. You’d still stare out the window at night, up into the big black sky and through the twinkling little stars, wondering where he was, what he was doing. If he was thinking about you.

Unbeknownst to you, Chris continued to call your sister. Just to check on you.

Day seven hundred was when two Air Force officers walked into the bar as you were cutting up lemons and oranges. Your stomach, in a perpetual state of tight and sour, dropped to your feet. It’s never good when the military comes knocking on your door.

“He’s dead,” you spit out, eyes watering, chest starting to heave, “He’s dead, isn’t he? They’re all dead.”

When they removed their hats, your hands flew to your face, covering your mouth to muffle the sobs. You just knew they were all dead. Humans can’t stay in space for this long. It’s not natural.

“No ma’am,” the taller, brown skinned man answered, a small smile breaking onto his face, showing off the distinctive gap between his two front teeth, “They’re back in our orbit. They’ll be landing within the next seventy two hours.”

It was a flurry after that. Phone calls, you moving back onto the base, protocol gatherings, interviews with local and national media. None of it mattered. You just wanted to see him— you needed to see him.

Not before his mandatory three week quarantine that is.

Day seven hundred and twenty five is when they called to let you know that he was ready to move onto the second phase of his integration back on earth. Two weeks cohabitating with another person of his choice, just to make sure that his body and cells can still tolerate, you know, earth— and that he doesn’t give off anything that could make earthlings sick.

They called to let you know that Chris chose you— if you wanted to, of course. If not, he could call his sister.

You were packing your bag before the call even ended.

After two days of getting tested for everything known to man, it’s now day seven hundred and twenty seven and here you are, passing through the last set of doors and stepping into a large observatory room. One of the General’s starts talking, but you don’t hear a word. You just blink slow, lips falling open as you stare back at Chris as he stands at the little square window of his living quarters. He smiles soft, running his hand through his short, dark hair before waving and placing his palm on the window.

Tears cloud your vision. Your chin trembles as a sad smile spreads on your face. A sob chokes in your throat and a warm tear streaks down your cheeks. Despite the talking man, you step up to the window and press your much smaller hand on the glass, spreading your fingers to match his. Chris rests his forehead to it and you do the same as you really start to bawl— shoulders shaking, face breaking, breath rushing fast and hard.

"Baby, don’t cry. Come on pretty, don’t— don’t cry."

Chris’ voice is muffled by the thick glass, but just hearing it— so close, so familiar— after so longs it’s just… it’s almost too much. It is too much.

“Ma’am, we can’t let you in there like this. We need you to calm down.”

Dense thuds shake the glass as Chris pounds on it, "Open the door, Sam!"

Sam grabs your bicep, gently, guiding you towards the door— Chris following you both, still talking to you through the glass.

"It’s okay baby, I’m right here. I’m right here."

“We need you to calm down,” Sam starts again, “He hasn’t been around—”

"Sam! Goddamn it, leave her alone! Open the door!"

“Beck! You cool it in there!”

"Don’t be an asshole! Open the door! She’s scared!"

You hear a scoff, “Step back from the window, Dr. Beck.”

"I swear to God—"

“Step back from the window, Dr. Beck.” Sam is stern now, pointing his finger towards Chris. 

Sam pauses for a few long seconds, blinking slow but keeping his hand around your bicep— and thank God, because you honestly need it, “I’m going to badge you into the hallway, okay? You take this keycard,” he presses it into your palm, “And put it up to the keypad at the second door after I close this door behind you. It’s only good for one passthrough— once you’re in, you’re in until the medical staff clears you both. Understand?”

The second half of his speech is softer, his thumb rubbing the back of your arm. You like Chief Master Sergeant Sam Wilson. You nod quick, rubbing at your face with the back of your hand, sniffling hard and focusing a shaky breath out through your teeth as you step in front of the door. There’s a loud click and the metal pops, Sam reaching past you to push it open.

Your body, on autopilot, takes three steps to the second door, eyes staring at the keypad on the wall beside it. Chris is still talking to you through the windows, one hand pressed to the glass, the other on the door handle.

"Just a few more seconds baby. You’re doing so good."

There’s another click— Sam closing the door behind you. Water fills your eyes again, emotion choking up in your throat at the gravity of it all. All of the screaming. All of the crying. All of the hating him and loving him and missing him for seven hundred and twenty seven days all culminating right here, right now, while he’s just three feet away from you. The sky used to be the thing keeping you apart— now it’s just a wall. A door— that you can’t walk through.

"Baby, Chris says gently, "Come on baby. Open the door, honey."

You’re frozen. Eyes locked on the keypad, fingers gripping the keycard so hard they start to burn. Open the door, honey takes you back. Takes you back to the day that he told you he was going up— that he’d be gone for a year.

“Open the door, honey. Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” You sniffle, staring at your reflection in the mirror in your small bathroom.

“You knew this was coming. I don’t know why you’re so mad.”

“A year? A year, Chris? I’m just supposed to put my life on hold for you for an entire year?”

He sighs through the door, “I’ve worked my ass off for this, you know that.” You do know that, you’re just being selfish. Needy and selfish, “I know we’ve got plans baby, but it’s just a year. One year and then I’m all yours—”

“Yeah, until the next time you decide to go up there. This is what Melissa warned me about. You get addicted to it.”

“I won’t.”

“You will,” you retort, “I know you.”

That makes him laugh, and then you’re laughing because he’s laughing, “Open the door, please.” Chris sighs again.

As soon as you turn the knob, he’s pushing through it, lifting you up off your feet and twirling you around— to make you laugh again.

You were standing on a precipice that night and neither one of you knew it. Your lives, both individual and combined, would change forever and that was the night that set it all in motion.

The keycard digs into your fingers and palm, bringing you back into the present. Back into the hallway, back in front of Chris. You blink, linking eyes with him again, finding them soft and down turned, his head tilted as he presses his fingers to the glass.

"Let me hold you," he says soft. So soft that the glass between you gobbles it up. But you just know that’s what he said. You just know.

The door clicks in your ear, a breeze is in your face as Chris throws it open, and then you’re consumed. Arms wrapped around you, hard chest against yours as you’re lifted right off of your feet. He’s so warm— he’s always been so damn warm.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, leaning back a little as you push your face into his neck, “This moment was the only thing keeping me going.”

“I’m sorry,” you sob, pushing your face into his shoulder, your tears wetting his NASA sweatshirt, “I’m so sorry, I was so selfish,” the words are clipped and broken, heavy on your tongue, “Chris, I—”

“Don’t. Don’t do that, it doesn’t matter.” He sits you back on your feet, rubbing your back with both of his large hands, “I’m the one that should be sorry.”

You cry openly into his chest, wrapping your arms around him and pushing your hands up into his sweatshirt, under the thin t-shirt underneath— just to feel his skin, “I missed you so much.”

One, two, three, four pecks of his warm lips on the top of your head before he rests his cheek there, holding you tight as he takes a deep breath, “All that’s over now, hmm?” you can feel the smile on his face, “We don’t have to miss each other anymore.”

-

A yawn pushes out of your mouth as you stretch out tight, sore muscles screaming. Eyes flutter as you shift, another deep breath pushing out your nose as you nuzzle your face into the pillows, body cocooned in warmth. You’re drifting again, quick, when an abrupt panic races through your veins without warning. Your stomach drops, skin instantly flushing with heat as you spring up, eyes as wide as saucers as your breath rushes.

That’s when you hear it, an all too familiar sound. A pencil, tapping slowly, methodically, against something. It calms you instantly. It’s real, you’re real, Chris is real, and you’re here. He’s here.

You swing your legs over the edge of the small bed, tucked in the corner behind a small partition. There’s a soft light glowing underneath it and a single red blinking dot emanating from the corner of the room— a camera. You push your hair out of your face but keep your fingers on your cheeks, closing your eyes as you focus on your breathing. In, out, in, out, in, out. There’s a murmur, Chris mumbling to himself and you can’t help but smile.

You stand and start moving towards the noises, padding soft and slow as his mess of brown hair and hunched back comes into view. He stands, switching out an X-Ray on the viewer before he plops back down into the swivel chair, staring at it for a second before he starts flipping through the large, open text book just to his left. There’s a little white board off to the right, leaning against the wall, the days he’s been “gone”, seven hundred and twenty seven, scribbled in his messiest of messy handwriting.

The little slice of time watching him sends you right back to your college years, waking up in his dorm room, finding the bed empty and him huddled over a too small desk, furiously flipping through a thousand page text book. You’d sneak up on him, just as you are now, barely dressed and sleepy eyed. Dig your fingers into his hair, scratch his scalp slow. Giggle as his shoulders slump and his head falls back a little, him moaning all the while.

“God, that feels good.”

“You let me fall asleep.”

“You cried yourself to sleep. Didn’t have the heart to wake you… you look like you haven’t slept in a year.”

“Hmm, more like two. What are you doing?” you ask, pushing around his side and crawling into his lap, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Looking at our X-Rays from earlier today. I’m working on another paper for the Institute.”

“Trying to see if you guys are still earthlings?”

He laughs, the sound rumbling through you, making you smile, “Kinda, yeah. Our body masses have changed dramatically— our bones are longer, I’m not shitting you.” You giggle again at the enthusiasm in his voice, “It’s just a few centimeters, but still. Our brain waves are a little different, metabolism has sped up… it’s incredible.”

You keep the small smile on your face as your fingertips drift over his chest, rubbing slow as you feel his eyes fall to you, “You should get back in bed,” he says, squeezing your knee gently, “You look so tired, baby.”

“Not without you.”

He laughs again, “My circadian rhythm’s all fucked up, I can’t sleep.”

“Then it looks like you're stuck with me,” you kiss his chin and then cuddle back into him, “Don’t mind me.”

Mind you, he doesn't. He just goes about flipping pages and scribbling down random thoughts, marking up his pile of x-rays and fumbling through his and the rest of the crew's medical charts. You push your hand up into the arm of his navy blue NASA sweatshirt, raking your nails up and down his forearm absentmindedly as you breathe him in. Your other hand wanders too, tracing the band of his dark sweatpants before skipping up into his sweatshirt, brushing over his stomach and up to his chest.

The pads of your fingers outline the muscles that are still there, his pecs, down and across his soft abs, before back up and over a cheeky nipple. He jumps slightly, crinkling his nose as he smiles big and hard, “Babe, I’m never gonna finish this work if you keep doing that.”

“Maybe that’s the point.”

“Oh, is that so?”

You bat two big eyes up at him, the weight of going almost two years without catching up with you right at this moment. A hum vibrates in your throat as you stand, taking a few steps away from him before you toss your eyes over your shoulder, licking your bottom lip before sinking your teeth into it. You hold out your hand, wiggling your fingers after a few moments, watching him drag his big eyes down your bare legs and then back up over your powder pink satin shorts and matching camisole.

“Come to bed, Dr. Beck.”

He’s up and on his feet before the words are out of your mouth. Warm fingers interlace with yours as the two of you move back towards the bed, falling onto the soft twin size mattress. His weight dips into the bed as he sinks his knees into it, pulling his sweatshirt over his head as you crawl towards the headboard. You draw your legs up, swaying them gently back and forth, palms flat on your thighs as you inhale deep, watching as he tosses his shirt to the floor.

The smile on your face grows larger as he crawls over you, pushing your legs open with his soft hands before he settles right between them. Chris takes his time looking at you, smiling soft as his eyes drift over your face, his index finger dragging down the bridge of your nose, over two full lips, and down your chin and neck. You let out a quick breath when the pad of that sneaky finger dips just inside your tank top— right into your cleavage.

He cups your face, his thumb resting on your lips, brushing gently, “I’m never leaving you again,” he whispers, blue eyes filling with earnest as they bounce between yours, “I mean it.”

You turn your head into his palm, pressing your lips into the soft, warm skin, planting kisses, “You promise?”

The delivery is breathless. Quiet. Small. Almost begging him to mean it. He takes a deep breath, pushes it out slow before leaning in, closing his eyes as he rubs the tip of his nose against yours. That’s when he kisses you— slow. Deep. Tongue pushing through your lips and into your mouth.  Massaging the roof of your mouth before sliding along your tongue. He even moans a little, lets his body— muscles, bones, brain— relax. Lets himself melt into you because it’s just been so damn long.

It ends slow, the kiss. Chris grabbing your lip with his teeth and pulling gently before he rests his forehead to yours. Eyes closed, his big, skilled hands and fingers flirting with your calves—pushing over your knees and then down your thighs to come to rest on your sides and hips.

“I promise.” You slide your hands up and down his sides, letting your eyelids flutter as he continues, punctuating his words with more gentle kisses, “We can start that life you’re so crazy about,” he laughs when you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, “Buy you a house.”

“On the base?”

“I thought you didn’t like the base?”

“I don’t… but I kinda... do.”

“Then yeah, on the base if that’s what you want.”

Your eyes are still closed as hot lips press against your face— the crook of your nose, underneath one eye, cheeks, and then chin. You push your fingers up into his hair as he forges a path with his lips and tongue— down your neck, over two collarbones, down your arm— all the while his hands move upward. Up into your silk top, nimble fingers playing with two tight nipples before he rucks the silk top up to your chin.

“Wait,”

“What?”

“What about them?”

“Them, who?”

Pointing with your foot towards the blinking red light in the corner, “Them.”

He laughs and you laugh, covering your face with your hands until Chris pries them away, “They’re nerds, babe. We’ve already made them so nervous they’ve left the control room.”

You honestly can’t remember the last time you laughed this hard. Not since he left you suppose. It’s a nice sound, for both you and him, filling up the small space, making it alive and lived in instead of clinical and dry, “That’s not nice, Chris!”

He shimmies the thin material up over your head, casting it to the floor, “It’s the truth! I should know. Remember the first time I saw you naked? I couldn’t look anybody in the eye for a week.”

The memory makes you laugh, soft and dreamy-like, “That was so long ago.”

Chris catches the tone. It makes him halt, for just a second, his eyes shifting away from you. Guilt. For holding you at an arm’s length for so long. For making you number two. For making you wait for him for so damn long.

You tilt your head, eyes searching his. Gentle hands claim his face, pulling him back into your strong gaze, “Stay with me,” you whisper, eyes bouncing between his, “You’re buying me a house.”

“Ah, yes,” with one fell swoop, your shorts are pulled down your legs, right over the tips of your manicured toes and thrown to the floor, “One story? Two?” He asks, back up on his knees.

“Umm, maybe just one,” You answer, sitting up, slipping your hands into the dark sweats still covering his bottom half, “A two story house is too much to keep clean.”

You pull, but not all the way. Just enough to see his hips and that little tuft of dark hair underneath his belly button. You can’t help yourself and lean forward, kissing his stomach, giggling when he jumps a little. When you do it again, kiss him, and then a third time, and a forth, he gives in. Sweeps your locs over your shoulders and pulls them into a ponytail in his hand. That’s when you hook your thumbs back underneath the thick band of his sweats and pull a little harder, pushing the material right over his hard cock, making it bounce.

Chris kicks out of the sweats, grabs your face in his hands and tilts it upward. Leans down and kisses you again— soft. Sweet. All while rubbing small circles into your cheeks with his thumbs. He stays there, forehead to forehead, eyelashes spread over his buttery, quickly blushing red cheeks as you palm him, dragging your hand from the base right to the tip.

It doesn’t take much— never has. After a few strokes, he’s wet and red all over. Chest, neck, cheeks. Mouth agape, pulling in ragged breaths as his eyelids flutter. He swallows hard, and then hums quick, deep and throaty before inhaling through his open mouth. You push upward, kissing him as you continue slow strokes, sweeping a thumb over his wet tip.

Fingertips brush along the inside of your thigh, down low, first by your knee. Then, slowly, they skirt upward, not groping or kneading, just brushing— flirting with your skin until they reach their destination. You gasp, mouth falling open as adept fingers— not only just in general, but with your body specifically— push through wet folds.

“One story it is then,” he breathes, hot, unhurried, “A dog and a,” he slams his eyes shut, hissing and grunting when you squeeze him, “Fuck baby,” he swallows again, lips trembling as he nuzzles in, rubbing the tips of your noses together, “A dog and a cat.”

Your free hand wraps around his neck, fingertips pushing into his hair as your head tips back, hips start to shove forward, eager for his touch— wanting those fingers inside. When Chris obliges, sinks his index and middle finger into your cunt—  touch starved and needy— you mewl. Making a real sound for the first time in seven hundred and twenty seven days. It enlivens you both.

Chris pushes you back, lays you back onto the small mattress, spreads you out. Keeps his fingers inside, pumping slow, curling, massaging. Thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing. He lays between your legs, coming face to face with your most intimate and blows gently. Warm air sticking to balmy flesh. Big blue eyes flick up to yours, then back to your sweet, licking his lips as a squelch fills the room.

His tongue darts out, slips along the inside of your thigh. Your hips react instantly, jutting upward as a sharp breath fills your chest. A long arm pushes up your body, fingers prodding your breast, tweaking a nipple before he palms the skin, but not for long. Within seconds, his fingertips are pushing into a willing mouth. Your tongue, swirling around thick digits as you grab onto his hand, holding it there.

Warm air tickles damp skin again as he blows on you, “Have some babies,” he offers quick, the words muffled by your flesh as he finally laps at you, tongue slipping through sticky folds, flattening against your slit as he massages the delicate, “How many you want, baby?”

Nothing but a bitten-off groan answers him. It comes for many reasons. His fingers somehow delving deeper, lips brushing over your cunt— the thought of babies. Little brown skinned, curly headed babies running in the backyard with that dog and cat. Wide smiles, complete with missing teeth, loud laughter, declarations of love as they jump into mommy and daddy’s arms.

“Oh yeah,” heavy words breathed into your ear, a hunk of man now laying on top of you, cock pressing at your opening, “My pretty girl wants babies,” the wetness makes it easy for him to slide in— all the way in— bury deep, “I’m gonna give them to you. You’ve been so good.”

He’s moving, hips pushing and pulling as he cups your face in his hands, presses his forehead to yours, “I’m gonna fill you up,” he mutters, swollen lips brushing against yours, “Stuff you— full of— my, fuck,” a deep moan, another quick hiss as he bites his bottom lip, overcome by the warmth, the wet— the tight, “Fuck, you feel good.”

Feverish lips are on yours again, teeth nibbling as his hips shove into you. Soft and swift. A palm covering your breast, fingers pressing, kneading and working sensitive, responsive skin. Nipples hardening, heat blooming across an ardent canvas of skin, pulsing hips eager to meet his.

Chris cups your chin, pushes upward so you're forced to keep slitted eyes on him and him only, “You want my babies? Hmm? Tell me baby,” you can only whimper in response, digging your nails into his sides, drawing your legs up and around him as he plunges deep, “Come on honey, use those words. Tell me how much you want my babies.”

He fucks into you hard, jamming his hips just once— the sound of skin on skin slapping out loud and off the walls. It arches your back, the sudden, quick thrust. Sends you right up into his chest. Chris pulls you into his lap as he falls back on his ass, extending his legs, heels digging into the mattress as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close and tight, fingers spreading out on your back.

Hips roll into one another. Fingers grip his calf as you lean back, hot, sloppy lips on your chest, over and between bouncing tits. A taut nipple pulled right into his wet mouth. Slippery tongue swirling and flicking, teeth nibbling before he sucks on the tight nub, teasing it further.

Then he’s holding your hips, forcing you down onto his cock. More rushed, sticky words falling from swollen, red lips, “You want me to fill you up? Hmm? Tell me.”

Tears slip down your cheeks, overcome by it all. The emotion of it, the physicality of you and him tangled together— the words, how many years you’ve waited to hear those words.

“That’s right, sweet girl,” he purrs, thrusting harder, faster, “You want me to come in you, don’t you? You’d love it if I came in you, huh? Knocked you up? Gave you a baby?”

You kiss him hard. Cupping his face, moaning sweet into his wet mouth, “I want it,” it’s breathy— desperate, “I want it, Chris. I want it.”

“Then I’ll give it to you. I’ll give it all to you.”

It’s feverish after that. Pushing and pulling. Grunting, smacking— lips on lips, skin on skin. Large hands gripping, fingers pressing into the meat of thighs and calves and ass and tits. His fingers grip the meat of your thighs, your ass, slide up your back— around your neck as your head falls back. Those fingers find your mouth, push just inside as he wraps his other arm around your waist, pulling your hips closer, helping them rock.

His fingers are out of your mouth, cupping your cheek now. Smoothing hair out of your face as it strains. You try not to get loud, slam your eyes closed, purse your lips as your toes curl and stomach tightens… heart flutters.

“Oh no,” he murmurs, brushing his thumbs over your closed eyes before prodding at your lips, “Don’t do that, honey. I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that. Come on, let me hear you.”

“No, I—“

“Don’t be modest,” his tone shifts, going stern and deep, and that’s all it really takes for the noise to flow, “I wanna hear you.”

But he knew that.

It’s a sweet little hum, and then a gasp before it’s clipped by an obscenity— a shaky, desperate, filthy word that dissolves away into a loud groan and then… it’s all downhill from there.

You couldn’t hold it in if you tried. It’s been too long. A pent up aggression, a nervous need all finally working its way out of you. You pull him close— crush your chest against his, wrap two liquid arms around his neck, press your face right against his. Chris loops an arm around your waist, squeezing your opposite hip, pressing his fingers right into the soft skin until it hurts.

But it’s good, the pain of the squeeze. It helps you right over the edge, makes you finally cum after seven hundred and twenty seven days. Slow at first. A warmth just taking its time as it spreads. The feeling sort of foreign because it’s been so long— your brain hasn’t caught up just yet.

When it does catch up, brain and body finding each other, dormant synapses kicking on with a jolt, it’s not just a warmth. It’s molten now, searing and stirring, passing through veins and muscles and skin and bone— it’s that deep. Toes curling so hard they go numb, fingertips digging into his shoulders as you throw your head back.

You’re sure the scientists and military guards can hear you three floors down.

Chris leans in, hot, wet, shiny lips pressing against your chest, over your tits with sloppy kisses, hips still churning into yours until they just can’t. Wet walls closing in, clamping down as they spasm, that molten enveloping him. His hips freeze quick with the first spurt, but find a haphazard rhythm as he comes. Fills you up just like he promised.

He pushes those warm blooms of silk deep with now pointed, long strokes. Not a drop escaping— it’s all for you, after all. Supply and demand and all that.

The mattress is a dream beneath you. Inviting and soft as he lays you into it, still rooted deep as he rolls you onto your side. An arm snakes around your hip, a palm and long fingers anchoring in the center of your chest. A hot, flushed cheek presses against yours as lazy wet lips drag along the back of your neck. Languid thrusts at random intervals keeps you gasping as he tucks his knees and thighs into the backs of yours.

“Say it again,” you whisper after a few quiet minutes, breath still heavy, chest still heaving.

Chris plunges into you again, soft and sweet and deep, “Say what, honey?”

“That you won’t,” the words break off, a moan replacing them as he kisses a trail down your arm, fucks into you once, twice, three times, “That you won’t leave me again.”

“I’m not leaving you again.”

-

When you wake up the next morning, that little whiteboard with the days scribbled on it is erased. All it says now?

Day one.

[lilac-castle-in-the-sky]

Ulterior motives - part two

Summary: An unexpected opportunity and a hard choice to make, will the reader follow the path of the rightgeous or give in to temptation?

warnings: reader has a bit of a villain arc, swearing, violence, smut, unprotected sex, zemo eats ass, fingering, dirty talk, age gap, John Walker.

A small but important note: So apparently Daniel Bruhl is in my city this weekend to speak at some conferences at the Hay Festival and i only realized because i saw him today from afar just walking around the general vicinity where this is taking place and i got the feeling that if we made eye contact he would know so i spent the rest of my day feeling self-conscious about this fic lol.

Part 1

Sam and Bucky were mad at Zemo after his little stunt at Madripoor, you couldn't say you blamed him for his decision, or that you hadn't seen it coming, as soon as he started wandering around the lab, letting Sam and Bucky take control of the interrogation you knew he was plotting something, but by the time you tried to warn Sam it was too late.

At least he was consistent, you could admire conviction in a person, much like Steve Rogers, Zemo had a strict moral code he adhered himself to, albeit way less altruistic, few people from your old life believed in a thing the same way he did, and well, apart from Sam, so adamant about saving the little psycho running around playing revolution, you hadn't met anyone else who did.

Donya was your only piece of the puzzle now, but with the last couple of days being so intense with the traveling and fighting, you all agreed a few hours of leisure in the Baron's fancy apartment was much needed for the mission.

If Sam and Bucky had heard your nightly activities in Madripoor, they had said nothing about them, but this entire mission had you thinking about what you were going to do once everything was over and you had to go back to the States, and Sam, being the type of friend that he was, had noticed you were quieter than usual, so he waited until Bucky went out and Zemo occupied himself in the kitchen to take a seat next to you on the couch.

“Are you ok?” It was so weird to have someone asking you that question, even after all the time you spend with him moving from one place to the next, that kind of company and friendship still felt foreign.

“I told you I can handle Zemo, stop worrying” the man in question was currently opening and closing kitchen cabinets, mumbling about Turkish delights.

“You know I didn't bring you here to be my bodyguard right? Just for the muscle. I know you are having a hard time adjusting back in the States, i thought you needed the reminder that you did the right thing once and it was the correct choice”

“I know” you didn’t regret joining them when you did, or helping out with Thanos later, but the aftermath of your good choices had been unexpectedly underwhelming.

“But it is a choice you gotta keep on making, y/n” you groaned, falling back against the couch.

“I'm trying” you said, finally able to look Sam in the eye, his hands were full enough already, he didn’t need to worry about your own internal drama.

“Your boss told Sarah you threatened a client”

“He was trying to use an expired coupon and started calling me names when i wouldn’t let him!”

“it happens, i get it, people are dumb like that, but you can’t threaten every client that comes into the store with an irrational request” in your mind if you did it enough times maybe they would stop coming, but you could see how that would be bad for business.

“listen i know you have your own internal struggle with being Captain America and what not but….your government, they don’t want me to do good things, or to be the good guy, do you know how many times i found CIA operatives fucking shit up in other countries? If this is the correct choice, why doesn’t it feel like it?” he seemed to think about it for a second, sinking down into the couch with you, he gave you a soft smile and sat up straight with new resolve.

“I'll find something when we go back, I promise" he chuckled and stood up, giving you a friendly pat on the shoulder "If not for your sake, for your poor customers”

“Sam?" he turned around "thank you for worrying” you had the urge to say sorry too, but couldn't figure out why.

Bucky came back not much later, putting a time constraint on your mission with the information about the Dora coming to take Zemo, you were smart enough to know that wasn't a problem you could punch your way out of, either you found Karli or they would take your golden goose, Zemo however seemed not at all worried to have the Wakandans after him, which made you believe he had a plan.

you kept an eye on him on your way to the refugee camp, you knew he wouldn't try to scape until he could make sure the super soldier serum was destroyed, but he was also a methodical man, if he was going to scape he was probably already moving all the pieces on his board, and if he could plan 3 moves ahead, it was your job to plan 5.

You didn't see any harm in him wandering off to talk to the children, you hadn't miss the sadness in his tone when he explained the sweets he kept in a jar had once been his son's favorite, you knew what it was like to lose people you loved, the longing for the warm feelings they once provoked paired with the fear of losing it all over again, maybe that was the reason why you felt so uncomfortable with your new life, it was starting to resemble a life you had once loved and lost, you had always thought you weren't the kind of person to run away from your problems, but maybe you were wrong.

You realized too late of his true intentions, by the time you came close to the small group of children he had gathered, they were already running off with the pile of candy the Baron had used to bribe them, the smile he gave you as he stood up only confirmed the fact that he had managed to get the upper hand, so you returned to the apartment with no other alternative than to wait for the memorial service to happen.

Bucky went out again after losing his temper and breaking one of Zemo's teacups, you gave him a bad look as the super soldier left the place and then observed as Sam retired himself to one of the rooms to work on his wings, he definitely knew how to push their buttons, but he had yet to learn how to push yours. You took the cherry blossom tea he was offering and sat on one of the stools by the kitchen isle, observing him as you took a sip of tea with enough of a death glare to make him uncomfortable

“I don't expect your motivations to align with ours" you started "but Sam and Bucky are my friends, so if you do something to hurt them, or that could cause them to get hurt, i will make you pay"

He observed you, brown analytical eyes scanning your face, but your expression didn’t change, you needed him to know you were serious, and a few orgasms weren’t enough to make you forget who he was.

"Understood" he said finally, and took a sip of his tea, you nodded.

You hopped off the stool and looked around before finally deciding you were in the mood for a long bath, he had been spending a lot of time in that bathroom so the tub was probably heavenly.

“Do you have any clean towels in there? I want to take a bath” you asked, pointing to the door, the Baron’s head tilted as a grin transformed his lips.

“I know something to help you relax even better”

You laughed.

“An orgasm won’t make forget who you are, Helmut”

“Just one?” he teased, smiling even wider when he noticed the blush taking over your cheeks “my hours of freedom are counted y/n, won’t you grant me one last wish?”

“Depends” you said playfully as you approached him.

“On what?” he grabbed your waist to push you closer to him.

“On what I’ll get in return” you got close, lingering over his lips as a smile grew on your lips, his hands dug into your waist.

“I promise you’ll like it” his voice was a whisper, and then you were kissing.

Hungry, passionate kisses as he guided you towards the master bedroom and then into the bathroom, he kissed you like it was the last time, like the moment he let you go you would evaporate in front of his eyes, his hands moved up your body to cup your face and hold you in place when the need for air became too big to ignore, he kept you in place, foreheads touching as you recovered your breath.

You tried to take your clothes off, but he stopped you, gently lowering your hand he whispered close to your face “let me”

His eyes were very intimidating, in the best way possible, even while fully dressed his brown gaze made you feel completely naked. He didn’t take his eyes off yours as he took of your shirt, his stare only interrupted when he passed it over your head, he didn’t lose any intensity as his hands moved around your body and to your back, unclasping your bra, his fingertips dancing lightly over your skin as he took the straps off your shoulders, it was impossible to hide the shivers.

You kicked off your shoes when he started unbuttoning your pants, he pulled them down along with your underwear, maintain eye contact even as he kneeled in front you and brushed the tip of his nose lightly against your naked sex, with your center already throbbing with need, you gasped at the contact and he smiled.

“my turn” you whispered, pulling him up, he didn’t protest when you started taking of his shirt, looking straight into his brown eyes like he had done with you, you took your time touching the naked skin of his torso you hadn’t touched before, feeling the way his breaths got shorter and shallower.

You could feel his hardness pressing against his pants when you started to unbuckle his belt, you maintained his gaze as you lowered yourself, pulling them down along with his underwear and leaving his erect dick right in front your face, you took him into your mouth and it was him the first to break the eye contact, throwing his head back and whispering in sokovian.

You took in as much as you could and then backed away, working your tongue around his tip and sucking it, he opened his eyes to look at you again, he gathered your hair with one hand and started to guide you to take more of him, gently pushing you until you gagged, he let you go back to the tip before pushing you again to go further each time until your eyes started to water and his dick hit the back your throat.

He groaned, keeping you in place with your nose touching his base until tears blurred your vision and then let go, letting you work him with your mouth and hands pushing him almost off the edge.

“You have a sinful mouth, krasivaya” he pulled you up, wiping the last of your tears with a gentle hand “how should I reward it?”

He kissed you then and started to walk you to the shower, closing the glass door behind him, he turned you around and started kissing your neck, he reached around your body with one of his hands to pinch your nipple and used the other to turn on the shower, but not even the water suddenly falling over you was enough to distract from the way his mouth moved in your neck, on the weak spot right behind you ear as he switched his hand to give attention to your other nipple. You didn't realize the showerhead was mobile and he had taken it out of the base until you felt the water teasing your inner thighs.

the first contact of the pressurized water with your core almost made you come, you fell forward to lean against the wall, feeling Zemo pressing his body against yours to give you more support, he moved the showerhead closer to your cunt making an almost pathetic moan escape you lips.

He moved the shower head then to make the water fall all over your body, your shoulders and abdomen and your already weak legs before teasing its return towards your cunt, the feeling making your legs shake and then gone when he moved the shower head again. You felt his other hand over your body, washing you with liquid body wash, slowly torturing you with every brush of his fingers against your skin as he teased you with the pressurized water on his other hand.

You held onto his wrist to keep him in place.

“I thought you wanted to shower” he whispered in your ear, doing circular motions with his hand, making it harder for you to answer.

“I wanted to take a bath”

“Isn’t this better?” it was, it was a thousand times better, until he moved his hand again letting the water fall over your inner tight, you let out a pathetic whine.

“Fuck! Helmut, let me come please”

“How can I say no when you ask so nicely?” he aligned himself with your entrance and entered you as his other hand directed the water at your cunt again, you moaned, moving your hips to meet his as the combination of the stimulation over your clit and him going in and out of you pushed you over the edge.

He didn’t gave you any time to catch a breath, turning you around again he grabbed one of your legs and hooked it around his hips to give him a better angle, he grabbed your face to make you look at him and only then he entered you in one swift motion.

You gasped, eyes widening as your pussy stretched around his length, you tried to throw your head back but his grip on your face wouldn’t give.

“No, no, no, no look at me” he moved inside you, drawing pleasure from the way your expression colored with ecstasy with each thrust, he started to say things in sokovian you couldn’t understand, he leaned in to whisper them into your ear and the only thing you could master as a response was to moan his name "you're fucking beautiful like this"

He held onto you, going faster and deeper until you walls started to pulse around him again, he moved his hand between your bodies to rub on your clit, so very sensible and responsive, you came with a cry, an almost painful pleasure as he readjusted your leg to be able to reach that spot inside of you that made you keep seeing stars and prolonged your orgasm enough for him to release his seed inside.

He caressed your cheek as he dropped your leg to the ground, kissed you again and washed you and himself and held your hand to help you step out of the shower, he was a perfect gentleman and it confused you. How could someone so ruthless be so gentle?

“My clothes are in the guest room” you said, he wrapped a towel around your body and used it to push you closer to him.

“Does that mean I get to keep you here for as long as I want?”

“No” you tried to push him away, but failed when his head fell to your neck and he started kissing the weak spot behind your ear.

“I think it does” he kept on kissing you, pulling the towel until you both fell in the bed and kept kissing even then until you were both out of breath, tangled around each other.

You stopped for a moment, examining his face, you couldn’t resist the urge to pass your hand over his hair to mess it up, or descend your finger over the side of his face, feeling the stubble he had yet to shave, his head tilted to the side and you could feel the question coming.

“Would you take the serum if you had the chance?” It made you laugh despite the seriousness of his tone.

“I would be a menace” the old you would’ve taken it, it could make you job a lot easier, and having superpowers was objectively cool, but the new you thought about the consequences of her actions more thoroughly …sometimes “I don’t have enough trust in my good qualities to do it”

It was weird to realize how much you had learned about Zemo in so little time, he didn’t say anything, but looking at his expression you realized he believed you, and respected you for it.

“Are you really going to let the Dora Milaje take you?” you knew it was a bold thing to ask, and for a moment you thought he wouldn’t answer, but he did, being honest with you for whatever reason.

“I no longer have a country to serve or a family to protect, after my mission with Karli is done I’ll pay for what I did” you rolled over on the bed to look at the ceiling, you had told Steve something similar when you decided to follow him, wanting to redeem your past sins by helping them, Natasha had recognized the burden you were carrying and accepted you with open arms.

“I don’t have one either” you confessed “country or family. When this is done, I’m going to leave”

Perhaps it wasn’t such a great idea to open your heart to a man that used secrets to manipulate people, but he was the only person you felt good confessing your thoughts to, he didn’t say anything more, and you stayed in the bed looking at the ceiling until it was time to go again.

You found an unpleasant surprise on the way to the memorial, or rather, it found you. John Walker in the middle of the street in full clown costume, proudly displaying the shield he didn’t deserve on his back, helmet on like he expected to find himself in the middle of a fight at any moment for whatever reason, he walked towards you, laser focused on Zemo until he seemed to register the fact that there was a person in the group he had never met before.

Your luck had run out, sadly. John walker was the result of a machine constructed to protect the interest of a few at the expense of the many, and you would've felt bad for him had he possessed even an ounce of self-awareness.

"Who the hell is she?” with you right in front of his face there was no need to address the other men present.

“An independent contractor, who the hell are you?” It was impossible not to know who John Walker was with the propaganda machine working so hard to make him look like a hero, but you knew how much it would bother a guy like him if someone didn't know his name.

“Great, so you break Zemo out of prison and then hire a hitman” he didn't have to be an asshole about it, he chose to.

“Not a hitman boy, but i can be if you don’t get out of our way” you took a step towards him, but felt Sam's hand pulling you back.

“Not now” he whispered, you hoped it meant you could do it later.

Walker and Jenkins joined your group then as you followed the little girl Zemo had bribed to take you to the memorial, she led you to a back entrance, to a room full of old machinery and you kept quiet as Sam negotiated with Walker for some time to reason with Karli, you thought he needed to stop picking up strays and making them his responsibility, but you weren’t going to argue with him on it since you were currently one of those people.

Zemo got handcuffed to one of the machines, which got a chuckle from you, and then Walker started pacing around the room adjusting every button and belt on his uniform like he were about to face the Chitauri all by himself. He clearly had issues that the people in charge were apparently not interested in solving.

And then, he started to push Bucky, you were planning on staying quiet, not wanting to provoke a fight within the group while Sam was trying to do the right thing, but Walker started to guilt trip him, which you weren’t going to accept.

“Sam said to wait, so we wait, he can handle himself” Walker scoffed at you, but didn’t get out of Bucky’s face.

“C’mon Barnes, you know this isn’t right” you could see Bucky’s jaw pressed so tightly together his teeth had to be hurting, the plates on his metal arm shifting as he opened and closed his fist, he didn’t dare to look at you, and you knew he had made up his mind.

“You don’t need to go Bucky” you tried, but there was determination in his eyes when he looked in your direction.

“I trust Sam, I do, but I don’t trust Karli” you didn’t trust her either but you thought if someone could reason with her it would be him.

“You can watch him if you don’t want to come” Walker ordered, pointing in Zemo’s direction, who had been oddly quiet during the entire exchange.

You observed as the three of them went after Sam and took a deep breath, the plan had gone to shit in less than half an hour and now you were stuck as a babysitter. You turned to the Baron, everything was fucked up already, there was not much damage he could do.

"Do you need any help with that?" you asked, right as he freed himself from the handcuff, it had been naïve of Walker to believe a former high ranking military officer like him would be stopped by a pair of handcuffs.

"No, i will present however, my most sincere apologies" it took you a second too long to register his words, by the time you processed what was happening he was already bending your arm behind your back and securing your wrist.

"what?” you should’ve expected something like this to happen, ending up in handcuffs was entirely on you, you reached for your gun as the Baron ran out of the room “fuck you!" by the time you fired the first bullet he was already out of sight.

It took you all but thirty seconds to get rid of the handcuffs and run after him, the place was a maze, corridors leading into closed rooms or circling back to the start, you had to stop and take a deep breath to pay attention to any sounds that might alert you as to where everybody was, You sprinted towards the gunshots as soon as you heard them, gun in hand ready for the action.

It took you way too long to find the room where they were coming from, which was now quiet as Walker stood over a mess of broken vials and Zemo seemingly unconscious lying on the floor.

He gave you a death stare as you approached, relieved – much to your own concern- to see the Baron’s chest going steadily up and down.

“I thought i ordered you to look after Zemo” either the man was provoking you on purpose, or he didn’t think you would actually do something no matter how many times he poked the bear with the stick.

“I'm not a babysitter and I don't take orders from you”

Sam and Bucky entered the room before Walker could respond or you could make the threat that had been lingering on your mind, they looked at Zemo, at the mess on the floor and Walker’s barely contained anger. You were relieved to see them well, things hadn’t gone according to plan, but it could’ve been a lot worst.

You regrouped at Zemo’s apartment, the Baron laid on the sofa putting ice on his cheek after having taken a pill for the headache, but even then, and he couldn’t keep himself from speaking. He asked Sam the same question he had asked you earlier, he didn’t hesitate in his answer, but you already knew he had that conviction with him, you admired him for it.

You listened in silence as the two of them discussed Karli and the serum. She was on the run again, but at least there was no more serum for her, or anyone else, to misuse, Zemo had completed his mission.

“Something’s not right about walker” Bucky entered the room announcing what everybody else already knew, and proceeded to blast Sam about giving up the shield again, you leaned against the kitchen counter, observing their exchange with a tired expression.

The repetitive discussion was interrupted by Walker barging inside the space like it was his own, demanding for Sam to turn Zemo in to him, the Baron stood up from the sofa as the brand new Captain America threatened Sam, you almost wished for a fight to break out so you could have a valid excuse to punch him the face.

Sadly for you, the Dora stepped in before anything could happen, entering the room with the spears looking regal, you were jealous of them when the fight broke out and they started kicking John’s ass.

“We should step in” Sam said, but you and Bucky were enjoying the show quite a lot. Not to mention you weren’t about to fight a Dora for John Walker.

Bucky gave in eventually, stepping in to help stop the fight, Sam jumped into action as well and you sighed as you observed the bodies flying around knowing you would have to step in sooner or later, except something caught you eye.

He thought nobody would notice him sneaking away in the middle of the chaos, but you did, or perhaps he expected you to notice, perhaps he wanted you to. You followed him inside the bathroom, gun drawn out, unsure of what to do, you had never expected this mission to bring you to the place you currently were in.

Zemo was waiting for you when you opened the door, he didn't look surprised at the gun you pointed in his direction and stood calmly as you took in the scene inside, the bathtub was pushed to the side revealing a tunnel in the ground, your mouth opened and then closed, knuckles turning white around the gun as you pondered what to do, a single word from you and Zemo's scape would be over...and yet.

“Step away from the tunnel Baron, or I will be forced to shoot you” your voice was firm despite the insecurity in your stand, something he picked up on, as well as the fact that you let the door close behind you.

“Ah, but those are not your only choices y/n, are they?”

Choice.

The world had changed so much it felt like a lifetime ago when you had decided it was worth leaving the life you knew behind to follow Steve Rogers, that world no longer existed, the person you were then no longer existed either. You couldn’t just go back and try whatever life Sam thought he could help you live, not in the store accepting insults with a smile, or working as tool for his government doing all the dirty work and being called a hero for it.

You hated being reminded of your own insignificance in the grand scheme of the world, but that was exactly the way you were feeling then, like your destiny was not your own, it was a feeling you didn’t want to get used to, a feeling you would have to live with if you stayed.

A choice.

Your life had been full of bad choices, forced choices you had to make to survive, and then the one you had made because it felt right, the one that had brought you here, Sam had said doing the right thing was a choice you had to keep on making, except the right choice wasn’t always so clear.

“With my resources and your contacts we can disappear, you know they will never let you free”

Sam may have good intentions, but your destiny wasn’t his decision, your stay in the US depended on the government’s hyper vigilance of your every move, after all you were just a foreign mercenary.

You lowered your gun took your phone out of your pocket and the intercom from your ear and placed it on the bathroom counter, was this the right choice? Was this just an easy way out for you? You bite your lip, listening to the commotion outside, you were going to miss Sam and Bucky, but leaving them behind didn’t have to mean a step back for you, this could be your next step forward.

You didn’t know into what, but you had to try.

The Baron extended a hand towards you and you took it, standing on the edge of the tunnel looking down into the darkness, you felt something hard pressing against your lower back, Zemo’s eyes were dark when you met them.

“I don’t take betrayal very well” he gestured towards all the things you had left behind, everything they could use to track you “is that everything?”

You grabbed the barrel of the gun and forced it away from your body without breaking from his eyes “I have made my choice”

He smiled then, a polite charming smile like he hadn’t just threatened you a few seconds ago.

“After you, dorogoya”

You jumped in, falling into the dark uncertainty with one of the most dangerous men you had ever met, not knowing where or how your partnership was going to end, if ever. Perhaps it would be an amicable goodbye, or perhaps a big fucking mess, but you had made your choice, and now had to live with the consequences.

[professorrw]

Undeniable Feelings

Pairing: female reader x Sam Wilson

Warnings: swearing, fluff, friends to lovers

A/N: This wasn’t requested but I it was an idea I had written down and I finally had the time to write it. This is the longest one-shot I’ve done so far at over 3,000 words. I hope you all like it and if you did, heart, comment, and reblog! If you want to be added to a taglist feel free to ask! 

Next Up: Peter Parker x Reader fluff request

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out to see a text from Sam.

“I gotta ask you something. I’ll come by later.”

You reply with a thumbs up emoji and put your phone away.

Huh, what did he want to ask you? You couldn’t imagine he would have time in his schedule to even talk to you now that he was Captain America. He sighed reminiscing on how far you both had come. You started out as some kids in the Air Force and now you were working undercover and Sam was Captain America. 

It felt like just yesterday when you and Sam decided to enlist. You were basically kids back then. It was astonishing you managed to stay friends through it all.

You were proud of Sam. He deserves recognition for all his hard work. You had read multiple articles on how people felt about a black Captain America and it was mostly positive, which was relieving. 

Your mind returned to the task you were supposed to do. You briskly moved past the pedestrians of New York and went into a small bar, rumored to be running an underground black market.

You got there just on time and waited in the corner as the first suspect rolled in. You approached the bar as the man walked in. He went to the end of the counter and you got as close as you could without being suspicious. The bartender came over and you ordered a beer, which you didn’t intend to drink.

The man next to you spoke to the bartender in a hushed voice, whispering things you could just barely pick up. You recited the words in your head as the suspect left the bar. You lingered for a few more minutes to receive your beer, which you gave to a woman that was a few seats down.

The sidewalk was packed as usual and you were shoved a few times on the way to your apartment. You shoved your key into the lock and opened the door to your average home. It wasn’t big by any means, but it was decent for New York City.

You relayed the information you gathered to your superiors, letting them know that you were done for the day.

You relaxed for a few hours, sitting on the couch and catching up on the shows everyone was watching. It was nearly eight when you got a knock on your door. It had a beat to it, only the type of knock you know Sam would do.

You don’t know why he even bothers knocking when he has a key. He didn’t live there but before he was Captain America and an Avenger he would come over all the time and you got tired of unlocking the door. You craned your neck as he walked in carrying a bag of takeout.

“I know you haven’t had supper yet so I stopped to get some. And it's your favorite, Chinese.” He flashes you a smile and sets the bag down on the coffee table in front of the couch. You don’t even wait for him to sit down before you grab a styrofoam container and plastic utensils. 

“Damn you're hungry.” He chuckles and tucks into the couch next to you.

“As always,” you reply.

Eating Chinese on your couch with Sam felt so normal. It was something you hadn’t done in a long time due to your jobs. No matter how far away you were, you stayed friends. Sam wasn’t the type to just lose contact with people, especially not his best friend. You could remember how long and lanky he used to be in high school and looking at him now you could see how much he had filled out.

“Whatcha watchin’?” He made a gesture toward the TV with his fork.

“Random show.” As you popped another piece of chicken in your mouth you remembered the whole reason he was coming over. “What did you want to ask me?”

“Oh yeah. Well…” he trailed off and gave you a cheeky smile. “There’s this ball I’ve been invited to. They said I could bring a plus one and I was hoping you would come with me.” He cocked his head to the side slightly and raised his eyebrows as if saying, “So how about it?”

You had been to a few ball type parties before for your job but you were never there for your own enjoyment. You would be going as Sam’s date. No, not date, plus one. You would be happy to accompany him.

“When is it?”

“Uh… Friday night.”

“Oh that’s soon, like, in three days.”

“I know it’s short notice. You don’t have to go with me. I can go solo.”

“No, no, I’ll go. I’ll go.”

He gives you a smile, showing the gap between his front teeth. He used to get picked on for it in elementary school but you thought it was cute. Sam in general was cute, more like hot honestly. Gosh, why were you thinking about your best friend that way? It’s normal right? You’ve known each other for so long it’s natural to think of him like that. You’d thought of him that way for a long time actually.

Before you went your separate ways career wise you liked him. You kept on telling yourself you would tell him but you never got the chance. And then you were both so busy with your jobs you didn’t think it would work out. You still to this day regretted never telling him. Him working with the Avengers and now being Captain America made it seem even more impossible.

Sam stayed for a few hours longer, leaving when both of your eyes were droopy. Before he headed out the door he hugged you. A really tight hug at that. You hadn’t seen each other in a while but why did he hug you like that? He usually stuck to a one-armed hug if anything. Maybe it was because you accepted his invitation?

“I’ll pick you up at seven. See ya bug.” He laughed as you tossed a pillow towards him. He wasn’t literally calling you a bug. The nickname came from your childhood fear of all bugs, even butterflies. He always teased you about it, finding rollie pollies and hanging them in your face while you squealed. He thought it was hilarious but young you found it very aggravating.

You went about the days until the ball normally, but when you weren’t focused on work your mind would drift to the ball. You were going to be Sam’s plus one. That meant you would have to dance together right? You felt butterflies in your stomach when you thought about Sam’s hands on your waist as you were pressed together. You felt like a giddy teenager again for the first time in years. 

You could remember in high school when Sam would ask his crushes out to dances and you would watch longingly off to the side with some random guy. For so long you were hopelessly in love with him, your best friend. 

Friday night eventually rolled around. Thankfully, you didn’t have work that day. By five o’clock you finally started getting ready. You took a shower, did your makeup, did your hair, and picked out your outfit. The dress you chose was one you’d never worn before. It was gorgeous and you never felt like the events you were attending would do it justice. You knew that tonight was the perfect time to wear it.

After you put on accessories you stood in front of your full length mirror. You weren’t one to boast but you looked absolutely stunning. You knew you would knock the socks off of Sam.

A short while later someone knocks on your door. This time you open it. As soon as the door opened you were both staring at each other. Your jaw almost dropped to the floor as you took in the way Sam looked. He looked finer than ever in a well tailored black suit and shoes. If you looked up the definition of sexy Sam’s photo would definitely be there. He wasn’t the only one that was ogling. In his eyes you looked like a goddess, so beautiful you seemed unreal.

“Wow- You- Wow. You look amazing.” He couldn’t take his eyes off you as you slipped an arm into his. 

“You’re looking pretty sharp yourself, Wilson.”

You got in Sam’s car and drove to the venue. The venue was magnificent. It was one of the few ballrooms you hadn’t been to before. Reports surrounded the building as you stepped out of the car, arm in arm with Sam. The flashing cameras nearly blinded you. Everyone wanted an exclusive photo of the Captain America.

Reporters thrusted microphones into your faces as you passed and one nearly smacked you in the nose. Sam pulled you closer and quickened his pace so you could get away from all the chaos.

The inside of the building was grand. The walls and ceiling were ornate with engravings and rich colors. Chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, casting the room in a dreamlike glow. The main ballroom was full and loud. There were definitely more than 300 people there. 

Sam’s arm left your waist and dropped to his side as he took in the whole scene. You were somewhat disappointed that he stopped holding you, but he didn’t know that.

You had barely made it through the doors when a robust man came up to you both. “Welcome! Mr. Wilson, or should I say Cap, I’m glad you could make it!” The man spoke with a Jersey accent and in a very animated way, hands and arms accentuating every word. Just from seeing and hearing him you could tell he was a character. 

Sam wasn’t deterred by the big personality and shook his meaty hand, “Thank you Mr. Gafner. It’s an honor to be here.” Unlike Mr. Gafner, Sam spoke with a cool confidence that made him seem even more suave than he looked.

“Ahh! You humble an old man! It’s an honor to have you. Now that the parties here we can get this shindig started. Shall we?”

Mr. Gafner clapped Sam on the back and sent a thumbs up to someone across the room. Not a second later music began to play from a group of people on the side of a stage. The music sounded familiar, classical music with a modern twist almost. It wasn’t your typical gala music, but it was far from rave music.

Mr. Gafner walked away to tend to other guests, leaving you and Sam to fend for yourselves. You didn’t recognize any of the people there. The mayor and a few other higher ranking government officials were the only ones you recognized. You guessed the rest or the attendees were also government officials and local socialites.

It was like being at a party where you only knew one person all over again. It was strange how often you had been feeling like a teen again recently. Maybe it was Sam’s close proximity in your life again. You texted and talked over the phone but it wasn’t the same as being in person and that must have been the reason for all these resurfacing feelings.

You didn’t know where to go or what to do. You never planned what you would actually do when you arrived. All you could think about was being with Sam. Luckily he was still by your side, but you assumed that wouldn’t last long.

Sure enough when other guests noticed him a flock of them came over. You thought you would be swallowed and then spit out on the other side of the room by the crowd but that wasn’t the case. Sam could sense your unease and made sure to keep you close, arm slinking around you once again. You didn’t know it but he was feeling just as lost as you were. It was all a part of his new job as Captain America.

Sam quickly became the center of attention. Even the mayor came to congratulate him. No one acknowledged you, and as the minutes passed you felt more like an accessory than a person. You were used to blending in, so why did this bother you so much? 

You were shuffling back and forth on your feet, eager to move yet unable to escape due to the bubble that surrounded you both. You literally let out a breath of relief when Mr. Gafner went on stage and spoke into a microphone.

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen! You all look lovely tonight, but I’m sure you already know that.”

A few chuckles came from the crowd, which was now moving to sit at the circular tables on the sides of the dance floor. There were place cards for everyone to find their seats and it seemed like you and Sam were the only ones that didn’t know where yours were located.

As your host continued to talk you finally found your spots, which happened to be near the stage. You both sat down and got comfortable, preparing yourselves to hear a long speech. You tuned back into Mr. Gafner’s just as he was saying, “We have a very special guest tonight, and no it’s not me, someone even more special. We have in attendance tonight, the one, the only, Samuel Wilson.”

Polite applause erupted in the room but quieted when the man resumed speaking. “If you would, Mr. Wilson, grace us with a speech?” Your eyes shot to Sam as he said that. You didn’t know Sam was supposed to make a speech and from Sam’s wide eyes you could tell he didn’t either.

He quickly fixed his face, standing up and making his way to the front. Mr. Gafner handed over the mic, giving Sam the floor. 

“Hello. As you know, I am Captain America, but formerly known as the Falcon. Since I took on this role I’ve been really busy. Steve never talked about the press conference side of things, unfortunately.”

There were a few laughs and Sam paused before he continued. As his speech went on you could tell he was getting a little nervous. He started talking faster, which was a tell-tale sign. You weren’t sure why he was nervous, the whole room was fully focused on him, listening intently as he talked. A reporter even managed to slip in with a camera and record. 

Sam’s gaze momentarily shifted to the side to look at you and in that moment you smiled at him. Sam’s nerves seemed to melt away, and he was back to his grinning self in a second.

“This is truly an honor and I have so many people to thank for this. I want to wrap this up with a simple and short, thank you. Thank you my fellow people, thank you to everyone on this Earth, and the biggest thank you to my best friend, who was there through it all.”

The room erupted in applause once again, but much louder than before. Everyone in general was clapping loudly but you had no doubt that you were clapping the loudest. You were so goddamn proud of him. 

He waved as he walked back to your table, beaming. 

“I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what? Become Captain America or give a speech?”

“Low blow! I can give a speech now for your information.”

“You sure as hell couldn’t in elementary. You puked as soon as you got off the damn stage.”

You were both cracking up, paying no attention to the other people at your table.

Inevitably more people flocked to Sam, praising his speech. You were saved once again by the music picking up and people migrated to the dance floor. You sat watching the crowd as they slowly danced.

“You wanna dance bug?” Sam held his hand out, offering it to you.

“Sure, why not?” You did your best to act nonchalant. You couldn’t tell if Sam knew that butterflies were fluttering in your stomach.

You took his hand, letting him guide you to the middle of the room. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you against him. Your arms slid behind his neck and then you started to sway along with the music. You rested your head on his chest and were able to hear his heartbeat. It was faster than normal, but that might have been because he was still pumped from the speech.

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to be fully in the moment. It was something out of a fairytale. You two in the middle of the dance floor swaying together. It fulfilled all your teenage dreams, but you found yourself wishing for the same things now as an adult. You wanted Sam. There was no doubt about it. The past few days just proved that even further. 

The song came to a close and couples started switching partners. You lifted your head to meet Sam’s eyes, which were already looking into yours. You wanted so badly to kiss him, to just lean forward and close that distance between you. After waiting for so long, for so many years, you were going to tell him. 

“Sam-” you were cut off by a woman tapping your shoulder. 

“May I?” she asked.

Of course that was just your luck. You felt dejected. You were finally about to tell him but you were interrupted. Maybe that was the world’s way of saying that it wasn’t supposed to happen.

You were about to let go of Sam when he spoke up, “Actually we were about to go outside for some fresh air. If you’ll excuse us.” You looked back at the lady as Sam pulled you along with a hand on your back. She looked dumbfounded, shocked that he would reject her.

Sam pulled you through the back doors and into the brisk night air. This area of the building was blocked off and could only be accessed by going through the hall, which meant that no paparazzi could get to you. 

You were only able to take one breath before Sam turned to you. “Y/N- I- I love you.”

It was so sudden you thought you heard him wrong. But no, you heard him right. He had a vulnerable look in his eyes, did he expect you not to reciprocate those feelings?

Your heart fluttered and you felt a trickle of relief flood throughout you. “I love you too.”

“You’re not pulling my leg?” His eyebrows were turned upwards in the middle from genuine worry.

“No Sam. I’ve loved you for years.” You were unaware that you were inching closer and closer to him but he wasn’t. You both wanted the same thing and so Sam went for it. He put a hand on your neck, thumb grazing your jaw. He took the last step forward and kissed you. It seemed the whole word lit up, fireworks going off just for you two.

Time stood still, the world was revolving around you and Sam, together at last.

Taglist: @bellamy1998​

[recurring-polynya]

What’s your opinion on pre-canon Renruki?

I think that they already had a romantic or almost romantic relationship back in the Academy, maybe even back in Rukongai, and the reason it wasn’t explicit is because firstly it would have spoiled the endgame couples, and secondly it’s a shonen, so it’s implied.

I think they fooled around when they were orphans in Inuzuri. They grew up together, they were always together in their “teenage” years (however adolescence works for souls😅), I think it’s not impossible that they had their first experience, if just their first kiss and make out session, with each other. When they joined the Academy, they spent less time together due to their different courses, and I think Rukia’s sad expression when Renji leaves for the mission in the real world depicts that (along with worry for him, and maybe even jealousy for his achievements compared to hers). By then I think they were quite intimate, they fooled around sometimes (with the little time they had) and knew the other’s and their own feelings, but never said anything like “I love you”, or talked seriously about the depth of their relationship. If they were “just friends”, as some antis like to claim, they wouldn’t have been so heartbroken, have so many regrets and felt so guilty during their separation. And why that separation in the first place? It’s not a matter of class difference, because Rukia did talk to people of inferior status, like her Squad mates. What’s actually forbidden to people from different classes is relationships. If Renruki was just a friendship, there would have been no problem, but their bond was beyond that. Rukia wanted Renji to tell her to stay with him, but his feelings of inferiority and belief that Rukia deserved better (maybe even better than him) prevented him to do it. Their separation doesn’t feel like an end to a friendship to me, it feels like a breakup. They avoided each other because it hurt so much, and they couldn’t bear to have any relationship other than a romantic one, which was impossible once she became a Kuchiki.

After the Soul Society arc, they got back together. They were physically too comfortable around each other to be just friends, like when he basically hugged her to encourage her to go back to Soul Society when Orihime is kidnapped (and maybe he was also comforting her), or when, during the fight with the Fullbringers, he casually placed her head resting on his thigh. By then they were secretly dating, in my opinion. In the last arc they were always together, it’s so easy imagining them as a couple.

What do you think? Is my interpretation far fetched? I’d like to hear your theories about their feelings, when they blossomed, when they confessed, if they had something going on during their Academy years…

Thank you if you decide to answer!🤍

Well, as you say, Bleach is a shounen, and also I don’t think Kubo was particularly interested in including romance in the story, so I don’t think there is a correct or incorrect interpretation. It’s left to the reader to imagine what they like. I don’t think “spoiling the endgame” has anything to do with anything.

I don’t think your interpretation is “too far-fetched,” although I don’t happen to agree with it. There’s very little to go on in canon, people can fill in the gaps in whatever way makes them happy/makes sense to them. I have exactly 0 interest in arguing with people on the internet about stuff like this. I enjoy reading fanfiction that has wildly different interpretations from my own, I generally love to hear a variety of ideas, although I generally prefer the format of a narrative over Tumblr posts (funny, since I do seem to write a lot of them).

Anyway, here are a bunch of opinions. This is way, way too long, so I'm gonna throw it under a cut.

That being said, you have some really amatonormative ideas in there that I do take issue with. Friendships absolutely can be as deep and important as romantic relationships. I categorically reject the idea that a romantic bond is stronger than a friendship one or that acts of physical affection necessarily imply a romantic relationship. I actually have no beef at all with people who want to read Rukia and Renji’s story as a very strong friendship. I do think it was still reasonable for Renji to avoid her during their separation, even if his goal wasn’t romance. He wanted to see her live a better life, and didn’t want to drag her down. Yeah, sure, if he just wanted to be a casual workplace friend, he probably could have joined Squad 13 and seen her once in a while. But, especially in the early days, it would have been a bad look for Rukia to continue socializing with people deeply below her station, and I feel in my heart that Byakuya would have forbidden her from seeing Renji if he found out she was hanging out with someone from her Inuzuri days, even if it was just casual. Yeah, there exist people who say Rukia and Renji are "just friends" for the sake of other preferred ships, but also, like, so what? Who cares? That’s a lot better than making Renji out to be a bad person or trashing his character. To be honest, I am generally happy to read a fanfic that had some other Renji or Rukia pairing if it actually contained some solid Renruki best friend content (I have found a few 369 fics that do this, and maybe also in the little bit of RenIchi content I have read, so, uh, good job, my gays. This is sometimes touched on in ByaRen fics, but usually not as much as I want, althought I also tend to hold these to a high bar, because if I have to deal with Byakuya in my fanfics, they should have to deal with the Rukia-Renji friendship 😂)

Anyway, you asked for my interpretation, so here it is . These are all just, like, my opinions, man:

Life in Inuzuri just really, really, really sucks, and Rukia and Renji both have a lot of trauma and emotional hang-ups from that time. I think they forged a deep emotional connection during this time that was probably a little too codependent to actually be healthy. They had no models of healthy families or relationships. I also think they were incredibly close to Fujimaru, Kosaburou, and Mameji, and that even if they wanted to have a romantic relationship, they wouldn’t have, at the risk of ruining the more important bonds of the larger group.

In my fanfic, in their last days in Inuzuri, I do have them fool around for a brief period. It coincides with the deterioration of the bond with their last surviving friend, leading to his death. I did this for trauma reasons, because that’s how writers are.

“Communication” is probably the most important theme in my writing, and a thing I bring up all the time is that young Rukia and Renji had a thousand ways of communicating survival-based things between each other, and 0 ways of communicating how they felt about each other.

I did a post on this recently, but their whole gang was incredibly powerless in Inuzuri. They lived on the fringes of society and stole scraps to survive. I think that their number one duty to one another was to survive. In the anime, Rukia swears that she will never leave Inuzuri, that she will always stay with her friends. I think the reason she does an about-face is not just because their friends are gone, but because she realizes that she will lose Renji next, and the only way to prevent that is for both of them to get stronger. Neither of them actually wants to become a soul reaper. They do it for each other.

I think that Renji would have remained in Inuzuri and tried to make a life as best they could, but Rukia knew this was futile, and where Rukia goes, Renji follows.

I think they purposely maintained distance at the Academy. Just as in Inuzuri, their primary duty to one another is to survive and thrive. They were rejected and mocked for their low origins, and hanging out together would have made this worse. I think it hurt Rukia that Renji made new friends, but on the other hand, they were exactly the sort of people who would help him get a leg up in the Gotei. Rukia’s Academy days were very painful because she saw Renji succeeding, just as she wanted, but leaving her behind in the process. Conversely, Renji got super focused on doing well, with the idea that he could pull Rukia up behind him, except for the part where he never actually told her that.

I feel like I’m in the minority here, but so much fanfic focuses on Rukia and/or Renji being “wrong” in the scene where he tells her to go to the Kuchiki, but I disagree! Everything they have done is in order to get to a better life! It is Renji’s duty to encourage her to leave him behind. He doesn’t want to be an anchor holding her down. Likewise, Rukia knows that if she doesn’t go, she’s just gonna be a burden on him. Their relationship has always been about each of them surviving separately over having happiness together. Up to now, they’ve always managed to find each other again, although this kinda looks like it might be it for them. Do these kids need to go to therapy? Yes! Did they do anything wrong? No!

I think about this a lot, but even if Rukia had turned down the adoption (which… I’m not actually sure she could have), even the offer would have ruined their relationship. Imagine that Renji asks her to stay, and she does. Maybe they even get together at this point. Every rough patch, every time there’s money troubles, this spectre of “Rukia could have been a Kuchiki” is going to hang over them. In fiction, there is often an idea of sacrifice being a one-time romantic gesture, but in my real life experience, this sort of thing hangs around like an unwanted ghost. I can, in fact, envision a scenario where this is exactly how Aizen manages to get his hooks in Renji, by offering Rukia an unseated spot in Squad 5, even though she “isn’t really good enough to deserve it” and “taking care of them.”

I am really fascinated with Rukia’s crush on Kaien/Miyako. Bold proclamation here, but I think there is something developmentally healthy about young people having crushes on the older people in their lives, provided that said older people treat them with respect and dignity and don’t take advantage of it in any way. Crushes are, by their nature of being unreciprocated, a safe way for young folks to imagine the sort of people and relationships they want to have in their lives. I headcanon Rukia as bisexual, and maybe also a little bit genderfluid, and she had these two extremely cool people in her life, whom she maybe wanted to be and maybe wanted to kiss and maybe to have a marriage like that some day. I… like to think that their role in her life healed some of her trauma before their death caused even more.

Fully into headcanons now, but I like to think that Renji had a parallel experience, with, of all people, Ikkaku and Yumichika. Like him, they came from the ass-end of Rukongai, but they stuck together instead of bowing to the social mores of the Seireitei. It is critical to note that they were able to do this through strength. This is literally not a thing that Renji and Rukia could have done, but at the same time, Renji sees this as the kind of relationship he wants to have with a partner. He doesn’t want to look after Rukia and protect her, he wants to fight back-to-back with her and then make out afterwards. He’s still convinced that he needs to go through the proper class channels to see Rukia again, but without their influence, I don’t think he ever would have been able to say “fuck it” and turn on his captain during the Soul Society Arc.

Meeting Ichigo and dealing with his unreasonable need to protect everyone he cares about, personally, was also a huge blow to Rukia and Renji’s “I cannot allow the other person to take any risks for my sake” hang-up. Ichigo has his own traumas, which are entirely different from Renruki’s, but the one thing he had was growing up in a loving family. (Isshin has his problems, but I feel strongly that he always made his kids feel like his love was unconditional). I’m not saying that making friends with a shounen protagonist is a good replacement for therapy, but it does have healing properties.

Entirely off-topic, but I feel like Ichigo is incredibly selfish in the way of Terry Pratchett’s witches: “All witches are selfish, the Queen had said. But Tiffany’s Third Thoughts said: Then turn selfishness into a weapon! Make all things yours! Make other lives and dreams and hopes yours! Protect them! Save them! Bring them into the sheepfold! Walk the gale for them! Keep away the wolf! My dreams! My brother! My family! My land! My world! How dare you try to take these things, because they are mine!

Where were we? Oh, yeah. I honestly think that it is unknowable when in canon Rukia and Renji confessed. I already covered this pretty thoroughly in this post. I hate the idea that they were secretly dating. Renji worked incredibly hard to get his post and I think that both his job and Byakuya’s respect are very important to him. I do not think he would put either of those things at risk like that, nor would Rukia want him to. I tend to prefer a slow-burn approached, and I honestly think they got together during the 17-mo timeskip at the earliest, and more likely post-canon entirely, although I think them confessing in the Royal Realm is the spiciest possible outcome, so that’s what most of my fanfic cleaves to.

[paper-cloud]

i. the crushing weight of what happens next

part of "(there will be a) tomorrow"

fandom: prospect (2018) characters: ezra, cee rating: T words count: ~3K context: post-canon general warnings/tags: see series masterlist warnings/tags for this chapter: ezra's pov. angst. not graphic descriptions of wounds, blood and amputated limbs. mentions of minor characters' death. (probably very) inaccurate but anyways vague descriptions of medical treatments and post-anesthesia symptoms. taglist: @ravensmutty @buttercup--bee @thegreenkid (again, thank you all for your interest and encouragement! :3) @krissology @ezrasarm @bonktime (please forgive my nerve, i won't tag you in the next chapters unless you'll explicitly ask me to! just thought about someone else who might be interested and you guys are AMAZINGLY talented and inspiring "prospect"/ezra writers. it's not my intention to waste precious moments of your time! 🤡

[SERIES MASTERLIST] [MAIN MASTERLIST]

He'd have thought it was almost ironic – opening his eyes to the light only to see nothing. To feel pain.

He'd have laughed about it, most likely. A bit later, he'd have acknowledged it was a reasonably fair compromise; for him and any other wretch that'd ever dared play dice with darkness and miraculously made it out alive.

And in the very end he'd come to laugh at himself, too.

He knows the drill. Someone who trades their own life with the contract of the highest bidder doesn't see the universe in black and white, let alone is in a position to draw the hypothetical line between the two of them.

Must be an even more wicked universe than he's ever cared about, then.

At least, that's where the struggle of opening his eyes made him stumble upon; when a blade of light thrust through that hint of a gap he'd pushed himself to create in the middle, resonating through the dark coils of unconsciousness like a harsh, unforgiving bell.

A skilled mariner over silky rivers of natural redundancy and rapids of professional edges, Ezra is a man who can appreciate a sharp wit when he recognizes one.

That was too much even for him.

Floundering in between a blinding whiteness and a black hole that wasn't even completely black, but permeated by a thick, suffocating haze that filled every ghost haunting his mind with its stench. With the color of diabolically lush leaves.

Forest— spores— poison— death.

It hadn't been enough to let him dangle in apnea above a roaring vortex of lifeless emerald; take him away from the grey flow whose elusiveness he'd come to appreciate more than he'd ever hated to endure its chaos— from the bubble built on the routine series of one last jobs that, in the end, never really were.

There'd been a moment when, from the higher parts of the room, his pupils tumbled down, tripping over a patch of green discreetly lurking in a corner.

He almost threw up.

It had taken him a while to clear out the misty grit clotted in his corneas— focus on white walls, light wood paneling... a harmless seedling in a pot.

He'd breathed heavily, deeply. He sure hadn't got much relief from it. Still, he'd been able to hear its sound, louder than he'd ever heard it before, the musical, cooling mesh of oxygen particles in and out of his lungs almost begging his fingers to be touched.

Oxygen.

Fresh air.

Had he been less sore – less convinced it was just the residual effects of anesthesia pulling pranks on him –, he would have burst out laughing. Even more so if some poor soul of the medical staff nearby would have called for reinforcements from the other side of the space station before storming into his room.

He'd be laughing now, too. The best he can manage is sitting on his bed, leaning his back on the headboard – which is what he's struggling to do right now— and well, sometimes the room lighting still slightly bothers him. Of course, with all the painkillers and antibiotics they've given him, he wouldn't feel like the wound on his stomach is swallowing the entire arsenal of stitches and bandages.

He just wouldn't like her to get the wrong idea.

He blinks several times, like a man who no longer trusts his eyes. How can he, when they're burning like that, in such a different fire from the one from days before – damp and flickering? For reasons he can imagine, she seems to be faltering. Totally beyond his comprehension, he could swear she's smiling at him. Something inside his ribcage creaks oddly, while the curve of his chest arches upward.

"Birdie."

It's just a huff of breath, weak and hoarse, yet scratches his throat all the same, in a way that its walls feel studded with rock spurs. Actually, Ezra doesn't remember talking since they left the Green behind – which, being him, is saying something – and it's like an eternity has passed since their pod docked up there.

The nurse who let her into his room has just left and Cee sinks her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. She's still smiling— just the faded shadow of a smile, now that he takes a better look at her.

"How's your wound?"

It sounds a lot less plain than he expected.

She hasn't moved towards him any further, and for now she's not showing any hints at wanting to. In her irises, Ezra recognizes thumping stars and cerulean clouds, all clustered in the black circle cut by the large porthole next to his bed. All before catching the thin mist veiling them. As if she did want to reach those stars, let herself get carried away by those streams of bluish dust, but she had no idea how or what to do there.

He looks down, the borders of the bandages over his abdomen slightly raised under his black short-sleeved tee. He clears his throat.

"S'healin' nicely", he says, with a deliberate lightheartedness that costs him a sharp, bizarre inflection in his voice. He closes his eyes soon after, tilting his head condescendingly. "That's how the nurse feels about it, anyway... S'not like I can feel much more right now."

This reminds him of those vacuous moments between brief, chaotic waking states and delirious dreams. When he'd managed to reconnect some essential key points scattered around in the talks of surgeons and nurses; the weariness he felt from simply gathering he was on a space station due to enter the orbit of Mesos in three cycles and something standard hours. All while his only solid reference point – the only indisputable proof he was still alive – was the sequence of beeps chirped by the medical monitor perched nearby. Constant, not monotonous. Friendly, even. Sometimes, he actually comes to miss it.

"A trust fall to the extreme, I'd guess", he snorts, a sly laugh as weak and heavy as the words trudging out of his mouth. As the whole rest of him.

Whatever answer she's considering, Cee freezes it in a quick purse of her lips – maybe a nod, but for his own good he'd rather be doubtful. Then she starts looking around.

There's a chair under the board firmly anchored to the opposite wall – probably a desk or something he's never needed to test, whatsoever. She grabs it and puts it next to his bed. She sits down, bringing her legs to her chest, squeezing them in her arms.

Waiting for what, Ezra has no idea, and he's afraid she doesn't have any, either.

He doesn't speak, though, nor does he encourage her to do the same. Her pearly gaze roams steadily but unhurriedly from him to somewhere beyond him, her nose buried in the gap between her knees. He studies her carefully, two purple crescents above her cheeks, a few hair strands swinging down her face without her wiping them out. The nights she's slept through haven't been any more peaceful than his.

Trust, he recalls in the meantime.

It sure brings an odd taste to his mouth. Something close to sweaty spacesuits, grimy paths and gone-off ration bars. A single word for two human beings forced to share the same air filter for days; that, and the image of a dead body left to rot miles behind and the desperate commitment not to end up in the same way.

His gaze just happens to trip over his right side, taking in the deflated sleeve over the emptiness that saved his life. When he lifts it back to the girl, meeting her eyes just before they can flutter away, he realizes they were both looking at the same spot. And he realizes something else— something he's already understood, yet not quite.

There is no tube binding them now.

"Why d'you do it?", he mumbles a split second later, almost like somehow the thread of his question has immediately knotted to the one of his previous thought.

He huffs. He shouldn't even have asked her, in all honesty. Seeing her like this, at least he should have put it in another way, danced around it, it's not like he’s never been good at stalling, after all—

"Comin' back", Ezra says instead, and when he swallows, he mainly does it to send his heart back down his throat. If he'd died without being given the last chance to be this straightforward on this matter, he would have probably kicked his ass all the way to the other side. 

This time, Cee doesn't avoid his gaze. He shouldn't be surprised by how collected she looks, given the calmness she handled his infected arm with and then told him about when she used to slip into Jata Bhalu carcasses. But he can't help it when he thinks she can't be much older now than what she was then.

He watches her breathing in, wobbling her pupils here and there, seemingly considering his words. She's not afraid, not any more than what she seemed to be when she walked into his room. Maybe she's just better than him at playing pretend – but this, he can't tell whether it's more of a good than a bad thing. Especially for her.

One thing he can tell is that she's not the same girl who pointed a trembling gun at him before running away into the woods. He knows she's not afraid.

He knows...

So is it the hunter's instinct he has to blame if he feels she is?

"Guess I've seen too much death on that forsaken moon to just... turn my back on one I can help– one I can do something about."

If he was standing in front of an entire mountain crumbling down into the ocean, he wouldn't hear its sound. ‘Wouldn't even be the worst he deserves. She did hesitate before adding the last few words, but Ezra refuses to believe she did that because she was afraid of hurting him. He may be a wretch, but not a fool.

Kevva, for a man who's always managed to untwist himself from far tougher situations with the tangles of his tongue alone, he's sure having a deal of trouble – and he wishes he could put all the blame on his current physical condition.

There is no word he doesn't have to weigh carefully now, to prevent it from taking too sharp edges once out of his lips. He may float around it forever. But once he's let her go without saying anything, he'll hardly find the courage to look within himself again, more than after any other job that hardened his hands with calluses and tarnished his eyes with blood.

He doesn't know for sure. In fact, everything he was sure to know – about the turning direction of the universe and the one of the wheels in his head – has already collapsed in front of him, tracing a flaming tail. An unforgiving meteor following a trajectory far beyond his grasp.

He just knows silence scares him, in a way that a wrong word will never do again. It terrifies him. More than as a talkative person, as a castaway on a hostile moon for too many cycles to keep their count – with the only company of a mute. Silence is green; the green of the most poisonous pollen, lethal in his brain just like toxic spores enveloped in his lungs. The green of snake scales ready to stand and scratch his flesh until liquid crimson pours out of it.

And at the end of the day, this is the only fucking thing he can tell himself to know without having his guts churning and chest heaving a beat later.

"Stop looking at me like that."

It's more of an exhausted prayer than an annoyed remark. Ezra blinks, stunned by the sudden return from the shapeless stream of his thoughts.

"Like what?"

"Like you're looking for the words to thank me", Cee settles back into her chair and this time she lets one leg touch the floor, "Tell me you owe me, and you– you're sorry about what you did."

Ezra sniffles. "Would it be bad?" 

"No, it—". She closes her eyes for a moment, clenching her jaw. "Just no good", she breathes out, calmer.

And the discordant note in those words conjures up ghosts not yet vague enough for Ezra to be able to tolerate them without something twinging inside him— like a violent flutter of wings. Voices groping their way up ravels of compromises. Damon, deep in the forest. Himself, with the mercenaries in the Queen's Lair. Cee, days before that. After he—

She's right— those words she hasn't said yet, but whose shadow he feels looming every time he catches her wetting her lips.

Some things just can't be split evenly.

"This is not the Green", she states, suddenly more confident but no less exhausted. "If you're going to hang around just because you need to, once we reach Mesos¹ you'd better be on your way."

Ezra doesn't interrupt her. A faded echo starts making its way into his ears. A former prospecting partner, many years ago. An easy job on a forgettable Fringe moon.

Gems don't have an expiration date. Deals do. Strike 'em if you need to, get rid of them as soon as you can. Unless you care to dig a quicker way to your grave.

He didn't pay attention to it, then. He'd thought it was just the empty rhetoric prospectors drop absentmindedly to fill the time between an unrewarding digging and the next. All the more so under the rickety advice of a couple too many.

His eyes still wide open, hands shaky, he merely reciprocated the awkward bottle lift of his partner, whom he didn't know more than the meanders of that quarry. A toast to a faceless future – a nothingness still more reassuring than what was all around and behind them. Not to the darkness of the cave, basically unbreakable if only for the red halo thrown by the twinkles of sharp, sinister Prystines². Not even to the two poor bastards that had set out with them, ending up skewered a few hundred paces behind – one by mistake, the other to return the favor of saving him from the clutches of a furious Aiu³.

Like an idiot.

Several contracts later preventing him from missing a beat in front of similar hiccups, the logic of that statement no longer sounds so absurd to Ezra. Luckily for him, Cee understood it long before him.

"I was just lookin' for the words to tell ya you'll be better off without me—"

Half a truth. Half a heartbeat. After all, she isn't the only one of them who knows how to sell it.

He leans his head back against the headboard, eyes half-closed, a sly grin baring a couple of his upper teeth. It would almost be intimidating, except that the glint hitting them doesn't quite match the dying one in his eyes.

"—But you beat me to it", he finishes, and he sounds like he's about to fall asleep.

He slowly turns his head away, looks through the porthole. His gaze clutches to the passing asteroids outside, distant nebulae spraying the sidereal black with hues of purple, blue, red— then green, again. A climbing plant squeezing him from the inside, discomfort starts creeping on him an inch of his body – what's left of it – at a time.

He doesn't want her to think he's angry at her, and it's the only concrete foothold emerging from the fluid, magmatic chaos in his mind.

How could he be, when she came back to get him?

She didn't have to.

She doesn't have to be here, either...

"I'm sorry", she suddenly blurts out.

He meets her eyes again, a mix of bewilderment and disapproval shading his own. He shakes his head.

"Don't."

"I just—". She starts fiddling with the extra fabric created by the folds of her sweatpants. Then she sighs deeply. "I have no idea what I'm gonna do now."

He snorts. "Not that it's s'pposed to make you feel any better, but... neither do I."

He doesn't have a hazy helmet choking the glimmer in his eyes, an air filter breaking some frequencies in his voice— maybe just those making him sound sincere, while saving those trapping him into the swamp of self-loathing.

He was nothing but honest when he told her the rules of the game on the Green. When he openly admitted he was a killer, and when he assured her he wouldn't trade her for the Sater's Aurelac. And she's always seemed to believe him, maybe for that kind of desperate inertia that washes over people when they need something to cling to. Whatever the case, Ezra can only hope she wants to believe him now. But she doesn't speak, and for a moment his fear of not saying enough overcomes that of crossing her boundaries.

"But w—", he immediately bites his tongue, "—you still have three cycles to figure things out. Someone up here will be able to help you. Even so, please know you'll always have my most sincere gratitude."

The effort of lining up all those words and so few pauses to catch his breath casts a thick fog over his ears. His eyes suddenly hurt again and he finds himself squinting.

What happens next, he just records it, hardly managing to follow each cause-effect relationship. A series of events softly raining on him without making a noise, while he can quite imagine them to be way more prolonged in time. Cee leaning towards the lighting panel on the wall, sliding her finger counterclockwise, and the white coating the walls turning less painfully bright; her getting up, walking away, dwelling just before the door. "I'll come to check on you tomorrow", she says, sniffling.

She tilts her head, holding his gaze in her watery one for an agonizingly slow while – Please, don't ask me why.

He blinks once – Of course.

Then, the automatic door is once again engulfed by the wall, closing behind her with a metallic rustle.

Tomorrow.

His heart is taken by a spiraling jolt that leaves an empty cave behind. When it falls back into place, Ezra finds something has tripped in there, shapeless and quivering like the nucleus of a newborn star.

Hope, terror and everything that lies in between. 

___________________

NOTES:

1) Mesos — Invented planet. Its only raison d'être is that "mésos" in Greek means "middle" and my intent was to frame this story in a moment of transition (after those of movies) for both Ezra and Cee. 2) Prystines — Invented kind of crystals. They're implied to be huge, red and very sharp, thus endangering the path through the cave. 3) Aiu — Invented predator, ideally a big feline.

A/N:

Yeah, uhm... at this point, if someone was ever to give me any kind of feedback, constructive criticism or random thought, I think I'd just melt into a puddle for the attention alone. And to all those who came all the way down here, your bravery shall not be forgotten. ♥️✨

In my defense, it's (almost) all P**** P*****'s fault & of his habit of taking orphans under his wing from one planet to another.

I know people in the fandom generally tend to make Ezra and Cee go along straight away after the movie, so this will be a slightly different take on things, I guess... But even if I don't know if I'll keep this series going atm (life & maturity exam suck), a final reconciliation is definitely on the way. ;)

Oh, and any beta reader that should feel like helping me out for when I'll have the next chapters ready is warmly welcomed! My DMs are always open and I swear I don't bite! :3

[luvknow]

parasitic | bang chan

genre: bang chan x fem!reader | college au ; roommates au ; enemies-to-lovers ; alcohol mention summary: your roommate is going abroad for the semester and now you’re forced to share your apartment with bang chan, who you basically lived with for the past semester except he didn’t pay rent, he ate all of your food, and crashed on your couch after a long night out. you were going to do everything in your power to avoid him until your roommate comes back. that doesn’t work out so well. wc: 11.8k a/n: omg a month late, but merry christmas to @channiechanchan!! did you know it was me?? LMAO I’M SO SORRY LKJDSLKFJ IT’S ALSO NOT EVEN XMAS RELATED BUT....... I HOPE IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT, ILY SLKJDSL

The sun rays peeked through the gaps of the curtains letting you know that a beautiful Sunday was upon you. You would spend the morning making breakfast for you and your roommate, clean your room of all the bad vibes, knock out some homework, and light an overpriced candle to conclude a stress-free day.

A long morning stretch in bed was the start to your day, and you had the widest smile on your lips upon exiting your room as if there was nothing that could ruin your energy. That dropped quickly once you were greeted with a loud, snoring, almost-naked man face down and passed out on your couch.

“Sorry about him,” roomie Yeri said out of habit while practically crawling out of her room. “Again.”

She looked like a hot mess, with her hair frazzled in all directions and last night’s make-up still smeared around her eyes. Her timing was impeccable - it was like she could sense your annoyance through her walls. 

“Why?” you whined childishly. This had to be the tenth weekend by now!

“You know why! Lucas had his birthday party last night, remember? Which you were invited to but totally flaked last minute.”

“I have an exam this week.”

“We have an exam this week and it’s not until Thursday!”

“So? I like to be prepared!”

“Can you two shut up?” the bane of your existence interrupted. The newly brunette (who had dyed his hair in your living room, thanks to Yeri) ran a hand through his wild hair, hoping it’d alleviate some of the pain from his hangover. “I have a pounding headache.”

“And whose fault is that?” you scolded bitterly before yanking your blanket off of him. The poor man below you shriveled up and buried his musty legs under your beautiful couch pillows for some sense of warmth. “Not like you pay rent here for you to have the right to complain, or anything.”

“Lighten up, buttercup. You’re so uptight.”

“Gotta do my job around here and exterminate the parasites.”

“Suck my dick.”

“Too many STDs.”

Yeri chucked a pillow each at the both of you so you’d shut up and avoid waking up any grumpy neighbors. “Please, for the love of God, can you guys chill out for once so we can have a relaxing Sunday together?”

“Together?” you and Chan groaned simultaneously.

Yeri was not having it and shot a glare like an angry mother, to which you and Chan mumbled some sort of noise of confirmation and went about your separate ways. You inhabited the kitchen and Chan dragged himself to wash away the sticky shame and Hennessey in the shower. Yeri hopped over to help you make pancakes as if her two best friends weren’t just itching to pull each other’s hair out. She liked to think of herself as the glue of the group, like the quirky friend in the middle who was delusion to the tension in between. Neither of you had the heart to ruin her sitcom fantasy.

“Morning ~” she sang cutely.

“I hate him.”

“He’s not that bad!”

“You’ve been saying that the entire fall semester, but almost every weekend of mine has been ruined by his presence!”

Yeri winced and took a step back as she watched you vigorously mix the pancake batter faster than an electronic stand mixer. Another step back was taken while you violently dumped in the blueberries. Cooking and baking was one of your favorite hobbies and she knew you could be quite passionate about it, but she never saw you angry-cook before. It was a scary site to see, as if you being angry wasn’t scary enough.

“He’s only the way he is because you never gave him a chance.”

“What does that even mean?”

“He’s the type of person who likes to be liked, you know?”

“So? Don’t we all?”

“Of course, but it’s different with people like him. When those types of people meet someone who doesn’t like them, they can get a little… How do I say this? Defense mechanism-y?”

“Wouldn’t you think that would motivate him to, I don’t know, be nice to me and not inhabit my space and eat my food every weekend? Perhaps he’d kiss my ass a little?”

“Like I said, defense mechanism-y…”

“More like melodramatic.”

No matter how Yeri tried to explain to you how Chan was ‘different’, you weren’t buying it nor did you care to argue any longer. Why should you have to like him just because he was your best friend’s other best friend? This wasn’t some algebra problem that could be easily solved by the transitive property - this was a matter of respecting each others’ personal spaces and each other in general, and Chan had been the one to cross both of those lines first, that dick. While Yeri lectured like your math professor, you mindlessly hummed here and there pretending to understand, just as you would in actual math class.

The bathroom door opening prompted you and Yeri to shut up immediately. Then, a moist Chan walked out of the steam with nothing but a familiar lavender towel wrapped around his disgustingly chiseled waist.

“Is that my towel!?” you shrieked in fear.

“Yeah. Hope that’s ok with you!” The fake honey sweetness in his tone made your skin crawl like there were bees under the dermis. “By the way, you’re out of shampoo. I love this scent! What is it, tea tree and mint?”

Yeri had to hold you back from hitting him with a hot spatula and Chan managed to escape back into the bathroom with a change of clothes that he kept here ‘for emergencies’, of course. They hung on the open clothes rack in the living room that was meant to show off yours and Yeri’s tasteful jackets, but the aesthetic was ruined early fall and even your jackets began to smell of Chan’s sophisticated cologne.

“I’m gonna kill him in his sleep,” you seethed.

Yeri patted your head like you were an angry kitten. “Killing the captain of the basketball team isn’t exactly kosher, love.”

“I’ll show you kosher.”

“Can’t keep on threatening me, babe,” Chan tisked while throwing on a t-shirt upon entering the A and B conversation.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m just trying to make our friendship better. You know, since we’ll be roommates soon.”

Excuse me, what? “What are you talking about…”

“Oh, you don’t know?” a sly Chan smirked.

When you turned to interrogate Yeri, she quickly stopped the sign language that clearly meant ‘shut your GODDAMN MOUTH, Christopher’ and gave you that sweet, innocent smile that let her get away with practically anything because who could say no to her rosy cheeks and rainbow-shaped eyes?

“Yeri, what is he talking about…?” you asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, about that… I got accepted into the study abroad program!”

“That’s amazing and I am very proud of you and I love you, but what does this cockroach mean when he says we’ll be roommates soon!?”

“Hey!” he pouted.

“Oh, shut it!”

“Ah, well, I figured to lessen the burden of paying double the rent, I thought it’d, you know, take it upon myself to save you the stress of finding a subletter and Chan was the only one available…”

“Really? Of the entire cheerleading team, the pottery club, the damn pilates and cycling club, hell even the other players on the basketball team, Chan was the only one free to sublet? The only one?”

“Um... yes?”

“You know, I don’t really consent to this -”

“Please, _____, it will only be for the semester, I promise! I leave next week and I can’t take much with me, and Chan is the only person I trust to stay in my room and not ruin anything and steal my underwear!”

“How can you say that when he’s probably going to bring girls home and do them on your bed!?”

“I would never do that!” Chan interjected.

“Yeah, ok.”

“No, really! Why would I ruin her bed when I can just ruin yours while you’re gone?”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Christopher -!”

“See!” Yeri brought the two of you into a esophagus-crushing headlock so you two would shut up. “You two are already getting along so well!!”

Chan managed to slip away and steal you from Yeri, giving you a rough knuckle sandwich. “We’ll get along swimmingly, Yer-bear, I promise. Isn’t that right, _____?”

Yeri couldn’t help but look at you both with sparkly eyes, thinking that yes, maybe there’s a chance that a beautiful friendship could blossom from this! Jabbing an elbow to his ribs with a fake smile of your own, you wordless agree with a nod.

As long as Chan stayed in his room and you stayed in yours, maybe there wouldn’t be much to worry about, right?

--

The first week with Chan was exactly how you expected it - seeing his bare ass because he never closed the bathroom door, stealing your snacks, taking up the living room space, and blasting his loud soundcloud music that you could hear through your paper-thin walls. Still, even through all the frustration and the annoyance, you thought it would be best if you two just lived your lives separately and didn’t bother making nice with each other. Rather than fighting and yelling, ignoring each other for the sake of everyone’s sanity was for the best.

What pushed you to the edge was when he took the last pack of fruit snacks you were really looking forward to after a long week of classes.

“Oh, come on!” you groaned into the cupboard. “Chan!”

“Yes, darling?” he called from his - Yeri’s - bedroom, to which you stomped over to confront him. Seeing a grown man on Yeri’s white desk on a pink gaming chair playing some PC game was truly a sight to see.

“Did you eat the last of my fruit snacks!?”

The sly boy swiveled the desk chair to face you. “Ooh, was that the last one? I swear there was one left…”

“Come on, dude!”

“I’m sorry, ok, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal! That’s not cool!”

“No, what’s not cool is that you’ve been avoiding me all week.”

You were taken aback by his bold, although correct, assumption. You really didn’t expect him to call you out on this so early. “I… have not…!”

“You’re such a liar!” He pointed accusingly. Although you seemed heated in the argument, Chan was grinning because of course he was right, that dick.

“You don’t think I have anything better to do, like do my homework or-or hang out with friends outside of this apartment?”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean every time you come home and see me in the living room, you go straight to your room.”

“That’s normal!”

“Ah yes, but then you wait until I go into my room -”

“Yeri’s room.”

“- to cook dinner or grab a snack.”

“That’s just a coincidence -”

“How about the opposite, when I come home and you’re chilling in the living room and then you go to your room and shut the door? No ‘hi, how was your day’, or anything.”

“Well -”

“Or how about the mornings, when you’re sitting at the kitchen table relaxing and drinking something warm and sweet-smelling with a tired smile on your face because this is the only time in your day where you get to truly relax, but the second I leave my room to go to the bathroom or grab some water, you chug whatever’s barely boiling in your cup, dump it in the sink, and head out.”

“... I’m that obvious, huh?”

“Wow, look at that smug look on your face,” he pointed again. You didn’t even feel that proud smile on your lips. But Chan didn’t think it was amusing. His lips formed a frown, like he was insulted or even hurt at how cold you could be towards him. “What have I done to make you hate me this much?”

Your eyes bulged incredulously. “Let’s go down memory lane, shall we? Almost every weekend of the fall semester you; crashed on our couch, ate all of our ramen and eggs and sriraicha the morning after to recover from your massive hangover, used our laundry detergent, and used our bath products just to name a few! All without a simple thank you or even asking beforehand!”

Chan couldn’t deny that yes, maybe he’d been a little, um, unceremonious with his intrusion on your life, but come on, everyone deserves a second chance! The very prideful man in front of you rolled Yeri’s pink chair to the threshold only to clasp your hands together in his and now you were sweating.

“Ok, I’ll admit that I was a terrible guest this past semester.” Does an apology count if the guilty party rolls his eyes? “So, out of the goodness of my heart, I am very, very sorry.”

“My ass.”

“What!? Does this not look sincere to you?” he asked, pointing to his fake pouty face.

“Ok, I’m leaving.”

“No no no, c’mon!” Chan whined as he chased you into the living room. He grabbed your trailing hand to stop you. “Look, I’m truly sorry that I sometimes use your things -”

“Always use my things.”

“Most of the time use your things. I am sorry, really. Please believe me, ok? Aren’t you tired of avoiding me all the time?”

A tired sigh escaped you because you were absolutely exhausted from it. “I accept your semi-sincere apology. But why, for the love of God, why don’t you ever use Yeri’s things!? Why mine? She’s the one that’s your friend!”

“Honestly? I wanted to get your attention.”

“Oh, my God, what are you, five?”

“Hey, you’re the one who ignored me like a rude hostess from the get-go! You never gave me a chance!”

“My first impression of you was all I needed to not give you one.”

“I couldn’t have been that bad.”

“You puked in my backpack with some of my textbooks in it and poor Yeri had to clean up your mess!”

“Oh yeah, I remember that… That was on Sunwoo’s birthday.” You tried walking away again, but Chan’s grip was too strong. “Ok, fine, I’ll admit my first impression was horrendous, but you never let me redeem myself after that, so I kept annoying you so you’d confront me about it! That’s not fair that you judged me so quickly!”

“Yeah, and look how annoying me turned out! It went from my first impression to my thousandth impression.”

“I mean, it eventually worked, right?”

Another tired sigh. “Chan, is there a purpose to this?”

“Yes. I want to start over.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Start over? Like, erase all the shit that happened between us?”

“Exactly. A clean slate. Clean plates, I’ll even do your dishes tonight.”

You did hate doing the dishes… And you were so tired of stressing out over avoiding him, even if it had only been a week. After a long, painful pause, you held out your hand for him to shake. “Fine, a clean slate it is.”

A prideful and grinning roommate gladly shook your hand. “I pledge to not be an asshole anymore.”

“And I promise not to have a stick up my ass.”

“Wow, look how far we’ve come, huh? Cheers to a new friendship?”

“After you do my dishes.”

“... Fair enough.”

To commemorate this new and fresh friendship, you joined Chan in the kitchen. You didn’t do anything as he hand-washed your handmade dishes made in pottery class, but in return for eating your last fruit snack pack, he offered you some cookies he’d been hiding to which you gladly obliged. It was a peaceful silence in the kitchen other than the clinking of dishes and running water that offered some white noise while you read one of your books (after Chan called you a nerd). This had to be the most stress-free thirty minutes of your life.

“So,” your new ‘friend’, if you’d generously call him, began after finishing the dishes. He took a seat next to you and grabbed a cookie of his own. “Now that we’re cool and all, I would like to formally invite you to our basketball game tomorrow.”

"First of all, we're not totally cool just yet. Think of this as like a trial. Gotta pay your premium subscription fees before getting the premium benefits.”

“Yeah, yeah, so do you wanna go or not?"

"Hm, a basketball game? Like you're playing in it?"

"As the captain, I sure hope so."

You thought about it for a second - what terrible things could possibly come about if you went to one of Chan's basketball games? Well, it's set in a crowded and sweaty arena, whose crowd and players are also sweaty, it was loud, the food and drinks were expensive, and you literally could not care less about basketball. But, out of the goodness of your heart, which was now willing to give people a second chance for some reason, maybe you could tolerate sitting through a quarter or two.

"Sure, I'll go."

"Really? I wasn't expecting that."

"Then why'd you bother asking?"

"I'm tryna be homies, and that's what homies do! Invite homies to their basketball games."

"Please don't call me homie."

"Ok, home skillet."

"I'm gonna be honest, I don't know anything about basketball."

"Like, at all?"

"I know the cool far shots are worth like three points, right?"

"Oh, darling, you have a lot to learn. Here, lemme do a spark notes run down."

Professor Chan, PhD in sports and partying, took however many hours to explain. You lost track after two. At the end of the night, all of the cookies and milk were gone and you both went to bed at two in the morning.

--

"You, at a basketball game!?" Yeri snorted from the other side of the world. "And you and Chan being civilized!? Lord, how long have I been gone?"

"I have many regrets…"

"Don't say that! I think it's cute that you guys are finally getting along. Who would've thought that locking you two in the same apartment for one week was all that it took?"

"It might have been sooner if he'd just apologized right away instead of stealing all of my stuff to get my attention."

"Yup, sounds like Christopher."

"So you're coming back soon, right…?"

"If soon means a couple of months, yes."

"Yeri ~!" you whined, hopelessly missing your Sunday night partner watching crime documentaries.

"Chill, you big baby, just hang out with Chan if you're so lonely."

"Ugh, gross." Ironically enough, you stepped on a freshly-spat wad of gum upon entering the half-filled gymnasium.

"But not too often cuz, you know, you might fall in love ~"

You hoped no one saw the way your face twisted in disgust. "Are you delusional!?"

"Or even worse, you two might get drunk and make out and then fu -"

"OH-KAY, bye, Yer-bear love you!" You hung up immediately, traumatized at the thought she planted in your head. You hated how your face heated up so brightly. Don’t sweat it, _____! There’s no way that something like that could blossom from something that was nothing!

"Hey, you actually made it -" Chan had burst into your bubble without a warning, causing you to jump and drop your phone. After wiping off another fresh glob of gum from your phone screen this time, you bucked up the courage to stand face-to-face with a confused Chan wearing his basketball uniform. "Jeez, you good? You're all blushy. Ah, you saw Jaehyun's nudes, didn't you?"

"No, idiot! You just startled me, although I should be used to you invading my space by now."

“Ha ha. Stop being weird and take a seat. We’re still warming up, but hopefully we’ll start soon.”

“Uh, is there like, designated seating, or?”

Chan’s dimply smile accompanied a rough hair ruffle. “How cute, you’ve never been to a game before, huh?”

“I would rather die than willingly pay to go here on my leisure.”

A strong, sweaty arm wrapped around your shoulders. “Sit right over there,” he said, pointing to a single spot in the middle of the one hundred level that allowed for the best view of the entire court. “You’ll see me in action the whole time.”

“Next to the dude eating a chili dog and the chick with a cut-out of Woojin’s face?”

“The superfan section truly is not of this world.”

“If I came all the way here just to watch you lose, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“Don’t worry, baby, we never lose!”

The coach called Chan back to warm up some more which left you no choice but to enter the germ-infested purgatory and sit in between the superfans. Glancing at the other team, it was clear that they had the intimidation factor of being the taller and bigger players, so you weren’t sure how this was going to turn out. But your team, although smaller, had an enormous amount of unwavering energy. Perhaps it was because they were playing at home and had the entire half of this court filled to the brim cheering their names.

Chan was busy next to the couch, watching the form of his teammates as they were shooting three pointers. There was no doubt to anyone, even if no one had ever seen him before, that he was the captain. Who knew the barf-filled, void for a stomach, almost always naked asshole had the mindset of a lion? Every now and again, he’d pull one of his teammates to the side, probably a newbie to the varsity team, and help him with his form or give pointers or remind him of what play they were going to execute once the buzzer rang.

At some point, you realized you were watching him for far too long because he caught you right where he placed you. By the smirk on his lips, you’ll never hear the end of it if you see each other back at the apartment, and you would have looked away almost immediately if he hadn’t grabbed a ball not a second later. What was he doing?

Chan dribbled the ball to the free throw line (at least you think that’s what it’s called). He looked at you again, but this time he was pointing, like he was challenging you. Every pair of eyes in the gymnasium managed to pinpoint his target to you and if he thought you were blushy before, he should really see you up close now. After the very dramatic scene, Chan focused on dribbling the ball a few times which brought everyone’s attention back to him, thankfully. He dribbled a bit more, stopped to set up his shot, followed through and swoosh, there it went, right into the basket like a mathematician's perfect parabola.

“That was for you,” he mouthed silently with a sense of tease dripping from every word.

Normally, you might have flicked him off, but who were you to ruin the vibe just before the game started? Out of the goodness of your heart, you lightly clapped at his performance like this was the opera.

And so the game began! Mingyu, since he was the tallest member, did that thing where they toss the ball up in the air and they try to get it on their side, and since he was like 6’5”, it was easy for Chan’s team to start with the ball. There was a lot of back and forth head movements and eye scanning and you felt like your brain was being shaken up. To be honest, before you stepped into the stadium, you thought that none of this was going to excite you in the least. The idea of sweaty boys running around with a ball was completely barbaric, didn’t you think? But when someone, especially Chan, shot the ball or blocked it or did some weird dancey footwork, you gasped and cheered with the rest of the gym, the spirit of the game blooming in your soul much to your resistance.

The game ended almost too quickly and thankfully your team won. All of the superfans and the cheerleaders ran towards the team, congratulating them with cheers and hugs and mounting their beloved captain on their shoulders. Chan had his bright and dimply smile you’ve been seeing too often this week. You considered waiting until the crowd died down so you could congratulate him right then, but being the captain meant he was the center of everyone’s attention, not just yours. You shrugged off the impatience and headed for home. You could always congratulate him tomorrow, so long as he hasn’t puked anywhere.

Just before exiting the gym, you heard your name being called.

“_____, wait!” Chan yelled, sprinting to you as soon as his people made a walkway.

“I guess a congratulations is in order,” you said. “Congrats on winning. You looked super cool out there.”

“Hold on, can you say that one more time?” he teased, whipping out his phone to record you.

“Congrats, asshole!” you greeted the camera with double birdies.

“Thank you, m’lady. Where are you going now -”

“Channie!” a cute voice cried. Channie?

“Miyeonie!” he parroted back at the pretty cheerleader.

“Are you coming with us to Mingyu’s or what?”

You almost forgot it was the weekend already. It was time for drunk Chan shenanigans to ensue and that meant locking yourself up in your room and hiding the newly-bought fruit snacks.

“Oh, uh…”

Chan looked back at you like he was about to ditch his little sibling who had asked to play with him. Before any embarrassing pity invites were thrown out, you quickly bid your farewell.

“I’ll see you later, Channie ~” you waved off playfully.

“_____, hold on,” he said in urgency. Oh no, please don’t do what you think he’s doing… “Uh, I think I’m going to skip out on tonight, Miyeon.”

Both of you looked at him like he had three heads and two tails. Miyeon’s the only one brave enough to speak up on it. “Party Boy Channie is ditching us tonight? Why?”

“I’m super tired.” You’re full of shit, Chan! Why are you ruining my quiet night in!? “I’ll catch you guys next week, though.”

“Fine. Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Ok ~” She then quickly kissed him on his lips and he welcomed it fully like they’ve been doing that for some time now. Could it be that Party Boy Channie has finally settled down, despite all of his sloppy stories he used to slur about every weekend? How was it that he, of all scumbags, was able to have a significant other and you couldn’t even get a tinder date! “I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t get too wild tonight.”

“No promises!”

Chan sighed helplessly and turned to face a disgusted? Shocked? No, a very uncomfortable you who had watched a corny teen drama movie unfold right in your face.

“Sorry about that,” he said sincerely for once.

“Oh please, I absolutely love watching true love express itself right in front of me, Channie.”

He rolled his eyes. “First of all, it’s not love.”

“Really? You’re telling me kissing pretty cheerleaders isn’t your love language?”

“Not when they cling to me like mothballs.”

“You’re so cruel, Channie.”

“Stop calling me that,” he warned. “Secondly, what are we doing tonight?”

“We? I don’t know who this we is, but I’m going home.”

“Aw, c’mon, really? I just ditched a Kim Mingyu party and perhaps some ass for some quality roommate bonding time!”

“I did not ask you to do that.”

“Don’t you wanna go out to eat or something? I’ll even pay for you.”

“No, because there’s food at home.”

“There isn’t food at home, you liar!”

“Well ok, not yet, I still have to go to the market first and then I’ll cook.”

“Oh?” You can cook? He certainly didn’t know that. “You’re cooking us dinner?”

“I’m cooking me dinner.” Chan folded his hands and gave you a poor excuse for puppy eyes. But he did just win the game, and you bet doing all that sporty stuff made him starving. “But I guess I can make you a plate... I guess you and I can… eat together…”

“Don’t sound too excited.”

“I’m clearly holding back my excitement.”

Usually in movies or tv, they have the head chefs of famous local restaurants come to the markets between four and five in the morning. The amateur chefs like yourself prefer to pick off what was left for much cheaper at night time. It’s not that the stuff left over was any bad, it was just the important people managed to pick out all the perfect prawns and symmetrical vegetables and what have you. It was much less stressful in the evenings anyways, when everyone was already home cooking and you were left to wander as you pleased before the vendors packed up for the day.

“Do you come here all the time to grocery shop?” a freshly-washed Chan asked beside you. When he went grocery shopping, as long as the produce didn’t have any bruises and the meat was red, that’s all he needed. He never inspected the peaches for its plumpness or asked what time the fish was caught today, unlike you, though now and again he’ll slap a watermelon to test its juiciness.

“Goodness, no, am I made of money?”

“How expensive can this place be, they’re not even in a store.”

“Oh, Chan the naivete. Think of the most expensive piece of produce you’ve ever bought. It’s probably organic, right? Free of pesticides and the like?”

“I think it was an avocado.”

“Right, completely ridiculous that you’re paying $2.50 per avocado. The avocadoes here? Double that.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I really wish I was. Those are the morning price avocadoes though. Nighttime shoppers like us are lucky to snag them for $3.50.”

“Why bother paying so much when you can go to the local store across the street from your house?”

“Even though I can get much more for the price I’m paying here,” you paused and handed Chan the brightest and quite possibly the smallest strawberry he’d ever seen. “You can taste the difference.”

Snipping off the green stem and leaves, the clueless boy popped the berry in his mouth and you watch the flavor brighten his eyes.

“Quality over quantity,” you bragged.

The rest of your time there, you had to stop Chan from eating a single grape from every little basket at every single vendor.

“You are a child.”

“Baby me, baby.”

Coming back to the apartment with your’s and Chan’s arms full of groceries, anxiousness rushed in the second you stepped beyond the threshold. It occurred to you that you’ve never actually cooked for anyone before besides Yeri. This will be the second time you’ll see someone’s first reaction to your cooking, and it’ll be from your worst enemy.

“Need me to sous chef, head chef?” he asked while unpacking.

“Actually, that would help me a lot. Could you wash the vegetables?”

“Sure. While we’re at it, can I get your opinion on something?”

You raised your brow in confusion. “Do I have the knowledge for it?”

“You have ears, so yes.”

From that point moving forward, you decided not to question Chan because he was going to do whatever he wanted anyways. As you prepped the kitchen, you ignored the loud rustling in the living room with the occasional ‘ow, fuck’ following a stubbed toe. Out of curiosity and right before yelling at him to hurry up, Chan had finally pressed the play button and an unfamiliar song played through his massive speakers that he brought outside.

“Is this your new song?” you asked.

He did the ‘hand-sexily-but-also-shyly-running-through-my-hair’ thing before answering. “Yeah, and I’m not sure if I like it that much. The guys say it sounds good, but they’re my homies so they have to say that, y’know?”

“At least you know I won’t bullshit you.”

“Be gentle at least, please.”

“I will once you help me with dinner finally.”

“Right, right.”

Of course one song didn’t cover the entirety of the dinner preparation. After the one, which you honest to God liked a lot (“Stop lying.” “I’m not! You asked me to be honest, dick!”), Chan shyly but happily showed you more of his work. Some of it was already posted to his Soundcloud and some weren’t uploaded because he either hated them or he was stuck and left unfinished.

“Like, how is it possible that I can’t finish a project whose finished product is less than three minutes long!?” By now, Chan gave up trying to help after he cut his finger several times and sat at the table munching on his expensive basket of berries as he explained his creative block to you as if you were his therapist. “It makes me seem lazy, doesn’t it?”

“People hit creative walls all the time,” you reassured. “Don’t get yourself down about it.”

“Have you ever even hit a wall before?” he challenged.

“I do in the kitchen all the time, you ass.”

“How is that even possible? What walls can you even hit in the kitchen?”

“The difference between baking and cooking is that baking has less room for error, but tons of room for visual creativity, which is why I think baking is much harder. Cooking measurements for a meal, on the other hand, are meant to be adjusted with freedom which is nice, but how many times can someone change the presentation of a bowl of rice, meat, and vegetables?”

A bowl of said food was placed in front of a drooling Chan who had to sit through the tortuous cooking process smelling the aromatics and satiate his rumbling tummy with sour fruit. He hadn’t even taken a bite yet and his eyes were already sparkling with anticipation. It was reactions like his that made you the most embarrassed because what if he tasted it and hated it!?

“Whoa, this looks delicious!” he beamed.

“You didn’t think I could cook, did you.”

“No, I thought you were joking and when you weren’t I was like, ‘I HAVE to taste her cooking’. I'm a little disappointed that it doesn’t look inedible.”

“Ha ha, just eat your food, parasite.”

With anticipation, you watched Chan take a huge bite with all the fixins on the spoon. You could sense the awkwardness when he turned away.

“Stop staring at me,” he mumbled with cheeks full of rice.

“Not until you tell me what you think.”

“Well, of course it tastes good.”

“Really?”

“Yes, now stop looking at me, I’m not your zoo animal.”

A huge sigh of relief escaped you and a heavy weight off your chest was relieved. Something about cooking for new people always made you want to pass out, but if both your best friend and your best enemy admit to how good it is, maybe you’ll become more open to the idea of cooking for others more often. You DID like that huge sense of pride that rushed in.

Chan finished the bowl in two minutes. He held it up for you to take. “More, please.”

“Wow, ok.”

You were lucky enough to get a bowl yourself with Chan practically inhaling everything, and even then he still had room for dessert. It was atrocious how much a college man could eat.

“They say someone’s cooking says a lot about them,” Chan proposed while washing down his food with soda.

“They who?”

“I don’t know, the internet?” he shrugged.

“Oh, yeah? What does the internet say about a bowl of rice for dinner?”

“That you’re uptight and don’t like to have fun.”

“Hey!”

“And probably a virgin.”

Your cheeks burned an embarrassingly bright red at the proclamation. “Wh-What makes you say that!?”

“It’s a safe meal to make. You know, hard to mess up and a little simple so it’ll always taste good?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Where’s the excitement, _____? The improvisation!?”

“There’s not much room to improv in cooking, Christopher.”

“Don’t you want to live a little? Have some spontaneity?”

“Are we still talking about my cooking or…?”

“No, dumbass, I mean your life, too!” Chan hopped up from his chair and took your hand to twirl you around the kitchen like the scene in Beauty and the Beast. Oh God, you hoped you didn’t accidentally poison him or that he was having a weird allergic reaction to sesame, or something. “Have some fun for once!”

You somehow broke away from the hypnotic dance and stood as far away from that crazy man as possible. “Don’t act like you know me all of a sudden because you read some corny Buzzfeed article about a fucking bowl of rice and meat, Bang Chan!”

“What do you mean, I’ve come to know you for a whole semester.”

“A whole semester of being blacked out.”

“Hey, that means nothing!”

“Ok. Tell me one thing you know about me from a whole semester of being unconscious on my couch.”

“You have an in-depth skin care routine.”

“Anyone can guess that.”

“From the books you have lying around and a few paintings on the wall, you dabble in that horoscope bull shit.”

“So do a lot of girls, next.”

“You like heart and star-shaped marshmallows in your hot cocoa.”

You’ll admit that one had you silent for a moment. Only Yeri knew about that, but that was because those were the only marshmallows you bought specifically for hot cocoa. They add a little pizazz to your drink, especially with the edible glitter. “That doesn’t count, there’s no other marshmallow in the apartment.”

“True,” he began, pointing an accusing finger at you. “But you like a whole handful of marshmallows in your mug.”

“... S-So -”

“Ah ha, got one!” 

“So what, a ton of people like marshmallows!”

“Yeah, but not pink hearts and purple stars ones!”

“How do you even know that?”

“Hm. I think it was the night of Hongjoong’s birthday. Yeah, I passed out, woke up, whined to Yeri, and she made me hot cocoa and said, ‘Do you care if the marshmallows are shaped like hearts and stars?’ And I said, ‘I ONLY want hearts and stars’.”

A shy smile spread across your lips. It’s moments like these when you weren’t chewing his ear off that he finds you a little cute. Just a little.

“Is there a reason for those specific marshmallows?” he asked.

“They’re cute,” you pouted.

“Well, do I get a prize for knowing one thing about you?”

“Yeah, doing the dishes.”

“What!?”

“I cooked now you clean!” you said before running off to your room.

A tired, but willing Chan dragged his feet to the sink. He could just throw all of the dishes in the dishwasher, but somehow hand-washing while reminiscing about all the Fridays he’s crashed here with you barking like a chihuahua the next morning was much more fun.

His cheeks hurt from smiling too much by the end of that night.

--

A virgin… How the hell does cooking a bowl of rice for your roommate somehow make you a virgin!?

Ok, so maybe it wasn’t the most outstanding meal you’ve ever made or could have cooked for him, but that ungrateful man who couldn’t even fry an egg shouldn’t be so picky!

But why, of all the insults and swears he’s ever thrown at you, was virgin the one that hit you the most?

Who cares if you were or weren’t one! What difference did that make you as a person, right!? At first glance, of course no one would be able to tell whether you were or weren’t one, but what did that say about people who did know you, like Chan and Yeri? Was that the kind of vibe you gave off? Were you too goody-goody, too play-by-the-rules? Was Chan right when he said your life lacked that spark, that spontaneity he seemed to so-crave?

Now that you thought about it, you haven’t gone out on a date or even found someone remotely interesting in a very long time… Since your first year of college at the very least.

Maybe you should show him how spontaneous you could get.

“That’s another thing I noticed last semester,” Chan’s charming accent shook you from your thoughts. You looked to the boy intruding in your room who leaned against the door frame, once again in only his pajama pants and a wet towel slung over his neck to barely cover his torso. He was built like he was carved from the finest slab of marble - how was his skin so white and smooth? “You tend to space out a lot, especially when you’re working on something.”

“How can you tell?”

“You get that dumb look on your face.”

“You mean the same one you have on all the time?”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“Thank you. What are you getting all dressed up for on a Tuesday night?”

“Miyeon said she was coming over like, ten minutes ago and I felt musty, so here I am, half naked in front of your door like this is the greatest dream you’ve ever had.”

“Is that the cheerleader from your game last weekend?” Chan hummed as a response, drying his hair with the towel around his neck and a toothbrush in his mouth. “Is she your girlfriend?”

You heard him choke on the toothpaste. “God, no, why do you think that?”

“I mean she kissed you… ?”

“Eh, it’s kind of an on-again-off-again thing, but nothing was ever official between us.” A sudden realization hit Chan and then that sly smirk that loved to tease you came back to haunt you. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“Jealous of some cheerleader who’s clearly in love with a man who has no interest in her while he lives with another woman?” you scoffed. “Green with envy.”

“At least I have someone in my life!” he called from the bathroom.

That, too, hit a little too close to your heart. He was right - at least he had someone who kept him company, who adored him, who he could go out on dates with… And what did you have? A lousy roommate who uses your body wash.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked after coming back fully clothed. Your bed was much softer than Yeri’s, who had a rock hard firm mattress. Perhaps Chan should take his naps here instead.

“Nothing. What is there to do on a Tuesday night?”

“Lots of things! It’s Taco Tuesday at that food truck on campus, it’s Tteokbokki Tuesday at that Auntie’s restaurant by the bookstore, ooh and the record store down the street gives out free seltzer water for the hipsters.”

“Is that what you and Miyeon are doing tonight?”

“No, she just wanted to make-out I think.”

“How romantic…”

Chan laid on your bed and kept his thoughts to himself for a while. Somehow after only a few weeks of living together did you tolerate his presence enough to not nag him to get out of your room, let alone off your bed. While you studied the infinite pages of words in your textbook, Chan was able to steal a few glances. The way your brows furrowed in frustration, the messiness of your hair, the slight pout in your lips, it was all quite cute for someone as grouchy as yourself. Although he supposed he’d be an asshole, too, if he was studying seven days a week. You must be tired and frustrated.

Without you paying attention, he whipped out his phone and texted his date.

“Darn,” he sighed convincingly. “Miyeon just cancelled on me.”

“Good for her.”

“Well, now that I’m free, it looks like it’s just you and me tonight.”

“Sike, I have some homework to do.”

“Oh, yeah?” Chan hopped off the bed and peaked over your shoulder at your homework. He was so close that you could smell his woodsy cologne. You kind of liked it. Kind of. “Homework that’s due on Friday? God, _____, at least try to be cool, you nerd.”

“Hey!”

“Get dressed, those tacos and tteokbokki won’t be piping hot forever ~”

“I’m not going!” you tried to argue, but that annoying boy was already out of your room and putting his shoes on. Evil chuckling could be heard from the living room - what a weirdo. As your stomach violently growled, it was really hard to resist such a tempting offer of food, even if it meant going with Chan.

An impatient roommate danced his way to exit. “I’m walking out the door ~”

“Chill, will you?” you mumbled while throwing on your coat. “How are you going to invite me and then abandon me?”

“Then move faster.”

“You move faster…”

“Ah ~” Chan pinched your cheek lightly. “You’re kinda cute like this.”

“Shut up.”

“You know, with trying to kick up the spontaneity in your life and what-not.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It’s a cold Tuesday night and you almost heavily regret wanting to be spontaneous and cute and uncaring, all because a soundcloud rapper called you a virgin. But the thought of a hot cup of spicy rice cakes was enough for you to travel through the polar vortex. It helped that you weren’t the only one suffering.

“All those nights I crashed on your couch, I’d always buy a cup of this gold before heading over,” Chan admitted. “It was a shame for the days I threw it up.”

“Ah, no wonder your puke is red! I thought you were always almost dying.”

“Sometimes I wished I was.”

Of course the auntie knew Chan by the amount of times he’s stumbled upon the place drunk off his ass (“Wow, you’re walking straight and talking in sentences today!” “Ha ha, auntie…”). The fiery cup of rice cake was the perfect hand-warmer.

“Do I not give off the virgin vibe yet?” you half-joked.

A charming burst of laughter came from your annoying roommate. How could he forget that he called you that! “You’re not hung up on that, are you?”

“I just… I mean, do you think that’s the reason why…” you struggled to speak your insecurities into existence because once you did, that meant they were real and totally holding you back.

“Why what?”

“Tell me something - am I really that uptight? Does it make me seem… I don’t know, unapproachable? Unlikable, even?”

“Please, you are totally uptight.” A loud, unladylike groan echoed throughout the crowded streets of campus. “Unapproachable, yes. Unlikable? I mean, not necessarily? Some guys think that’s hot.”

“So what you’re saying is I’ll be single forever or marry some pushover.”

“Hey, don’t put words into my mouth! Look, if you really want to change how your aura appears to people, you already have! You’re out on a Tuesday night eating rice cakes with the sexiest guy you know. That’s progress in my book, all thanks to me.”

“Somehow you’ve turned my insecurities into praising yourself.” It was impressive, honestly. “You’re something else, Christopher.”

“Thank you!”

“What’s next on our impromptu tour of the town?”

“Ya like vinyl?”

“Huh?”

Chan said nothing else as he cut you off and walked right into the record shop and low and behold, potential buyers were holding skinny cans of flavored seltzer.

“C’mon, princess, there’s not enough seltzer for everyone!” Chan urged.

The vastness and number of collections of the record shop rivaled the local book shop down the street. Although much noisier and haphazard, the concept was still the same and the neon signs and signed posters gave the shop quite the personality. Actually, it was almost as if it was Chan personified. 

In front of you was a basketball-loving ear-pierced punk-ass roommate who wore leather jackets in sub-freezing temperatures and didn’t know how to fold his laundry flipping through the Wu-Tang Clan basket. And there was you, the personified small local bookstore, watching him longingly and wishing you could be like him, who was cool enough to attract other cool people and be someone so approachable and likable. He was the complete opposite of you, and yet somehow you’re both here together, acting like you never had to kick his ass for using your toothbrush four too many times.

How was it possible to think that one day, someone could be in love with a plain and boring bookstore like yourself? Could someone like Chan love someone like you one day?

You hoped so.

Chan wondered where you were and found you looking at him with tired eyes. Of all the things to look at, you somehow could only look at him. With his dimply smile, he said, “Falling in love with me?”

Something made you want to say yes. “Did you find something you like?”

He silently gestured to you to come over with a lazy hand. As expected, he pulled out one of the Wu-Tang Clan records and played it on one of the modern record players that had one set of headphones at the station.

“Here, put these on,” he instructed while putting the over-ear headphones on. A smooth and unique rap style voiced over the equally-smooth instrumentals. It was unlike anything you’ve heard before. Perhaps Chan’s intellectual layers lied within his knowledge in music.

A slight pressure pressed against your right ear. You couldn’t see from your peripherals, but you could smell Chan’s rustic cologne again, and that itself already made you blush deeper shades of red than you could ever imagine. Since there was only one set of headphones, Chan obviously had no other choice but to listen to this track with you like this - invading your space bubble and making you weak in the knees.

“Do you like it?” you could barely hear.

“I do,” you replied. The song wouldn’t be over for another two minutes and Chan refused to move. “Is this what you like?”

“It’s inspirational to me.” The vibrations of his voice almost sent you into shock because wow, was he close to you or what.

He knew you were nervous. He could tell simply by how your shoulders squared the moment his ear pressed on the outside of the headphones. That’s yet another detail he’s come to notice while crashing on your couch and living with you. Whether you were nervous because he was shirtless after coming out of the shower or you were annoyed because he’d eaten all of the ice cream you were saving in the back corner of the freezer, you always straightened your posture upon seeing him because God forgive you ever show any emotion. Why were you like those stuck-up librarians at the hipster bookstores down the street who turned a blind eye to anyone who didn’t look like they read books?

Or maybe, just maybe, you were liking this. You liked being in close proximity to the sexiest guy you’ve ever laid eyes on. You liked the almost-but-not-really skinship you almost-but-not-really shared. You were nervous, not annoyed, weren’t you? Or were you annoyed that you’re nervous around your most hated enemy?

Either way, Chan wins, and that’s all that mattered to him.

You spent most of the spontaneous night in the record store listening to soul, trot, pop punk, underground hip-hop, and everything in between. Quite literally in-between, as Chan would not stop pressing his face to yours because he refused to find a second pair of headphones for him to borrow.

“Stop doing that!” you whined for the fifth time.

“I wanna listen, too ~”

“Then go steal another set of headphones!”

“But I like this. It’s way more fun. And your cheeks are so hot that the radiated heat is warming my face up.”

You’re silent at that point forward because your cheeks thought their purpose in life was to burn as hot as the sun and serve as a radiator to intrusive boys who wanted nothing more than to listen to good music with you.

Honestly, what’s there to complain about?

The record store didn’t close until midnight and you practically stayed until then. At that point, Chan with his black hole for a stomach was hungry again and led you to the taco truck he talked about earlier.

“Is it Taco Tuesday still if it’s past midnight?” you wondered.

“It’s still Tuesday until the sun comes up in my books.”

Tacos weren’t exactly an easy-to-eat street food, so you used the tin foiled rolls as hand warmers until you were back in the comfort of your kitchen where you could happily eat greasy tacos with your sworn enemy.

“What do midnight tacos say about me now?” you questioned the food and vibe expert across the table.

“They say you like cliches and you care a little too much about what people think of you.”

“How the hell did you come up with that?”

“Please, Taco Tuesday is so cliche! And you conformed to it because you want to seem more playful and less of a stick-up-your-ass, am I right?”

The pout on your lips was enough of an answer. “Now I feel like a virgin in sheep’s clothing.”

“Hey, we all have to start somewhere.”

“Do you think I’m more likable this way?”

Perhaps Chan was a little harsh with his words the one night you cooked for him. He thought he would be able to know you front and back after nearly a month of living together, but it seemed that he was farther away from that than he thought. After all this time, he thought you didn’t care one bit about how people perceived your feisty self. Maybe instead you cared too much and you had built a wall to prevent others like Chan from knowing.

“You were always likable,” he admitted honestly.

“Please stop lying,” you groaned.

“I mean it! Even when you were yelling at me or trying to kick me off the couch or stealing back the food I was trying to eat, I never hated you. It was so much fun messing with you because you were not afraid to cuss me out.”

“And that makes me likable how?”

Chan shrugged. “I have fun when I’m around you. Do you think I would have kept coming back to crash here if I hated you?”

“Yeah, to torture me.”

“Well, to clear things up, I don’t hate you. And I bet my bottom dollar that you don’t hate me, either.”

“Sike.”

“You’re telling me you still hate me after the fun we had tonight? Or the night you watched me play and cooked for me? Or even the one night after Lucas’s Halloween party when I passed out here even though your heater was broken and you wrapped me up in your fuzzy blanket?”

Another blush spread across your cheeks. “You remember that?”

“How could I forget the first night you showed me any compassion?”

“Fine, you’re right, I don’t hate you… You’re, in fact, quite tolerable.”

Who knew Chan’s eyes could light up so brightly at such a mediocre compliment, if you’d even call it one. “You like me ~”

“Stop.”

“You’re gonna fall in love with me ~”

“Chan -”

“I bet you already have ~”

“Ok, I’m going to bed.”

“No, you aren’t!”

You tried to run out of the kitchen and into your room to lock the door, but Chan got to you just as you reached the living room. He entrapped you with his big, strong arms and held you in a suffocating hug, drowning out his giggles with your screaming. Your resistance was strong, but you were smiling brighter than he’d ever seen before. Today was a long day for both of you and the moment Chan rested his chin on your shoulder was when you stopped struggling to break free. His tufts of chestnut hair and slow breathing tickled your cheeks.

“Oi, wake up,” you demanded, hitting his forearms.

That only made him hold you tighter. “No.”

You stopped fighting him and let the poor boy rest on your shoulder. “You don’t think this is weird?”

“No. We’re just two roommates fighting, right?” he teased, shaking you in his arms.

“Yeah, fighting.”

“Do you think it’s weird?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Please.”

His giggle rang in your ear and made goosebumps travel throughout your skin. Then Chan did what spontaneous Chan does and surprised you by kissing your cheek with a loud, moist, audible smooch.

“A-Ah, Chan!!” you gasped.

“Goodnight, beautiful.”

Before you could scold him further, he had already let go and went to his room. How long was he holding you? Because now you’re left stunned in the living room feeling the cold from the draft of your windows. Your cheek felt like it had been branded by his soft rose petal lips. It burned so much that you ended your night lying in bed staring at the ceiling cupping the tainted cheek.

“I hate him,” you mumbled to no one. Your words hold zero weight the moment you screamed into your pillow.

--

The first couple of days after the incident were a little weird, to put it simply. You circled back to your old habits of avoiding him and keeping conversations short and that didn’t slip past Chan for even a couple of hours. At first, he thought he might have ruined whatever weird friendship you had together, but the way you avoided him was not how it used to be.

You were embarrassed - dare he say even shy. Your avoidance held no malice and didn’t feel icy as it did last semester. Rather, you fled because you felt vulnerable. Your words were no longer full of insults, but instead were soft and sprinkled with stutters. It was like a scene from a drama set in high school where the cute shy nerd has a massive crush on the super sexy jock and won’t admit her feelings because she doesn’t think she has a chance. And knowing you, you would never admit to having feelings, so how was Chan supposed to get a confession out of you?

Cornering you was the only option he thought could work, but sadly that didn’t.

“Chan, c’mon, I have to use the bathroom,” you whined on the other side of the door.

He didn’t say a word when the door opened and steam spilled out into the halls. Yet again was he dressed only in his pajama bottoms and a towel around his neck, hair still damp and hanging loosely over his eyes. He took a step forward and you’re given no choice but to back up.

“What are you -”

You cut yourself off when your back hit the wall and Chan had you in the palm of his hands. Proximity was close to nothing as your toes touched and you could smell your body wash from his freshly-washed chest. Seriously, he still used your body wash!?

“C-Can I use the bathroom or what…” you stuttered.

He stared right in your eyes, then admired your cute nose, and finally down to your lips. He was teasing you! Like, actually teasing! He’s making you think that he wanted to kiss you! All of the possibilities of him making a move on you were just as equal as him not going through with it and your mind was racing like crazy and it was really starting to stress you out! Why, why was it stressing you out!?

Then he took a huge step back to let you through.

“All yours,” he whispered.

Well, that sort of worked… You didn’t say a verbal confession, but your face sure showed it. But no, that wasn’t enough. He needed to hear you say it. He had to do more, and he knew exactly what to do to push your limits.

For the whole week, whenever you did something for him whether it was answering a simple question or giving him a plate of whatever you cooked for dinner, Chan would kiss your cheek. That’s right, those soft rose petal lips would every-so slightly graze your cheeks almost everyday and even when you tried to scold him or fight back, you didn’t, as if you were stunned frozen every single time. This of course scared Chan - no emotion meant uncertainty on his end. Well, did you like it, or not!?

At some point, after a whole week of cheek kisses, you kind of… got used to it. Got used to the damn kisses, his flirtatious winks, the invasion of your space bubble, eating all of your food, using all of your bath products, taking unsolicited naps on your bed while you studied, all of it! You’ve gotten used to being around the man that is Bang Chan and you would almost admit that you liked being around him… almost.

And neither of you spoke up about it.

So… what were you two…? That’s right, you’re asking yourself the infamous ‘so what are we’ question - it’s really reached that point. No longer were you enemies or just plain roommates living separate lives, and of course you two weren’t dating, either. So did you consider him a friend? Sure, I mean you wouldn’t cook dinner for just anyone, right? But everything Chan did was not what normal friends do. At least in your experience - who knows if he’s doing this type of stuff to his other ‘friends’, like Miyeon.

Speaking of which, you hadn’t heard about her in a while, and you were almost convinced whatever relationship they had was over when she called off their date that one Tuesday - until Friday night.

The night was still young when you arrived home to your roommate mixing and playing with some beats over those impossibly loud speakers. It’s been a long week dealing with school work on top of figuring out your conflicting feelings of the boy in the next room and a quiet night without any games from Chan would be ideal, but life never worked out for you in that way, did it?

“Welcome home, darling ~!” he greeted playfully over the blasting bass before turning it down. “Cookin’ anything for dinner?”

The tiredness in your sigh didn’t go unnoticed. “Nah, I don’t feel like cooking tonight. I might do delivery if you’re up for that?”

The charming man came out of the room all dressed up like he was planning on going out and not coming back for the night. “That’s ok, I actually have plans tonight.”

“Oh? Where are you going?”

“Miyeon’s taking me out to one of her friend’s birthday bash, or whatever rich girls like to do, before we all go out tonight.”

Miyeon, the gorgeous cheerleader. Somehow, you’ve completely forgotten her existence. Of course they were still talking, idiot! How could you even think that you could compete with someone like her?

“Are you her date?” you asked hesitantly, not wanting to know the answer.

“If that’s what she’s callin’ it, I guess so.” Chan adjusted his shirt collar and unbuttoned the top. “Do I look good?”

“Do you not consider her your date?”

“Not really. All I have to do is sit and look pretty.”

“You don’t think she’s asking you because she likes you?”

“Please, she probably only asked me because Mingyu said no.”

“Chan, you don’t know that for sure.”

You began to feel his frustration when he threw his hands in the air in disbelief. The truth hurts, doesn’t it? “Why are you so hung up about this? Why does it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t!” you said a little too defensively. “I just don’t think you’re being fair.”

“How?”

“What if she really likes you? What if she’s asking you out to this thing because she wants you to know that? If she does like you, can you even say that you like her back?”

“Tch, no.”

“Then why even bother going and leading her on!?”

“Who said I’m leading her on? I’m just keeping her company!”

“What, so you’re going to have your arm around her waist, look into each others’ eyes and kiss and it’s going to mean nothing!?” At this point, you were screaming before you knew it. “Because that’s what you two normally do, right? Kiss each other like it means nothing?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it means, nothing! I -” Chan sighed heavily. “Ok, it does sound a little ridiculous when I say it out loud, but I promise it doesn’t mean anything! Wait a minute, why am I even explaining myself to you? Are you jealous, or something?”

No, you’re not jealous. You’re angry that Chan was that kind of guy who played with women like they were toys or little pawns on a cheap chess set. You’re angry that you were one of them.

“Have fun tonight,” you said flatly, retrieving to your room.

“_____, wait.” You didn’t wait and instead locked your bedroom door. “Fuck.”

Well, Chan’s End Game plan to get you to confess out of jealousy backfired badly. The party wasn’t even real! Dammit, now where was he supposed to go looking like this!?

A small lightbulb went off in his head. Off to the grocery store!

Maybe going to your room was a terrible idea because now you were left to reflect on how you poorly reacted. You had your strong points about how Chan didn’t know how Miyeon truly felt about him, but the flipside was that she could have felt the same - that she was just using Chan as some accessory and he was totally ok with that. Who were you to judge the weird mutualistic relationship that they had as head cheerleader and captain of the basketball team? The concept seemed corny and straight out of a teen movie, but perhaps those movies weren’t too far off base as you thought.

You’re also left to reflect on what he said before you stormed off into your room - were you jealous? At first, your anger could easily be mistaken for jealousy, but what was the truth? Of course you’re furious that Chan played these stupid fucking games with you! But you’d be less mad if you were the only one he cared to fool around with. 

You finally left the room around an hour after your sulking to bump into Chan’s rock-hard chest.

“Jesus Christ!” you screamed. “Chan, what the hell!” 

“Sorry, I was about to knock!”

“What are you doing right in front of my room, you werido!?”

The cheeky, dimply boy held up a paper bag. “Buzzfeed said people who like desserts are emotionally-driven and a little cold-hearted, but sweet as sugar once they get their fix.”

“Buzzfeed said that or YOU said that?”

“Both.”

You shook your head tiredly. “What are you doing here?”

“I… I lied. I don’t have some extravagant party to go to tonight. I haven’t texted Miyeon in weeks.”

“What? Then why did you…?”

“I had this dumb idea that you would confess your undying love for me if I somehow made you jealous. Clearly that didn’t work.”

“You’re right, you’re dumb ideas never work.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that! Fine, let me try Plan B. Let me know it it’s also dumb.”

“Gladly.”

“_____, I like you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “Y-You what?”

“I like you. A lot. Since you threw that blanket over me that one night last semester and I knew you didn’t truly hate my guts after all. And then I got to live with you - to witness your multi-faceted personality, to talk with you, and to get you to laugh at my dumb jokes and cheek kisses. Tell me, _____, am I dumb for falling for you like this?”

“Well… I’d say yes, but that would admit I’m stupid, too.”

“Oh?” He smirked playfully, taking a step forward. “And that’s because…?”

You mumbled something incoherent. Then, Chan dropped the bag of desserts and scooped you in his arms again, nuzzling his nose in all the ticklish places on your neck.

“Chan, stop!” you giggled.

“Hm? What was that?” he asked. “I can’t hear you ~”

“I like you!”

Finally, he stopped, lifting his head to look at you but keeping you safe in his arms. “Do you? I mean, really, do you?”

“I like you. Surprisingly a lot. And I hate it.”

“Music to my ears, baby,” he grinned. He buried his face once more to flower you with cheek kisses. “Say it again.”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“Please ~” his kisses trickled down to your neck.

“It tickles!” you giggled some more. “If I say it, you gotta stop.”

“As much as that burdens me, fine.”

“I like you, Bang Chan.”

“See? Doesn’t that confession feel great? Like a huge weight lifted off your chest?” He pulled you in closer, to which you oblige and it only made his ego bigger and his heart beat faster. “I could get used to this.”

“Me too,” you sighed dreamily.

“Would you like dessert to commemorate this beautiful union, my love?”

“Sounds delightful.”

“Will you kiss me first?”

You pulled on his shirt collar to bring him down for a long, deep kiss that Chan thought he could only ever dream about. It left him dizzy and a little light headed and the way you break the kiss to let your sweet lips linger so closely was torturous and almost had him begging for more. Almost. Bang Chan did not beg.

“Whoa,” he sighed breathily.

“That’s what you get for the past couple of weeks.”

“Ah yeah, I suppose I deserve that…”

You left the stunned Chan to go ahead into the kitchen. “Let’s go, lover boy. I want some ice cream, please.”

“Anything for you, princess.”

--

EPILOGUE

“You two are what!?”

You and Chan looked at each other with fear written on both of your faces. Yeri was on the other end on speakerphone screaming curse words and ‘are you kidding me’s and ‘I fucking knew this would happen’s.

“Yeah, we’re uh, kind of dating now,” Chan repeated bravly.

“I cannot believe what I’m hearing! This is disgusting!! _____, what do you have to say for yourself, you hypocritical piece of poo!”

“I have nothing to say, I am just as ashamed as you are.”

Chan nudged you playfully. “Hey, we’re in this together, you know!”

“Ugh, I hate how I have to support this!” Yeri whined and cried and sobbed. “Just… Just don’t do it on my bed!”

“Don’t worry, apparently to Chan I’m a huge virgin because I know how to cook.”

“I was kidding!! And that’s gonna change now that I’m here -”

“Oh, gross! Stop! Please stop!” Yeri groaned. “I hate you both, I’m gonna kick your asses when I come back!”

“Love you too, Yer-bear,” you and Chan said in unison.

[keichan]

Running Through the Night Tsukishima x fem!reader Part 8: Together

You and Tsukishima have been friends for as long as you two could remember. With a very unexpected confession, how will this affect you two?

Authors note: Okay! So this fic takes place in Seberptem of 2017!! It will all make sense! This fic is going to be ending at chapter 10! This is also the longest chapter of the series so I really do hope you guys enjoy! Please interact with this to show your support!

Word count: 3768

Genre: college au, unrequited love, angst, best friends to lovers, fluff somewhere in there, mutual pining

Warnings: manga time skip!!! swearing! alc!

Send me a message or ask to be added to the taglist !

masterlist・previous・next

After Tsukishima came over on Saturday, you have been in a slightly better mood. Hearing his words brought you comfort, but at the same time the ache still persisted in your chest by knowing that you were still the reason for his pain. It was not his fault that you were unhappy after his confession. It was the large communication gap between the two of you. The things that were said out of lack of knowledge rather than hostility. Though the instances were childish, you have known him for over 15 years and he wouldn’t spit words with venom like that.

It was late Wednesday afternoon and you and Yamaguchi were setting up the apartment to look nicer for all of your friends from high school to see. Yamaguchi looked at you to smile. You had a brave face on today. Everything this last week has changed between you and Tsukki, and right now it is starting to look for the better. You had your hair fixed nicely. Light makeup on. One of your favorite outfits. The only reason Yamaguchi remembered is because him and Tsukishima were there when you bought it. Earlier in the summer you dragged Yamaguchi and Tsukishima to have a mall day (very much against Tsukishima’s will) to go back to school shopping. 

It was a pair of skinny jeans that rested right below your belly button and a flower peach shirt that you complimented with a tan jacket. Yamaguchi just knew that you were feeling your best about the party tonight. 

It wasn’t long before former members from Karasuno’s volleyball club began to pour into your apartment. Everyone brought food and drinks and we’re having a good time catching up with all of the alumni who decided to move out of Miyagi like Yachi and Azumane.

Tsukishima’s cake, well it wasn’t really a cake, more or less of large strawberry shortcake with the numbers 21 struggling to stand up in the strawberries. Though it was Tsukishima’s birthday, you haven’t spoken to him since the day on campus. 

By now the night has fallen and you were standing around your counter with Enoshita, Kinoshita, and Narita. They haven’t left Miyagi, so it’s not like you don’t get to talk to them fairly often. 

“I’m getting an internship at a physical therapy center by Sendai. After they graduate they said that they’ll give me a job.” Enoshita proudly announced before taking a drink from his plastic cup. 

You clapped your hands together smiling. “Ah that’s great! I’m so happy for you, Enoshita!”

“Ah! Thank you Y/N!” Enoshita smiled before dipping his head into a small bow. 

You held your face in your hands as you continued to talk to them. You were slowly getting tipsy while waiting for Daichi to return to the apartment with Tsukishima. Somehow all of your nerves flutter away as you become surrounded by your old friends and classmates. Sinking into a comfort that has been a stranger to you in the last two weeks. 

You laughed as suddenly the lights turned off. Someone grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the other side of the kitchen. A lighter flickers over the candles to light them. You turn to see a shadow cast on Yamaguchi’s face as he fumbled to have the candle wicks catch a flame. 

“Daichi texted me. They’re walking up now.”

Immediately the nerves set back in. The room was dead silent. Everyone already knew the plan and to be prepared. You stood behind Yamaguchi. He held the shortcake with one hand and hovered his other hand to guard the flames as he walked forward.

You hear Tsukishima’s voice muffled outside of the door. 

“Daichi, I don’t understand why you had to drive me her if Y/N needed to talk to me. You know that I’m twenty-three and I do in fact own a car?”

Daichi laughed and opened the front door. 

Immediately Sugawara turned on the lights and a flooded chorus of “Happy birthday, Tsukishima” filled the room.

“Happy birthday, Tsukki!” Yamaguchi walked up to the tall blonde, raising the shortcake closer to his face. “Make a wish!”

Tsukishima looked back to normal as if nothing ever happened. His cheeks were no longer hollow and bags no longer reside under his eyes. He quickly scanned the room to meet your eyes for a brief moment. You offered a small smile and a slight nod. Tsukishima returned the smile that turned quickly into a smirk as he looked around at the rest of his former classmates.

“Well well… This is a little extra now isn’t it?” 

With a smug grin he leaned down to blow out the candles following with everyone’s applause. 

Tanaka and Nishinoya practically tackled him before punching his side and rubbing his hair. They teased him saying that he’s becoming an old man since he already acted like one. 

As if Nishinoya could pause in midair, he looked over at you. “Y/N you should get some music going!”

It wasn’t before long that Tsukishima was sitting at the kitchen table eating his birthday desert (while refusing to let anyone touch it) reminiscing with Sugawar, Azumane and Sawamura. You two still haven’t said a word and it’s been thirty minutes since the party had started. 

Now you were talking to Kiyoko, Tanaka, and Yachi. Soft music played in the background barely loud enough to where you needed to shout over. Luckily for the four of you, Tanaka carried the conversation.

Not completely surprising, but glad that it happened, Kiyoko and Tanaka told you that they got married in a very small wedding a few months prior. You and Yachi couldn’t help but smile since everyone was well aware of how… bold… Tanaka was about his attraction to Kiyoko in high school. You were slightly buzzed and enjoying every conversation you were able to partake in with your former classmates.

In the conversation, you couldn’t help but to keep looking over at Tsukishima. He was picking at his shortcake while being engaged with his senpais. He looked bored, but everyone knew he was very grateful to be around everyone like that again. 

You excused yourself to go pour yourself another drink. You walked over to the counter and began to make yourself a mixed drink. You couldn’t help but overhear the boy’s conversation.

“It’s great that Y/N managed to get all of us together in Miyagi again. She’d been planning it for about a month now I believe,” Sugawara laughed as he leaned into the table, already noticeably drunk. Tsukishima nodded without a shred of emotion on his face.

“She’s great.”

Quickly, holding your newly poured drink with both hands, you made your way to the small round table standing beside Tsukishima. The small amount of liquid courage in your system pushing you generously to attempt to start a conversation. 

“Happy birthday, Tsukishima.” you leaned closer to the table for him to hear over the speakers. 

Unintentionally, the air between the five of you became stiff. The three upperclassmen have never heard you call him by his surname. It came as a surprise to them to see Tsukishima completely freeze in place before dipping his head in a small bow.

“Thanks, Y/N” he mumbled looking dead ahead. Azumane, Sugawara, and Sawamua’s eyes looked back and forth between the two of you as if there was a tennis match. But there wasn’t anything besides tension.

You awkwardly rubbed the back of your head before nodding. “Mmm.” 

You quickly turned around and headed to the opposite side of your home back to Tanaka, Kiyoko, and Yachi. You weren’t able to pay attention to what they were saying as your gaze stayed at a wall past their heads. It was easy to escape the awkward situation, but that isn’t what the two of you needed. However, there was still a wall there.

You sighed before picking your cup off the floor. “I’m gonna go sit outside for a second. I need a breather.”

You leaned over the railing in the staircase of your apartment complex looking over the small neighborhood. The quiet hums of cicadas filled your ears bringing you a sense of comfort that you weren’t able to find in your apartment upon Tsukishima’s arrival. 

Though it had only been two weeks, you didn’t know how to start a conversation normally. If only something could push you two in the right direction. You sighed watching cars pass the street below you. You closed your eyes and began humming a song that has been stuck in your head for a while.

You heard footsteps walking behind you going down the stairs. It must be one of your neighbors going out. Instead, someone stands beside you supporting themselves on the railing.

“What are you doing all alone out here?” Tsukishima asked. You dangled your cup mindlessly over the ledge before raising it to your lips to take a long sip. It seemed that whatever god exists read your mind.

“I just needed to clear my head? Shouldn’t you be inside enjoying your birthday party?” 

You turned your head to meet his gaze before he shook his head.

“You weren’t in there for a while and I just thought that I’d ought to go find you.” 

There was a soothing silence that coated the two of you for a few minutes. 

“Y/N, are we still friends? I understand if we’re not. I-“ he paused before gripping the rails until his knuckles were white. “I just need to know where we stand.” His voice was monotonous, but his actions reflected his emotional stance. 

“Tsukishima, I-” He quickly stood up straight and turned to face you, keeping his hands on the rail.

“Kei.” He breathed. “Please call me Kei.”

“Kei.” You began firmly. “I know that these last two weeks haven’t been our best. And we both know why.” You bend down to place your drink on the concrete and carefully reach for his hands before taking them in yours. You sucked in a deep breath before meeting his honey eyes. You rubbed your thumbs in circles on the backs of his hands as a form of reassurance. 

“I love you. I’m sorry that it took me so long to come to the realization, but I truly do. I love that you’re witty and passionate about everything you do. Kei, you always put your best foot forward with everything you’ve ever done our whole lives and I admire you for that. You’re such an intelligent man and I can’t wait to see where life takes you after graduation. I know that you doubt yourself often, but there’s no need for that. You’re handsome and talented and you don’t need to forget that. Ever. I feel like a fool that it took me so long to realize that it’s always been you. You’ve stood by my side since day one. You are my comfort. You are home to me. There’s no one on this Earth that I’d rather live my life with than you.”

Kei squeezed your hands before pulling your arms around his waist and cradled your head gently in a hug. You tightened your grip on his waist and buried your head into his chest. He softly ran his fingers through your hair as all of the tension in his body left in a single breath. 

“Y/N..” He whimpered sniffling. Emotion poured into his words that wasn’t there previously. “I love you so much. I thought I fucked up everything. I didn’t mean those things that I said-”

“I know, Kei. I know how you work. You think you’re all cool with hostility, but you’re just a big softie aren’t ya?” you laughed looking up at him. He immediately froze and an annoyed expression graced his features. 

“Eh?? What the hell are you talking about, idiot.” He paused looking down before sucking his lips at the realization. He rolled his eyes to cover the fact that he confirmed your statement.

You giggled before reaching up to wipe away a stray tear from a few moments prior.

“You know I forgive you. You’re kinda cute when you act like this. You’re bad at hiding your emotions. You know you can let down your walls around me.” 

His face automatically flamed red before he turned his head abruptly. 

“Stop it Y/N. You can’t just go around saying things like that. You can’t go saying whatever the hell you want’” he quickly flicked your forehead. You gently shoved your hand against his chest.

 “There you go again! You know that didn’t stop you the other day!”  

He continued to look away from you over the neighborhood. By now his entire face and neck were bright red.

You reached up to bring his chin down to look at you.

“Kei. I love you. Let’s date. Yes or no?”

He quickly let go of your waist to cup your cheeks with both of his hands. He flashed a rare genuine smile. “Yes. A hundred time yes. Let’s do that.” 

He slowly leaned down towards your lips. Your eyes fluttered shut as his lips delicately landed against yours with a gentle peck. He pulled away and rubbed your cheek with his thumb. “Is this okay?” You quickly nodded before placing your lips on his. 

You melted into his touch and grabbed the front of his T-shirt to pull him closer. His lips were soft and enticing. He slipped his right hand behind your neck and tilted your head up more to deepen the kiss. 

Everything about the moment was as perfect as a movie. He bit your lip softly before slipping his tongue in your mouth. Your hands ran across his chest before wrapping them around his neck as his hands traced your side to clasp at the small of your back. 

After a few minutes the two of you pulled away and stared at each other with nothing but love in your eyes.  

“Have I told you that you look very, very gorgeous in that outfit?” He reached to hold your hands. He softly kissed your knuckles before peering down to you for your response. Heat rose to your cheeks before you shook your head. 

“Well, you look very gorgeous in that outfit.” He smiled before giving you a peck on your lips. He laced your fingers together and nodded towards the staircase. 

“Let’s go have a good time Y/N.”

He took your smile as a yes and led you back into the apartment, continuously looking back at you flashing a genuine smile at every given moment. 

As the two of you entered your home everyone paused their conversations to avert their gaze at the two of you. It’s pretty noticeable when the host and the star of the party disappear. Everyone made the connection quickly to see the two of you hand in hand after all these years. 

“About goddamn time!” Nishinoya weaved himself between everyone to punch Kei in the stomach before rubbing his hair. He quickly let go of your hand to hold his stomach, glaring at Nishinoya. If looks could kill, you’d be attending a funeral instead of a surprise birthday party. 

“Oh my god! Tsukki are you okay?” Yamaguchi was immediately beside him staring down Nishinoya. 

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

“Sorry, Tsukki!”

Tanaka rushed forward to give Tsukishima a hard time before Enoshita rushed forward to scold the two men. Exactly like high school.

You laughed before making your way back to the kitchen to see Sugawara smiling broadly at you. He hugged you and tilted you from side to side as if he were a proud mother.

“My children are finally together! My precious Kohais! God is good!” His head drooped onto your shoulder as if his neck couldn’t support it. 

In a flash Kei had an arm wrapped around your waist. He lowered his head to eye level with Sugawara, a smirk already apparent on his lips. “Do you have business with my girlfriend, Sugawara-san?” You shove Kei’s side for already letting his ego inflate. You couldn’t help but smile when you heard the word girlfriend though. 

Sugawara released you from his hug before stumbling backwards. Azumane caught him as if he were waiting on cue. He quickly mumbled his apologies on Sugawara’s behalf before returning to Daichi on the living room couch. 

“I’m proud of you two!” Sugawara slurred as he stumbled away. 

Tsukishima guided you to the kitchen table where everyone from your graduating year sat. No matter the topic of conversation, Kageyama and Tsukishima had to find a way to take a jab at each other. Every time Kageyama would say something to get under Kei’s skin,  he’d grip your hand tighter under the table. Any time you scolded either of the two men, his grip would relax to the sound of your voice. 

The two of you ran through the night flourishing your love while being surrounded by your closest friends. 

Eventually everyone flooded out of your apartment by 4am. Everyone that drank too much had a sober classmate to drive them home 

 You were dead asleep on the couch with your head on Tsukishima’s lap. He played with your hair as he exchanged a conversation with Yamaguchi. 

“I’m glad that you two finally got together. I’ve been waiting for years.”

A smile ghosted Tsukishima’s lips as he studied the features on your sleeping face. “I honestly didn’t think that you knew about it if I’m being honest. I’m so grateful she loves me back.”

Yamaguchi smiled seeing the look of admiration on his best friend's face. He wasn’t trying to hide his emotions anymore and Tsukki was basking in joy. Ironically, Yamaguchi thought back to highschool when girls would come up to him to ask about Tsukki, but little did the girls in school know that his heart was already taken.

Yamaguchi grinned and ran his hand through his hair. “Do you need anything else, since we already cleaned up?” 

Kei shook his head. “It’s all good. I’ll take care of her. I’ll catch you tomorrow at school on campus.”

Yamaguchi nodded and walked out of the front door with a short farewell. 

Kei held your head and maneuvered himself out from under you. You let out a slight groan before curling up into a ball to make up for the absence of heat. He chuckled at the sight. 

Kei made his way to your bathroom where he grabbed makeup wipes. He sat on the floor in front of you. He placed a finger under your chin before placing a chaste kiss on your lips. You didn’t stir. You have always been such a heavy sleeper. He carefully pulled off your strip lashes making sure to go as slow as possible to not wake you. He opened the container of wipes and began to remove your makeup. 

He threw the dirty makeup wipes away in the kitchen before returning to the couch. He picked you up bridal style and carried you to your room. You snuggled your head closer to his chest causing Kei’s face to shift to a pink hue. Lucky for him that not only was it dark, but no one else was there to bear witness to it. He’d never get used to you finally being his. 

He placed you on your bed and to his surprise, that’s what woke you up. 

“Kei? What time is it?” You yawned. He peered at the clock next to your bed. 

“5:30 in the morning” 

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes before reaching out to him. He sat down for you to wrap your arms around his bicep and rested your head sleepily on his shoulder. 

“Are you staying the night?” 

“Only if you want me to.” His voice laced with cockiness. You didn’t even need to look at him to know he had a fat smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes before pulling him closer. 

“I want you to hold me, Kei.” 

You felt his hand come up to the side of your face to support your head. “Anything for you.”

You picked your head up from his shoulder and stretched your arms back to yawn. You sluggishly stood up before walking to your dresser. 

“I have a pair of your boxers and sweats that you left over here if you want to wear them.” You didn’t wait for a response before you threw them at him. Mistakenly hitting him in the face, but you couldn’t help but laugh at him in the dim lighting. You knew he was scowling at you. 

You ignored it and grabbed an oversized T-shirt and a fresh pair of underwear and went into your bathroom to change. You caught your reflection to see that your makeup was already gone. Your chest fluttered knowing that Kei was sweet enough to do it for you while you were asleep. 

You walked back into your room to see Kei sitting in your bed under the covers scrolling through his phone, shirtless. His glasses already rested on the nightstand. 

“Kei? Did you take off my makeup for me?” You swayed back and forth in place. 

His eyes didn’t rise from his screen. “No.”

You giggled before making your way beside him. You pulled the comforter over your legs and turned to face him.  You grabbed the side of his face and placed a large kiss on his cheek. You felt his skin burn below your lips. He locked his phone and quickly turned to catch your lips. 

He pulled away and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Let’s go to sleep.”

You nodded in agreement and laid on his chest and buried your head into the crook of his neck. Your warm breath tickled his neck.  You sling your free arm around his neck and drape your leg over his. His arms rose  wrap around your torso. He slipped his hands up your shirt and drew circles on your back.

“Is this okay with you?”

“Yes baby. Perfect.” You mumbled into his ear. Twirling his hair in your fingers. 

He turned to kiss your forehead and smiled at his new pet name.  

“Yanno, this is the best birthday present I could’ve asked for.” Kei heard you mumble in agreement.

He continued,” You’re a gift of a lifetime. Thank you for being with me. You’re my greatest blessing.” 

“Mmm” was all you could muster before your body went slack on top of his. 

Not before long, the night lulled him to sleep dreaming about the future to come. 

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[wonderwomanfantasy]

you either die a hero...

Yes this IS exactly like another Izuku blurb I just posted. 

 Izuku x Friend! Reader Shigiraiki x Reader (not really )

word count: 2,400 (about)

warnings: Swearing, major angst, bullying, the reader is a jerk in this one, fighting,

summary: You didn’t know why but you wanted to hurt Izuku, hurt him the way he hurt you, Shigiraki was glad to help. 

There was a saying about heroes, Villains, and love. To heroes, their lovers always came second some nebulous Idea of “the greater good,” and if push came to shove. A Hero would always sacrifice their love if the world was on the line.  But a Villian? for all their faults, A Villain was aloud to love selfishly and wholeheartedly. you didn’t know where you had first heard that saying, but it stuck with you. 

You had met Midoriya on the very first day of kindergarten when the two of you spent recess playing heroes. you were always the bad guy, running around the playground dodging Midoriya who was the self-proclaimed hero. Neither of you had developed a quirk yet so you played pretend. Sometimes the two of you spent more time cooking up potential quirks than you did actually chasing each other. 

You were never Izuku’s best friend, you never really saw him outside of school but that wasn’t to say the two of you weren’t close. especially when you both found out you were quirkless. Although the lack of powers didn’t stop either of you from dreaming. 

“(y/n)?” Izuku asked breathlessly, the two of you had exhausted yourself chasing each other around the playground and you were panting just as much as him 

“What? You want a rematch?” you teased. You were always a little bit faster than the green-haired boy.

“When we get older and become heroes together we should get married,” he offered with the innocence only a child could manage.” think about it! we would be a super tough quirkless crimefighting duo and-” and he was rambling too fast for you to keep up with.

Your eyes went wide,  not sure what to say. On the one hand, boys had germs and were gross and you definitely didn’t want to marry one. But Izuku wasn’t gross, he was your friend and who else would you marry? the only other boy you talked too was Bakugou and you gaged at the thought of marrying him. 

“I’d love to Izuku!!” you shouted, cutting him off, and from that day forward you were an engaged woman.

You staid close to Izuku throughout middle school, although you let go of your dream to become a hero, Midoryia never did. He still raced towards every fight, eager to learn everything he could from each fight. 

You didn’t really see the point. no matter how many fighting styles he memorized or how many quirks he knew forwards and backward, it wasn’t going to give him a quirk of his own. you would never say it out loud but you just didn’t really see how he could become a hero. 

A villain maybe, black market weapons would make up for a lack of quirk and with his extensive knowledge of each hero’s weakness he could wipe out the competition without a problem. But Izuku cried if you even joked about him becoming a villain, so again you kept those thoughts to yourself. 

Still, Izuku was your friend and outwardly you always encouraged him, even going as far as to apply to UA with him just to make him feel better. Although you were only applying to the general studies course. you also applied to other schools in the area positive that you wouldn’t make the cut. 

You had read and reread the acceptance letter until the words had been burned into your mind. you had gotten into UA. You had run the entire way to Izuku’s house, tears of joy stung your eyes as you rattled the door with your fist. similar tears of joy were in the corners of Inkos eyes when she finally let you in. Izuku gripped you tightly in his arms before spinning you into the air. Both of you were screaming and crying too much for propper congratulations but the message was clear, you wouldn’t have to say goodbye to Izuku just yet, you both were going to UA. 

That happened to be the last time you saw Izuku for a very long time. Maybe you should be happy that the last memory of your best friend was such a happy one, and besides its not like everyone held on to their childhood friends. But it still stung seeing him around campus with his new classmates. He only occasionally waved to you in the hall when he did see you and every time you texted him he responded with short replies hours sometimes days later.

Izuku’s blind optimism must have rubbed off on you. That was the only explanation for why you had held on to the belief that you could keep Midoriya in your life let alone the childish promise to marry each other.

Besides, it wasn’t like you didn’t have your own friends, a lot of the general studies kids were great people, even if half of them were kids who didn’t want to be in GS and were gunning for the hero course. 

You weren’t looking forward to the Sports Festival. You weren’t all that athletic and if you were being honest you were kind of scared of some of the hero course kids. You were lucky, you didn’t even make it past the enormous wall of ice one of the students shot off. Wich was fine by you, it meant you could spend the rest of the festival in the stands watching a bunch of teenagers kick the shit out of each other. It wasn’t like anyone was cheering for you anyway. 

You perked up the second Izuku entered the ring against Shinsou. You weren’t sure who to cheer for, your old friend or your new one. You didn’t know when Izuku developed a quirk.you would have thought he would tell you. you felt stupid for still thinking he was quirkless like you. 

When had he become so powerful? stong enough to shatter not only Shinsou’s hold on him but his own bones as well. the cheers around you were defining but it was almost like you couldn’t hear anything. 

Why hadn’t he told you? Did he not want to make you feel pathetic for not having a quirk? you pushed the thought away. you didn’t care what Deku thought about you, he had his reasons and you didn’t need to know about it. Besides, the two of you weren’t really friends anymore so what did it matter? you couldn’t wait for this stupid festival to be over. 

Even though you had already decided not to press the issue, but you couldn't help yourself and you tracked Midoriya down after he was eliminated from the sports festival. It wasn’t exactly hard, after all there was only once place he could be. 

You stood awkwardly in Recovery girl's office. the old woman looked up at you kindly and asked what she could do for you.

“Uh- frostbite at least I think that's what it is that Todoroki kid hit me with that giant ice tower,” you mumbled showing her a reddened patch of skin, you knew it wasn’t frostbitten it didn’t even hurt but Recovery girl examed it carefully ad kissed your cheek. 

“You might feel a little dizzy you may need to sit down,” she warned, you plaid along and she lead you deeper into her office before getting distracted by others who were actually hurt, which was fine by you, it made it easier to search for Izuku.

He was alone on the hospital bed, perfect for an ambush. 

“Oh hey (y/-”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you demanded he blinked

“What did you think? that I would get jealous or something?” you demanded and maybe you would have been hurt by your last friend also developing a quirk and leaving you behind, but no more than you were hurt by this lie right now. You thought back to every time he fantasized about a quirk with you. How much of that had just been him humoring you?

He was silent so you filled the gap. “I thought we were friends. Friends tell each other these things!”  you hadn’t realized it but you were starting to get choked up. you could see tears forming in his eyes and you knew if he cried you would burst into tears as well. 

“(y/n)-” that was all he said, no excuse or explanation just your name. 

“Was that too much to ask Izuku? for you to treat me like a friend?” you asked and this time he remained completely silent. you turned away and stormed out of the office. 

That was the night you had stumbled across Stain the hero killer. You really hadn’t been looking for something like that, just looking for a quick pick me up but instead, you had stayed up all night and watched every video you could find on him. Something about his message just spoke to you. Maybe you were only susceptible to his words because you had been hurt or maybe it was just the right time. 

Izuku tried to text you and call you several times but you ignored him, you didn’t want to hear him crying. Besides, you were feeling pretty shitty about yelling at him. either way, he got the message and now you never saw him except at a distance. which was fine. No different from how things normally were. so why did hurt now?

You walked home from UA alone, your body moving on autopilot as you walked down the familiar path. 

“Hey Girly,” a gruff voice spoke from behind you making you jump slightly before picking up the pace, pretending you didn’t hear him. 

“Don’t ignore me like you didn’t hear,” the man growled and you stopped, unable to ignore him. 

“I’m sorry are you lost?” you asked hopefully, luck was not on your side. the man who stopped you gave you crooked smile. 

“Spare change Schoolgirl?” he asked pulling his hand out of his pocket showing you the blade of a knife. you flicked your eyes around the street, It didn’t look like there was anyone else. You rolled your shoulder back stealing your nerve

“no, I’m sorry,” you said backing up. 

“Lair-” he hissed bringing the blade out fully in a large sweeping arch, but it didn’t come any were near you, it was clear this guy wasn’t really trying to hurt you. 

“Leave her alone!” a sharp cry came from behind your attacher, He turned and saw Izuku ready to attach the man, although he didn’t look very intimidating, more like he was ready to flick a fly from the air.

“I don’t have to use my quirk on you but I will!” He threatened, which irked you for some reason, You had always been the one protecting poor defenseless Izuku because while he was waiting for some quirk to just drop in his lap you had actually learned to defend yourself. Now he had a quirk and he thought he was hot shit, did he forget that you had always been fine without him. 

Before you could protest Izuku lunged knocking the man into a building with a single flick of his finger, breaking the bone instantly. You were furious that he would hurt himself so carelessly like that. The worst part was you knew he thought nothing of it because he had “saved” you. 

“I don’t need your help Midoriya I would have been fine on my own.” you snapped.

“Are you mad at me for saving you?” Izuku barked 

“I didn’t ask for your help! I don’t need you to save me!” you shouted back

“What were you going to do fight him off yourself? He had a knife! and you’re-” he cut himself off but you knew what he was about to say

“I’m defenseless? is that it? you think I can’t handle myself just because I don’t have a quirk?” you demanded you strode over to him and socked him in the jaw sending your childhood friend to the ground.

“At least Bakugou is open about the fact he thinks less of me cus I’m quirkless, if you think I’m pathetic just say it!” you screamed looming over him. He scuddled back on his hands and feet in fear. you glared at him. What the hell did he have to be scared of? he could break buildings with the flick of his wrist. 

“You can think that I’m a loser because I’m quirkless all you want Deku but you got a superpower and you’re still a loser, so what’s your excuse?” you demanded. You had heard Midoryia had taken Deku as his hero name, so you didn’t know if the old Nickname still hurt him the way it used to. You hoped it did. Izuku stood up and bowed low. 

“Get home safe (y/n)” He said to the ground before turning and running back in the direction of his home. you watched him run until his green hair was out of sight. 

you fought back tears and looked away. Just then the would-be mugger groaned and stood. “What the fuck are you still doing here? desperate to get rough up or what?” the man demanded. you cursed under your breath, despite what you told yourself and Midoyra, this wasn’t a fight you were sure you could win. 

Just then a second man stepped out from the shadows and wrapped his hand around your attacker’s wrist. In front of your eyes, e crumbled to dust. you sucked air thought your teeth, your eyes wide. The second man turned to you and you recognized him. 

Shigiraki Tomura, the leader of the LOV. you had seen his name pop up a few times while you had been binging Stain content. Shigiraki smirked at your terrified face. 

“I hope you won’t sucker punch me for saving you too,” he was joking you realized. still, a shiver went down your spine, he didn’t just stumble upon you, he had been watching for a while. 

“N-No,” you mumbled, 

“Don’t be scared, I wouldn’t have saved you if I wanted you hurt you would I?” He reasoned taking a step forward. you didn’t have the will to run away

“I guess not,”

“I’ll walk you home so no more lowlifes bother you,” he decided falling into step beside you. “and we can talk as we go,”

Shigiraki had been interested in you for a while, a stain sympathizer inside UA walls could be useful after all, but seeing how desperate the green-haired brat was to save you, and how reluctant he was to fight you only solidified his resolve to get you on his side. you were going to be a very useful piece in his game if you played along that is. he flexed his hand in his sweatshirt pocket, ready to strike at the first sign of resistance. 

very useful, if you lived long enough to be a villain.

[anna-pixie]

would you be up for writing Poe Dameron based off of the song Girls by The 1975? like an age gap (nothing gross, just maybe a 19 or 20 year old reader) and Poe trying to navigate dating someone significantly younger (i imagine he’s somewhere close to Oscar Isaac’s real age, probably in his 30s?)

i think i might do another part to this, with them properly dating. this is just them getting together, i guess?

Request: Poe Dameron based off of the song Girls by The 1975? like an age gap and Poe trying to navigate dating someone significantly younger

Pairing: Poe Dameron x reader

Warnings: Swearing, age gap (19/35)

*

“They’re just girls, Finn.”

“They’re, what, 19? They’re adults, Poe.” Finn’s voice is condescending as he speaks to his friend, Poe scowling at him in response. 

“I’m worried about Rey finding out, you know what she’s like…” He says, voice worried as he bites his lip. 

“Poe, Poe, Poe. Where’s the fun in doing what you’re told?” Finn smacks his friend's shoulder lightly, beckoning over to the two girls, “Besides, everyone knows Y/N is head over heels for you. Go for it, man. You deserve to let off some steam.”

Poe bites his lip as he contemplates. 

Sure, he’s not that old. 35 isn’t that old, right? Poe had never had trouble with his confidence, he was gorgeous and he knew it. He could get anyone he wanted, with a mere smile. Then there’s you. He noticed the looks you gave him, the way you would stop talking and flush whenever he walked into the same room as you. He noticed the way you bit your lip every time he wore his orange jumpsuit. But you were so young. 

He hadn’t been too bothered about it, not until Rey voiced her opinion. One night when the three friends were playing cards in Poe’s room, the topic turned to you - since you and your friend Dyla had only recently joined the resistance. Of course he mentioned how pretty you were, everyone knew it. Finn hummed in agreement but Rey’s face dropped into a frown. 

“Really?” Her tone was incredulous, as if the man had just told her to fuck off or something. 

“Uh… what?” Poe looks to Finn, who is equally as confused as himself. 

“You’re old enough to be her dad, that’s so pervy.”

“She’s, like, twenty.” Poe counters, his face heating at the accusation of being ‘pervy’. 

“Nineteen, actually.” 

“Whatever, Rey. I wouldn’t actually sleep with her.”

“Good. You better hadn’t.”

So, he didn’t. No matter how much he wanted to stride across the Cantina and fling you against the wall everytime you so much as glanced over to him. No matter how many times he had to excuse himself to the bathroom after seeing you bite your lip. 

Until tonight. 

*

You’d put in more effort than usual tonight. It was the first night off for everyone in a long time, so spirits were high and drinks were flowing. Dyla had snuck a bottle of some sort of spirit into your room, and the two of you took shot after shot whilst getting ready. You take one final shot, reveling in the way your head spins slightly, and look yourself up and down in the mirror. 

Tonight would be different. Ever since you joined the resistance, the only man on your mind was Poe Dameron. The first moment you saw him was indescribable. You had been introducing yourself to General Organa when he entered the room, barking orders to some scrawny men in front of computers. You had lost your train of thought as your eyes followed him around the room, shivering slightly at the authority his presence commanded. General Organa was amused, very used to the effect Poe had on women. 

You’re not a very confident person. Actually, your shyness is crippling. So the only way you knew how to flirt with Poe was with long, lingering glances and slight lip bites when you thought he wasn’t looking. You have kept up this delusion for a while, the delusion that Poe might one day look at you and decide to sweep you off your feet. But you knew better now. 

You’d received a slap in the face from reality when you snuck into the cantina late last night, since you’d forgotten to eat dinner. There, at the far end of the room, was Poe. He had one of the other pilots, Grilda, you think her name is, pushed up against the wall. Their lips were clashing in a fervour and your legs felt wobbly as you watched the scene. It was then you realised you were wasting your time pining over a man who would never give you the time of day. 

So here you stand, your favourite red dress on, ready to go and flirt with someone who is not Poe Dameron. You stand beside Dyla as she fixes you both a drink, scanning the room slightly to see who had joined the celebration. You force your eyes to pass quickly over Poe, who is standing across the room from you with Finn. Though, you could’ve sworn he was looking at you….

3 drinks later, you finally excuse yourself to the toilet, leaving Dyla with a few other friends to keep her company. You groan in delight as you pee, it always feels so much better when you’re drunk. Before you leave you quickly ruffle your curled hair in the mirror and reapply your red lipstick. You smile at yourself, trying to give an internal pep talk. 

You can do this. Go outside. Take a shot. Find a random pilot. Kiss the hell out of him. 

You exit the bathroom with a deep breath, stopping suddenly in your tracks when you find Poe leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom. Surely this is a coincidence, right? He can’t actually be waiting for you. He looks up when you open the door and his eyes widen slightly, pushing himself off the wall towards you. 

“Y/N, hey.” His voice is as confident as ever and it takes all of your willpower to not start kissing him right there. 

“Poe… um, hi.” Your voice is soft, almost shaking as you bite your lip with nerves. Poe groans slightly and your eyes widen as he takes a step towards you, his tall frame towering over you. 

“Listen, I’ve seen the looks you give me.” He gets straight to the point, walking you backwards slightly so you’re now leant against the wall, with him trapping you against him. 

“Oh, Gosh.” Your brow furrows, he’s here to tell you to stop being a desperate loser, right?

“The way you bite your lip when you think I’m not looking.” He continues, bringing a large hand to cup your face. His thumb brushes your lower lip slightly and you release it from it’s hold, breath quickening. 

“I-I’m sorry.” It becomes clear quickly that Poe isn’t listening to you as he leans in closer, confidence growing as he pushes his thumb into your mouth. You squeak slightly, not sure where this is coming from all of a sudden. You’re certainly not complaining, though. You react quickly, not wanting to waste the moment as you suck his thumb lightly, reveling in the way he groans. 

“I’m 35.” He speaks suddenly, pulling back and cupping your face with both of his hands, forcing you to meet his eyes. 

“Um, okay?” You reply, confusion clouding your features. What does that have to do with what is going on right now?

“I mean, uh,” He takes a step back, seeming timid all of a sudden as he scratches the back of his neck, “I just want you to know. In case I’m, y’know, too old for you.” He avoids your eyes this time and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you. He frowns at your response and you quickly backtrack. 

“You? Old? Tell me another joke.” You grab his face this time, your movements encouraged by the alcohol in your system. “I know how old you are, does it really look like I care about that?”

“Guess not.” Confident Poe is back now, a smirk gracing his features as he steps forward once more. You barely have any time to react before his lips are on yours, hot and wet. 

He winds his hand into your hair tightly and tugs, causing you to gasp lightly. He takes this opportunity to push his tongue past your lips, exploring your mouth as you reciprocate desperately. You’re panting by the time he pulls away, giggling at the red lipstick that stains his mouth. 

“Let's do this again sometime.” He grins, kissing you once more before wiping the lipstick off his mouth with the back of his hand. He walks off, a spring in his step as he returns to Finn who grins at him knowingly, Dyla sitting on his lap. 

You take a moment to catch your breath and let your brain catch up with your body. Did that really just happen or are you dreaming?

*

If you thought that was a dream, the next month had been an out of body experience. As you lie in your bed next to Poe, watching him snore with his head resting on your bare chest, you think back to the previous month when you had barely spoken to him. 

After your encounter, he could barely keep his hands off you. You would get pulled into dark hallways and empty utility rooms, Poe would have you muffling a scream behind your hand in mere minutes. 

That’s how it always was though, in secret. 

“I can’t be what you need, you’re just a girl, this is just physical.” He told you time and time again. 

But time and time again, he would show up at your door when he couldn’t sleep. You hadn’t realised he was plagued by night terrors until he woke you up with one, screaming in terror with his eyes screwed shut. That was when he told you that he could only sleep soundly with you. Unbeknownst to him, you waited for him to fall asleep every night before he did, wanting to make sure he was in a peaceful slumber before you succumbed to unconsciousness. You always woke up wrapped in his arms, so he must wake up at least once during the night. 

“Mmmh.” Poe hums sleepily as he blinks his eyes open slowly, looking up at you from where he lies. He gives you a dopey smile, still delirious from sleep. You return it, carding your fingers through his hair as his eyes start to droop again, “Don’t wanna get up. Wanna stay here forever.” You squeal as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, biting you playfully. 

“C’mon, mister. You’ve got a meeting with General Organa at 6.” You try to remind him, but he simply ignores you, choosing instead to disappear under the covers with a wicked grin, “Poe? What are yo- Oh!” Your train of thought stops as you feel his mouth on your heat, waking you up completely as he holds down your shaking legs. 

“She can wait.” He grumbles. 

*

“I told you she’d be mad, Poe.” You give him a pointed look as he collapses into your bed after returning from his meeting with the general. 

“Shut up.” He glares at you from your bed as you fix your hair in the small mirror, “I don’t know where she gets off calling me immature. Me? Immature? Please.” He crosses his arms and pouts. 

“You’re pouting like a little baby, Poe.”

“You’re supposed to tell me that I’m the most mature person you’ve ever met and that Leia should never speak to me like that.”

You repeat his words back to him in a monotonous voice, grinning as his glare darkens and he falls back onto the bed. 

“C’mere.” He looks back up at you and beckons you over. You comply with a wry smile and giggle as he pulls you down with him, twisting around so he’s on top of you. He kisses you deeply, biting your bottom lip hard as you try to tell him to need to leave soon, “No.” He mumbles, pushing his tongue into his mouth. Well, 10 minutes late won’t hurt, right?

You shriek in surprise as the door to your room slams open suddenly, the two of you looking over with wide eyes. It seems as though Poe’s little droid, BB8, opened the door for Rey and Finn who stand behind it. Finn seems to be holding in laughter whilst Rey sports a thunderous expression at the sight of us. Oh dear, she’s not his girlfriend, right?

I sit up quickly, pushing Poe off me and fixing my hair. Poe mutters angrily to himself as Rey invites herself into my room, stomping over to us. 

“You perv!” She points at Poe, and my eyes widen as I look between the two. 

“Wh… what?” You stumble over your words as you try to figure out what is going on. 

“Nothing, baby, Rey was just leaving.”

“Y/N.” Rey ignores Poe completely, turning to face you, “He’s old enough to be your dad! What are you doing?”

“Rey.” Poe is shouting now, his loud voice piercing through the tense atmosphere of the room. “You made me second guess approaching Y/N for months. You know what? It was never about my age. I’m only 35 for kriff’s sake, you act like I’m fucking Palpatine. What is this really about? And you’d better tell me the truth because I’m this close to losing my shit.”

You vaguely register Finn’s ‘Oh snap’ as you gaze wide eyed at the angry man in front of you. His jaw clenches and his fists are balled up, muscles bulging in anger. Oh dear, you don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on before. 

No one expects what happens next. Rey bursts into tears. 

“It’s not fair.” She wails, “I liked you first.” My eyes widen as she turns to me. I thought she was speaking to Poe, “I could tell you liked Poe instead. I wanted to keep him away from you.”

The room falls silent after Rey’s confession, no one knowing what to say. A wave of guilt comes crashing into you, but it’s hardly your fault. You speak to Rey occasionally when you see her around base, but you never had any indication that she was interested in you.

“Fucking hell.” Poe wipes a hand down his face in exasperation. “What did I say, Finn? Fucking girls, man.”

[waywardaardvark79]

Supernatural Series Rewrite: Season 2, Episode 2: Everybody Loves a Clown

Summary: Y/N Singer joins Sam and Dean on the road. A rewrite starring you. 

Pairing: Dean X Reader, Sam X Reader (platonic)

Warnings: Show level violence, language

Word Count: 18,709 (I’m so sorry)

A/N: Sorry for the delay. I’m still not sure on a set schedule for this. I’ll try to get the next episode out as soon as I can. Tags open. 

You focused your eyes on a single glowing ember that seemed to float effortlessly through the night air. You tried your best to follow its path, a loud popping sound making you lose your focus, your attention falling back on the pyre and the burning body in front of you. John's body.

It was a moonless night, the only light coming from the pyre, as you stood in tense silence between Sam and Dean. You glanced over at Dean, who was standing about a foot away from you. He had his hands shoved into his pockets as he stared into the flames. His stance was ridgid, the expression on his face was devoid of any emotion.

His indifference would appear cold to anyone that didn't know him, but you knew that he was doing everything in his power to hold it all together. The truth was in his eyes. They told the story that the rest of his body tried to keep hidden. Swirling inside those green irises were a multitude of emotions. Despair, melancholy, guilt, self loathing, to name a few. They were the eyes of a broken man, the eyes of a man that was lost with no idea how or if he could ever get back to the person he was before.

You turned your attention back to the pyre, your own guilt eating you up inside. You couldn't help but blame yourself for John's demise. If he had only made a deal to bring Dean back and not you too, he'd still be here. Sure, the Colt and the bullet would be gone, but John would still be alive. Sam and Dean would still have their father, and you knew that in time they would both get over losing you. After all, John would be a lot more useful in the fight ahead.

You could hear Sam shifting back and forth on his feet, and you looked in his direction, your heart breaking at the sight of him. He was near tears, fidgeting uncomfortably as he stared at the pyre. You reached out for his hand, and laced your fingers with his, the pair of gloves you snatched from the hospital squeaking a little.

You looked down at your hand that was joined with his and noticed that Sam seemed to be holding onto you for dear life. Your hand looked so small in his. It reminded you of how a child's hand would look clutching onto their parent's hand, your mind quickly changing when you looked Sam in the eyes.

Despite his height and towering build, he looked so small in that moment. His shoulders were slumped forward, his eyes red rimmed and glassy as he did his best to hold back his tears. He looked like a heart broken little boy, and you wanted nothing more than to protect him and take his pain away.

You steeled your shoulders, and gave his hand a gentle squeeze as you turned your attention back to the pyre. You knew that you had to push down everything that you were feeling. You had to lock it all up somewhere deep inside of yourself because your feelings didn't matter right now. You knew that the only thing you could focus on was getting the two of them through this the best you could.

"Before he...before, did he say anything to you? About anything?" Sam quietly asked, breaking the silence.

"No. Nothing." Dean replied, not looking at Sam, his attention still on the pyre, you giving Sam's hand another squeeze when he let out a small, defeated breath.

The three of you had gone back to Bobby's, and you each slipped into a rather monotonous routine. Dean pushed everyone away, always insisting that he was completely fine. You weren't shocked by his behavior. You knew him too well, and you knew that he would be looking for anything to use as a distraction.

He threw himself into fixing the Impala, and the two of you generally avoided each other, only meeting up late at night to drink yourselves into oblivion. You knew that he needed his space, and you were more than happy to give it to him, only going to him when he sought you out.

You were sure that this type of interaction would be problematic for most people, but you completely understood. You knew that nothing you said to him would change anything, or make him feel better. So, why talk about something that you can't change? Dean never was the one to talk everything out, to lay everything out on the table. He held his cards close, and his walls were high. You couldn't blame him. You were the same way, both of you choosing to bottle everything up and pretend that everything was okay.

It would work for a little while, but you knew that he was a ticking time bomb. Sooner or later something would set him off, and all of that pent up emotion would come pouring out. So, you did the only thing you knew to do. You kept your distance, and just hoped that you would be able to put him back together when he broke.

When you weren't sleeping off yet another hangover you were with Sam. You listened to him vent every frustration he had without interruption. You offered whatever advice you could, and tried your best to convince him to just let Dean be. Sam was just wired differently than the two of you though. He needed to discuss every little detail, and it was almost as if he took offense to the fact that you and Dean didn't.

You and Bobby continued to tiptoe around each other. The awkwardness and unanswered questions of the fight the two of you had before the accident reared its ugly head now that you were back among the living.

There were no cross words spoken between the two of you. In fact, there were no words at all. You were afraid that if you tried to have a conversation with him you would blow up. You had so many questions, and you knew that he had answers. But, everytime you thought about approaching him you stopped yourself.  You were afraid that you wouldn't be able to control yourself. You were so incredibly angry with him, and you felt so betrayed.

It wasn't only Bobby that you were angry with. You were just angry in general. There wasn't one specific thing. It was everything honestly, and you found it growing worse as the days went on. You found yourself losing the battle to push it all down, and you were afraid that the next little thing was going to end up setting you off.

You had managed to distance yourself from everyone for most of the day. The house was now relatively quiet. Bobby had gone to bed hours ago, Sam was upstairs going through some of John's things, and Dean was still outside. You were sitting on the couch, your journal open in your lap, with the TV on in the background for noise.

You flipped through the pages until you came upon a blank one. You had been trying to remember what happened at the hospital, but you could never come up with a full sequence of events. It was all flashes, a giant jigsaw puzzle with too many missing pieces.

You thought that writing down what you could remember might help bring everything back, but you didn't know where to start. The gaps were too large and the things you could remember made no sense to you. Still, you knew that you had to try.

You could remember feeling like you were somewhere that you shouldn't be. Different colors started to flash through your mind, and you tried to clear all of your other thoughts to focus on them.

At first there was green. You scribbled the color down in your journal, your pen absentmindedly underlining the color as you thought back on what it could mean. You jotted down the word "outside" before following after it with a question mark. You couldn't be sure, but you had a gut feeling that the place you had been was somewhere outdoors, rationalizing that the flashes of green you kept seeing could be that of trees.

You looked down at the paper, the end of your pen held loosely between your teeth as the next color flashed through your mind. B-L-U-E, you wrote, carefully printing each letter. You found yourself tracing over each letter as you struggled with the memories that color brought.

Blue was a contradiction. One moment you found yourself completely uncomfortable, the color bringing out feelings of fear and dread. However, a split second later everything you were feeling about that color completely shifted. Blue no longer made you fearful or filled you with dread. No, instead you felt comfort, relief, thankful even. You couldn't understand the drastic change. Nothing you could come up with made any sense. Still, you wrote down the different feelings under the word blue before moving onto the next color.

You had no trouble remembering the next color. You also understood all of the feelings attached to it, and didn't think you could forget them even if you wanted to. Y-E-L-L-O-W, you wrote, underlining it harshly.

You could still see those yellow eyes clear as day. You could remember the way they raked over you and the way they lit up with glee whenever he spoke to you. He always did seem to get some kind of sick enjoyment out of toying with you.

You could still remember the way the corner of his mouth turned up when he told you that John had to sweeten the pot for you, and you still got a shiver down your spine when you thought about those two words he said to you.

No choice. Those two words were running through your head on an endless loop. He told you that you had no choice. You had no choice about trying to save John, and no choice about your destiny. He made sure to stress that, those yellow eyes of his alight with pleasure as he placed his hand on your forehead.

Those two words flipped a switch in you. The anger that you had been trying so hard to contain went from a dull simmer to a raging boil just like that. Your heart was pounding in your chest, one fist clenched by your side while the other hand thumped your pen frantically against the paper in front of you. You could swear that you could feel you body getting hot from the inside, the heat seeming to start in your middle before radiating throughout the rest of you. You were afraid that there was nothing you could do to contain it now. The only thing you could do was  pray that no one crossed your path.

Sam could feel his eyes growing tired, the small screen he had been staring at starting to blur. He had been trying to crack John's voicemail code for hours, but so far he had come up empty. Sam flipped the phone closed and tossed it on the bed beside him before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He laid there for a moment and listened to the sounds of the house settling around him.

Those sounds brought back a flood of childhood memories and a strange sense of comfort. He felt a small smile slide across his face and thought that it was funny how the creaks of an old house could bring someone joy. He couldn't help but go down memory lane.

He always did feel safe there at Bobby's when he was a child. It wasn't that he didn't feel safe with John or Dean, but Bobby had an actual home. He had always been a bit jealous of you for that. Sure, you were no stranger to motel living, but you always had a home to come back to. You had your own room, and possessions that weren't hand me downs. You had some sense of normalcy, a routine, and he could remember how badly he craved that, part of him still did.

Sam thought back to the times the two of you spent there as children. He could remember playing made up games with you while Dean huffed and puffed about how annoying the two of you were. He could remember running up and down the stairs with you, the two of you always careful to avoid the step that creaked loudly when the two of you were sneaking around doing something that you shouldn't have been, and he could remember that the two of you always insisted on sharing a bed.

He chuckled to himself at some of the things the two of you used to talk about late at night. You had both made so many plans for when you were adults, vowing of course to do them together. That's what best friends did after all. They stuck together through everything. He could also remember the day all of those childhood plans changed.

The two of you were quite a bit older then, around sixteen, and it had been quite some time since the two of you had seen each other in person. John kept both Sam and Dean on the road with him, neither one of them needing Bobby to look after them anymore. Still, the two of you kept in close contact, calling each other whenever you could.

Sam was sitting in yet another dump of a motel room, a lore book open in front of him. John and Dean had left not long ago to start chasing down leads. Sam flipped through a couple of pages before closing the book. He drummed his fingers on the table while he stared at the book, knowing that he should be doing what his father asked of him. Instead, he pushed back his chair from the table and made his way to the beat up motel phone on the nightstand.

He picked up the receiver and held it between his ear and shoulder while he dialed your number. He made sure to only let the phone ring twice. It was the signal the two of you had always used. Sam sat down on the edge of the bed, grabbing the phone from the nightstand and placing it in his lap as he anxiously waited for you to call back. He was tempted to try you again and found himself reaching quickly for the receiver when it finally started to ring.

"Sammy!" you shouted before he even had a chance to say hello.

"Y/N? Everything okay?" Sam asked, worried that something was wrong.

"Yeah, yeah, everything is fine. Better than fine really. You shoulda seen it, Sammy. It was so fuckin' awesome." you excitedly rambled, Sam chuckling on the other end.

"Yeah, what's that?" Sam asked, just hearing your voice bringing a smile to his face.

"So, Uncle Rufus shows up out of nowhere a few days ago, and he starts telling Dad about this case he's been working. Long story short, he ends up talking Dad into helping out, and they let me go." you said, Sam interrupting.

"How long did it take you to pull that off?" he asked, knowing just how overprotective Bobby was.

"Really, Sam?" you scoffed as you cocked your head to the side to hold the phone with your shoulder, your hands busy unpacking. "You know I've been working whenever I can."

"Yeah." Sam breathed out, his fingers fiddling with the phone cord. "So, what was the case?"

"Ghouls." you excitedly replied, sucking in a deep breath before quickly speaking again. "I wish you coulda seen it. I had this one head shot that was right out of a fuckin' Romero movie. It was awesome. You gotta tell your dumbass brother that I just took the lead away from him."

"His lead?" Sam asked, confused as to what the two of you were competing about now.

"Yeah, when you guys stopped by a few months ago we kinda got into an argument." you explained, Sam laughing under his breath.

"What a surprise." he sarcastically said, you and Dean couldn't seem to be in the same room for five minutes without arguing about something.

"Yeah, who woulda guessed, right? Anyway, we kinda got this...uh, little friendly competition going, and this hunt just put me in the lead. Just rub it in a little for me, would ya? Make sure you tell him that I'm just gonna keep kickin' his ass." you said, Sam not saying anything. "Sam? You still there?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll, uh...I'll be sure to tell him." Sam said, you immediately picking up the shift in his mood.

"Hey, you alright?" you asked, knowing that he had something on his mind.

"Fine." Sam replied, not convincing you at all.

"Sam." you said, pausing a moment, hoping that he would speak up.

"Really Y/N, I'm fine. I'm just tired." he lied as he looked down at his duffel bag. "I just needed a little break."

"John got you doing research?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer.

"Yeah." Sam answered as he pulled a notebook from the bottom of his duffel.

"What've ya got so far?" you asked, still thinking that there was something more on his mind. "Sam?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, not sure yet. Dad and Dean are lookin' at the body now." Sam said as he flipped open the notebook and looked at some of the college brochures he had tucked inside, the line silent for a few minutes as you waited for him to speak again. "Hey Y/N, you ever think about..." Sam started, going quiet again before finishing his sentence.

"Ever think about what?" you asked, wanting him to continue.

"It's nothing, nevermind." Sam breathed out.

"Sam." you said, wanting to know what was bothering him.

"You ever think about getting out? About....I don't know, having a normal life?" Sam finally asked, you pausing a moment as you tried to think of what to say.

"Define normal." you said, Sam sighing at your less than serious approach. "Fine. When I was younger I thought about it. Remember how we'd talk about all the shit we were gonna do? But, I...I don't know, Sam. It's just not realistic anymore, you know? I mean, do you really think either one of us could just be some normal fuckin' persin with everything we know? Besides, I don't really think I'm cut out for it. I mean, could you really see me living some normal, picket fence, nine to five life?"

"Maybe you're right. I just....I." Sam said, stopping short.

"Sam, it shouldn't matter what I say. Is that what you want? Do you want out?" you asked, Sam sighing on the other end.

"I...I don't know. Sometimes." he said, pausing a moment. "I don't think I can do this for the rest of my life, but-" he tried, you interrupting.

"But nothing. If you don't want to hunt, Sam, don't hunt." you said as if it was the most simple simple thing ever.

"Yeah, cause that's gonna go over great with Dad." Sam fired back, you letting out a slow breath.

"Look, Sam...nobody can tell you what to do with your life but you. I can't tell you, neither can Dean or JOHN. It's your life, and it's your fuckin' choice. I know that there isn't anything you can do about it right now, but if you still want out when the times comes then there is nothing anyone can do about that but you." you said, your tone a little harsher than you meant it.

"Yeah, I better get back to this. I'm sure they won't be gone much longer." Sam said, making you feel guilty.

"I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I just...I want you to be happy, Sam. Sometimes you just gotta think about yourself, and not worry about what everyone else is gonna think." you said, Sam quiet for a moment.

"I think I'm just frustrated. It was just...just a crazy idea. I didn't mean anything by it." Sam said, you knowing that there was no truth behind it.

"Yeah, okay. But, Sam, if it wasn't just a crazy idea...I hope you know that I would be there for you. No matter what you decide, I'll always be here. You can't get rid of me, Sammy." you said, wanting to end things on a better note.

"I don't think I could get rid of you if I tried." Sam teased, chuckling to himself.

"You're God damn right about that. Call me back if you need anything." you said, pausing a moment, trying to think of something to say to make him laugh. "I mean, we both know that I'm the superior researcher." you added, Sam barking out a laugh.

"Sure you didn't hit your head on that hunt?" he asked, a smile sliding onto your face. "I'll call you soon."

"You better." you said, not wanting to get off of the phone with him, but knowing that he had things to do. "Bye, Sammy."

"Bye, Y/N" Sam said, feeling the same way you did, quickly hanging up the phone before either of you could say anything else.

Sam looked down at the brochures in his lap and quickly placed them back in the notebook before shoving the notebook to the bottom of his bag, making sure that it was completely hidden under his clothes. Sam knew that there was no point in bringing them up to you. You had more or less made up your mind about what your life was going to be, but part of him still hoped that maybe one day you would change it.

Sam always knew that he didn't want to live that sort of life. He always yearned for something normal, something safe. He knew that his father would never leave the life. He was in far too deep, far too obsessed with his revenge mission. He had no illusions that his brother would ever leave either. Dean was following directly in John's footsteps.

You were his last hope. The two of you had always done everything together for as far back as he could remember, and the conversation that the two of you just had left a bad taste in his mouth. As bad as he wanted to start a new, normal life, he didn't want to do it alone. He wanted you with him, but deep down he knew that it just wasn't going to happen.

You were made for that life. It was in your blood, and he knew that you'd never leave it behind. Sam knew that he would be the one doing the leaving, and he knew that when the time came he would have to do it without looking back.

Sam swung his legs off the side of the bed, and grabbed John's phone before standing up. He tossed the phone into his bag before walking to the door and stepping out into the hall. He looked at your closed bedroom door and thought about just walking by, but with everything that had been going on he honestly didn't want to be alone.

He stopped in front of your door and raised his fist to knock, trying to be as quiet as he could, "Y/N." he softly said, waiting for you to respond.

After a few moments Sam cracked open your bedroom door and peaked inside, "Y/N, it's me." he said before noticing that you weren't there.

He eased the door shut before heading for the stairs. He tried to be as quiet as he could, taking extra precaution to avoid the squeaky step. He could hear the TV and hoped that you and Dean were still up.

"Guys?" he called out before he made it into the living room.

Once again Sam got no response, and simply decided that the two of you must have fallen asleep with the TV on. That changed when he saw you sitting on the end of the couch. He noticed that you were staring blankly ahead, one of your legs bouncing up and down as if you were anxious.

"Y/N?" Sam called out, coming to a stop by the arm of the couch. "Y/N?" he tried again when he didn't get an answer.

Sam watched as you slowly turned your head and looked in his direction. He couldn't quite read the expression on your face, but he found himself growing a little uneasy. You looked so on edge, and he quickly took a step back.

"Hey..." he started, pausing a moment, watching you closely. "Have you...uh, have you seen Dean?"

"I'm not your brother's fuckin' keeper." you spat, Sam instantly shrinking back.

"I'm...I didn't mean-" Sam started, you quickly cutting him off.

"Fuck." you breathed out, running your hands through your hair. "I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to...You didn't deserve that. I just...I'm..." you said, trailing off.

"No, I get it. Everything is a little tense. It's okay." Sam said, his forgiving attitude making you more angry.

"God dam it. No, it's not. Nothing about any of this is okay, Sam. I don't just get free reign to be an asshole!" you snapped, closing your journal and tossing it aside. "You should just-" you tried to say, Sam interrupting.

"Since when is being an asshole out of the ordinary for you?" Sam asked, trying to lighten the mood, rendering you speechless for a moment.

"Can't you just get pissed off and yell at me like a fuckin' normal person?" you asked, Sam sighing as he shook his head.

"What would that solve?" he asked as he took a seat next to you.

"I don't know. Hell, it might make you feel better. You know, giving me a taste of my own medicine." you said, trying your best to calm down.

"Does that really work for you? Do you ever really feel better?" Sam asked, you shrugging your shoulders.

"Sometimes." you said, leaning your head back against the couch.

"Look, you were obviously in the middle of something, and I interrupted." Sam said, you scoffing.

"Don't make excuses for me, Sam. Call it like it really is. I'm a fucking asshole." you said, looking over to him.

"Like it is, huh?" Sam asked, you nodding. "Alright, I think that you are doing everything in your power to avoid dealing with things. Dean, too. You are both so in your heads, and neither one of you will do what needs to be done."

"Yeah, what's that? What need to be done?" you asked, a little defensively.

"We need to TALK about things! We need to sit down and try to put all of the pieces together." Sam said, you rolling your eyes as you let out an annoyed huff.

"Don't go all after school special on me, Sam. Some big group therapy session isn't going to change a God damn thing." you shot back, Sam beginning to get frustrated.

"Yeah, cause sitting here doing what we've been doing is really helping." Sam argued, both of you staring each other down.

"What do you want to hear, Sam? What the fuck do you want me to say?" you asked, trying to keep your temper under control.

"ANYTHING, Y/N! Anything would be better than what you're doing now." Sam shot back.

"Fine." you said, keeping eye contact with him. "I don't know what to fucking do, Sam. I can't even fathom where to start. Nothing I do or say is gonna change what happened. I can't fix any of this. I can't help you. I sure as fuck can't help Dean. I can't even help my fuckin' self. I don't know what happened to me, Sam. I can't remember, but I know that this is my fault. I know that I am the one to blame for all of this."

"What does that mean? What's your fault?" Sam asked, his expression softening.

"Everything, Sam." you said, your voice breaking. "If I wasn't here...John would be."

"You don't know that." Sam said, the sound of a door opening and closing stopping him from saying more.

The two of you listened as Dean made his way to the stairs. He didn't acknowledge you or Sam, his heavy steps on the stairs intermingling with the low mumble of the television. You and Sam sat there in silence as the sounds of Dean's footsteps started to fade.

"Y/N, we need to talk about this, and Dean does too." Sam finally said as you stood up from the couch.

"One existential crisis at a time, Sam. We'll talk tomorrow." you said, completely drained.

Sam studied you for a moment before slowly nodding his head, "Yeah." he sighed, knowing that you would make up an excuse to avoid it.

"Get some sleep, Sam." you said before leaving the room and heading towards the kitchen.

You were seated at the kitchen table, one finger lazily circling the condensation ring left behind by your now empty beer. You made it a point to only drink one, knowing that Dean would want the rest of the six pack. Sam had gone to bed about thirty minutes ago, and you finally forced yourself to stand up from your spot.

You made your way back to the couch and plopped down on the middle cushion, grabbing one of the worn throw pillows and tucking it under your head as you pulled your legs up and laid down. You grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned the volume down a little on the television, keeping it barely audible. You closed your eyes and tried to focus on the infomercial dialogue, trying your best to clear your mind of everything. You finally managed to fall asleep only to be pulled awake a couple of hours later by the sound of someone rummaging around in the kitchen.

You quickly sat up and found yourself searching for a weapon in your half asleep state. A mumbled string of curse words set your mind at ease and you stopped your search, recognizing the voice and realizing that you were in no danger. You slowly stood up and made your way towards the kitchen, stopping to lean against the doorframe once you got there.

"Top shelf...towards the right." you said, Dean's back to you as he searched the cabinets.

You knew what he was searching for, the empty beer bottles on the table letting you know that he was after something a little stronger. You watched as he found the bottle and turned so that he was leaning against the counter, facing you. He unscrewed the cap and tossed it to the side, sending it sliding down the counter before raising the bottle to his lips.

You couldn't help but think back to the night that he showed up to tell you about Sam. The positions the two of you were in mirrored the ones from that night, but so many things had changed since then. The two of you almost looked like completely different people, both of you seeing more things in that short amount of time than most people would see in an entire lifetime.

"At least I don't have a gun this time." you said, echoing back to that night, hoping that Dean would know what you were talking about.

"Or a douche bag hiding out in your room." Dean shot back, referring to Jake, the corner of your mouth turning up.

"Nah, he's just hiding out in the kitchen this time." you said, Dean huffing out a laugh.

The two of you slipped into silence, neither one of you sure of what to say next. You could feel his eyes on you, and you forced yourself to look up and meet them. Dean opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it, his eyes darting to the bottle in his hand.

"You, uh, you should try to get some rest." you finally said before turning to head back to the couch, Dean watching you go without saying anything.

You had tucked yourself into the corner of the couch, your legs drawn up underneath you, your elbow on the armrest of the couch, your head cradled in your hand. You could still hear Dean in the kitchen. It almost sounded like he was pacing back and forth, his footsteps growing louder before fading away, the process continuing over and over. You thought about calling out to him, the sudden stopping of his footsteps causing you to stop and listen. Suddenly, his footsteps started back up, and you could tell that he was headed in your direction.

"Want some company?" Dean asked as he walked into the room, raising the bottle in his hand and giving it a little shake.

"I never say no to a drink." you replied as you looked up at him, Dean looking somewhat relieved as he made his way to the couch.

"You and Sam figure anything out?" Dean asked, nodding his heads towards your journal on the coffee table before passing you the bottle.

"No." you said, taking the bottle from him and raising it to your lips, Dean leaning his head back against the couch.

"He grill you too?" he asked, not looking at you.

"I deserved worse than I got." you said before taking one more drink, Dean holding out his hand for the bottle. "I fuckin' snapped, and I just wanted him to get mad. I wanted him to fuckin' yell at me, but all he wanted to do was-"

"Talk." Dean finished for you, you giving him a small nod. "Yeah, I got that speech too. He...he just..."

"That's just Sam." you said, reaching for the bottle. "I gotta say...this way is a little easier." you added, Dean giving you a half smile.

"Drown it out, right?" he sighed, turning to look at you.

"Drown it out." you echoed, the two of you sharing a look before slipping into silence, passing the bottle back and forth.

"Do you...do you remember anything?" Dean finally asked, you looking away from him.

"Not really. I mean, not anything fuckin' useful. I, uh, I...I remember looking for you, and I remember being fuckin' pissed." you said, not able to tell him about the conversation you had with Yellow Eyes.

"Yeah, I remember lookin' for you too, and the, uh, light." Dean said, pausing a moment. "Where'd you go?"

"I...I don't know." you breathed out, Dean nodding slowly. "I keep tryin' to make fuckin' sense of it, but-"

"You can't." Dean finished for you. "I can't either." he added, a distant, defeated look in his eyes.

"Hey." you said, placing a gloved hand just above his knee. "We'll figure it out. Everything...everything is gonna be okay."

"Yeah." Dean said, giving you a sad smile, not believing a word you said, and you couldn't blame him. "Guess we should call it a night."

"Yeah, I'll, uh, I'll take the couch tonight. You take my bed." you said, Bobby making it abundantly clear that there would be no bed sharing.

"No, you take it." Dean said as he propped his feet up on the coffee table, you rolling your eyes. "Couch is fine with me. You drink enough, you can sleep anywhere."

"No point in arguing, De. You're not gonna win." you said, Dean looking at you as he slouched down onto the couch, his head lying back against the back.

"I'm not movin'." he said, closing his eyes. "But, you know, it's technically not a bed, so..." he added, trailing off as he raised his arm, silently inviting you over.

"Well, since you're gettin' all fuckin' technical on me." you said, scooting over until you were nestled into his side, his arm coming down to wrap around you.

You closed your eyes as you snuggled into his side, the corner of your mouth turning up when you felt him press his lips against the top of your head. You didn't say anything when he lingered, his chest rising as he breathed you in.

"Get some sleep, De." you said, patting his chest, Dean's other hand coming up to rest on yours. "I'll be right here."

You jerked awake, your heart beating wildly in your chest, your breaths short and quick as your eyes darted around the room. You felt Dean shift underneath you, and you tried to match your breathing to his, your hand rising and falling with his chest in a smooth, easy rhythm. You knew that it was just a nightmare, but you also knew that there was no way you would be able to fall back asleep.

You eased yourself out from under Dean's arm, being careful not to wake him, and moved to the edge of the cushion before quickly getting to your feet. You looked over your shoulder at Dean, and stood still for a moment, making sure that he wouldn't wake up. Once you were certain that he wouldn't wake up you grabbed the whiskey bottle from the coffee table and crept from the room.

You had finally made it outside, and allowed yourself to let out of sigh of relief. You had no idea what time it was, but you knew it was early morning. The sky was starting to lighten, the sun beginning to peak over the horizon, setting the sky ablaze with brilliant shades of orange, pink, and red. You couldn't remember the last time you had watched the sunrise. In fact, you weren't entirely sure that you had ever taken the time to actually appreciate it. Honestly, it had never been on your list of priorities and as pretty as it was, you couldn't say that it topped your list now.

There were far too many other things on your mind, and you thought that if you just kept walking you could leave them all behind. So, that's what you did. You walked. You walked up and down the haphazard rows of broken down vehicles, your fingers wrapped loosely around the neck of the whiskey bottle that dangled at your side. But, no matter how many trips you took up and down the rows the thoughts that you were so desperate to outrun always seemed to be just one step behind. They were still there, taunting you, letting you know that no amount of running would suffice.

You stopped in your tracks and looked over at the beaten up, old Lincoln on your left. You curled your fingers tighter around the neck of the whiskey bottle and climbed up onto the hood, leaving your legs dangling freely over the edge. If running wasn't going to work, you had the next best thing. After all, drowning everything out would be much easier. There was far less work in that solution. Just as you raised the bottle to your lips you heard the crunch of footsteps and turned to see Bobby walking towards you.

"Glad you finally stopped. I didn't know how much longer I could keep up." Bobby said, stopping a couple of feet in front of the car.

"You've been following me the whole time?" you asked, a little shocked that you didn't pick up on his presence, Bobby giving you a subtle nod.

"Maybe if you laid off the sauce you woulda known." he said, gesturing towards the bottle.

"Yeah...maybe, but where's the fun in that?" you asked before taking a drink.

"Doesn't look like fun to me, Kid." Bobby said, coming to lean against the hood next to you.

"Yeah, what's it look like then?" you asked, a little defensively, Bobby pausing a moment before turning to look at you.

"It looks like you're runnin', or tryin' to at least." Bobby said, causing you to scoff. "I know you're going through it right now, Kid."

"You read minds now, too?" you asked, anger starting to boil up again.

"No." Bobby said, trying to choose his next words carefully. "But, there ain't many things you can hide from me."

"Yeah, you're good enough at that for the both of us." you snapped back, Bobby's posture going ridgid, "What? Nothin' to say now?"

"I did what I had to do to keep you safe." Bobby said, his response exasperating you.

"From what?!" you yelled, Bobby looking over at you.

"From everything." he returned. "That was my job, and I did what I had to do."

"That doesn't fuckin' tell me anything." you snapped, your grip on the bottle tightening.

"I know." Bobby said, looking down at his feet. "But, that's why I'm out here, Kid. You ask, and I'll tell you what I know."

"Just like that?" you asked, Bobby looking back at you.

"Just like that." he echoed, trying to prepare himself for your questions, watching as you looked away from him, the bottle still clutched tightly in your hand.

"Who...who were they?" you quietly asked. "My parents."

"Your father was a hunter, a good one. James McKenzie. I worked a few cases with him in the early days. I met him though Rufus." Bobby explained, you still looking away from him.

"And her?" you asked, Bobby taking a deep breath.

"I don't know. You gotta understand, Kid...I didn't keep in regular contact with him. He never mentioned anyone, not even the night he showed up with you. I tried to track down what I could. Rufus did too, but we never got anything solid. It was all just through the grapevine bullshit. Some said that she was in the life too, and...and-" Bobby tried, you cutting him off.

"And, it ended like it fuckin' always does. Bloody." you said, Bobby remaining quiet for a moment.

"I can't say for sure." Bobby sighed. "I looked for him too, but I couldn't find anything. It was like he just...disappeared. I kept up the search until..."

"Until?" you asked, finally looking over at him.

"Until it got too dangerous to continue it. You were about four, maybe five." Bobby started, seeming reluctant to continue. "You...you just...you knew things, Kid, and it was stuff you had no way of knowin'. "he said, waiting for you to respond.

"What the fuck does that mean?" you asked, your heart starting to pound.

"It means that...it means..." Bobby started, trailing off before he could finish his thought.

"It means what? What the fuck does it mean?!" you yelled, throwing the bottle, watching as it shattered against a car across from you.

"You would pick up on things, say things that you couldn't know. Things...things that I was thinking, and then there were the dreams." Bobby said, you getting up from the car to pace.

"Dreams?" you asked, pacing back and forth.

"Doctors said they were just night terrors, but they weren't.""Bobby said, his answer rather vague.

"How did you know?" you asked, still pacing.

"I just did." he said, you whipping to face him.

"So, not only did you lie about who I was, but you lied about what I could do, too?" you asked, speaking again before Bobby had a chance to answer. "And, you can't say that you never had the chance to tell me. I called you. I called you, and I told you that I thought something was wrong with me. And, what did you do? You fuckin' lied! You told me that I was fine!"

"You know that people don't always take kindly to what they don't understand. Especially in this business. They would have shot first and asked questions later." Bobby said, you starting to pace again.

"So, you're telling me that you kept everything quiet 'cause you didn't want some hunter findin' out? Scared they were gonna shoot the freak?!" you yelled, Bobby shaking his head.

"Kid, you're not a-" he started, you quickly cutting him off.

"What? Not a freak? Not some sort of fuckin' monster?!" you asked, pulling the glove off of your right hand, the ball of light quickly forming before you sent it crashing into the car across from you, the glass shattering and the metal denting. "Does that look fuckin' human to you?"

"A parent does what they have to do to protect their child." Bobby said, you shaking your head.

"I'm not your kid! Don't you see that everyone would have been a lot better off if you would've just thrown me to the fuckin' wolves all those years ago? I mean, I've been fucking shit up since I was born." you said, a quizzical expression on Bobby's face.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, frustration seeping through.

"It's my fault that my parents are gone. And, who's to say that there's not a trail after them? I mean, you said so yourself. You did what you had to do to keep me safe, to keep everything under wraps." you said, Bobby looking at you a moment before speaking.

"None of that's on you." he said, you huffing out an annoyed laugh.

"It is. I may not have known, but it is. And, then there's John." you said, fixing Bobby with a cold stare.

"John?" Bobby asked, you nodding.

"I don't remember everything that happened, but I remember that. He's gone because of me. If he wouldn't have made the deal for me, then he'd still be here. So, how can you stand there and tell me that everyone is better off with me here?" you asked, your voice cracking a little.

"You can't blame yourself for John's decision. He knew what he was doing, and you don't get to make decisions for everyone else." Bobby said, you interrupting.

"I'm not-" you tried to say, Bobby cutting you off.

"No, you're gonna listen. You say that everyone would be better off if you were gone, but that's bullshit. You think those boys would be better off?" Bobby started, you quickly cutting him off.

"Of course I do! They lost their fucking father because of me!!" you yelled, Bobby shaking his head.

"Family doesn't end with blood, Kid. Those boys would be lost without you, and so would I. I...I've done a lot of things that I'm not proud of, things that haunt me to this day, but you are the one thing that I'm proud of. Hell, you're the reason I'm still going, Kid, and I wouldn't change a thing. I'd do all of it over again, the same exact way if it meant that you were safe."

"But-" you tried to say, Bobby speaking up before you could say anything.

"You listen to me. I may not have made ya, but you're mine. I'm not going anywhere. A parent is there for the good, the bad, and the ugly. And, right now it's pretty God damn ugly, but we're gonna figure all this out, together. Now, you can be mad all you want. I can understand that, but you don't get to check out on me. And, you ain't gettin' rid of me. Cause even if you don't want me to, I'm gonna be there. Ya' got that, Kid?" Bobby asked, you looking at him with teary eyes, waiting a minute before speaking.

"Yeah, I, uh, I got it." you said, trying not to cry, Bobby closing the gap between the two of you to pull you into a hug.

"Everything's gonna be okay, Kid." he said, holding you tightly. "I promise."

Dean was back underneath the Impala, only his legs visible from beneath the frame. He spent all of his time working on it, and although it was little more than a rusted frame, it looked considerably less crushed than it did.

"How's the car coming along?" Sam asked as he approached.

"Slow." Dean said, his reply short.

"Yeah? Need any help?" Sam asked, Dean dropping something heavily.

"What, you under a hood? I'll pass. I'd rather have Singer under here." Dean said, Sam pausing a moment before speaking.

"Need anything else, then?" Sam asked, Dean pushing himself out from under the car and getting to his feet.

"Stop it, Sam." Dean warned, Sam looking a little taken aback.

"Stop what?" Sam asked, Dean shaking his head.

"Stop asking if I need anything, stop asking if I'm okay. I'm okay. Really. I promise." Dean said, Sam slowly nodding, trying to think of a way to make his point without starting a fight. 

"All right, Dean, it's just...We've been at Bobby's for over a week now and you haven't brought up Dad once." Sam said, Dean turning to face him.

"You know what? You're right. Come here. I'm gonna lay my head gently on your shoulder. Maybe we can cry, hug, and maybe even slow dance. I swear, you're a bigger girl than Singer. She's not out here pushin' me." Dean said, Sam's frustration starting to show.

"Don't patronize me, Dean. Dad is dead. The Colt is gone, and it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind all of this, and you're acting like nothing happened." Sam said, Dean shaking his head.

"What do you want me to say?" Dean asked.

"Say something, all right. Hell, say anything. Neither one of you have ever had a problem running your mouths before, but now I can't get either one of you to say more than a couple of words. Aren't you angry? Don't you want revenge? But all you do is sit out here all day long buried underneath this damn car." Sam ranted, his frustration seeping through.

"Revenge, huh?" Dean asked, Sam nodding.

"Yeah." Sam replied, hoping that he'd gotten through to him.

"Sounds good. You got any leads on where the demon is? Making heads or tails of any of Dad's research? Because I sure ain't. But, you know, if we do finally find it- oh. No, wait, like you said. The Colt's gone. But, I'm sure you've figured out another way to kill it. We've got nothing, Sam. Nothing, okay? So, you know the only thing I can do? I can work on the car." Dean said, crouching down by the car to get back to work.

"Well, we've got something, all right?" Sam said, pulling out a cell phone. "It's what I came by here to tell you. This is one of Dad's old phones. Took me awhile, but I cracked his voicemail code. Listen to this." Sam said as he held out the phone to Dean, who stood and took it reluctantly.

"John, it's Ellen. Again. Look, don't be stubborn. You know I can help you. Call me." the voicemail said, Sam looking to Dean.

"That message is four months old." Sam said, Dean's interests piqued.

"Dad saved that chick's message for four months?" Dean asked.

"Yeah." Sam replied.

"Well, who's Ellen? Any mention of her in Dad's journal?" Dean asked, Sam shaking his head.

"No. But, I ran a trace on her phone number, and I got an address." Sam said, Dean nodding.

"Go tell Singer, and ask Bobby if we can  use one of his cars." Dean instructed, Sam quickly turning to go before Dean could change his mind.

"This is humiliating. I feel like a fuckin' soccer mom!" Dean exclaimed as the three of you got out of the beat up, poorly maintained minivan that was parked in front of the bar Ellen owned, The Roadhouse.

"It's the only car Bobby had running." Sam said as he looked around the rather empty parking lot. "Hello? Anybody here?"

"So, you know these people?" Dean asked, glancing over at you.

"Yeah, haven't seen 'em in a long time though." you said, adjusting your gun, Dean turning to Sam.

"Hey. You bring the, uh..." he started to ask, Sam nodding.

"Of course." he said, tossing something to Dean before opening the door to go inside.

The Roadhouse was quiet with the exception of a fly buzzing around, "Come on." you said, walking ahead of the two of them, a light bulb suddenly blowing, leaving the bar a little darker than it was.

The three of you came upon a passed out man, and Sam looked down at him, "Hey, buddy?" he asked, pausing a moment. "I'm guessing that isn't Ellen."

"Yeah." Dean said as Sam went into a back room to look around, leaving you and Dean alone, the two of you walking further into the bar.

"Stop." you said, hearing someone behind you, putting your hand out in front of Dean, the two of you side by side.

"Oh God, please let that be a rifle." Dean said, feeling the point of a gun touch his back.

"Maybe they're just real happy to see us." you said, the gun cocking.

"Don't move." a female warned, you thinking that you recognized the voice, glancing over to Dean and giving him a subtle nod.

"Not moving, copy that. You know, you should know something, miss. When you put a rifle on someone, you don't want to put it right against their back. Because it makes it real easy to do..." Dean said, turning fluidly, grabbing the rifle and cocking it. "That."

You turned just in time to see Dean get punched in the nose, the rifle quickly taken away from him as his hands flew to his nose.

"Easy, Jo." you said, pulling your gun as she pointed the rifle at you.

"I know you?" she asked, the two of you in a standoff.

"Sam! Need some help in here." Dean called out before muttering, "I can't see. Singer, I can't even see."

"I got it handled." you said, Jo taking a step towards you, the rifle now within your reach.

"You sure about that?" Dean asked, still clutching his nose as the back door opened to reveal Sam walking though slowly with both hands on his head, Jo turning her head to look, her finger no longer on the trigger.

"Yeah." you said, grabbing the barrel of the rifle and snatching it from her, Jo looking at you in shock as you passed the gun to Dean.

"Sorry, guys. I can't right now. I'm a...little tied up." Sam said, nodding his head, indicating that there was someone behind him.

"Don't worry, Sammy. We've got it handled." you said before looking over to Dean. "Well, maybe not we. Dean wasn't really much help."

"Sam? Dean? Winchester?" a woman asked, stepping out from behind Sam.

"Yeah." Sam and Dean answered in unison, looking a little puzzled.

"Son of a bitch." she said, looking over to you, your gun still partially raised.

"Mom, you know these people?" Jo asked, looking to her mother.

"Yeah, I think these are John Winchester's boys." she said lowering her gun, laughing. "And, I'm willing to bet that you're Y/N Singer." she said, looking to you.

"That's right." you said, lowering your gun.

"It's been awhile. You've grown up. How's your daddy?" she asked, Sam and Dean watching her closely.

"Still kicking." you said, Sam and Dean looking between you and the woman, the woman turning her attention back to them.

"I'm Ellen. This is my daughter Jo." she said, Sam and Dean finally relaxing.

"Hey." Jo said, nodding towards her rifle in Dean's hand.

"You're not gonna hit me again, are you?" Dean asked, passing her the gun.

"No, she's not." you said, giving Jo a look before heading towards the bar.

"Here you go." Ellen said, passing Dean a small towel filled with ice.

"Thanks. You called our Dad, said you could help. Help with what?" Dean asked, grimacing as he held the towel to his nose.

"Well, the demon, of course. I heard he was closing in on it." Ellen explained, Dean eyeing her.

"What, was there an article in Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed? I mean, who...who are you? How do you know about all this?" Dean asked, Ellen looking to you.

"You'll have to excuse him." you said, Dean's head whipping to face you, Ellen chuckling.

"Hey, I just run a saloon, but hunters have been known to pass through now and again. Including your dad a long time ago. John was like family once." Ellen explained.

"Oh yeah? How come he never mentioned you before?" Dean asked, still weary of her.

"You'd have to ask him that." Ellen said, you looking down at the bar.

"So, why exactly do we need your help?" Dean asked, getting back on track.

"Hey, don't do me any favors. Look, if you don't want my help, fine. Don't let the door smack your ass on the way out. But, John wouldn't have sent you if..." she said, stopping when you gave her a look, the realization hitting her. "He didn't send you." she said, Dean looking down before glancing over to you and back to Sam. "He's all right, isn't he?"

"No. No, he isn't. It was the demon, we think. It, um, it just got him before he got it, I guess." Sam said, Ellen shaking her head.

"I'm so sorry." she said, giving both boys a sincere look.

"It's okay. We're all right." Dean quickly said, any mention of John making him uncomfortable.

"Really? I know how close you and your dad were." Ellen said, Dean appearing annoyed.

"Ellen." you said, shaking your head, letting her know to drop it.

"Really, lady, I'm fine." he said, Ellen nodding, realizing that it was a sensitive subject.

"So look, if you can help, we could use all the help we can get." Sam said, Ellen looking between the three of you.

"Well, we can't. But, Ash will." Ellen said, a smile sliding onto your face.

"Who's Ash?" Sam asked, confused.

"Ash!" Ellen yelled, the man that was passed out jerking away, flailing as he sat up.

"What? It closin' time?" he asked, looking around the bar.

"That's Ash?" Sam asked as you laughed to yourself.

"MM-hmm. He's a genius." Jo said, both Sam and Dean looking over to her.

You and Sam were sitting on either side of Ash, Dean standing behind the three of you while Jo poured glasses of water on the other side of the bar. Ash was busy staring at you. You could tell that he was trying to figure out how he knew you, a brown folder being slapped down on the bar making him flinch, but not deterring his focus.

"I don't think we've met." Ash said, extending his hand to you.

"I gotta say...I'm a little offended." you teased, the wheels turning in Ash's mind.

"Don't be offended. There's no way I could forget a face like that, or a..." Ash said, trailing off as his eyes roamed down your body, Dean clearing his throat.

"You sure about that, Sugar?" you asked, Ash's eyes lighting up.

"Y/N? Y/N Singer?" he asked, you giving him a wink.

"In the flesh." you said, Ash smiling brightly.

"Well, God damn! I knew you were somethin' by the sound of your voice, but it just doesn't do you justice." Ash said, Dean rolling his eyes.

"You've gotta be kidding me. This guy's no genius. He's a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie." Dean said, Ash turning to face him.

"I like you." Ash said, a smile on his face.

"Thanks." Dean said, Jo shaking her head.

"Just give him a chance." Jo said, you nodding.

"He knows his stuff. He's helped me out a few times." you said, Dean looking at you. "Over the phone." you added, Dean coming to sit next to you, moving his stool so that he was basically on top of you before opening the folder.

"All right. This stuff's about a year's worth of our dad's work. So, uh, let's see what you make of it." Dean said, Ash pulling out the papers and rifling through them, shaking his head.

"Come on. This crap ain't real. There ain't nobody can track a demon like this." Ash said, looking up at Dean.

"Our Dad could." Sam said, Ash glancing at him before looking back at the papers.

"There are non-parametrics, statistical overviews, prospects and correlations, I mean...damn! They're signs. Omens. Uh, if you can track 'em, you can track this demon. You know, like crop failures, electrical storms...You ever been struck by lightening? It ain't fun." Ash said, rambling.

"Can you track it or not?" Sam asked, Ash cocking his head to the side.

"Yeah, with this...I think so. But, It's gonna take time, uh, give me...fifty one hours." Ash said, getting up to leave.

"Hey, man?" Dean called out, stopping him.

"Yeah." Ash said, turning to face him.

"I, uh, I did the haircut." Dean said, Ash smiling.

"All business up front, party in the back." Ash said, running his hand over his mullet. "Hey Y/N, could you help me with somethin'?"

"Yeah." you said, getting up from your spot, you and Ash walking off as Jo came out from behind the bar.

Dean watched the two of you closely, his brow furrowing as he watched you laugh at something Ash said. Jo made sure to step into his line of sight, giving him a flirty smile as she gestured for him to follow her. Dean took one last look at you before following after her, leaving Sam alone at the bar.

"Hey, Ellen, what is that?" Sam asked, spotting something behind the bar.

"It's a police scanner. We keep tabs on things, we-" Ellen said, Sam cutting her off.

"No, no, no, no, the, um, the folder." Sam said, nodding towards the folder.

"Uh, I was gonna give this to a friend of mine, but take a look, if you want." Ellen said, taking the folder from its spot and placing it in front of Sam.

"How did your mom get into this stuff, anyway?" Dean asked, him and Jo sitting by the window.

"From my dad. He was a hunter. He passed away." Jo said, Dean letting out a slow breath.

"I'm sorry." he said, Jo waving it off.

"It was a long time ago. I was just a kid. Sorry to hear about your dad." Jo said, Dean slowly nodding, uncomfortable with the subject.

"Yeah." he said, looking over at you and Ash, Jo following his stare.

"So, I guess you've got fifty one hours to waste. Maybe tonight we should..."she said, trailing off, Dean looking over at her. "What?"

"Nothing, just, uh..."Dean said, looking over at you, Jo nodding.

"Gotcha." she said, watching as he stared at you. "You know, at first I thought you might toss me some cheap pickup line." she said, Dean chuckling. "Most hunters come through that door thinking they can get in my pants with some...pizza, a six pack, and side one of Zeppelin IV." she added, Dean smiling to himself when he remembered you throwing out that exact scenario as a date idea.

"Well...what a bunch of scumbags." Dean said, turning to look at her.

"Not you?" Jo asked, glancing over at you before looking back to Dean.

"Not me." Dean said, giving her a tight lipped smile.

"So, whatcha need?" you asked, Ash stopping to turn and face you.

"Uh, well, I..."Ash said, clearing his throat. "How long are you sticking around?"

"You said you needed fifty one hours, so I'd guess that'd be about it." you said, Ash nodding.

"That's it, huh? Well, that's a damn shame." he said, you raising a brow at him.

"Yeah, why's that?" you asked, Ash wiggling his brows at you causing you to laugh.

"Cause we coulda had a damn good time." Ash said, you smiling before glancing back at Dean, who was talking to Jo. "Don't tell me..." Ash said, looking at Dean.

"Yep." you said, Ash sighing.

"Just my luck." he said, you laughing under your breath. "You know he doesn't look so tough. Maybe I could take him." he joked, you laughing again. "Well, uh, that ever goes south, you know who to call."

"You'll be the first one I call." you said, both you and Ash laughing.

"Hey guys, come here." Sam called out. "Check this out." he added, both you and Dean walking back to the bar.

"Yeah." you said, Sam looking up at you.

"A few murders not far from here that Ellen caught wind of. Looks to me like there might be a hunt." Sam said, looking between the two of you.

"Yeah, so?" Dean said, shrugging his shoulders.

"So, I told her we'd check it out." Sam said as he gathered all of the papers back into the folder and stood up.

The three of you were back in the minivan, Dean driving, Sam in the passenger seat, you leaning up from the backseat. The rain was coming down hard, forcing the three of you to speak louder than normal.

"You've gotta be kidding me. A killer clown?" Dean asked, Sam still looking at the research in his lap.

"Well, you just gotta be shittin' bricks right about now." you said, Sam shooting you a dirty look.

"He left the daughter unharmed and killed the parents. Ripped them to pieces, actually." Sam explained.

"And this family was at some carnival that night?" Dean asked, Sam nodding.

"Right, right. The, uh, Cooper Carnival." Sam said, flipping through some of the papers.

"Okay, but how do you know that we're not just dealing with some fuckin' psycho carnie in a clown suit?" you asked, Sam turning in his seat to face you.

"Well, the cops have no viable leads, and all the employees were tearing down shop. Alibis all around. Plus, this girl said she saw a clown vanish into thin air. Cops are saying trauma, of course." Sam explained, Dean looking over at him.

"Well, I know what you're thinking, Sam. Why did it have to be clowns?" Dean said, not hearing your earlier remark.

"Oh, give me a break." Sam said, rolling his eyes, both you and Dean laughing.

"You didn't think we'd remember, did you? I mean, come on, you still bust out crying whenever you see Ronald McDonald on the television." Dean teased, Sam scoffing.

"Well, at least I'm not afraid of flying." Sam said, Dean's eyes going wide.

"Planes crash!" he fired back, Sam turning to you.

"Or small spaces." Sam said, you rolling your eyes.

"Oh, you can fuck right off, Sam. MIne is a much more realistic fear, and you know it.  I mean, what the fuck is so scary about a clown?" you asked, Sam shaking his head.

"Well, apparently clowns kill, Y/N." Sam said, Dean speaking up before the two of you got into a ridiculous argument.

"So, these type of murders, they ever happen before?" Dean asked, Sam looking down at the file.

"Uh, according to the file, 1981, the Bunker Brothers Circus, same M.O.. It happened three times, three different locales." Sam explained, Dean shaking his head.

"It's weird, though. I mean, if it's a spirit it's usually bound to a specific locale. You know, a house, or a town." Dean said, Sam looking to him.

"So, how's this one moving from city to city, carnival to carnival?" Sam asked.

"Cursed object, maybe." you said, Dean nodding.

"Yeah, spirit attaches itself to something and the, uh, carnival carries it around with them." Dean said, Sam sighing.

"Great. Paranormal scavenger hunt." Sam said, closing the file in his lap.

"Tell me about it." you said, leaning back in your seat.

"Well, this case was your idea." Dean said, glancing over to Sam. "By the way, why is that? You were awfully quick to jump on this job."

"So?" Sam said, shrugging his shoulders.

"It's just...not like you, that's all. I thought you were hell bent for leather on the demon hunt." Dean said, you leaning back up, expecting a fight.

"I don't know, I just think, this job, it's what Dad would have wanted us to do." Sam said, you looking between the two of them, gauging the situation.

"What Dad would have wanted?" Dean asked, you looking over to him.

"De." you warned, giving him a look.

"Yeah, so?" Sam asked, Dean glancing at you before turning his attention back to the road.

"Nothin'." Dean clipped out, you leaning into your seat with a sigh.

The minivan squeaked to a stop outside of the carnival, and the three of you climbed out. You leaned against the side of the van, watching as what appeared to be detectives talked to some of the carnies.

"Check it out, Five-oh." Dean said, nodding his head in their direction.

"You got it?" you asked, Dean nodding before walking off towards the carnies, trying to get what facts he could.

Both you and Sam ventured closer to the carnival grounds, Sam shoving his hands in his pockets as the two of you subtly looked around. You turned your head just in time to see a woman, who was about three feet tall, in a clown outfit approaching. You looked up at Sam and tried to hide your smile. He was staring at her nervously as she walked by, his posture rigid as he tried to keep his cool.

"Did you get her number?" Dean asked as he approached the two of you, Sam scowling at the question.

"More murders?" Sam asked, Dean nodding.

"Two more last night. Apparently, they were ripped to shreds, and they had a little boy with them." Dean explained, both you and Sam listening closely.

"Who fingered a clown." Sam said, you snorting out a laugh, Dean pausing and giving him a weird look.

"Sounds pretty kinky if you ask me." you said, not able to keep a straight face, Sam giving you a completely done look, Dean chuckling.

"Really, Y/N?" Sam asked, you shrugging your shoulders.

"What? You said it." you said, Dean shaking his head, trying not to smile.

"Alright, back on track." Dean said, Sam looking at him to continue. "Yeah, the kid saw a clown, who apparently vanished into thin air."

"Guys, you know, looking for a cursed object is like trying to find a needle in a stack of needles. They could be anything." Sam said, you sighing.

"And we don't even fuckin' know if that's what we're dealing with for sure." you said, Sam nodding in agreement.

"Well, if it's a cursed object then, it's bound to give off EMF, so we'll just have to scan everything." Dean said, Sam giving him a look.

"Oh, good, that's nice and...inconspicuous." Sam sarcastically said, you looking over to him.

"You got a better idea?" you asked, Dean spotting something nearby.

"I guess we'll just have to blend in." Dean said, nodding his head towards a "Help Wanted" sign.

"Excuse me, we're looking for a Mr. Cooper, have you seen him around?" Dean asked, the three of you stepping into the tent of a man throwing knives at a target, all the knives landing near but not quite on the bullseye.

"What is that, some kind of joke?" the man asked, pulling off his sunglasses to reveal that he was blind.

"Oh, God, I'm, I'm sorry." Dean said, embarrassed by his blunder.

"You think I wouldn't give my eyeteeth to see Mr. Cooper? Or a sunset, or anything at all?" the man asked, Dean looking to you and Sam for help.

"Wanna give me a little help here?" Dean quietly asked the two of you.

"Not really." Sam said, you quickly jumping in.

"You're doin' great." you said, giving him the okay signal with your hand.

"Hey man, is there a problem?" someone asked, Dean turning, then looking down to see an extremely short man in a red cape.

"Yeah, this guy hates blind people." the blind man said, Dean shaking his head.

"No, I don't. I-" Dean tried to explain, the short man cutting him off.

"Hey buddy, what's your problem?" he asked, looking up at Dean.

"Nothing, it's just a little misunderstanding." Dean said, you grabbing onto his arm, catching his mistake.

"Little?! You son of a bitch!" the short man yelled, Dean's eyes going wide.

"No, no, no, no! I'm just, could somebody tell me where Mr. Cooper is?" Dean asked, both you and Sam laughing. "Please?"

"You kids picked a hell of a time to join up. Take a seat." Mr. Cooper said as the three of you walked into his office. "Sorry about the lack of chairs."

"No problem." you said, giving him a friendly smile, Dean looking at the available chairs.

One of the chairs was normal, the other was pink with a giant clown face on it. Dean quickly beat Sam to the normal chair, and pulled you so that you basically fell into his lap. Sam scowled, and fidgeted before sitting gingerly in the clown chair, giving you and Dean one final dirty look before composing himself.

"We've got all kinds of local trouble." Mr. Cooper said once the three of you had settled.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, you shifting so that he could see Mr. Cooper.

"Oh, a couple of folks got themselves murdered. Cops always seem to start here first. So, you three ever worked the circuit before?" Mr. Cooper asked, looking between the three of you.

"Yes sir, last year through Texas and Arkansas." Sam said, both you and Dean nodding.

"Yeah." the two of you said in unison.

"Doing what? Ride jockeys? Butcher? ANS Men?" Mr. Cooper asked before turning to you. "Surely they had a looker like you doin' something special."

"Oh yeah, I....they always saved me for the good stuff." you said, Sam quickly jumping in.

"Yeah, it's, uh, little bit of everything, I guess." Sam said, Mr. Cooper studying the three of you closely.

"You three have never worked a show in your lives before, have you?" Cooper asked, you letting out a slow breath.

"Nope. But we really need the work. Oh, and uh, Sam here's got a thing for the bearded lady." Dean joked, Sam shooting him a look.

"You see that picture? That's my daddy." Mr. Cooper said, pointing out an old black and white photo.

"You look just like him." Sam said, you looking at the photo a little longer before turning to Mr. Cooper.

"You really do." you said, thinking that they looked like the same person.

"He was in the business. Ran a freakshow. Till they outlawed them, most places. Apparently displaying the deformed isn't dignified. So, most of the performers went from honest work to rotting in hospitals and asylums. That's progress, I guess. You see, this place, it's a refuge for outcasts. Always has been, for folks that don't fit in nowhere else. But, you three? You should go to school. Find a partner, have 2.5 kids. Live regular." Mr. Cooper said, Dean opening his mouth to speak, Sam leaning forward, his eyes serious.

"Sir, we don't want to go to school. And we don't want regular. We want this." Sam said, both you and Dean looking at him a little shocked.

"Huh." Dean said, once the three of you had walked out of Mr. Cooper's office.

"What?" Sam asked, Dean pausing a moment before speaking.

"That whole, uh, I don't want to go back to school thing. Were you just saying that to Cooper or were you, you know, saying it?" Dean asked, both you and him watching Sam closely.

"Sam?" you asked, when he didn't answer.

"I don't know." Sam said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"You don't know? I thought that once the demon was dead and the fat lady sings that you were gonna take off, head back to Wussy State. You know, leave all the work to me and Singer." Dean said, you elbowing him.

"I'm having second thoughts." Sam said, shocking you a little.

"Really?" you asked, Sam nodding.

"Yeah. I think...Dad would have wanted me to stick with the job." Sam said, Dean giving him a look.

"Since when do you give a damn what Dad wanted? You spent half your life doing exactly what he didn't want, Sam." Dean said, you whipping to face him.

"Dean!" you barked, Dean looking down at you.

"What? You know it's true." Dean said, you shaking your head.

"Since he died, okay? Do you have a problem with that?" Sam asked, looking at Dean, Dean finally turning to face him.

"Naw, I don't have a problem at all." Dean said, shaking his head as he walked off.

Sam, clad in a red "Cooper Carnival" jacket was picking up trash while surreptitiously scanning with the EMF meter. He walked up to the fun house and looked around before walking inside, still scanning. Suddenly, a skeleton fell from the ceiling, and Sam scanned it. The EMF meter didn't react, but Sam did get an idea.

Dean was wearing a similar red uniform jacket and picking up trash to put in the dumpster when his cell phone rang.

"Hello." Dean said.

"Hey, man." Sam said, Dean still looking around for trash.

"What's the matter? You sound like you just saw a clown." Dean teased, Sam huffing out a breath.

"Very funny. Skeleton, actually." Sam said.

"Like a real human skeleton?" Dean asked, thinking that it could be what the three of you were searching for.

"In the fun house. Listen, I was thinking. What if the spirit isn't attached to a cursed object? What if it's attached to its own remains?" Sam asked, on the same page as Dean.

"Did the bones give off EMF?" Dean asked.

"Well, no, but-" Sam started, Dean cutting him off.

"We should check it out anyway. I'm gonna grab Singer, then we'll head to you." Dean said, hanging up the phone, the blind man from earlier grabbing his arm.

"What are you doing here, kid?" the blind man asked, Dean thrown off by his sudden appearance.

"I'm...I was just sweeping." Dean said, the blind man not convinced.

"Bull. And, what were you talking about? Skeletons? What's EMF?" the blind man asked, rattling off rapid fire questions.

"Dude, your blind man hearing is out of control." Dean said, shocked that he overheard everything.

"We're a tight knit group. We don't like outsiders. We take care of our own problems." the blind man said, a little threateningly.

"We got a problem?" Dean asked, watching the man closely.

"You tell me. You're the one talking about human bones." the blind man said, Dean racing to come up with an explanation.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" Dean blurted out.

"What?" the blind man asked, thrown off by the question.

"My brother, my girlfriend, and me...umm. We're writing a book about them." Dean said before quickly excusing himself to find you.

Dean had tried calling your phone a couple of times, each call going straight to voicemail. He walked around the grounds until he came upon the Strongman's tent. Mr. Cooper had given you the job of his assistant, and Dean could tell that the two of you were in the middle of a show, the crowd's applause and cheering ringing out from the tent.

Dean stepped through the opening and stood at the back of the crowd, watching as you walked around the strongman, showcasing him like a model would a prize on The Price is Right. This was the strongman's act, but Dean couldn't help but notice that most eyes were on you.

You always did have a habit of turning heads, but the skin tight, barely there crop top and skimpy shorts that left little to the audience's imagination certainly wasn't helping. Dean shrugged off his red jacket, dead set on covering you up the second you were off stage, and watched as the strongman prepared for the final act of the show.

Dean watched the strongman get down on one knee in the center of the stage, and hold out a hand to you. You circled around him before coming to a stop at his side, facing towards the crowd. The strongman turned the hand closest to you palm side up, his arm bent at the elbow, and you eased yourself down until you were sitting on his hand. With one fluid motion the strongman stood up, using his free hand to hold onto your hand to help balance you. With a nod of his head the strongman fully extended his arms, and the crowd went wild as he balanced you above his head.

Even though you had a bright smile plastered on your face Dean could tell that you were about two seconds away from losing your cool. Dean tossed his jacket on the back of one of the empty chairs and pushed his way to the stage, the corner of his mouth turning up when he saw how relieved you were to see him.

"Ivan, down." you said, the strongman looking up at you. "Pryamo seychas, mudak." you spat, Dean looking at you in confusion as Ivan quickly put you down.

As soon as your feet hit the stage you were whipping around to face Ivan, who was backing up with his hands up. Dean quickly jumped up on the stage and grabbed you around the waist, pulling you back towards him.

"Come on, Singer." Dean said as you struggled in his hold.

"No, no, no. That fucker has it comin'. Not only did I have to deal with his fuckin' hand up my God damn ass all day, but my gloves weren't worthy of the costume." you said, Dean walking you back to the edge of the stage. "I could hear everything. He's lucky most of it was in Russian, or I probably would have bashed his God damn brains in." you added, Dean huffing out a laugh.

"Want me to go knock the guy on his ass?" Dean asked, still holding onto you, your fists clenched to keep from touching him.

"All I'm gonna say is that if you don't get me outta here we're gonna have another body on our hands." you said, Dean releasing you before walking down the steps.

"Let's go then. Sam thinks he may have something." Dean said as the two of you walked to the back of the tent, Dean grabbing his discarded jacket off the back of the chair and draping it over your shoulders.

"What'd you say back there, anyway?" Dean asked as the two of you walked out of the tent.

"Called him an asshole." you said, pulling the jacket closed around you.

"You speak Russian?" Dean asked, one brow raised.

"I picked up a few words from dumb ass back there, but I'm pretty fluent in curse words in most languages." you said, Dean chuckling as the two of you walked to meet Sam.

"What took you guys so long?" Sam asked, looking between you and Dean.

"You don't wanna know." you sighed, Dean nodding.

"Yeah, long story." Dean said, Sam shaking his head in frustration.

"Mommy, look at that clown!" a little girl shouted, the three of you looking over to see a little girl pointing at nothing.

"What clown?" the child's mother asked. "Come on sweetie, Come on." she said before pulling the little girl away, the three of you sharing a look, knowing that you had the next targets.

"I cannot believe the two of you told Papazian about the homicidal phantom clown." Sam said, the three of you on stakeout outside the family from the carnivals home.

"It's not like we sought him out. We bumped into him on our way to meet you, and he started asking questions. We had to tell him something." you said, leaning up from the backseat.

"And that's what you came up with?" Sam asked, you rolling your eyes.

"Look, we told him an urban legend about a homicidal phantom clown. We never said it was real." Dean said as he pulled out his gun and cocked it, Sam grabbing at it, pushing Dean's hands down.

"Keep that down!" Sam scolded, afraid that someone would see.

"Relax, nobody can fuckin' see anything." you said, Dean speaking up before Sam could say anything to you.

"Oh, and get this. We mentioned the Bunker Brother's Circus in '81 and their uh, evil clown apocalypse. Guess what." Dean said, Sam paying close attention.

"What?" Sam asked, anxious for Dean to continue.

"Before Mr. Cooper owned Cooper Carnival, he worked for Bunker Brothers. He was their lot manager." you explained, Sam nodding.

"So, you think whatever the spirit's attached to, Cooper just brought it with him?" Sam asked, you shrugging your shoulders.

"Something like that. It's the best we could come up with for now." you said, Dean shaking his head and sighing.

"I can't believe we keep talking about clowns." he said, you laughing under your breath as you leaned back in your seat, Dean closing his eyes.

Dean was dozing in the front seat when a light flicked on in the family's dining room, both you and Sam jumping to attention. Sam quickly shook Dean awake while you opened the bag next to you and started pulling out weapons. The three of you quickly exited the vehicle and rushed to the house, dead set on getting inside before the spirit did.

The three of you were hiding in wait, weapons at the ready as the little girl started to lead the clown down the hallway, "Wanna see Mommy and Daddy? They're upstairs." the little girl said, Sam leaping out and grabbing the girl, who started to scream.

Dean fired off a shot and hit the clown in the chest, the clown falling on it's back. You held your gun on him and quickly fired off another shot when he started to get back up.

"What the fuck?" you asked, the clown getting to his feet as both you and Dean tried to rack in another round.

"Sam, watch out!" Dean yelled, the clown leaping out the window, turning invisible as it ran away, the girl's parents rushing into the room.

"What's going on here? Get away from my-" the girl's father started, the mother quickly jumping in.

"Oh my God! What are you doing to my daughter?!" the mother asked, a horrified look on her face.

"Who the hell are you? Get out! Get out of my house!" the father yelled, the three of you running away as fast as you possibly could.

Dean pulled the minivan off the side of the road and put it in park. The three of you climbed out and started to dig out all of your belongings, Dean stopping to take the license plates as well.

"You really think they saw our plates?" Sam asked, watching as Dean tucked the plates into his bag.

"Not worth the chance." you said, hitching your bag up on your shoulder, Dean nodding in agreement.

"Besides, I hate this fuckin' thing anyway." Dean said, the three of you starting to walk down the road. "Well, one thing's for sure."

"What's that?" Sam asked, looking over to Dean.

"We're not dealing with a spirit." Dean said, you nodding.

"Yeah, that rock salt hit something fuckin' solid." you said, Sam looking to you.

"Yeah, a person? Or maybe a creature that can make itself invisible?" Sam asked, you shrugging your shoulders.

"Yeah, and dresses up like a clown for kicks? Did it say anything in Dad's journal?" Dean asked, Sam shaking his head.

"Nope." Sam replied, clearing his throat and pulling out his phone.

"Who are you calling?" Dean asked, nodding towards Sam's phone.

"Maybe Ellen or that guy Ash will know something." Sam said.

"They'll definitely be able to narrow it down and give us a direction to go in." you said, Sam pausing in the middle of dialing the number.

"Hey, you guys think, uh, you guys think Dad and Ellen ever had a thing?" Sam asked, looking between you and Dean.

"No way." Dean said, shaking his head.

"Then, why didn't he tell us about her?" Sam asked.

"I don't think it's that big of a deal. I mean, I knew her and never said anything. It just never came up. You don't gotta tell people every single fucking person you know." you said, Sam shaking his head.

"But, she said he was like family once. I just think it's a little weird that he never mentioned her." Sam said.

"I don't know, maybe they had some sort of falling out." Dean said, Sam looking down at his feet.

"Yeah, you guys ever notice that Dad had a falling out with just about everybody? I mean, look at him and Bobby." Sam said, looking to you.

"I don't have anything to say about that." you said, Sam looking to Dean.

"Can't you see it?" Sam asked, Dean nodding casually, Sam lowering the phone. "Well, don't get all Maudlin on me, man."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, you knowing that a fight was bound to break out.

"Sam." you warned, Sam waving you off.

"No, no. You both need to hear this. This strong, silent thing the two of you are doing is crap." Sam said, Dean shaking his head.

"Oh, God!" Dean sighed, you preparing to break the two of them up.

"I'm over it. This isn't just anyone we're talking about." Sam said, looking at Dean. "This is Dad. I know how you felt about the man."

"You know what, back off, all right? Just because I'm not caring and sharing like you want me to." Dean fired back, you stepping between them.

"We're not gonna do this right now." you said, Sam completely ignoring you.

"No, no, no, that's not what this is about, Dean. I don't care how you deal with this, but you have to deal with it, man, both of you. Drinking yourselves stupid doesn't count. Listen, I'm your brother, all right?" Sam said before looking to you. "Y/N, you're like my sister, and I know that you are going through things right now, too. I just want to make sure that you guys are okay."

"Sam, I'm fine." you said, Sam sighing before looking to Dean.

"Dude, I'm okay. I'm okay, okay? I swear, the next person who asks me if I'm okay, I'm gonna start throwing punches. I don't understand why you have to keep pushing. I mean, fuck, it's like the only peace I can get is when I'm working on the car, or when I'm with Singer. She gets it, man. Why can't you? These are your issues, quit dumping them on us." Dean said, you ready to jump in.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, Dean looking down at his feet, pausing a moment before making eye contact with Sam.

"I just think it's really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. It's like, oh, what would Dad want me to do? Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with that man. I mean, hell, you...you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him. And, now that he's dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry Sam, but you can't, it's too little, too late." Dean said, you putting your hand on his chest to stop him.

"Why are you saying this to me?" Sam asked, you shaking your head.

"Don't. Enough is enough." you said, trying to protect Sam, Dean looking down at you before looking to Sam.

"Because I want you to be honest with yourself about this. I'm dealing with Dad's death! Are you?"Dean asked, you pushing against his chest.

"God fucking damn it! I said that was enough. He got the fuckin' point." you said, Sam swallowing loudly, looking upset.

"I'm going to go call Ellen." Sam quietly said before walking ahead of you and Dean.

You and Dean caught up to Sam a little further down the road, neither one of you saying anything to each other about the blow up. Both of you kept a bit of distance from Sam and listened as he finished his conversation.

"Thanks a lot." Sam said before hanging up the phone and turning to you and Dean. "Rakshasa."

"What's that?" Dean asked, you thinking back to where you'd heard the name before.

"Ellen's best guess." Sam started, you interrupting.

"Rakshasa. That's Hindu, isn't it?" you asked, Sam looking to you.

"Yeah, it's a race of ancient Hindu creatures. They appear in human form, and they feed on human flesh. They can make themselves invisible, and they cannot enter a home without first being invited." Sam explained, looking between you and Dean.

"So, they dress up like clowns, and the children invite 'em in." Dean said.

"Yeah." Sam said, you nodding.

"That's pretty fuckin' smart." you said, both boys agreeing.

"Why don't they just munch on the kids?" Dean asked, Sam shrugging.

"No idea. Not enough meat on the bones, maybe?" Sam suggested.

"What else'd you find out?" Dean asked.

"Well, apparently, Rakshasas live in squalor. The sleep on a bed of dead insects." Sam said, you wrinkling your nose.

"Nice." Dean sighed, Sam nodding.

"Yeah, and they have to feed a few times every twenty or thirty years." Sam said, you jumping in.

"Slow metabolism, I guess." you said, Sam huffing out a breath.

"Well, that makes sense. I mean, the carnival today, the Bunker Brothers in '81." Dean said, Sam looking over to him.

"Right. Probably more before that." Sam said, you taking a few steps ahead of them before turning around to face them, continuing to walk backwards.

"Well boys, who do we know that worked both shows?" you asked, Sam and Dean sharing a look.

"Cooper?" Sam asked, Dean quickly speaking up.

"Cooper." Dean said, you nodding.

"You know, that picture of his father, that looked just like him." Sam said, you falling back in line with them.

"You think maybe it was him?" Dean asked.

"That's what I would bet on." you said, looking over at him.

"Yeah, who knows how old he is." Sam said, the three of you quiet for a moment.

"Ellen say how to kill him?" Dean asked, you speaking up before Sam could answer.

"Some kind of blade I think. I've read about it before, but I can't fuckin' remember." you said before looking to Sam.

"Legend goes, a dagger made of pure brass." Sam said.

"I think I know where to get one of those." Dean said, Sam stopping the two of you.

"Well, before we go stabbing things into Cooper, we're going to want to make damn sure it's him." Sam said, a serious expression on his face as he looked between you and Dean.

"Come on, Sam." you sighed. "Where's the fun in that?" you teased.

"You're such a stickler for details, Sammy." Dean said, the three of you smiling at each other. "All right, me and Singer will round up the blade, you go check if Cooper's got bedbugs."

Once the three of you were back on the carnival grounds Sam split away from you and Dean. He headed towards Cooper's trailer while you and Dean went to go find the blind man.

"Well, I've got all kinds of knives. I don't know if I've got a brass one, though." the blind man said, leading you and Dean into his trailer.

Sam picked the lock on Cooper's trailer and eased open the door. He stepped inside and quickly looked around, pulling out his pocket knife once he spotted the small bed. Sam walked over and started to slice through the mattress, looking for any evidence of dead insects. Suddenly, Sam heard a gun cock from behind him, and he instantly froze.

"What do you think you're doing?" Mr. Cooper asked, pointing his gun at Sam.

The blind man let you and Dean into his trailer and tapped a trunk with his cane, "Check the trunk." he said, Dean bending down to open the trunk, both of you spotting the red clown wig.

"Well, fuck me." you whispered, Dean standing back up.

"You?" he asked, the blind man dropping his cane before pulling off his glasses.

"Me." he said, his eyes going cloudy, his face beginning to melt as he waved, his face then disappearing Cheshire Cat style, his glowing eyes the last thing you saw.

Dean grabbed a hold of your wrist and pulled you towards the door. He started to struggle with the door, a knife flying past his head to bury into the door. You quickly pulled off a glove and held up your hand as Dean jumped back, another knife landing with a thunk a little higher.

"All right!" Dean yelled, you releasing the ball of light in the direction the knives came from, unsure if you even hit him.

"We need to fuckin' move." you said, looking back over your shoulder at him, Dean finally managing to get the door open.

"Hey!" Sam shouted, seeing the two of you tumble out of the trailer.

"Hey." Dean said, making sure that you were by his side.

"So, Cooper thinks I'm a Peeping Tom, but it's not him." Sam said, looking between you and Dean.

"Yeah, no shit." you said, looking behind you, Dean quickly jumping in.

"Yeah, we gathered that. It's the blind guy. He's here somewhere." Dean said, the two of you looking around.

"Well, did you guys get the-" Sam started to ask, Dean interrupting.

"The brass blades? No." Dean said, Sam looking to you.

"We were a little busy trying not to become fuckin' pin cushions. Asshole started throwin' fuckin' knives after he went all Invisible Man on us." you said, Dean nodding.

"Yeah, it's just been one of those days." he said, Sam pausing to think a moment.

"I got an idea. Come on." Sam said, leading the two of you towards the fun house.

The three of you entered the fun house, a door slamming down as you went through. Dean was on one side while you and Sam were on the other, both of them struggling to open the door.

"Sam! Singer!" Dean yelled, still trying to open the door.

"De, you okay?" you asked as Sam stopped trying.

"Dean, find the maze!" Sam instructed before pulling you along after him.

Sam stopped in front of a pipe organ, the organ giving off steam. He reached for one of the pipes, quickly pulling his hand back as he grimaced from the heat.

"Here." you said, grabbing onto the pipe with your gloved hands, trying to pull it down.

Sam stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a bandanna before wrapping it around his hand, He grabbed onto the pipe and helped you pull, the pipe snapping free just as Dean came around the corner.

"Hey." Dean said, you pulling off your gloves as Sam took the pipe in his hands.

"Hey! Where is it?" Sam asked, looking frantically around.

"I don't know. I mean, shouldn't we see it's clothes walking around?"Dean asked, you shaking your head.

"We didn't see them in the trailer." you said, a knife flying past, pinning Dean's sleeve to the wall, another one zooming by to pin his wrist.

"Guys!" Dean yelled, Sam stalking forward slowly, a knife flying past his head.

"Where is he?" Sam asked, you trying to free Dean.

"I don't know!" Dean shouted, reaching up with his free hand and pulling a lever, more steam pouring from the pipe organ, giving a vague shape to the invisible attacker.

"Sam, behind you!" you yelled, Sam stabbing the pipe behind him without looking.

Sam turned to see the pipe buried in the still invisible creature, blood pouring from the wound. You and Dean finally managed to get him free, and the two of you turned to see only empty clothes and a bloody pipe.

"I hate fun houses." Dean breathed out, turning to look at you.

"Yeah." you said, letting out a slow breath.

Sam and Dean were sitting at the bar back at the Roadhouse as Ellen placed a couple of beers in front of them.

"You boys did a hell of a job. Your dad'd be proud." Ellen said before quickly surveying the room.

"Thanks." Sam said, Ellen turning her attention back to them.

"Y/N not with you?" she asked, Dean taking a swig of his beer.

"Said she had to talk to Ash about something." Dean said, Jo sitting on the other side of him, giving Sam a look.

"Oh yeah, um, I've gotta...uh, uh, I've gotta go. Over there. Right now." Sam said, quickly getting to his feet, stopping by Jo and leaning down to whisper in her ear. "I'd be careful if I were you." he said, knowing how temperamental you could be.

"So." Jo said, clearing her throat, completely disregarding Sam's warning.

"So." Dean said before taking another drink, knowing what she was going to say.

"Am I gonna see you again?" she asked, Dean looking straight ahead.

"I, uh, I don't know." Dean said, Jo leaning towards him.

"I wouldn't hate it, you know." she said, Dean taking a deep breath.

"Hmm. Can I be honest with you? See, in the past I'd be hitting on you so fast it'd make your head spin. But, uh, these days..." Dean said, trailing off when he saw you walk in from the back room.

"Wrong place, wrong time?" Jo asked, nodding towards you.

"There's no way I'm gonna mess that up." Dean said, Jo nodding.

"It's okay, I get it." she said, Ash walking out the same door you did, carrying the folder and a bizarre looking laptop.

"Where you guys been? Been waitin' for ya." Ash said, Ellen passing you a beer as you sat down at the bar.

"We were workin' a job, Ash. Clowns." Sam said, Ash raising a brow.

"Clowns? What the-" Ash started to ask, Dean cutting him off.

"You got something for us, Ash?" Dean asked, Ash setting the laptop down, the exposed wiring making it look homemade.

"Hey, Ellen, can I get something a little stronger?" you asked, the corner of Ellen's mouth turning up.

"What can I getcha?" she asked, you pushing your beer aside.

"Johnnie Walker." you said, Ellen turning around. "Make it a double." you added, Dean giving you a worried look.

"Did you find the demon?" Sam asked, Ash shaking his head.

"It's nowhere around. At least, nowhere I can find. But, if this fugly bastard raises his head, I'll know. I mean, I'm on it like Divine on dog dookie." Ash said, you laughing under your breath.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, needing a better explanation.

"I mean, any of those signs or omens appear, anywhere in the world, my rig'll go off. Like a fire alarm." Ash explained, Dean reaching for the laptop.

"Do you mind..."Dean started to ask, trailing off when Ash gave him a look, pulling his hand back from the keyboard. "Yeah."

"What's up, man?" Ash asked, Sam staring at the laptop.

"Ash, where did you learn to do all of this?" Sam asked, Ash shrugging.

"M.I.T.. Before I got bounced for fighting." Ash answered, Sam reeling back.

"M.I.T.?" Sam asked, a little shocked.

"It's a school in Boston." Ash said, like it wasn't a big deal.

"Okay. Give us a call as soon as you know something." Dean said, Ash nodding.

"Si, si, compadre." Ash said, Dean taking another sip of his beer before sitting it down and getting to his feet.

"Singer?" Dean said as him and Sam headed for the door, you downing the rest of your drink before standing up.

"Hey, listen...if you kids need a place to stay I've got a couple beds out back." Ellen said, you whispering something to Ash before joining Sam and Dean.

"Thanks, but no. There's something I gotta finish." Dean said, tossing his arm over your shoulders.

"Okay." Ellen said, giving the three of you a smile before you walked out the door.

The three of you had made it back to Bobby's, Sam and Dean were outside, and you were sitting at the kitchen table nursing a tumbler of whiskey.

"Mind if I join ya?" Bobby asked as he walked into the kitchen.

"Don't ya think you're a little a long in the tooth to be drinkin' at this time of day?" you asked, Bobby huffing out a laugh.

"D'ya just sit around and think of ways to be a smart ass?" Bobby asked, grabbing a glass before sitting down across from you.

"Nope. I don't even have to think about it. It's just a natural talent." you shot back, sliding the bottle to him.

"What'd Ellen have to say?" Bobby asked, pouring himself a drink.

"She offered to help with the demon. Long story short, Ash is tracking it. He said if any signs pop up, he'll know." you said, Bobby nodding, the two of you slipping into silence. "You, uh...you said that I knew things when I was little." you finally said, Bobby looking up at you.

"Yeah." he said, trying to prepare himself for another fight.

"Well, what happened? I mean, I don't remember any of that, and all of....this." you said, holding up your hands, "didn't start until...well, it wasn't happening back then."

"I wish I had a solid answer for you, Kid. It all just kind of stopped out of nowhere. I...I can't explain it." Bobby said, you shaking your head. "Look, I'd give anything to be able to tell you-" he started, you interrupting.

"You can't tell me what you don't know." you said before picking up your drink and finishing it.

"I'm gonna do some diggin', see if I can find anything." Bobby said, watching you closely.

"Yeah, okay." you said, thinking about whether you should tell him what you and Ash talked about. "I, uh, I asked Ash for help." you finally said, a worried expression sliding onto Bobby's face.

"Kid, you can't...if the wrong person-" Bobby started, you interrupting.

"I didn't tell him anything like that. I just asked him if he could find my-" you said, stopping short. "I just asked if he could try to track him down. I only gave him his name. That's it."

"It's not safe. It's just gonna open a whole new can of worms, and-" Bobby tried to say, you cutting him off.

"Pretty sure the can's already been opened." you said, Bobby shaking his head.

"There are people out there, hunters, that aren't gonna read between the lines. There isn't going to be any gray areas with them. It's black or it's white. Kid, I'm not going to be able to keep you safe." Bobby said, you standing up from the table.

"My entire life has been a lie. I...I don't even know who I am anymore. I know that the truth probably isn't going to be pretty. It never is, but I think I deserve to know what it is. Dad." you said, Bobby looking up at you with teary eyes. "You can't hover over me my entire life. You gotta let me make my own way, and trust that I can handle myself."

"I know. It's just-" Bobby said, looking away from you, not able to finish his thought. "What if you find him, and..."

"Like you said, you may not have made me, but YOU are my father. I'm a Singer, and I'm not lookin' to fuckin' change that." you said, Bobby looking a bit relieved. "I...I just need to know-"

"I know." Bobby said, standing up from his seat. "Just promise me that you'll take care of yourself, and that you'll call if you ever need anything." he said, you walking over to him.

"I will." you said before wrapping your arms around him. "I just want to say this real quick, and them I'm gonna knock it the fuck off because it's gettin' a little too God damn mushy." you said before taking a deep breath. "I couldn't have picked a better man to be my father. I love you, Old Man."

"I love ya, Kid." Bobby said, kissing the top of your head, the two of you holding tightly to each other. "Now." Bobby said, clearing his throat. "You better go check on those idjits."

"Yeah." you said, holding on a second longer before stepping back , the two of you sharing one final look before you left the room.

"You were right." Sam said, Dean busy working on the Impala while Sam paced nearby.

"About what?" Dean asked, not looking up.

"About me and Dad. I'm sorry that the last time I was with him I tried to pick a fight. I'm sorry that I spent most of my life angry at him. So, you're right. What I'm doing now, it's too little. It's too late." Sam said, pausing a beat, his bottom lip trembling. "I miss him, man. And, I feel guilty as hell. And...I'm not all right. Not at all." he said, tears in his eyes. "But, neither are you. That much I know." he said, pausing. "I'll let you get back to work." he added before walking away.

Dean was still for a moment, all of Sam's words sinking in. He picked up a crowbar before walking to a nearby car and smashing out the window. He looked down at the crowbar in his hand before walking back to the Impala and slamming it into the trunk. He couldn't stop after that first hit. He just kept slamming the crowbar down, over and over, letting out all of the frustration and anger that he had been bottling up.

Dean finally took a step back, his shoulders slumping as he let the crowbar clatter to the ground. He looked back over his shoulder, expecting to see Sam standing there, his lip starting to tremble when he saw you standing where Sam had been. He quickly looked away, keeping his back to you as he tried to compose himself.

Things had been a little awkward between the two of you, both of you preferring to just skirt around everything. It was easier than talking about it. It was easier than having to face the truth. Vulnerability wasn't easy for either one of you, and you knew that in that moment Dean was feeling completely exposed. All of the feelings and emotions that he had been trying to bury deep down finally worked their way to the surface.

That was always the problem with holding everything in. You become a powder keg, a ticking time bomb, and you explode eventually. Then, you are bare. Every flaw, every weakness is on display for everyone to see, and you are left there trying to pick up the pieces of your own self destruction.

You knew that he probably wanted to be alone, to hide away until he could build that walk back up. You would want the same thing, but you couldn't let him be alone. You needed to let him know that you were there to help him pick up the pieces. So, without thinking anymore about it, you walked over to him and wrapped your arms around him from behind. You pressed yourself tightly to him, one hand coming up to rest over his heart.

Dean stood there completely stiff for a moment, struggling internally, trying his best not to break. You didn't say anything. It wasn't time for words yet. You just held onto him tightly, your cheek resting against his back. You finally felt him relax, his shoulders starting to shake.

"I'm right here." you softly said, Dean's hand coming up to rest over yours.

"S-Singer, I...I don't know what to do. I'm...lost." he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I know, De. I know." you said, pausing a moment. "But, I'm right here, okay? When you feel like you can't count on anything else, you can fuckin' count on that." you said, Dean squeezing onto your hand. "I'm not gonna tell you that I know what to do, or that I have any answers because I don't. But, I will tell you that I'll be here every step of the fuckin' way." you added, Dean silent for a moment.

"You and me." he finally said, you taking a deep breath.

"You and me." you repeated, those three words saying everything that needed to be said.

A/N: Hey guys, I just want to apologize for the delay again. I also want you all to know just how much I appreciate each and every one of you. All of the kind words and love I have received mean the world to me. <3 <3

Tags:  @for-a-brothers-love @slytherinrising @miraclesoflove@22sarah08 @deans-baby-momma @spnae @karikatz12481@spngirl05 @winchester-fantasies @freddiemermaytaydeac@rainbowkisses31 @in-deans-arms @scentedhoundshepherdmoney@teamfreewillisbae @it-could-go-off@moonlight-on-her-skin@channy4eva @monkeymcpoopoo @dean-is-my-superhero@sherlock44 @becs-bunker @that-was-scary@kissmyacdc @dean-is-a-cutie @that-was-scary @cra-zy-vib-es1999 @a-little-bit-of-everythin @a-fangirl-stuff@imsuperawkward@dean-is-my-favorite@ilovetoread44 @xcastielbabyangelface@frederikkeborup@saaamsayshi @irelandsharpie@literallytrashhhhhh @satanic-bastard @deanw-is-pretty @satans-0-spawn @deanwanddamons@womanizerbucky@lieutenantdanielle @dean-is-a-cutie@kissmyacdc @spnbaby-67@celestial-kanzakii @neerness @to-have-deans-love @be-with-me-for-evermore@artemisandromedaathena-blog @rach5ive@lynnehmr @lunalunnel@delicatediplomatsaladlight@imsuperawkward @alanegaming@team-free-will-you-idjiot @supersassyprobablysad @deanwinchestersmydaddy @newheart97 @dhawandyke @castiel-has-bees @akshi8278 @greenarrowhead @waywardson2020​ @sammypotato67​ @idksupernatural​ @all-will-be-well-love​ @dream-believe-and-love​ @leahhh-marieee

[subarubi]

Desert Days

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader

Summary: “If this war ever ends-- and he assured you that it will eventually-- you’ll tell Sam Wilson you love him.”  

Warnings: 18+, profanity, angst for days, extreme injury and death (blood), mentions of PTSD, implied smut

A/N: 9.6k word count, goddamn. This is a very Sam heavy one-shot. Also, I tried to make the reader as gender neutral as possible! 

2001. 

A colossal mountain of mutilated steel and concrete rubble sits, smoking, in the center of the world. Lower Manhattan. Financial District. Eight blocks that make up ‘Wall Street’, some elusive playpen for the invisible but potent power of ‘stock’. Destroyed. And with it, lives, hopes and dreams. 2,606 bodies buried there in the debris. An illusion of invincibility crushed in too. In the flames that lick at ruins of the Twin Towers, an Indian summer. The warm September haze forcefully burrows itself in the guts of New Yorkers, Americans, the world. It’s fear, not flush. It’s anger. 

How could this happen? To us?

The news outlets evoke the memory of a vastly different war. They call it a day that will live in infamy. Which, it will. Undoubtedly. Yet, it’s hardly the same as Pearl Harbor. Perhaps, the only thing comparable, but dissimilar all the same. Since the greatest generation created generations of their own, the pastime of waging war happened elsewhere. On other lands. In other homes. To other people. 

September 11th, 2001 burst the bubble of willful ignorance. War is happening. And there is a debt to be paid for crimes. All crimes. Even American. 

Sam Wilson is only twenty when it happens-- 

--waking up next to a girl from English class that he’d been playing footsie with in the library the day before. Her cellphone, pink and bejeweled, rings at 7 am drawing them both from slumber. Sam rubs the hangover from his temple as she unwinds her limbs from his, both sticky with sweat. Through tears she turns and tells him. 

Four planes hijacked. Two crashed into the World Trade Center. One at the Pentagon. Another in a Pennsylvania field.

Sam’s from New York City. Harlem. He’s stood at the bottom of those towers before-- a kid with a skateboard carving lines over all five boroughs. But he hasn’t been back to the East Coast in years. No reason to. Mom was laid to rest next to Pops and Sam ran away to the other side of the country not long after. The news isn’t any less devastating.

He’s at UCLA, majoring in philosophy of all things. It all seems so pointless then. Studying knowledge, reality, existence, when the rest of the world is bleeding. 

Everyone is in pain. 

Soldiers. Doctors. Accountants. Car Salesmen. Kindergarten Teachers. They demand their pain be spread. They want revenge. They want blood. War is now felt by all.

In October, the US invades Afghanistan.

Sam enlists in November. 

2003.

“Superman School” is what it’s called. Sam thinks it should rather be called simply, “Hell”. 

Indoc is easy. Sam has always liked the water and it’s just nine weeks of basically swimming. But what follows is two grueling years of vicious emotional and physical exertion. The events, the ache inside that led him there, are practically forgotten when the training starts. In Combat Dive School, he’d panicked the first few times an oxygen tank was strapped to his back and a regulator shoved in his mouth. In Paramedic training, he’d slipped and stabbed his fingers practicing sutures so much that he lost feeling there for a week. During SERE, Sam lost a toe nail; that hurt like a motherfucker. It was probably the most physical pain he’d ever been in at the point of his life. The guys, other PJs in training, don’t let that one go for a couple of months. At least. 

The best part, perhaps the only remotely good part, is Army Airborne and Military Free-fall Parachutist training. 

“It’s not exactly flying, but it feels like it,” Sam speaks animatedly into the receiver after chow on a Tuesday night, “It feels like fucking flying and you always imagine that flying is cool but then you do it and, I swear--”

He spends the next fifteen minutes going on and on and when his girlfriend, Lisa from English class with the pink bejeweled phone, finally hangs up, Sam feels like there’s so much he still hasn’t gotten to say about it. 

In a different life, I might’ve been a bird, he says during a poker game later that night. 

They're all chasing their own highs after the first jump, but no one’s as dumb with it, as corny about it as Wilson. They give him shit for it. Sam is too hopped up on finding his first love to care.

It’s easy to forget why they’re there and what they’re working toward. Graduating. Deployment. War. 

Afghanistan is a long way from Lackland Air Force Base, Texas. But with every day, every training course completed, Sam Wilson closes that gap with flying colors. And eventually, in May of that year, he found himself in Nevada with the 58th Rescue Squadron. Impossibly, closer now to Afghanistan. 

There, he’s given a maroon beret and dubbed a “Guardian Angel”. Small consolation prizes for the news he’s being deployed. 

2004.

It’s hot in Afghanistan, he’s heard. Sam had never expected it to be so bad; it’s summer, everywhere’s hot in the summer. The hottest place on earth is the Lut Desert in Iran. Barren, sparsely vegetated, open scrub. 70.7 Celsius recorded. That’s about 160 Fahrenheit. But nowhere, not even the hottest place on earth, is as sweltering as Bagram Airfield in July. With fatigues stuck to his back with sweat, stomach coming up on ‘E’, split red knuckles being bandaged: 40 Celsius feels like 5,000 Kelvin. Dry heat with nowhere to go but through him. It adds ten pounds at least to the weight in his shoulders. 

Sam made one comment. Just one. But a scathing reply from his least favorite Squadron member was enough to unravel him. 

This is the land of your peoples, Wilson, stop bitchin’.

Sam flexes his fingers on his bouncing knees, sitting and waiting stoically; internally, he’s burning. 

When he enlisted just three years ago in a fervent bout of passion and patriotism, he didn’t anticipate the racist pieces of trailer park trash he’s supposed to call brothers. The amount of self-control it would take to not punch the asshole square in the jaw. The fucking heat.

Three years after waking up that fateful morning, turning on the news with Lisa taking calls non-stop, flames and smoke reflected in his brown eyes and he’s stuck waiting in a tent for disciplinary action. At least it’s reprieve from the merciless Afghanistan sun. 

The tent flaps rustle softly, heavy boots command Sam reflexively to stand at attention. It gets his knee to stop bouncing. It’s in his face when he sees you. The faltering expression in his eyes that he tries to hide behind a stone slate. You’re not his CO there to NJP him, he’s never seen you on the base and he’s sure he would’ve remembered your face had he, but the patch on your chest dominates him anyway. A stray bead of sweat tickles Sam’s temple underneath your blank stare. You’re not, but you look ten feet tall over him. He’s never been someone so easily intimidated, but you? You are formidable. 

He wonders which part of you gets to him the most.

It might be your impossibly straight posture, one that he could never fully get right much to the ire of his commanding officers. Or maybe it’s the sharpness to your eyes, dissecting him piece by piece before he even hears your voice. Or, it could be, that you’re really fucking hot. 

Christ, are you. 

But that last one might be skewed by the fact that he’s been on tour now for a couple of months and his girlfriend, not Lisa, now Kerry, has been giving him blue balls. Sending letters so salacious, they’ve found home in the john for everyone’s personal use. 

He’d remember you if he saw you. He’d never be able to forget. 

Another body entering the tent brings a breeze to save him from the downright oppressive warmth of your stare. A man, another Sam has never seen around, stands much more relaxed and close to your side. He’s tall and blonde and somehow pale even after hours spent in the sun. 

You look at him and smile. So nice and pretty without any trace of your previous hardness. 

“So, you’re Sam Wilson?” he asks with a hint of a smirk in his voice, “Heard a lot about you.” There’s laughter playing at both of your smiles and Sam’s fists instinctively clench. Are you making fun? He’s not in the mood. It’s hot and sticky, and he might be fighting down an embarrassing and painful semi. 

“Yes, sir.”

The man at your side laughs, digging his elbow into your side, “You hear that? He called me sir!” 

“Fuck off,” you roll your eyes, flicking his ear so hard it draws a hiss. The first words he hears spill from those lips, twisted now in a smirk, don’t match your silvery voice.  

Fuck off, so rough and yet said in dulcet tones with affection. 

Sam’s hot again when you step forward, away from your partner-- the breeze was only fleeting. Nowhere is as hot as in that tent on Bagram AFB, you, just five feet from him, hand held out with a soft smile to introduce yourself. Warm and sweet, but somehow it burns. 

God, he needs to get laid, like, yesterday. 

He didn’t even realize he shook your offered hand until he misses the feel of it as it slips from his own. “And this is Riley, he got dropped on his head as a baby,” straightening beside the man in question, Sam catches an all too short flash of white as you laugh. 

“So, what did he say?” Riley asks. At the quirk of Sam’s head to the side, he gestures to the wrapped right hand, “I mean everyone’s talking about it. You’re gonna be on latrine duty for weeks!”

“Riley,” you sigh, smacking his chest that shakes in laughter with the back of your hand. A comforting smile when you turn back to Sam, “We have business to do.” The file you hand him, which he had not noticed was in your hand until it was heavy in his, it changes everything. 

Why me? Sam doesn’t let the question slip past his tongue, but it’s there. 

You shrug, as if you’d heard him, “You’ve made quite the reputation for yourself, Sam Wilson.” A soothing smile, big and easy. Like the one you sent Riley. He’d like to see it his way again. 

And you’re not lying. 

9 months in Afghanistan and word carries of a PJ falling from the sky like some vengeful archangel of salvation, laying suppressing fire steady as breathing, healing hands flipping the bird at death. Sam Wilson, orphan boy from Harlem, amateur philosopher, provider of quality spank bank material, was made for this.  

The first time he sees it, Sam doesn’t know what the hell he’s looking at. 

Like a big black horseshoe crab, washed up dead on the shore, metal back shining slick with sea water. Three of them, laid out on a table in a hangar removed from the rest of the air base. Engineers rattle off all sorts of specs, some Sam understands, some he hasn’t the slightest idea the meaning of. He looks to his right, at you, then Riley. The pair of you, grinning at each other, bouncing on the balls of your feet like children. Always so lively with each other. Always overflowing with enthusiasm-- in each other, something you now extend to him. 

All happening so fast. Too fast. Sam’s queasy from the whiplash. 

A month ago, he’d only just gotten used to the cycle: Jump. Find cover. Fire back if need be. Don’t mind the blood. Do what he can. And if he can’t, say a prayer. Swallow his vomit. Back to camp. Brush his teeth. One. Twice. Rinse. Repeat. 

How did the saying go? ‘These Things We Do, That Others May Live’. Sam’s swallowed enough of his own vomit that the taste doesn’t even phase him anymore. Partially because he’s scrubbed his tongue raw and numb with toothpaste. 

Then, you and Riley ripped him from it. 

Bought him dinner in Kabul. Offered him a cold beer. Which, he hadn’t had one in a year and fuck if it wasn’t orgasmic on his tongue. You two wined and dined him, told him he was special, he was meant for more. Made him feel good. Reminded him he wasn’t just some cog, some tool in a war that was quickly losing support. That he had a chance to do something important. Christ, he was surprised there wasn’t a good old fashioned fuck at the end of it. He’d put out on the first date.  

EXO-7 Falcon. In a different life, I might’ve been a bird. He maintained a year out that jumps were everything. 

But wings? Actual wings?

It’s unbelievable. No. Fucking insane. He can’t fathom it. Not free-falling and convincing himself its as close to flying he’ll ever get, but actually flying without the disappointing fact that eventually he’ll have to pull the chord. 

It’s just a prototype, don’t blow your load too soon, you laugh, hand on his bicep, for now, we just get to ogle them looking all nice and pretty. 

He doesn’t have the balls to tell you he already has. In the showers. Numerous times. Your smile flashing behind his eyelids. 

It’s just a waiting game now for the prototypes to be approved. 

Sam finds his stride again, much quicker than the last, in this new routine. He suspects his easy adjustment has everything to do with you and Riley. PT at 0600. Showers at 0800. An emergency non Falcon rescue mission about two, three times a week. Chow together in the mess at 1730. Sometimes, the three of you eat MREs outside instead, watching the sunset like a bunch of cornballs. 

You guys talk a lot, typically always over a meal. And Sam, who usually speaks a mile a minute, is slowed and forced to take a breath. Between the three of you, the fight for air time is intense. 

Everything is learned and shared in that small circle of three, sometimes too much. 

In some sleepy Georgia town, five houses away from each other, you and Riley spent your entire childhoods not meeting until basic.

Kismet, Riley grinned between mouthfuls of a macaroni and chili MRE that he traded for. That green sucker had no idea what he was getting into with Riley’s chicken a la death. 

The pair of you, southern belles, you’d joked. Attended the same Sunday service, learned how to ride a bike on the same stretch of asphalt, enrolled in the same high school but different years. Riley lost his virginity to your older sister in the back of his dad’s wood paneled station wagon. You remember she complained about a cum stain on her favorite skirt around that same time. 

Too much? you ask with a widening smirk at Sam’s grimace.

The two of you are so close, Sam can only be grateful for how easily you’ve let him fall into place by your sides. As welcoming, as kind and as warm as you are, in those early years, Sam can’t help feel an outsider sometimes. 

You and Riley are so so close. 

He’s sure he’s only seen you guys separated by bathroom breaks and sleep. An inordinate amount of time side by side. Fond smiles come often and effortlessly. Only ever fully at-ease in each other’s vicinity. You’re left handed and Riley’s right handed and your elbows always knock when eating. Which seems purposeful because once, when Sam suggested you just switch your normal places at the table, he was met only with blank stares and shrugs. And when the three of you walk across the airfield together, Sam naturally has to fall back slightly because he’s pretty sure you and Riley are tethered together with an invisible string, footfalls in sync. Your right leg in time with his, strides equal. 

He’s not sure he’s met a pair of friends ever more suited to each other.  

So, are you guys, like, together? Sam asks Riley hesitantly one night when you’ve gone to speak with some other officers. The pair of them lay on their backs on the rocky ground, gazing up at the clear expanse of stars. The new addition to your little merry band of friends tries to appear casual when asking. But really, it’s been nagging at him for months now. 

It’s a valid question. 

You and Riley are almost abnormally close for two people that have only known each other for a couple of years. Sam’s never seen anyone, not even his disgustingly in love for 30 years parents, so attached. If he were honest, sometimes it’s scary. Uncomfortable. 

Mostly, because it’s never been defined. And Sam is, by nature, curious. 

Partly, because the things he thinks about you... well, he doubts Riley would appreciate him thinking about his significant other that way. Especially a friend thinking that way. 

Riley’s bellowing laugh draws angry hushes from surrounding PJs trying to sleep. He cackles so hard with hands clutching at his abdomen, he practically rolls.

You’ve got it bad, Wilson, is his only reply before getting up to go take a leak. 

2005. 

Euphoria. That’s the only word Sam can use to describe it. Like sex. Maybe, even better. Up there, in the clouds, where everyone below are just little black dots, his stomach lurches and flips and folds itself over and under. Actually flying, not free-falling and biding his time until he eventually must pull the chord. He’s shaky with it at first. Like a baby on fresh legs, wobbly and awkward. Even still, he’s fucking flying. 

Back on the ground, him and Riley gush with it. Joy. Freedom. Ecstasy. 

They talk a mile a minute, even though their burning lungs are screaming for them to just breathe. They brush off the medical staff urging them to put on oxygen masks for a few minutes. Can’t, Riley rejects it, too fucking wired. 

You’re up next, burning with the need to get yours too.  

It all moves so fast. Sam and Riley each in one of your ears, telling you how amazing it feels. How much you’re gonna love it. They watch, chests heaving, hands on hips, as you’re strapped in, take your place 50ft away and nod along to all of the instructions given. Giving you pointers like they’ve been doing this for years. You roll your eyes. The pricks only have an hour of experience each. Though, that’s an hour more than you have, so you listen despite your pride. 

You fail. And just as everything you do is, you fail brilliantly. 

Sam and Riley watch helplessly as you crumble in the clouds, tumbling in the wind, barreling towards the hard rock and sand beneath their boots. The limp wings thrash in the wind, punching sharp welts into your sides. Your blood curdling scream rips out above, echoing in the valley. They can see you scrambling, panicked brain searching for a fight or flight response. But you can’t do either. 

Can’t fly. 

Can’t fight the merciless pull of gravity. 

You get ahold of yourself long enough to pull the emergency chute at the lowest possible altitude. A heap of nylon lines and cloth on the ground, your impact striking up a cloud of dust. 

Their feet can’t move fast enough, rushing to your side, hearts in their stomachs and stomachs in their asses. 

Don’t fucking touch me! 

Riley’s hand that gently grabs your bicep swiftly retracts as if you’d burned him. You won’t let them help. You just lie there, forehead pressed into the sand, body shaking with adrenaline, pained wails vibrating behind your grit teeth. 

Silence except for the sick sound of your brokenness. 

More than the acid cuts on your palms and cheek. More than a cracked rib. More than the ugly smattering of red and purple that will appear on your torso later. You mourn what is lost in your failure. 

Back on the ground, you gush with it. Wrath. Anguish. Woe. 

Sam feels sick beside Riley. Watching you there is the hardest thing he’s ever done. He reminds himself of the careful routine. Don’t mind the blood. Do what he can. And if he can’t, say a prayer. Swallow his vomit. He remembers the taste now. 

The prognosis is: you are a no-fly zone. 

You barely hear the flurry of words thrown at you, in front of you, around corners when you’re not supposed to hear. Cracked rib. Major contusions to the trunk. Sprained wrist. Can’t handle it. Right side too weak. Six weeks recovery, then return to regular duty. Maybe, you can work on it in PT and try again in 6 months. Not likely. Third prototype destroyed. Only two Falcons. 

Weren’t supposed to hear that. 

The next few days are eerily quiet. Filled with silent tension, Sam and Riley sending worried glances your way, forcing down winces at your every labored movement. You’ve abruptly walked off at seemingly random points of conversation. You’ve lashed out at Riley when he tries to help a little too much, pushes back against your attitude a little too hard. You’ve retreated. No joking around, no smiling. They have, at least, the clemency to avoid any mention of the Falcon jetpacks in your presence. 

When they train, you avoid it like the plague. 

The crowds they draw. The hooting and hollering cheers of the other PJs as Sam and Riley defy all odds in the air. The time will come soon, for them to employ the EXO-7 Falcons in an actual rescue. You pray that you aren’t healed by the time the first mission comes. 

God, whomever, hears your pleas whispered into the tough canvas of your cot. 

Four weeks after your failed flight test, an Apache helicopter goes down in Taliban infested territory. You haven’t been cleared. 

Sam walks up on the Chinook, dressed for the first time in his full suit. It would feel so gratifying, had you not been standing there with Riley, heads bowed lowly in short whispers underneath the raucous whirring of the engine. 

You haven’t talked to Sam in more than a few words. Only Riley. You only really talk to Riley. Sam has walked in on an abruptly cut off conversation a few times now. Shut out. It burns at him in the middle of the night, keeps him from drifting off in much needed slumber. You and Riley are his people now. Confidants. Friends. Comrades. Family. He wants to be there for you both, but you don’t let him. Just, give her time, she’s upset, Riley had supplied a dejected looking Sam when you stormed away at his advance for the third time. 

Now, at his careful approach, you look up and force a tight smile across those lips he sees in his dreams. An awkward, heavy hand on his shoulder that makes his heart clench, Good luck, Wilson. 

He’ll still feel it burning through his fatigues hours later. 

When they successfully return with the entire crew safe and sound, the base is alive with celebration. A friendly football scrimmage is thrown together by Riley in amber skies of late afternoon, their focused play-calling set behind 50 cent blaring on the boombox. 

You’re noticeably absent. 

Sam stands outside of your barracks with his hands stuffed in his pockets, uncertain if you’ll even speak to him. You haven’t before. Why would you now? When everyone is happily relishing in something you can no longer be a part of. His boots scuff in the sand as he debates leaving. Letting you alone for the night to surely lament in your loss. 

“Shouldn’t you be out there kicking ass, superstar?”

Your face, a familiar smile there that he’s been desperate to see for weeks, evokes an overwhelming sense of guilt in his gut. It was you and Riley from the start. Always you and Riley. The two of you had recruited him. And now he’s taken your place and they’ve left you in the dust. 

His return smile comes out more like a grimace without his permission. 

The large tent, usually filled to the brim with airmen stacked atop of each other, is empty. Everyone’s either getting chow or at the makeshift field spectating or playing. It’s just you sitting on a makeshift bed on the ground, softly closing the book you were reading when he entered. Sam doesn’t think the two of you have actually ever been alone together. Not like this. No Riley, no one milling about in the background, no rescue mission. The closest thing might’ve been the first time you met. And even then, you hadn’t said anything to each other until Riley joined. 

“Honestly,” Sam swallows hard, shaking his head in what looks like a humorous gesture, but really, he’s trying to find his footing again. “How does Riley have so much energy?” 

You smile wider and his heart, it fucking aches. For you. 

Knees pulled up tightly to your chest, ignoring the sharp pangs in your ribs at the action, you tilt your head softly up at him, “It’s all sugar and tai chi.”

Sam nods, a ghost of a chuckle humming from his throat. He sits on the ground next to you, knees bent, forearms hung over them. Tries not to make the hitch in his breath known when your thighs brush against each other ever so lightly. 

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. 

You shake your head at the ground, sighing deeply in defeat-- as if it would magically ease the pressure in your temples. “I think I forgot, it’s so easy to forget. But I dunno, all this self-pity and for what? Because I don’t get a cool pair of wings?”

“You’re allowed to be upset,” his hand hovers over your back. Half afraid of hurting you, half afraid of you rejecting him. 

Eyes like the cosmos lift to his and you lean back to close the distance for him. The press of his palm over your shoulder is warm, his fingers flexing slightly in the contours of your back. Gooseflesh fanning out from where they indent your skin, hidden beneath the fabric of your shirt. 

“My last rescue op, that kid whose lower half was blown to shit?” Sam nods solemnly, he remembers. How could he not? “He couldn’t stop crying about how his girlfriend was gonna break up with his dickless ass. And then he broke into a whole other fit because he didn’t have an ass either,” you laugh humorlessly, “I’m alive and in one peice. I’ve got a sweet ass and a fucking elephant trunk of a dick swinging between my legs.” Sam snorts, can’t help the gap-toothed grin that makes his cheeks ache.

You pause, licking your lips. Sam’s got a smile is like the sun. All warm and bright. The way it feels to bask in it’s glow, a personal beach day, you don’t think you’ve ever been so content to just be looked at. 

“I guess, I just-,” brows furrow, struggling to find the words. “You spend months preparing for something, with your best friends, you’re all excited about it, mostly because you’re doing it together. Me. Riley. You. Demented three musketeers,” you smile sadly, a cracking phantom of a thing Sam has come to love. “And then it all goes to shit. So easily slips through your fingers.”

There are tears that you’ll never let fall, but you trust Sam enough to let him see the way your eyes shine with it. The glossy finish of your glum and how it paints you blue. 

“I’ve been with Riley since basic. Never been an op where I haven’t had his back and him mine.” 

You know. You know you’ll never fly again. No one’s said it outright, but they look at you like a kicked puppy enough for you to get it.

“Will you promise me something, Sam?”

Sam. Sam. Sam. He’s heard his name said a million times in a thousand different cadences, but never like that. Never so soft and honeyed and certain. All at the same fucking time. 

“Anything.”

“There are going to be ops for just the two of you that the rest of the unit, that I can’t go on. Will you look after Riley?” You’re so close, practically whispering. Sam could count your lashes if he wanted to. “I love him, but he’s a fucking idiot. Just doesn’t think sometimes.” 

Without question. Fervently. For you, “Absolutely.”

And you just listen to each other breathe. In and out. So steady and sure. Content in just the sweet sound of each other, living.

2007.

Hands, calloused from fast-roping down from a helo, splayed out on the contours of his shoulders. Hot and urgent, everywhere and nowhere at once. The emotion in them permeates through his skin-- flooding him, filling him to the brim. Had he always been so empty before? Or had that space always been carved out for your touch? Your eyes are above him, searching, pleading. Lashes fluttering down at his face. Lips falling open in soundless utterances, mouthpiece of the gods. Breathless. His ears are ringing, eyes blinking away that white hot blindness licking at the edges of his consciousness. You’re so beautiful there, rays of sun peeking out behind you, he might pass out.  

Wilson, can you hear me?  

And then a laugh. Loud and boisterous and Holy shit! You just got your world rocked! Riley beside you, his face a picture of delight, buzzing with adrenaline. 

Along with the rapid pops of gunfire and cracks of an AK returning, gentle jingling of hot casings hitting the ground, steady lines of communication running down the line of airmen, Wilson, I need you to confirm that you are okay.

He nods dumbly at your insistence. Remembering suddenly how to breathe when you grab him by the vest and yank him up off the ground. He’d been blown on his back by the sheer force of a screaming mortar impacting the earth nearby. Your smack on his helmet is enough to refocus him, and all attention is back on the vic, packing the wound, applying pressure. You radio in controlled and calm-- GSW to the leg and shoulder, hoist out exfil necessary, popping green smoke on our location. 

Helmand is hell. But you grin and bear it so well. 

Things have levelled out. The three of you adjust to yet another new routine; much remains the same. The months are filled with morning PT, showers, any and every conversation under the sun shared over chow, a game of Slapjack or Bullshit after the sun’s gone down. Standard combat search-and-rescue, thankfully, for your sake is unchanged. But you have to get used to watching Sam and Riley soar through the sky like it’s what they were born to do. You stick to field medicine when they become something altogether different than PJs. Though, they were never just PJs. And you pretend it doesn’t just ache the tiniest beat when they leave you behind for some confidential mission.

Being the failure is hell. You grin and bear it to keep the pain from spreading to them. 

Hours later he finds you pelting the metal floor of the HH-60 Pave Hawk with an unwavering jet stream of water, diluted blood dripping from the sides. 

“Any special plans for when you get home?” Sam watches your face as it remains focused on lazily hosing down any memory of a bleeding young Corporal laying slack in your helping hands from the bird.

Six weeks. His tour ends in six weeks. He plans on sleeping-- sleeping hard, sleeping in, sleeping around. Riley joked about Sam burying himself in alcohol and puss, ‘it’s a toss up which addicts anonymous circle he’ll end up in’. Sam laughed and cheered in good fun, but the scent of JP-8 stung his nostrils. You and Riley have three more months left in this tour. Sam doesn’t like to think about the fact that he’ll be home, smelling apple pie and boob sweat, and you’ll be stuck here, sniffing jet fuel; that’s the smell of freedom, airmen say. 

“Might take up yoga,” he quips. 

Your eyebrows raise slightly, lips spreading into an easy and knowing smile, “Bet you would, you horndog.” Yoga pants, nylon and lycra second skins that hold everything just so, are all the rage all of the sudden. 

Sam laughs, leaning against the side of the helicopter with a cheeky smirk. That smirk you know so well now after three years. You count on that smirk. Pray on it. How something so small can bring you so much comfort, impossible to say. 

“If you come to LA, I can take you to all the studios. You’d love it.” 

Sam Wilson’s always been a social butterfly. The lifeblood of every party. The guy that gets along with everyone. The funny, effortlessly cool guy. He thrives on meeting new people and cracking jokes. 

But really, if Sam could do anything when he gets home, it would just be to see you. And Riley, of course. He wants you to come to LA, go to a bar, hide in some corner and just talk. Like you always do. Except, in civvies and heavily lubricated. He’d wait that excruciating month and a half before you’re back stateside too. He’d wait, not so much as think about alcohol, if it meant the three of you could share that first cold one together. You and Riley, you’re family. The first he’s had in a long while. 

He can’t help himself. “Will you? Come to LA?”

You smile, so nice and pretty, big and easy, like the one you’d once reserved only for Riley. 

2008.

Hands, softened with shea and two months R&R, fisting the back of his shirt so tightly he fears the fabric might disintegrate. Feverish and needy, fingernails digging into his warm skin, leaving ardor shaped crescents in wake of their campaign to conquer his back. Scorched in the spots first touched, soothed by the soft sound of sliding skin. 

Panting. Clenching. Burning. 

Your eyes squeezed shut, tears pricking at the edges. Lashes, all 359 of them -- he’d counted -- fanning his cheeks. Sweet wetness. Trembling fire. Mouths, hot and urgent, moving against one another. Whiskey tongues, sliding together, worshipping every inch. Lips numb. Teeth clanging. Both chests heaving, humming with moans too gentle and too desperate. You’re so beautiful there, in a bar’s dark and dirty bathroom stall pressing chest, groin, thigh, and leg against him. 

Gushing with it: joy, freedom, ecstasy. Overwhelmed by what he swallows from that heavenly spout: wrath, anguish, woe. 

You’re so beautiful he might die-- without question, fervently, for you. 

2009. 

The world works in strange ways. People will pay a 1,000 USD for a mattress that perfectly shapes to the curves of their spines. Commercials demonstrate you can balance a wine glass and simultaneously jump like a giddy kid in a hotel room without any risk of stain-- and for good measure, in the event it does stain, some special formula ensures it’ll come right out. Such strange desires of men. Sam sighs into his pillow-- zero cost, no secret formula. Sand, his mattress covered in 1500 thread count egyptian cotton; rock, his feather pillow that corrects his posture; a heavy coat of dry heat, his comforting New Zealand sheep wool blanket. Riley snores soundly beside, drool dribbling from the right corner of his mouth, chest spluttering in his exhales-- his white noise machine. 

He’s never been more comfortable. And in strange ways, he’s glad to be back, just starting his second tour at twenty-seven now, another successful Falcon mission recorded with the capture of Khalid Khandil. 

Sam’s almost disgusted with himself. He’s so stupidly content to be there, in the middle of the Afghani desert, sleeping on the ground. As if it’s not a fucking war. 

Well, as the world turns. 

Do you ever think it’ll be over? you’ll ask one night, a whisper on his lips as soft as the dripping beside you. Never defined, never talked about, but most nights, when sleep evades you, you’ll slip from the barracks to the empty showers. And you’ll sigh in pleasure in time with the echoing splash of leaky faucets.

And Sam has to bite his lips from saying the words ‘God, I hope not’ into your neck. 

Stateside, he has a joke of a life. The year in between tours was almost unbearable. He’s supposed to call that land home? It feels more foreign to him now than Afghanistan. A place where people create mattresses with different settings on two sides for maximum comfort. 

Strangers see him in uniform and either say ‘thank you for your service’-- which always feels hollow-- or looking like they want to spit on him. Suffocating. He could only breathe the three times you visited him in Los Angeles and the five times he came to Virginia for you. Only felt comfortable there with his face in your thighs, heart and breast in his hand, lips in his teeth. 

Here, he has structure. Purpose. Brotherhood. You. In war, he’s important. He’s helping people, not in any misguided, easily skewed fight for freedom and self-righteousness. He’s actually helping people. ‘These Things We Do, That Others May Live’. It’s what PJs do. 

In Afghanistan, he gets to fucking fly. 

In the US, his wings are clipped and everything feels so dull in comparison. 

Eventually, it has to, he’ll murmur back to spare you from his terrible thoughts. You’re so soft and sweet under him, and Sam knows just how much this war tears you apart. 

The guilt that plagues you because not everyone can be saved, but everyone should be. You’ve said before that the PJ credo implies death yourself. ‘That Others May Live’. But you’re alive and so many have died beneath your palms despite best efforts. Those trained fingers that sometimes feel useless apart from bringing Sam to bliss.

If you knew how he truly felt, how even if he’s a good man he harbors such selfish thoughts, it would only hurt you more. 

So he keeps it to himself and kisses your worries away. Soft pecks at your eyes that never cry but are always on the brink; the tip of your nose that’s become immune to the overwhelming metallic scent of blood; the crease between your brows that screw together in torment; lips, that despite all of the above, smile for Riley and for him. 

He’ll hold you so tenderly with strong steady hands, that it’s easy to forget the two of you are pressed together in a shower stall. You seem to have a habit of getting into compromising positions in bathrooms with Sam. 

A soft moan of appreciation escapes your lips, just to see that charming gap-tooth grin it draws from him. A taste of his light. So wanting, so desperate for that warm glow that emanates from Sam Wilson, you peel the shirt from his back sticky with sweat. Fingers scrambling to run across the smooth, hot skin there, chasing that tranquil day at the beach that is him even in the middle of a goddamned war. Greedy hands draw silken lines down the length of Sam’s spine, smiling in his mouth at his shuddering. How he leans into your touch reflexively. 

You’re drawn tight against him, his arms snaking around the base of your back, your hips flush against his, heels digging into his hamstrings. So close you become almost indistinguishable from him, simply a heap of warm skin and desert camo bracing the shower walls. 

A single kiss, languid and saccharine, suddenly turned quick. Sam is urgent in unfastening your top, splaying it open to lay you bare and panting before him. Each snap undone, a breath more labored. Your own hands, fumbling for the belt at his waist, mourning the loss of kissed raw lips against you. Hurried, as if at any moment one of you will perish. And the other, having tasted a body so divine, would simply crumble into dust-- there could never be another that they craved the same. Disappear forever in this desert, to perhaps be stamped down by another set of lovers’ boots. Here, in the sand soaked with your blood, Sam’s sweat, Riley’s tears

A vow taken in the sighs of pleasure quieted by amorous mouths. 

If this war ever ends-- and he assured you that it will eventually-- you’ll tell Sam Wilson you love him. 

2010.

He’d wished for this, hadn’t he? 

To live in War. This ungodly, disorienting flurry of chaos that feigns a sense of order. Mayhem, no matter how many hours ripping apart his muscles to put them back in place in accordance with military regulation, how much firepower there is to decimate enemies. A messy, merciless machine, endless. Running on the energy expelled from eating-- young men chewed up and spat out, shoved back into the hungry mouth, and chewed and spat again. And again. An emulsified puddle of blood and sweat leaking from the bottom.  

This, is war. Not fucking in the showers, watching the sunset while playing cards, and trading MREs like it’s elementary school. 

Structure. Purpose. Brotherhood -- all of the things Sam craved. It all means jack shit once someone steps on an IED, the distinct crisp sound of AKs firing off, or staring an RPG straight in the eye. 

Sam can’t stop looking at the way the blood squeezes through his shaking fingers. Thick and scarlet and slippery, bubbling through the cracks, seeping into the lines of his skin. Unyielding to Sam’s hands desperately clasping at the ripped flesh, trying and failing to apply pressure to the wound. No matter how much pressure he applies, the blood persists. Gushing, oozing, turning black under his palms. Because it’s everywhere and he only has two hands. Why did God make man with only two hands? Why?

Come on, man!

It’s a pathetic sound, the way it rips from his throat, raw and pleading. His arms, trembling so hard they shake the body beneath him too. 

Sam removes one hand to pop a yellow smoke outside of the ditch he’d pulled them into, using his teeth to pull the pin from the canister. 

He’s whimpering, choking down the sobs he so desperately wants to let out, communicating in broken sentences through the radio. Deaf to the return chatter. 

His eyes refuse to leave his bloodstained hands when the Pave Hawk is hovering above, his team of six fast-roping down, quick and methodical in employing care under fire protocol. Four of them stationing themselves at a pole just outside of the ditch, laying suppressing fire. 

You’re there, he can feel you rushing forward with your pack already slung over and onto the ground at their sides. But Sam won’t look at you, can’t-- if he sees your face, he’ll lose it. 

Moving, but nothing feels like it’s by your own volition. Rather, muscle memory. Flipping up your NVG, your eyes flit over the scene fast, thinking, but not feeling. And somehow, you’re thankful you’re numb at the sight. 

You’ve never seen it quite so... he doesn’t look human. 

It was just supposed to be a standard op. A marine stepped on an IED, and no one had metal detectors so the normal PJ unit couldn’t land. They were supposed to fly in and out, barely even touch the ground. 

And it all got fucked. How had it gotten so fucked? 

Helpless. Nothing he could do. Like he was up there just to watch. Squint in the dark night for a body barreling towards the ground. So much like your first flight test. That sickness churning his gut. 

Sam. Sam. Sam! 

His eyes flit to meet yours wide and white in the dark and just can’t bear it. He careens over to the side, retching this morning’s powdered eggs ugly and loud. Emptied, body too spent, the sobs finally overtake him. 

Quickly, you cut open his top, pulling the tattered fabric from where it tangled up with his body. Your hands take up the spot where Sam’s once pressed, pulling out combat gauze with your teeth. Deperately packing until you run out of gauze. It does nothing. The white is quickly stained so red that it just resembles more mutilated strings of flesh. 

“Okay,” you breathe, but it does nothing to return the oxygen to your lungs, “okay we need to stabilize the wound, tourniquets”-- the wound, he’s more wound than whole-- “and I need someone on chest compressions.”

You’re met with stares. Seven red-rimmed eyes, just staring as the very fluid of his life drains from him, body going cold under your hands warm, soaked in his blood. The only thing holding him, all mangled chunks of burnt tissue, together is you. 

“But-”

“But what?” 

But, it was an RPG. So what? We’re fucking PJs, aren’t we? But, he’s lost too much blood. We’ll do a transfusion. But, he’s dead. 

“Just do it!”

No one has the heart to stop you.

You work over Riley’s corpse for the entire ride to the hospital. They have to rip you from him on arrival. Because he’s dead. And you’ve just spent an hour elbow deep in a mess of blood and guts that feel like your own, exhausting yourself-- keeping nothing alive but your own sanity. 

Riley’s a pair of boots, an M16, a helmet, and two shiny dog tags clenched in your fists.  

That’s it. 

The rest of him was put back together as best they could, shoved in a pine box shrouded in stars and stripes, and sent off to Georgia. He’ll be received by his parents, two little brothers, three nieces, and his dog. They’ll write about him in the paper, a hero he’ll be called-- when really, he was a dumbass that got dinked by a rocket. 

He’d enjoy the fame in your small town. 

Idiot. 

Dropped on his head as a baby. 

As you squeeze the dog tags hanging from his M16, so do you squeeze a tear from your eye. A warm thing running down your left cheek that feels just like Riley’s blood in your palm. 

Sam’s behind you, head bowed low, maroon beret in his hands. The amount of times he’s said sorry, some blubbery, some frustrated, some murmured in your hair, some screamed at you.

You’re both raw. 

Hands scrubbed with soap, but stained Riley red.

Those showers have been tainted now with the fresh memory of pink streams circling the drain. Where once you found yourself lost in lust, now, in misery. Riley in your hands disappearing into the pipes, into nothing forever. 

“My tour’s up in three months,” Sam watches you carefully as you release the silver tags imprinted with Riley’s information. You stand and face him, wiping away that traitorous tear. “I’m going to leave active duty.”

When he was twenty, and the world was bleeding fresh scarlet, he’d hardly imagined he’d be retiring at thirty. But twenty seems so far now, just as the aftermath of 9/11. Now, the blood has caked into a mountain of pain, dried brown. Revenge, and then some. 

He enlisted for patriotism, duty, selflessness. He stayed for you and Riley, for flying. 

He can’t stay anymore-- can’t see you die too.

"You’re retiring?” your cloudy stare, brows pulled together, eat at him, “Okay.”

Okay. Sam never tried to guess what you’d say, but ‘okay’ somehow seems like the only thing that would ever make sense on your lips. So soft and simple. You. Always supportive, always sure. 

You nod with a gentle smile, and while he doesn’t know where you’re headed-- somewhere that’s not Riley’s makeshift shrine-- Sam trails closely behind. Partially because he has more to say, but mostly, because he’s bound to you now. His chest is tethered to yours, feet instinctively falling in line. He heels, like a dog. For you. 

The barracks are empty for chow again. Neither of you are hungry. Meals are different without Riley.  

So familiar, the two of you sitting side by side on the ground, knees bent, forearms resting on them, thighs brushing. Alone together. 

Sam has ocean eyes. Warm brown eyes that look like the ocean. They’re still on you but they move. You’ve never noticed. How they swell and glimmer, so constant yet always in motion-- pure in how he allows himself to live so freely. Going with whatever flow his heart takes him: dropping out of college and enlisting; punching ignorant airmen; and giggling like a girl at the feeling of flying. Making promises you both know he has no control over. Kissing you in a bar because he can’t take the longing for a second more. Leaving the Air Force because it’s getting in the way of his light. Even if it means giving up flying. 

Sam slips his hand in yours, so warm and soft, his squeeze, a plea. 

“Come with me.”

You’ve never met a person who lives like him. 

You laugh, fondly. Sam Wilson is so earnest in almost everything he does. 

“Can’t.”

So tempting. You remember now, how close those words once were to falling from your tongue. I love you. It seems pointless to say now, he’s leaving, you’re staying. 

“Come on, don’t be a martyr.”

Like Riley, he says without ever needing to flex his vocal chords that way. 

Morbid as it may be, you’d be glad to die like Riley. He always believed in the cause more than either of you. He was dumb and goofy, but he truly believed in it. All of it. You’ve never been so bound by an unearthly force like that-- religion, ideology, patriotism. 

Must be nice, Riley mused, not having to answer to God. No, it really isn’t. It’s... lonely. You want to try your hand at it now. Might do you some good. You’re looking at another two years, or whenever your tour is up, alone now. Why not fuck around and find some higher power? God, the PJ creed, macaroni and chili MREs. You’ll figure it out. 

“Eventually, it has to end. Right?” It’s his own words. You knew he never believed them. And neither do you now, really. “So I’ll see you then.”

Or in a pine box. 

Ocean eyes are wet with his sorrow. You are so lovely. Love. He loves you. He thinks he might’ve loved you from the moment he first heard your velvet voice. Fuck off. So lovely. Sam kisses you, and the waves have come to drag you out to sea. If he could, he’d beg you to come home in his riptide. 

Wherever that is. 

2012.

A Goliath building with tall glass windows that turn sunbeams into rainbows with rows upon rows of fresh tulips surrounding. Brilliant yellows and oranges-- like poppy field sunsets in Afghanistan. In the center of the free world. So much meaning there now behind what it means to fight for freedom. No place knows it quite like this house of warriors. This is a place of healing. Of mending brains put in a blender, frozen in some eagle shaped mold, and then thawed out with guns in their hands and a burning vendetta to satisfy. 

Sam Wilson is thirty-one now, and remains a man of routine. 

He wakes to darkness. Unfolds himself from the tight ball he’d curled into at some point. On the floor. Again. Sam gives himself just five minutes to lay blinking at white walls painted 5 am blue, bleary eyed birds just starting up their morning songs. 

And then he’s up. His teeth are brushed, sneakers laced up, keys thrown into the pocket of his shorts. Sam runs along the Potomac with the familiar soft pink aura of dawn crawling along the horizon. Around the Washington Monument, past the Lincoln Memorial, down Pennsylvania Ave.

He feels so small among those giant monoliths of the land of the free. Not purple mountain majesties, but the marble Hill. 

Sometimes, he feels you and Riley running beside him, like all those years ago bright and early for 6 A.M. PT-- wearing ankle high socks, grey t-shirts with white wings splayed across the chest and those little navy shorts Riley complained crushed his balls. 

God, he misses Riley. 

He misses you too. 

In college, Sam was a philosophy major of all things. He studied questions of human nature while picking up ‘cerebral chicks’. 

A decade later, the questions he once pushed away have all come up again. It all seems so important now. 

When he closes his eyes he sees your smile, yes, but he sees fire and smoke too. Like the rubble of the Twin Towers, his memories of war are shrouded in destruction.  

Sartre said, Once you hear the details of victory, it is hard to distinguish it from defeat.

So much cost, tangible and not. Cities riddled with bullet holes and missile craters, conquered and hailed as a successful operation so long as it forces the Taliban back. Beautiful landscapes marred with IEDs and shrapnel which will make the Americans wish they never step foot in Afghanistan. Invisible things too, like a mass grave of men, women, and children-- some military, some civilian. Glass shards of minds, not broken, but cracked. 

Sam is bleeding. Veterans are bleeding. Everyone is bleeding. 

The puddle of blood and sweat at the bottom of that machine, fathomless. 

He ends up in D.C., staring up at that Goliath building with the scent of fresh spring tulips in his nostrils-- Department of Veterans Affairs. He needs help and he needs to help. Post-traumatic stress disorder is such a big name, and he never fully understands his meeting. What he does know: sleeplessness, irritability, paranoia, numbness, waking nightmares. 

Healing is a process, but Sam’s doing it now. Himself, through others. 

Things are getting better. 

He’ll never be completely whole, but the circle helps. ‘It’s a toss up which addicts anonymous circle he’ll end up in’, Riley joked. Sam laughs up at the sky, his dumbass friend was probably sporting a smug smirk wherever he is. 

This morning Sam is chipper, today is a good day. He smiles wide at the girl at the front desk; she’s pretty and shy and always tucks her hair behind her ear when he’s flirting. Sam  snags a classic glazed from the box of free donuts from Astro and it hangs from his mouth as he goes about setting up for a meeting. Unfolding chairs, he arranges them in a comforting position. In a circle, everyone is equal-- no one is alone or an outsider. 

And then he waits with a welcoming smile as everyone filters in. Some are regulars and he’ll exchange ‘how are you’s. Some are new and uncomfortable so he gestures to an open chair and says ‘Welcome’ with that beach day grin. Soothing, calm, comforting. 

Sam listens so well. 

For as much as he likes to talk, listening is sometimes better. He only speaks when he’s sure they’re done and comfortable, offering what has helped him best. 

Adjusting to civilian life is hard. No one expects how hard it truly is, because it’s never talked about it. They’re supposed to push themselves to the extremes of human experience and then come back as if any of that was normal. As if they didn’t just come from a war, that still persists. Even if by a different name, in a different place, against a different group, it persists. And no one ever tells them how hard it is to just sit there, surrounded by friends and family where you’re supposed to be happiest, and act like it’s not burning you from the inside out. 

But it’s important to remember the good things too, he’ll tell them. When the dark shadow threatens to swallow them up whole, there is always light. It’s important to know that and make sure they stay separate. 

Like Astro donuts and playing soul music all the time and showering without a dozen people next to you. And the freedom of getting to do whatever the hell they want. 

Sam tells them, if it makes them happy: do it. 

“You’ve made quite the reputation for yourself, Sam Wilson.”

He’s seeing you, looking just the same as the last. With that smile, that’s only his now-- nice and pretty, big and easy. You are beautiful, so beautiful Sam wonders how he’s survived so long without seeing it. 

His own smile falters when his ocean eyes travel from your face.

You are exactly the same, except, you’re missing a few pieces. 

Your left arm, which he expects to lead down to those calloused hands somehow impossibly soft, is cut off abruptly, cruelly, above the ghost of your elbow. The left hand, your dominant one, that he had known the comforting feel of on his shoulder, burning through the cloth of his uniform, gone. The hand that breathlessly trailed down his torso, tickling and seducing, leaving goosebumps in its wake, missing. 

He’ll ask another time. You’ll tell him of more casualties of war, this one visible, and of others invisible. 

But for now, he’s rushing at you, and it’s still not fast enough to quiet his screaming heart. He grabs you, doesn’t care if there are still people lingering from the end of the meeting, and really kisses you. And your right hand still finds its way to his torso. 

I love you, breathless. It was never pointless to say. 

No, the war is not over, maybe not even eventually, but you’re here in D.C. wrapped in his waves, alive. 

He’ll never be completely whole, but you get him damn near close to it. 

[vagrantblvrd]

I'm a slut for anything Destiny right now, so uhhhhh maybe something involving that? (On another note, boo for pushing back BL to November, yay for having more time to work on it)

Lol, same, friend! XD

So, like. Much as I love other Destiny AUs I’ve blathered on about before, what do you say about a Battle Buddies in the Destiny universe?

Like, say.

These two idiots working for Clovis Bray during the Golden Age, right? Troubleshooters or just a pair of mercenaries that somehow ended up on the Clovis Bray payroll.

Or maybe they start off as regular security operatives who earn a reputation for being particularly clever and resourceful. Ruthless, some might say, in protecting Clovis Bray’s interests.

They catch the eye of some higher up, get reassigned to a special division in security which happen to be troubleshooters and the like?

Operatives given more leeway/authority than the usual Clovis Bray security operative and it’s actually good for a while, right?

Certainly good enough from them to to from coworkers to that guy they see almost every day and have a few things in common with to actual friends. And that, okay, in the world of fanfic is a slippery slope to Mutual Pining.

And such tropes as being snowed in at a tiny, wonderfully cozy cabin once they get a fired started and realize sharing body heat is the only solution to not freezing to death anyway?

Also sharing a bed while on a trip somewhere and a mixup/convenient other reason there would only be a room with a single bed available for them.

Not to mention the quiet revelation that the other one knows exactly how they take their coffee (whatever diet soda equivalent exists in the universe at that time for Ryan), or what their favorite food is (and second, third and so on in case substitution is necessary). Know what their favorite color is and cats vs dogs.

(A hotly debated topic between them, one that Jeremy declares could be a friendship killer because dogs, Ryan, really? With their borking and happy little faces and utter joy at seeing their human?

Pls.

Meanwhile, Ryan with this little smirk to his voice as he needles Jeremy over the little herd of stray cats he swears aren’t actually his and yet are all fixed and chipped and yowl their little heads off the moment they catch wind/sight of Jeremy and anyway, dogs are clearly better because Ryan says so, therefore it’s true, Jeremy.

(Neither of them realize if they were animals - omg, were-creatures in Destiny universe???? :O - Jeremy is obvs a bork-bork doggo and Ryan a snooty mcsnoot (sekritly soft touch because srsly) kitten-cat and just, tangent I know, but omg.)

Also, though?

Also.

It means all these little things that add up to oh, no, I’m absolutely fucked over this asshole/idiot, because they are and now that they know they can’t stop seeing it, you know?

Jeremy’s :D when he sees Ryan at work and Ryan’s own >:D when he sees Jeremy because up to no good, the both of them? And smaller, quieter things they didn’t really think about and oh man, what now???

But then, also!

The two of them with their special division in Clovis Bray’s security branch...deal...thing where they ends up working with the shadier side of things?

Mostly play security on off-world projects or labs that pop up when new discoveries are made and said discovery can’t be moved/hasn’t been moved to a more secure facility and such.

Security there just as much to protect the discovery/artifact/device than keep the scientists/staff/executives visiting the site safe and so on. (Occasional Adventures because business rivals and shady practices and Drama.)

It’s all good for a while, lets them stew in their Mutual Pining phase and just as they’re about to maybe, maaaaybe do something about it Trouble!!1! happens.

Both of them are at the “I need to talk to you about this...thing,” stage of things and thinking oh, no, he knows I have the FEELINGS for him and the :O!!1! of what could mean for their ~friendship and so on?

But then Ryan gets called to the Clovis Bray facility on Mars in Meridian Bay while Jeremy stays behind, which isn’t unheard of for them?

But it’s rare when the company separates them. know they’re far more effective as a team and so on, but the call comes from the top and they can’t just say no, so Ryan goes.

Has a Bad Feeling and Jeremy knows him well enough to pick up on it, but pretends he doesn’t, that everything’s fine even though there’s been more chatter on restricted frequencies - Clovis Bray and otherwise - for a few days now, something big going down that’s effecting everyone.

This growing concern/panic leaders are trying to keep under wraps while they figure out how to handle it and so on.

And, look, they’ve been in the business long enough to know to trust Bad Feelings and suchlike? But Jeremy’s all :D because Ryan’s so worked up and he’s trying to reassure him they’ll be fine, you know? Damn good at their jobs and nothing’s managed to kill them yet.

(Yet being the keyword there, Jeremy, as Ryan keeps telling him when Jeremy’s a few drinks in on a slow night and they’re just enjoying one another’s company and sharing stories and yeah.)

Anyway.

Ryan heads to Mars and Jeremy sticks behind and somewhere in between that the Collapse happens, because of course it does.

Just a big ol’ kaboom-level disaster in which they both end up super, duper dead?

But then they get better.

Kind of?

Because, look.

Ryan gets all kinds of fucked up during the kaboom-level disaster and he’s in a Clovis Bray facility and there’s the whole...Exo thing, right?

Hand-wavy shenanigans all over the place in which he’s Exo-fied just before everything goes to hell (really goes to hell) and he comes online or whatever they call it just in time to die again.

(Doesn’t remember the first one, because fleshy human body all fucked up and coding on the table and uh, wow, yes. Also Ryan and his Thing for androids in Sky Factory 4 and also just robots and the like in general, so yeah?)

Anyway.

Ryan dies (again) during the collapse in a shiny Exo body and no time at all to address that, which.

Perfect?

Perfect.

Years go by as the sands of Mars start to bury human cities and whatnot, and along comes a Ghost.

Ryan’s Ghost, to be matter of fact.

Little bastard’s been looking for its Guardian for a long, long time by the time it gets to Mars, seen a lot.

And for whatever reason when it’s poking about this half-buried Clovis Bray facility and stumbles on this shiny new (not so much) Exo decides ah, yes, this one is the one I’ve been looking for all this time.

Ryan gets resurrected on Mars, wakes up choking on dust and sand (or maybe it’s just his mind telling him that’s what’s happening, because Exo? who knows) and this goddamn floating ball of metal and light and sass in front of him.

The Clovis Bray facility is a disaster and the Cabal haven’t found it yet (yet) but they’re going to any day and anyway, anyway, not a good idea to stick around a dead place like that.

His Ghost brought him back a few years after the Collapse, Dark Ages days still, before things like Iron Lords or fancy classes like Titans or Warlocks or Hunters.

Is something of a cross between a Titan and a Warlock in temperament and abilities and understandably a little leery of his little Ghost buddy? Like what even is it/he?

But also, also?

Ryan remembers, okay.

For whatever reasons, he remembers.

Wakes up in a Clovis Bray facility - was there meeting with some higher-ups about concerns they had about some incoming trouble and reluctant to pull both of them from their assignment.

Figured Ryan could speak for them both, and then kaboom, the Collapse and his Exo-fication which he really, really should not remember? But hard to deny the proof and such, and maybe his Ghost is able to pull some information from the computers around them

(And the what the actual fuck and I did not agree to that when I signed my contract and what the fucking fuck and so on of dealing with that on top of everything else and it’s just. It’s a lot to process.)

He remembers his previous life, although there are some gaps and the whatnot - maybe that’s what happens when you die and some sassy floating orb resurrects you, Ryan doesn’t have a frame of reference for these things okay - and from what his Ghost is saying people shouldn’t do that?

Especially with the Exo-fication process and anyway, anyway, yes.

So he keeps quiet about it for the moment, all this oh shit, and fuck, Jeremy and that in the back of his mind and initial wariness of his Ghost and what that’s all about.

Finds a way to get them back to wherever he and Jeremy were assigned - grab a jumpship from the Clovis Bray facility and leave Mars and it’s dead cities behind headed towards Earth because where else would they go?

But also maybe there are others like Ryan and while they’re out here might as well check to see if there are? Bring any survivors and such back with them if they can.

All they find are cities in ruin and the dead, though.

Worse, places where the dead should be, but aren’t.

Because spooky.

But also Bad Things, not all of which are due to the other races the Darkness introduced to humanity, because you know, humanity at its worst and so on.

Still, it gives Ryan the chance to learn about his new body, and his Light-given abilities, to trust them, and weirdly enough bond with his Ghost.

Gives the poor thing a name like Reggie or some other terrible thing that has it sighing and all that at him as humans are just super weird about stuff like that?

But at the same time it’s a name, something more than just Ghost. Which. Not an insult? But still, a name.

When they get to where Ryan and Jeremy were stationed he’s not really expecting to find Jeremy after everything else they’ve seen along the way. Odds stacked against them from the start and all that, and he’s not surprised to find the facility torn open and broken down.

Finds bodies here and there, doesn’t want to look closer but he can’t not at the same time.

Recognizes a few of them, scientists and staff and some security operatives he and Jeremy worked with.

Reggie clearly knows Ryan’s lying about not remembering anything, but chooses not to call him on it at the time.

Not when there’s this...rawness to him as he explores the place he lived and worked in who knows how many years go. Finds the bodies and other remnants of a life (long past, ended violently in the Collapse along with those of everyone else there.

Listens to messages people left before, during, and after the Collapse.

Usual day-to-day things, work logs or personal journals that tick over into calls to supervisors over unusual readings and the like? And then towards the end and staticky and all that, warnings to whoever stumbles across the facility.

Breached containment and toxic chemical ruptures and all that that had to be locked down.

(The handful of people on the other side of it, either too slow or too goddamned brave, sacrificing themselves for the others even though they knew it wouldn’t matter much in the end, and doing it anyway)

Sightings of unknown creatures - beings? Roaming the area outside the facility while its security measures were still active, what remaining security operatives going to confront them and not returning, or dragging themselves back to safety just to die with some cryptic words on what they’d seen out there.

Final words of survivors doomed to die either by whatever was on the other side of the fences and security measures once they inevitably failed or some other cause. (Exposure to toxins/radiation or other fun things. Starvation, etc. No need to worry about old age or natural causes because yeah no, not in the cards for them.)

That cheerful kind of stuff, you know?

Ryan and his Ghost digging into the computers they could and watching footage, watching people he knew a lifetime ago dying.

Watching Jeremy taking charge of things, having to order people to their deaths in the days after the Collapse whether it be to containment breaches or enemies at their gates and so on.

A few logs and personal videos Jeremy left, ones that Ryan makes copies of for himself - Reggie makes copies of everything they find, but Jeremy’s are just for Ryan, you know?

All of what they find may be useful one day, important, but Jeremy’s are just for Ryan. (Reggie safeguards those like you wouldn’t believe because they’re obviously important to Ryan.)

One of Jeremy’s videos are of him in the cramped quarters he and Ryan had to share, half a wall missing and all that because of course.

More rubble than room at that point, and yet it’s where he decided to record that video message.

All quiet and sad and hopeless because no rescue is coming for them, and look, okay, look.

He knows Ryan has to be dead by that point, otherwise his Battle Buddy would have come for him and the others, Clovis Bray be damned.

And Jeremy’s not quite looking at the camera as he just.

Confesses?

Tells Ryan - this one video is for Ryan even though Jeremy’s certain he’d never see it now, but he can’t not and he’ll probably be dead before long anyway, so fuck it, right?

So Jeremy tells Ryan all about the Mutual Pining he was doing leading up to the Collapse, right? All the reasons he fell head over heels for his idiot Battle Buddy and fear of fucking things up between them not knowing if Ryan felt the same and just.

A lot of FEELS going on there?

And then he talks about the Bad Feeling of Ryan’s and the call for him to go to Mars while Jeremy stayed behind.

Tells him he knew something was off, wrong, that something big was coming and goddamn does he hate being right about that kind of thing?

And then, okay.

There’s this tired little laugh, and Jeremy looking right into the camera.

Looks tired, worn down. Like he hasn’t slept in days (hadn’t, most likely) and lost too much weight and right on the edge of breaking.

Tells Ryan with this tired little laugh and tired little smile that he loves him, and he’s sorry he wasn’t brave enough to tell him when he had the chance and all these other heartbreaking things before ending the video.

(Delicious Angst.)

Ryan can’t find any other videos or anything from Jeremy after that, but there are references to the last of the security operatives patrolling the facility and running into opposition. Mentions of them not returning, of the other survivors being on their own and -

Ryan and Reggie go looking, because of course they do.

Find bodies, human and otherwise, but there’s a goddamn hole blown into the side of the facility. Fucking crater that opens up into an underground cavern and no safe way down.

Which, fine.

Ryan jumps, and Reggie brings him back.

Again and again and again until they reach the bottom, and then it’s this endless network or caves and tunnels and they could spend a lifetime looking, but enemies - Fallen? - and too many for one lone Light-bearer and their Ghost and he hates it, hates it, but they can’t stay.

Get back to Earth and kick around there for some time, all the while Ryan working on a way to get back to the facility to find Jeremy and lay him to rest or whatever’s going on in his head.

Runs across this shady bastard who (of course) turns out to be the Drifter and they become...not friends so much as acquaintances and all that? Don’t really trust one another, but they’re not enemies either.

The Iron Lords happen, Ryan and Reggie keeping an eye on things because you never know, and then the thing with SIVA happens and everything after that.

Hop around the system (venture a little beyond it for a time before coming back) and are like.

Bemused at these Guardians they find running around?

Like.

Yeah, okay, interesting, but he and Reggie were there for the Iron Lords and surely it’s only a matter of time until the Guardians go the same way?

But...they don’t?

They even build themselves this City under the Traveler and seem to thrive. Guard (heh,) the remnants of humanity that take shelter in the Traveler’s presence and all that.

Watches them branch out, sees the formation of the Vanguard and the Consensus and all that.

And they don’t go unnoticed either, this weird Light-bearer Exo and his Ghost that have been around for a long, long time.

Are considered allies to the Vanguard and Tower and all that? But not to be trusted at the same time.

Not enemies, just.

Need to be taken with a grain of salt, and also for the love of all that’s holy, do not let them around baby Guardians because they’re kind of terrible?

But yes.

Ryan’s around for all the shenanigans in the first Destiny, but doesn’t get involved himself because he’s no Guardian, you see.

Does, however, do things like message the Vanguard when there’s unusual activity among the Fallen or whichever race is hellbent on wiping humanity out that time.

Tips off Ikora’s hidden that something’s going on in the Plaguelands when the Fallen get into SIVA and so on, checks in on Lord Saladin to see how he’s doing, that kind of thing.

And then the Cabal come to Earth and Ryan’s at the edge of the system at the time, but he definitely feels it when the Cabal manage to lock away the Traveler’s Light.

He and Reggie make their way back to Earth because what the hell is going on?

And they get there just in time for some asshole to kick Ghaul’s ass and the Traveler awakening and all that?

And it’s like, well, shit, because things are going to be in disarray for a while, aren’t they?

Usually that means the Vanguard reaching out to him and those like him to help where Guardians can’t.

Stealth and shady shit and other things the Vanguard seems to turn their noses up at because not exactly Noble, the things people like Ryan get up to, but still needed.

Anyway, off he goes, coordinating with Ikora’s Hidden and all that and he’s all over the place for a while.

Goes back to the Tower and happens to catch a glimpse of someone in armor and is like !!!

It’s the Tower, and all the Guardians wandering around in armor is far from unusual?

BUT.

This asshole is sporting some hideous shader that somehow manages to combine purple and orange with yellow trim and it’s this whiplash moment of !!! for Ryan because!

Or fucking course Jeremy and his bullshit color scheme back when they were working for Clovis Bray, you know?

Shit-eating grin at Ryan’s :O face the first time he realized what a monstrous human being Jeremy was and delighting in it every moment afterwards.

And Ryan, right. Far from an expert on all the shaders out there, but he’s pretty sure Eva would never dare create such a thing as it would be akin to a crime against humanity, and yet.

Ryan sneaks about following the Guardian - a goddamned Titan because of course it is - and maybe gets a little sloppy about it.

Because FEELS and also being a little out of his mind over the coincidence?

Anyway, anyway, he ends up getting cornered in a little alley somewhere down in The City. No one else around for blocks and an understandably peeved Guardian facing him down.

“Hey, pal,” he hears, seemingly friendly enough but there’s an edge to the words all the same. “There a reason you’ve been following me for the last few hours?”

The Guardian’s got their helmet on, because of course, but there’s -

Ryan knows that voice.

(Of fucking course he does.)

Stares and stares and stares because oh, okay, this has to be it, you know? He’s been alive for a few hundred years by this point, and sooner or later he’d lose it, because of course he would, right?

Exo-fied without consent and tossed into the life of a Light-bearer - again, without consent although he’s more okay with Reggie’s actions than the scientists at Clovis Bray who Exo-fied him - and made sense he’d go mad at some point.

Because no way in hell is that Jeremy he’s looking at. No damned way.

AND YET.

It totally is Jeremy, although he goes by Rimmy Tim now (lololol, I’m so, so sorry) and doesn’t remember his previous life at all and oh, God his poor Ghost is sporting a shell in the same hideous purple/orange shader and why did it have to be this way?

But also seriously, Ryan being blue screen of death over the whole Jeremy is a goddamned Guardian now???

Apparently resurrected following the Red War and new to the whole Guardian deal.

Ryan tries to stay away because he’s got all these issues to sort out and doesn’t want to scare Jeremy away/make him hate him/who even knows what he’s thinking at that point?

But it doesn’t stick because Jeremy’s alive.

Doesn’t know Ryan or the fact they were this close to figuring their shit out before the world ended around them and things got seriously fucked up.

Thinks Ryan’s some weird shady dude along the lines of the Drifter and all that? Which, to be fair, he is?

BUT.

Zavala and Ikora trust him, and Cayde did too.

Ryan keeps tabs on Jeremy the whole time because like hell is he not going to do that?

But he tries his best to keep his distance for Jeremy’s sake and all?

And then there’s a Situation the Vanguard need him to look into, and would he like help with this one?

And Ryan, okay.

Ryan.

Does his damndest to be good about this, not drag Jeremy into things, but Zavala’s a clever bastard.

Has noticed Ryan’s obvious - to Zavala and Ikora, and even Cayde’s amusement/understanding before he died - interest in Jeremy.

And weirdly, conveniently, Jeremy knocks on the door to Zavala’s office while Ryan’s in there talking to him about this Situation.

“Uh, am I interrupting?”

And Zavala gives Ryan this little smirk.

“Rimmy Tim is a promising young Titan,” he says. “Clever. Resourceful. I think he would prove to be a great asset in this endeavor.”

And Jeremy, okay.

Keen on helping the Vanguard with things like this Situation, and he’ll admit to being curious about weird, shady Ryan and how he fits into things, and anyway.

Ryan doesn’t have much choice in the matter about it all, and before you know it the two of them are out investigating weird shit together.

Ryan barely keeping his shit together the whole time because Jeremy is so fucking Jeremy even though he doesn’t remember anything about his previous life.

Reggie is like, super concerned and doesn’t sass Ryan more than a couple of times a day due to said concern.

Jeremy’s Ghost is like, dude, what the hell? While Reggie is ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ because hahaha, Light-bearers are just weird as hell, right?

Their investigations take them back to Mars and the same Clovis Bray facility where Ryan was Exo-fied and it’s.

Jeremy doesn’t know what’s up with Ryan and Reggie, but once Ryan quietly mentions that oh, hey, yeah. This is where they turned me into this *gestures at himself with this weird hollow/bitter laugh because yes* and then he died, and also Reggie found him years later and so on?

And Jeremy’s like shit, dude, and also, oh, okay thinking that’s why they’re being super weird?

But then they find records and some video of human!Ryan way back before and Jeremy’s fucking riveted, okay.

Human!Ryan talking to one of his bosses about an assignment they’re going to send these Battle Buddies off on - Jeremy looking over at Ryan when he flinches or something along those lines and thinks, oh, man, poor guy, because apparently Ryan had a partner way back when?

Someone the Clovis Bray bigwig talks about with this amused/fond look on their face like the two of them were inseparable and all that? Force to be reckoned with and all that.

And!

Of course that’s when the bigwig’s office door opens to let the other half of the Battle Buddies in.

“What the fuck?”

Because, hey, wow, would you look at that? That’s fucking Jeremy sauntering on in with a little grin on his face and all that, tossing human!Ryan a look before giving the Clovis Bray bigwig a nod and no, seriously, what the fuck.

This whole Thing where Ryan stiffly (because dealing with all these EMOTIONS about Jeremy and terrified he’d - rightly so - want nothing to do with Ryan because of the everything) tells him that yeah, so.

They totally knew one another way back when? Worked together and so on and all this and just.

Yeah.

Jeremy’s Ghost manages to salvage more videos of the two of them - sparring in Clovis Bray gym facilities and the whatnot and training/demonstrating/whatever for security operatives?

Ryan leaves him to it while he and Reggie go poking about the rest of the place pretty much expecting Jeremy to tell them he wants nothing to do with them once they’re done with whatever the Vanguard has them doing?

But no, okay, no.

First of all, Jeremy’s super weirded out, but he’s not mad? OR he doesn’t think he is???

It’s complicated.

What he does know is that he and his Ghost like Ryan and Reggie, are starting to think of them as friends, even.

And then, okay, and then?

There’s also the fact that with a different perspective Jeremy can totally fucking see how fucking head over heels he and Ryan were for one another?

The way they look at one another, okay, that alone.

Can’t tell if they were an official? Thing and it feels cruel to ask Ryan, considering Jeremy doesn’t remember him? So he doesn’t.

Just.

Decides he’d like to get to know Ryan now, see what happens and all that?

Ryan’s like ??? because he was not expecting that? Is a little reluctant because what if it’s a mistake? He still loves the shit out of Jeremy, pre-Collapse and now, but maybe that’s not what’s best for Jeremy?

Tries to tell him that, but Jeremy’s not having it.

Like, will honestly leave Ryan alone if he genuinely wants him to considering their past and the emotional roller coaster Ryan’s been on since pretty much forever?

But if it’s all the same to Ryan Jeremy would like to keep working with him?

And they do, because Ryan thinks he’s too much a selfish bastard to tell Jeremy no, and Jeremy kind of feels the same?

They deal with the Situation together (Battle Buddies, fuck yeah) and when they report back to Zavala he’s all HMM at them, but doesn’t comment on things and it just.

Becomes this understood Thing that Ryan and Jeremy are a team now, going all over the place to deal with things Ikora’s Hidden sniff out or some “friend” of Ryan’s want them to look into.

Ryan quietly Suffering because Jeremy’s still so very Jeremy and yet a completely different person. Jeremy falling for Ryan because of course he does, and Ryan keenly aware of it at some point.

(Stopped lying to himself about things like that a long time ago, or maybe he’s too tired to lie to himself about them now, who knows.)

Looks at Jeremy one night, the two of them camped out in a shell of a building and just.

Sighs.

Takes out the batch of recordings and videos Jeremy left behind at the end and gives them to Jeremy because...he doesn’t know why, really.

Just thinks it’s important he sees them for himself before he says something he might regret. (Does something he might regret, idk.)

And then off Ryan goes to keep watch or patrol the area or whatever and conveniently not be there while Jeremy watches his past self confessing his love to Ryan like that was a mistake he never got to make in person or something?

It makes no goddamned sense, and Jeremy’s a bit of an emotional mess by the end of it because jfc, he past him was a complete idiot, and both Ryans are too?

Past Ryan just for being a dense idiot the same as past Jeremy, present Ryan because he’s been carrying those recordings along with him for ages, and the whole Guilt about not finding Jeremy’s body to lay him to rest way back when.

The Guilt about knowing who Jeremy was when he met him again and not telling him (that makes Jeremy a little angry because dude, seriously?), and yet again more Guilt for not telling him about the Mutual Pining?

And just.

He yells at Ryan a hell of a lot when he tracks him down, finds him on a rooftop staring up at the stars while Reggie watches over him.

Realizes Ryan’s looking towards the sector of space where he and Ryan were stationed when the Collapse happened, that the idiot probably made a habit of doing so after Jeremy died because Delicious Angst?

He yells, but there’s no real heat to it because Jeremy’s a wreck, and also he gets it?

Doesn’t know Ryan super well, just yet, but enough to see why he’d do/think some of the things he has.

Feels...not guilty, exactly, but something in that he doesn’t remember Ryan or the lives they had before all...this, but.

They’ve got a second chance, and maybe, maybe they could do something with it?

Not saying they have to, necessarily, but.

Uh.

They do make a good team, and all that, and -

Ryan’s just looking at Jeremy like he doesn’t know what to say (it’s true) and kind of like he thinks he may be dreaming this (he’s not) and Jeremy’s afraid he’s saying all the wrong things?

But then.

It’s like

That could be a thing they could do, become Battle Buddies 2.0 and let Zavala know he only has himself to blame for it, so of course they do, you know?

Go off and Adventure about, causing Zavala headache after headache and getting these little smiles out of Ikora and such.

And one day maybe they get their shit together and finally freaking do something about all the FEELINGS the have for one another.

Get it right this time, with the love confessions and smooches - or like, whatever it is Exos do in that regard?

But yes.

Also they run into the rest of the AH bunch at some point, a few of which are some of Ryan’s shady friends, because of course they are. >:D

(ALSO, omg, yessss? I was like aw, man, not again Bungie :((((((((((((((( even though I totally understand the reasons for the delay? Like. I want the shinies of new content and omg, EXO STRANGER :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD right now? But also omg, yes Bunige, please take the time you need. XD)