#i think about this so much but every time I read it in the book i'm still caught off guard | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leclerc-hs · 2 days ago

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a lifetime of summers - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which every summer, at the villa your families rent together every year, gives you a version of charles OR you and charles are childhood best friends with a complicated history. warnings: angst, language, childhood friends with complicated history, smut, angst, yearning, etc... idk what I'm missing, NOT PROOFREAD (prob typos or things that might not make sense), lots of back and forth, messy messy messy, also cute, jealousy jealousy, seriously lots of YEARNING, them being stupid also word count: ~8k author's note: this idea came to me a few days ago and i've spent as much time as possible working on it since (in between carlos version). y'know when the creativity just hits right and the words pour out of you?? that was me with this. i hope you guys like it!!!! xoxo ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Age 7.

“I’m gonna marry you one day.”

The villa smells of sun lotion and salty air.

Your dad’s playing music through some tiny old speaker he brought. And the adults are laughing too loud over their drinks.

The sun is beginning to sink, but it’s still hot.

You’re sticky with juice, hair tangled, and bathing suit clinging awkwardly.

Charles is chasing you. A water balloon in his hands.

You shriek, running against the hot stones. Smiling so hard that it hurts.

“Y’already got me twice!” You shout in between giggles. “S’not fair!”

Charles appears closer. Face sunburnt. A smile tugged on his lips. “You cheated at Candy Land!”

“You cheated first!”

“Because you always win!”

And he raises the balloon over his head.

“If you throw that, I’m telling maman you said a bad word the other day.”

His smile drops. “I did not!”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Uh huh…you said ‘shit’ when you hit your funny bone.”

“It hurt!” He argues.

You stick your tongue out.

And then he hesitates. Looking at the balloon. Then at you.

Throws the balloon anyway.

It explodes against your stomach. Cold water soaking you.

And you gasp.

Then lunge for him. Chase him all the way into the back yard, shrieking. Laughing so hard that you both struggle to breathe properly.

And eventually you both collapse into the grass. Side by side. Near the lemon tree.

There’s a few moments of silence. Both of you panting from trying to catch your breath.

“I’m gonna marry you one day.”

You blink. “Why?”

“Because you’re funny. And you like ice pops. And you beat me at Mario Kart once.”

You look at him. And he’s staring at the leaves above your heads. Arms touching.

“I don’t think that’s how marriage works,” your voice soft.

“Don’t care.” He shrugs.

You roll your eyes. “Okay. But I don’t want to wear a dress.”

“Fine. But you have to split the cake with me.”

“Only if it’s chocolate.”

“Well duh.”

And you both fall asleep like that. In the grass. Smelling like chlorine. Sticky with sugar.

Age 12

“Why are you being weird?”

The summer heat is burning.

Heat clings to you like a second skin. And you’re still dripping from the pool. The stone tiles are too hot to stand on for too long, so everyone moves around them quickly. Your hair is wet. Trying to read a book, but can’t focus.

Because Charles won’t stop staring at you.

Well, he’s technically not staring. But he’s in the pool in your direct eyesight. Hands behind his head as he sits on a float. Sunglasses almost too big for his face. Smirking.

And every so often, he splashes water your way.

“Would you stop?” You snap. Wiping the water off your ankles.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. Blinking. Innocent.

You groan, falling back on the lounger. Trying to ignore him.

He floats closer. “You haven’t turned the page in almost twenty minutes.”

“That’s because you’re distracting me.”

And he grins. A full sheepish grin. “You think I’m cute.”

You don’t answer. Keep your eyes on your book.

“Y’gonna tell your friends I have a six pack now?” He calls out.

You raise your eyebrows, “Six pack of what?”

“Muscles.” He says. Dead serious.

And your mouth twitches. “Your voice still cracks.”

Charles slips off the floatie. Swims to the edge and rests his arms on the ledge. Chin on his forearm as he looks at you.

“Yeah? And what does it do to you when I say your name?”

Your breath hitches.

“You’re blushing.”

“It’s the sun.”

He laughs. And you throw your book at him.

He ducks under the water. And when he resurfaces, grinning…you’re trying so hard to not smile. And he knows it.

“Why are you being so weird?” you ask.

He shrugs.

“You’re just starting to notice me now.”

And you don’t answer.

And later that night, when you’re brushing your teeth. Still burnt from the sun. You wonder what he meant.

You don’t ask.

But you do start to.

Age 15

“That didn’t count.”

“So kiss me again.”

The villa is quiet.

Your parents and his mom stay up talking. Your siblings long asleep. Arthur passed out on the couch.

A few candles flicker near the steps, but most of the light is coming from the moonlight.

You’re barefoot. The grass cool and soft beneath your toes as you walk to the lemon tree. The one where you and Charles always meet when its too late and you’re supposed to be asleep.

He’s already there. Leaning against it.

He looks different this year. Taller. A little bit sharper. More grown into his body.

He glances at you. “Took you long enough.”

“Had to sneak past my sister.”

He grins, holding up a bag of chips.

And you sit beside him. Your shoulder brushing his.

Talking about nothing for a while. Catching up on the weeks you aren’t together. How he kissed a girl in Monaco and it was fine but also kind of awkward. And you pretend you don’t hate hearing it.

You tell him about the boy from school who tried to hold your hand during a movie when you went with your group of friends.

Charles almost immediately demands his full name. And address.

And you laugh.

He tosses a lemon up and catches it. Again and again.

“I heard you tell Joris that I was in love with you.” You say.

And he glances at you. “I did not.”

You narrow your eyes. A smile on your lips.

And he shrugs. “I said you were obsessed with me. S’not the same.”

And you laugh. Then scoff. “You wish.”

You shove his arm. And he grabs your wrist before you can pull it back. Fingers wrapping around you. Warm. Familiar. But somehow different.

Neither of you speak for a few moments. Just take in the sound of the cicadas, the faint chatter of the adults on the terrace.

“Y’ever kissed anyone?”

And your stomach twists. Look away. “No.”

He nods. “Me either…at least, not really.”

Silence.

And then he says, “Wanna try?”

You look at him. But he’s already looking at you. And he looks nervous. Hopeful. Like he’s been thinking about this for a long time. Nothing like the boy who used to throw water balloons and stick paint in your hair.

You nod.

And it’s awkward. Your noses bump. One of you breathes too loudly. His hands tremble at your cheek.

But it’s sweet. Slow.

And his lips are soft.

And when you pull apart, you both stare at each other. Lips a little rosier than before.

“That didn’t count.” You whisper.

And he blinks. “Why not?”

“There was no tongue.”

And he grins. Slowly.

And then pulls you back into him.

And this time….it’s real.

Age 17

“This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

The villa’s light glow behind you. Laughter echoing from the kitchen where your parents and his maman are finishing a bottle of wine.

You and Charles are on the terrace. Barefoot. A shared bottle of win between you. Practically empty. And his leg brushes against yours every time he fidgets.

It’s the first summer where you’ve both been allowed to really drink. Not just a stolen sip of a half-empty bottle found on the kitchen counter. Or a watered down spritz. Real drinks. Poured and given to you like adults.

And you’re a little tipsy. Cheeks warm and rosy. Limbs loose.

“You’re quiet tonight,” you glance at him.

He nods. “Jus’ thinking.”

“You do that?”

And he laughs. “Shut up.”

You smile. Taking a small sip straight from the bottle before placing it back down. “What are you thinking about?”

He hesitates for a little. “Uh…that night last year.”

You don’t have to ask which night. You already know.

The night behind the lemon tree. His mouth on yours. And you think about it often.

“Me too,” You admit. Soft.

And he looks at you. Watch as his gaze dips to your mouth.

And then he’s leaning in.

The kiss is soft. Deeper. Not rushed. And his lips are warm. Tastes of wine and something sweet. Like the fruit you guys were picking at earlier.

When he pulls back, his voice cracks a little bit. “I want you.”

You don’t answer. Just smile soft. Pulling his hand into yours as you drag him into the villa. Into the bedroom.

Your clothes peel off slowly. Clumsy. And he’s careful. Like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, it’ll ruin the moment.

“Y’sure about this?” He whispers.

You nod. “Yeah…want it to be you.”

And he closes his eyes for a second. Like his heart is in his throat.

And then it happens.

It’s slow. Messy. You both laugh when your arms bump. And he curses softly when he cant get the condom wrapper open. But then he’s inside you, and your laughter becomes hushed gasps. Fingers digging into each other.

“Y’okay?” He mutters. His forehead pressed to yours.

And your nails dig into his back. “Yeah.”

And then he kisses you again. Harder. Holds you closer.

Later, when you’re both lying tangled in the dark…you feel his fingers tracing your skin. Both of you enjoying the silence.

Then a good few moments later.

“This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

You swallow hard.

“Yeah.”

Age 19

“Y’gonna dance with him again?”

“He asked.”

“You let him kiss your cheek.”

“You fingered me in the kitchen pantry last night.”

“That’s different.”

You’re barefoot in the sand. Music loud. And Luca…or maybe it was Leo? You weren’t sure. Had his hands lightly on your hips. Flirty.

You’re laughing at something dumb he said into your ear. And then you feel it.

The heat. The stare.

Glance over your shoulder and…

Charles. Leaning against the beach bar. Beer in hand.

Eyes on you with a glint in his eye like you’ve offended him.

You try not to react. But the next time Luca spins you, you pull away with a smile and a I’ll be right back.

You only make it a few steps before Charles intercepts your path.

“Having fun?” He says. Trying to be casual. But his voice is too tight. Too bitter.

“Yes.” You brush past him. And he falls right into step with you.

“You’ve got weird taste in music.”

“That’s not my music taste. It’s called dancing.”

And he scoffs.

You walk to the side of the bar. An more private are. Grabbing his shoulder to face you.

“Are you okay?” Voice sweet. Gentle. Caring.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re glaring too much.”

And looks at you. “I just think it’s funny.”

“Oh, here we go.”

“I mean, you don’t even like that song.”

You cross your arms against your chest. And he steps closer.

“You let him put his hands on you.”

You raise a brow. “So?”

“So…you let him touch you. Kiss your cheek”

And you laugh. Soft. “You fingered me in the kitchen pantry last night, Charles.”

His jaw clenches. Hands twitch. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

You take a step closer. Testing him, And he doesn’t budge.

“It’s not the same.”

You stare at him. His cheeks are sunburned. And his eyes are so green it makes your heart rate spike. So handsome.

“So I’m not allowed to dance with a guy I’ll never see again?”

He runs a hand over his face. Grazing the slight stubble on his jaw. “You’re not just dancing.”

“No,” You admit. “But you’re not just fucking me either.”

His eyes widen. Slightly stunned.

And you don’t back down. Step even closer until your chests are touching.. “You don’t wanna talk about what this is? That’s fine. But you don’t get to act jealous then.”

“I’m not jealous.”

And you grin. Snort. Just a tiny bit.

“Okay,” he says. Throwing his hands up. “Maybe I am.”

Your stomach twists.

“I just…I don’t like seeing you with other guys.” His voice is low.

“Well…it’s not like you don’t talk to other girls, Charles.”

And then you leave him standing there. Alone.

“Wanna go out for a bit?” He asks. “Just us?”

And you say yes without even thinking.

You’re on a light blue towel, sunglasses over your face, pretending to read a book. Charles is stretched out next to you. An arm tucked under his head. Throwing grapes in the air and trying to catch them in his mouth.

You glance over just as a grape hits his forehead and falls into the sand.

“Impressive.”

He laughs. “The wind interfered!”

He tosses another grape. Misses again.

And you burst into laughter.

“I’m warming up.”

He laughs with you. Giving up and rolling onto his side to face you.

He squints his eyes at you. “Do you have sunscreen on?”

“Yes.”

“Are you positive?”

Your brows furrow. “Why?”

“I think that….” His hand reaches for the bottle of sun lotion, flicking it open. “That you missed a spot.”

He squirts some into his hand, a smirk on his lips.

“Back off.”

And he reaches for you, smearing it all over your chest. You shriek, tossing your book into the sand beside you.

And somewhere between this sun lotion assault, you’re both breathless and laughing so hard.

He pins you down, dropping heaps of sun lotion onto your skin.

“Truce,” You laugh. Stomach burning from laughter.

He nods. Smiling. Rubbing the sunscreen into your skin.

“Don’t want you to burn.”

You throw a pile of sand at him. And he doesn’t even flinch.

His cock is already buried inside you. Deep. Thick. Fucking aching.

“God, you’re fuckin soaked.” He groans into your neck. Hand pressed into your stomach.

You claw at his back. Back arched. Legs spread. Shaking every time he hits that spot in your tummy just right.

He looks down at you like he’s overwhelmed. Like he doesn’t understand how you can feel this fucking good.

“Swear to God,” He grunts. Pulling back slow, then snapping his hips forward. “S’like your pussy jus gets tighter every time.”

Your mouth falls open. Gasping.

His hands slip under your thigh, pushing your knee into your chest. Fucking you deeper.

And then he moans.

“Jesus….fuck.” He chokes out. “Y’feel that?”

You sob out.

“I’ve been inside you like a hundred times this summer and it still feels like fuckin heaven.”

His forehead drops and presses into yours. Voice rough.

“M’not gonna last.” He huffs. “You’re too wet. Too fuckin tight.”

You grip his shoulders, nails digging into the skin. “Don’t stop…”

“You’re fuckin milking me.” He cuts you off. “Y’gonna come? Please come on me. C’mon baby…please, yeah? Please let me have it.”

And you fall apart. Gasping. Shaking. Coming so hard around his cock it makes his head fall back.

And he swears. Filthily. French tumbling out go his mouth.

And then he’s spilling inside of you. Chest pressed to yours. Hips jerking.

He buries his face in your beck. Collapsing on you.

And neither of you speak for a bit.

Just catch your breath. Comfortable silence. Holding each other.

Eventually, he reaches up. Tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

Then whispers into the dark.

“I like it here.”

And he doesn’t elaborate.

You don’t ask him to.

Age 21

“He seems tense.”

“He’s fine.”

“He didn’t even blink when I mentioned that guy from Madrid.”

“I told you not to bring it up.”

Your best friend’s been here for five days and already the villa feels different.

She means well. But she talks fast, drinks fast, and has no filter.

She also loves to talk about your love life.

The one that you’re apparently “thriving in”.

“So wait,” she says over breakfast, digging her fork into her food. “You never texted that guy from Madrid back? Y’know the one with the sexy voice?”

Across the table, Charles is picking at his plate. Fork pausing. Just for a little bit. Enough for you to notice.

You look at her, “No.”

“Why not? He was so hot.”

“Didn’t feel like it.”

“But he was so into you…” She takes a sip of her drink. “What about the Italian one? The one you really liked.”

Charles cuts into his eggs. A little bit harder. Knife scraping the plate.

“He ghosted.”

“Ugh, yeah total loser.” She laughs. “Oh my god, remember…what was his name? From the bar crawl.”

“Liam.” You choke out.

“Yes! Liam!” She snaps her fingers. “Didn��t he pick you up at the bar? Like just threw you over his shoulder?”

You laugh, slightly embarrassed. Nodding.

Charles sets his mug down a little too hard.

And then he stands. Takes his plate to the sink.

And walks out.

“Was it something I said?” Your best friend asks.

You find him in the kitchen later. Your best friend is lounging out by the pool and you slipped inside to grab a water.

He’s rinsing the plates. Back to you. But his jaw is clenched tight.

You lean against the counter by him. “Hey.”

He doesn’t look at you. Just keeps scrubbing the dishes. A little harder than before.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” He says. “Just didn’t realize breakfast started with a running list of every guy you’ve fucked.”

You wince.

And he breathes deeply. Dropping the dish in the sink. “Sorry…that was, uh harsh.”

You give a tiny nod.

“I just…” He turns off the water. Looks at you. “Didn’t know it was like that?”

“Like what?”

He shrugs.

“Is it a problem?”

He stares at you. Sucks his bottom lip in for a moment. Like he’s deep in thought. Before finally saying…

“No. It’s not my place.”

And there it is.

You step back. “Right.”

And then you’re turning around, reaching in the cabinet for a glass. “Still going to the bonfire later?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, if you still want to.”

“Cool,” Your voice is light.

Age 22

“You’ve been quiet lately.”

“I’m just tired.”

The long table on the terrace is full.

Extra chairs from inside scattered around it, one of your younger cousins crawling underneath it.

Your dad is asking your mom if there’s more grilled vegetables. Meanwhile your sister insists on telling the story about the jellyfish sting again.

“And she was crying so hard, she had actual snot bubbles on her face,” She says. Laughing.

You lift your hand, “I was six!”

Charles laughs. “You thought you were dying.”

“I thought it was venom!” You laugh. “And no one even helped me.”

“We were too busy laughing at the snot,” He says. Looking at you. That familiar grin pulled on his face, eyes crinkled. Like it was just you two.

And then Alex leans into him. Whispers into his ear. And whatever she says makes him smile wider. Makes him shift toward her without even thinking.

You chug your wine.

“I love that photo,” Alex says softly. And you glance at her to find her already looking at you. “The one of you and everyone in the inflatable pool. You’re the only one not smiling.”

You curl your lips. “We were sinking.”

“It’s so funny though,” She says. “You look so unimpressed by them.”

“She always looks like that,” Charles chimes in. “Probably came out of the womb judging people.”

You narrow your eyes, but the smile pulling on your lips gives you away.

Alex laughs. And your mom’s already popping open the next bottle of wine.

And it would be perfect.

If it weren’t for Charles sitting across from you, arms wrapped around another person. Like he’s not yours anymore.

You ask Alex about her job, and you mean it. She answers so soft and kind that it almost makes you hate her. Almost.

But you can’t. Because she’s nice.

“She’s good for him,” Your sister whispers under her breath, leaning toward you. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

You nod. “I’m just tired.”

Eventually, dinner ends. Alex excuses herself to help your mom bring out dessert. And Charles follows.

And when they come back, head thrown back laughing.

He sets a slice of cake in front of you without a word.

And you thank him like its normal.

Someone suggest drinks at the beach bar. Something to do. The one with the bulbs on string down the street.

You come barefoot, some sweet drink already in hand. Alex walks beside you, her wedges hooked in her fingers, hem of her dress brushing her knees.

She’s pretty in a way that doesn’t feel threatening. Not showy. Just perfect.

Inside the bar, you spot Charles leaned against the bar with a beer, grinning at something Arthur’s saying. And he’s wearing that linen button up that you used to tell him he looks like a recently divorced rich guy in.

You find yourself smiling.

Alex touches your arm. “Hey…you want a new drink?”

You shake your head. “I’m good for now.”

She nods. A small smile on her lips.

“I was really nervous to meet you.”

You blink. Eyes slightly wider. “Me?”

She nods. “Charles talks about you all the time.”

You freeze for a moment.

“Yeah,” she smiles. “Not like in a weird way. Just like you’re part of the picture. In his life. Almost every story he tells involves you.”

You don’t know how to respond.

“I’m just glad you’re not..uh, like intimidating.” She laughs.

And you laugh back. “I save the intimidation after a few weeks.”

She smiles. “So I’ve still got time?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

And for this moment, you like her. Even if it hurts.

Because she’s kind.

Because she doesn’t know that you and Charles shared a bed when thunderstorms were scary.

Because she wasn’t there the summer he kissed you against the sand and told you he’d never want anyone else.

You chug your drink.

Later, you’re all gathered near the back of the deck, huddled around a wooden table and wobbly stools. Someone ordered a side of fries. Someone else ordered a round of shots no one really wanted but drank anyways.

You’re pressed between Charles and your sister. You’re laughing. Tipsy. Warm.

Charles is teasing your sister about something but you’re not really listening.

And that’s when another guy slides in.

Not dramatically. Just casual. Confident.

He’s tall. Tanned. Cute.

He talks to the guy beside him, someone you’ve definitely seen before, and then turns to you.

“Did I hear something about you getting stung by a jellyfish?”

You smile. “Unfortunately.”

He nods. A grin. “Survival stories always get me.”

“Tragic,” you say.

He laughs. “I’m Nick.”

You take a sip of your drink, tilting your head. “Do you open with tragedy stories for flirting a lot? Or is it just me?”

“Only for girls who look like they bite back.”

You grin. Slow. “You say that like its a challenge.”

“Depends,” He shrugs, gaze dropping to your bare legs, then back to your face.

“On?”

“Depends how hard you bite.”

And you laugh. Like really laugh. Hard. Head falling back. And then you feel it. The way Charles stills beside you. The way his fingers grip his cup just a little bit tighter.

And Nick leans in closer. More private. “So…what other tragedies should I know about you?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“If you want facts or warnings.”

He raises a brow. “Any preference?”

You place your cup down on the table. “I like a little risk.”

And Charles says something to your sister now. A little louder. Like he’s trying to distract you.

You don’t bother to look at him.

Nick grins. “And just how dangerous are you exactly?”

You grin back. “Pretty dangerous.”

He laughs. “Good.”

You both just stare at each other for a little. Grinning.

“You dancing?” He asks, nodding his head in direction of the dance floor.

“Are you asking or telling?”

“I’m hoping.”

You slide off the stool.

“Let’s go tragedy boy.”

And as he takes your hand. Leads you into the crowd. You catch Charles’s eyes.

Watching.

Burning.

The music’s slowed a little. Just swaying to the music, instead of the rapid jumping you were doing earlier.

Nick’s hand rests at your hip. His other is holding your drink while you talk with your hands.

“You can’t seriously think pineapple belongs on pizza,” You yell over the music.

Nick grins. “It’s good.”

“You’re weird.”

“I’ve been told that before.”

And you laugh, bumping your shoulder into his. He leans in, speaking into your ear.

“You know your friend’s been staring at us for like ten minutes, right?”

You blink. “Huh?”

He tips his head. Over your shoulder. And you turn just a little bit. Just enough to see Charles still sitting at the table.

Drink in hand. Not talking. Not even blinking. Just looking.

You breathe out, turning back. “That Charles.”

Nick raises a brow, nodding. “Ahh.”

“Don’t read into it.”

He watches you.

“He has a girlfriend.”

Nick hums, a teasing grin. “He doesn’t look like he remembers that right now.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Cool.”

You shrug. “You don’t believe me?”

He smiles. “Doesn’t matter what I believe. Just means if I kiss you, he might kill me.”

You laugh. “You’re awful.”

“You’re still here.”

And you look at each other. Smiling.

You kiss him. Not because you’re falling for him. But because you’re single. Because Charles brought someone else. Because he gets to have her. Because you’re tired of thinking about him.

So you kiss him to feel good. To forget. To remind yourself that you’re free.

Hands in his shirt. Hands on your waist.

And you let yourself lean into it.

Enjoy the uncomplicated.

And for a few moments…it almost works.

Age 23

“You brought him here.”

“Yeah. Remember you said he wouldn’t last.”

You’re late this year.

Flight was delayed. Rental car place was too busy. And by the time your feet hit the familiar stone of the villa’s terrace, the sun is already low in the sky.

Theo’s beside you. Rolling your suitcase like a pure gentleman. He’s good. Kind. Gets along with your parents. Laughs at your sister’s jokes.

And still, your heart flutters when you hear his voice.

Charles.

Laughing louder than necessary. As if he wants you to hear it.

You follow the sound. Trying not to think about the last time you saw him. A few months ago in Monaco. A hotel room you both swore you wouldn’t end up in. Both seeing other people. Both pretending it didn’t count.

And it wasn’t even the first time.

Since last summer, it’s happened a few times too many. Whenever him and Alex called it off. On and off. On and off. You slipped between the cracks. A quiet fuck in your apartment. A drunken make out at a birthday party. You pressed against the shower tiles. Bent over his kitchen counter.

Always followed by soft smiles and easy goodbyes. A promise to act normal.

Best friends first.

And the moment you step further into the terrace, you see him.

Charles standing against the bar, shirt unbuttoned. Tanned. Holding a drink with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how hot he looks.

And worse…Alex is next to him.

Beautiful of course. Sundress swaying. Hand on his chest like it belongs there.

He notices you before you can even speak. Smile faltering for a fraction of a second. Just enough for you to really feel it. And then it’s back.

And he lifts his glass in a salute. “You’re late.”

Alex smiles. “We thought you weren’t coming til’ tomorrow!”

You smile back. She was always so nice. “Surprise!”

Theo steps forward. Hand extended with that charm that always made it hard to hate him. “Hey…Charles, right?”

And Charles doesn’t hesitate. Shakes his hand. But its the same one he uses with driver’s he never liked. “Yeah. We’ve met.”

And it hits you like a knife to the ribs.

You remember that night clear as day. Theo was still new. Only a few dates in. And you invited him to a party.

Charles showed up late. And barely looked at Theo. Offered him a lazy smile before finding you later into the night. Pulling you into his car thirty minutes later and fucking you in the back seat.

And Theo’s smiling. “Nice to see you again.”

Charles smiles. But his eyes stay on you. Never leave your face.

Alex swings her arm into his. “So glad you made it. Saved you the good room too.”

You smile at her. “That’s sweet of you.”

Charles lifts a brow. “Didn’t know you needed a good room to enjoy yourself here.”

And you hum. “Guess I’ve gotten a little pickier.”

He takes a sip of his drink. “Since when?”

And you shrug your shoulders. “Since I started dating someone who doesn’t forget my birthday.”

And it hits him like a bullet. You see the way his jaw shifts. Swallow.

Theo’s hand slips onto your lower back. Whispering softly into your ear. Nothing specific. Just something that makes you smile.

And Charles swear’s he might just vomit.

The ocean is calm. Waves hitting the rocks. A few birds chirping. Air cool before the sun is fully up.

You slip out of bed, letting Theo sleep. Making your way down the stony path that you walked hundreds of times. Towel slung over your shoulder. Hair twisted up in a clip.

And you’re halfway across the sand when you see him.

Already waist deep in the water. Back facing you.

You freeze. Debating if you should turn around.

But it’s too late. He see’s you. And his face shifts into something. Longing? Guilt? You’re not sure.

“You’re always here early,” He calls out.

You drop your towel, walking into the water without glancing at him. “Not always.”

He watches you. You can feel the burn of his eyes on your skin. “You do when you’re avoiding me.”

You glance up. The water cool against your skin. “Who said I’m avoiding you?”

He shrugs. “History.”

You reach him in the water. You both stand there, not touching. Not moving.

Eventually…he speaks.

“He’s staying the entire time?”

You raise a brow. “Are you asking as my best friend or something else?”

He doesn’t answer.

You move a little closer. “You said he wouldn’t last.”

“I was wrong.” His voice is low. “Clearly.”

He swallows. Looks away from you. “Does he know?”

And your stomach twists. “Know what?”

He doesn’t say anything. Lets the silence tell you.

You feel your throat tightening. “He know’s we’re close.”

“Close.” He repeats. Half snort, half laugh.

“Best friends.”

He turns to fully face you now. Jaw clenched.

“Right. Just best friends.”

You don’t respond. Because what else are you supposed to say? That you still feel his fingers dig into your skin. That no matter how many nights pass, you still wonder what this could’ve been if you both spoke up all those years ago.

He steps closer. Too close now.

“Y’still taste like that shitty rosé we used to drink.”

And you blink. Trying not to smile. “You’re not funny.”

“Not trying to be.”

His fingers brush against your shoulder.

“You have a girlfriend.”

And his eyes look sad. He breathes loudly. “And you have him.”

The villa is loud tonight. Music is blasting. Too many drinks are being poured. Bowls of snacks turning stale.

All of you are packed into the living room. Sunburn. Sprawled into chairs or the floor. Hoodies thrown on.

Your families are here. Everyone laughing and shouting. Bickering. Like its still 15 years ago.

Theo sits behind you on the rug, legs wrapped around you. Hand resting on your hip. And he’s been sweet all evening. He fits.

Yet every time you crack a joke. Or win a game. It’s Charles who looks at you first. Like he’s your person.

His leg bounces restlessly.

“Alright,” Arthur announces. “We’re playing that game again. The one with the acting.” He holds up a deck of cards.

“Y’mean charades?” Alex asks. Soft.

“No.” Charles says. “The one I always win.”

And it’s you rolling your eyes now. “Y’mean the one you always cheat during?”

He leans forward. “I win.”

Theo laughs behind you.

Your sister tries to act out like Snow White. Falling over and laughing when Arthur misreads a motion. Theo keeps guessing too many times. And Alex’s impressions are almost too good.

And later…when the game’s over. You find yourself in the kitchen, stacking freshly cleaned glass and bowls onto the drying towel.

Humming to yourself.

And Charles leans against the doorway, arms crossed. Watching you with a lazy grin.

“You two are cute,” He says.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t be weird.”

“M’not.” He shrugs. Pushing off the archway and stepping closer. “It’s just…uh.” He scratches the back of his neck. “You let him touch you a lot.”

You pause with a glass in your hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

And he smiles. Tight. Not genuine. “Nothing.”

“You’re being weird.”

He raises his hands. Says something mocking of Theo.

And it has you gasp lightly. “You’re such an asshole.” You try not to smile.

He steps even closer.

“Yeah.” He whispers. “But I’m still your favorite.”

And then he’s stepping beside you, taking the glass from your hand and dries it.

Finishes washing the dishes with you in silence.

“You’re staring again.”

“Yeah. Looks like you’re having fun.”

“Jealous?”

“Of him? Never.”

Silence.

“But of you? Maybe.”

The bar is tucked into the cliffs. A grand view of the sea. Well lit by bulbs on strings.

Everyone’s dressed for the night. Sun-kissed. Hair soft and flows. Laughter echoing.

You’re on your second drink. Lightly buzzed. Your dress clinging to you just right. And you feel good. Happy.

Theo’s spinning you around. His hands warm on your waist as you move slowly in the corner of the makeshift dance floor. He’s not much of a dancer. But he’s trying. And in the end…that’s all that really matters.

He leans in close. “Y’look so beautiful.”

You smile. “Yeah?”

“I mean…y’always do.” He grins. “But-“

You don’t let him finish. Kiss him. Easy. Soft.

And when you pull back, you catch him in the corner of your eye.

Charles. At the bar.

Sitting with Arthur and Alex. Drink in front of him. Head tilted.

And he’s watching you. Not listening to either of them.

And when you’re eyes meet, he lifts his drink.

A challenge.

And later when you slip away from the loud music. He’s there. Leaning casually against the table. Shirt undone just enough to make your throat dry.

“You’re having fun.” He says. A statement. Not a question.

“Isn’t that the point?”

He nods. “Theo’s a big fan of spinning you around like you’re some prize.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s called dancing.”

“More like claiming.” He huffs under his breath.

And you look at him.

Hard.

Trying to read him.

“What’s your problem?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Eyes dropping to the floor. Then to his half empty drink.

“You kissed him.” He still isn’t looking at you.

You squint your eyes a little. “Yeah. I did.”

He swallows. Harsh. “Cool.”

You laugh. Dry. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m the ridiculous one?” He finally looks at you. “You’re out here making heart eyes at a guy you know won’t last more than another year.”

Your mouth falls open. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t need to know him. I know you.”

And he steps forward. Voice dropping.

“And I know that’s the same dress you wore the night I…”

“Charles.”

You both go quiet.

Alex’s frame flickers by. Laughter erupts. People keep dancing.

“Whatever. You’re right. Have fun with your fling.”

You narrow your eyes. “Jealous?”

He smiles. Sad. “Of him? Never.”

A moment of silence. And his gaze drops to your mouth. Stays there.

“But you? Maybe.”

The trip is winding down. Bags are beginning to be packed. Towels still damp. Nights slower. Everyone pretending that they’re not ready to be home.

The sky’s dark. Everyone’s inside finishing up packing. Winding down.

You slipped out.

Without thinking, ended up here. The lemon tree.

The same as always.

You hear footsteps. Uneven. Dragging.

And you turn. Charles.

He’s drunk. Swearing under his breath as he loses his footing. A bottle dangling from his hand. Shirtless. Barefoot.

His eyes meet yours and there’s something bitter in them. “Of course you’re here.”

You breathe. “You’re drunk.”

“A lil’ bit,” His words slur. “Celebrating your last night as someone else’s girl.”

You cross your arms. “We’re not doing this.”

But he’s already walking closer.

“Y’know….s’kinda funny.”

You don’t speak.

“How he holds your hand like its somethin’ delicate. Like you’re some untouchable thing.” He takes another step closer. Voice shaking.

“I’ve had you on your knees on the kitchen floor.” He says, bitter.

Your heart pounds. “Stop.”

“In the pool too,” He slurs. “Begged me to not pull out. Said you wanted to feel it. Feel me.”

He doesn’t even let you speak. Just rambles on. Slurring. Drunk. Angry.

“Had you in every room in that house,” He grunts. “Fingers shoved in you while our parents set the dinner table. Bent you over the bathroom sink. Panties still halfway up your thighs because you were too desperate to wait.”

“Charles…”

“The pantry…remember that one?” His voice drops lower. “You were so wet it dripped onto the floor. Had to stuff my fingers in your mouth so no one would hear you cryin while you came.”

“Don’t do this.”

“I fucking have to.” He snaps. “Because I can’t fucking sleep this entire trip knowing he gets to touch you.”

You swallow. “I’m not some prize.”

“No. You’re worse.” He spits. Stepping close enough that his chest is close enough and you have to crane your neck to look at him. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and you handed it to someone else like I never fucking existed.”

“Stop it.”

“He doesn’t know what its like to hear you lose control. How you cry when you come. Shaking and begging.”

And your breathing hard now.

He leans in. Bending down to be eye to eye.

“He gets to hold you in public.” His eyes are glaring. “And I got your thighs shaking around my face while you said my name like a fuckin’ prayer.”

You don’t speak. Can’t.

Silence for a few moments.

And then…

“Tell me.” He slurs, small grin tugged on the corner of his lips. “Tell me which of us you think about when you touch yourself.”

You slap him.

Hard.

And his face whips to the side. He breathes heavily. Like he’s trying not to cry. Or scream. Or grab your face and kiss you.

He swallows.

“He gets you in the daylight.”

You don’t speak.

“He gets the sunlight.”

And you whisper back. Soft. Heart breaking. “You only met me in the dark.”

You walk away barefoot. Tears forming in your eyes.

And Charles?

He stays at the lemon tree until sunrise. Alone.

You don’t talk for three months.

Which is considered a lifetime for you and Charles.

And then on a random weekday at nearly three in the morning, he sends a photo of the lemon tree in the winter.

No message beneath it.

You don’t answer.

Not for a day. Not even for three.

But then, on a random day the following week, you send a photo back.

A shot of your bedroom wall. A blurry photo of your hand holding a book in the corner.

Can’t sleep.

And the three dots appear before you can overthink it.

Me either.

And that’s how it begins.

You don’t FaceTime each other. At least, not at first.

You fall back into a rhythm neither of you thought would come back. Almost normal. The funny kind of banter you guys always had.

Charles broke up with Alex. You broke it off with Theo.

Neither of you really said why.

Age 25

“Don’t sit in my chair.”

“This isn’t your chair?”

“I licked it.”

“You haven’t changed.”

“You haven’t either.”

The sun is long gone. You’re curled up in one of the cushioned chairs on the front patio. A half finished glass of wine on the stone table beside you.

The front door swings open.

“Don’t sit in my chair”

He doesn’t even hesitate. Charles drops into the cushion next to you. Barefoot. Hoodie swallowing him.

“This isn’t your chair?”

“I licked it.”

He makes a funny face. “You haven’t changed.”

And you smile. “You haven’t either.”

And its easy. The way he stretches out, folding his arms behind his head. Like nothing ever happened.

You sip your wine.

His knee bumps into yours. Gaze on you.

“Thought it’d feel weird.”

“It did…for like,” You pause. Whisper. “For like a day.”

He holds your gaze. Doesnt look away. Smiles.

You break the tension first. “Maman said you still haven’t unpacked.”

He shrugs. “I’ll get there.”

“It’s been almost a whole week. That’s psychotic.”

“You’re just mad I haven’t asked to borrow your good smelling shampoo yet.”

“You are so not borrowing that.”

“I already did.”

You elbow him in the side. Laughing. Body shaking. He laughs with you. Head falling back.

He clears his throat. “I missed this.”

And you bump your knee back into his. “Rematch tomorrow?”

“Candy Land?”

“Don’t cheat.”

“I didn’t cheat.”

You narrow your eyes, smiling so hard. “You’re the worst.”

Monaco, Age 26

Your back hits the wall of his apartment.

Urgent. Focused.

Like he’s waited for forever to get you alone again. And doesn’t want to waste a single second of it.

His mouth is hot on yours. Hands at your hips. Your thighs. Slipped under your dress. And you’re clinging onto him like he’s a lifeline.

You can still taste the champagne on his skin. Skin warm from the race. But his mouth is desperate against you.

He groans against your lips. “Thought about this almost every night.”

You gasp when his fingers curl around your thigh. “Stop thinking.”

And he’s about to take you right there. Dress bunched at your waist. Pants halfway down. But then you press your hand to his chest.

He stills. Panting. Flushed.

“I need to say something first,” You breathe.

He waits. Hands still gripping you.

And you look up at him. The man who just won Monaco. The boy you’ve known who’s been chasing that dream since you can remember. The one you loved. Hated. Missed.

“Your dad would be so proud of you.” You whisper.

And you feel his chest rise. Jaw clench. Fingers curl harder into your skin.

“I’m serious.” Your voice is soft. “Not just because you won. But because of how you’ve carried him with you.”

And his eyes are glassy.

He swallows hard. “I heard him.” His voice soft. “Right after I saw that checkered flag.”

You bring your hand to his check, pressing your palm. And he leans into you.

And then he’s kissing you again. But its different.

Still hungry. But more grateful. More claiming.

He whispers I love you into your mouth. Again and again.

He whispers it when you tug his shirt over his head. When you lift your hips to pull your panties off.

Whispers it into your skin when he touches your bare skin. Like he’s seeing it all for the first time again.

And when he sinks in, he groans. Leaning over you, gripping you like you might just slip through his fingers.

“Y’feel like fuckin heaven.” He mutters against your lips. “You are heaven.”

And then he starts moving. Not fast.

Slow. Deep.

“Squeezing me like you missed it,” He huffs. “Did you, hm? Did you miss me?”

“Yes…” You pant. “Fuck…yes.”

He kisses your throat. Hot open mouthed kisses at the corner of your jaw. Hips rolling into you. Each thrust making you cry out.

“I love you.”

He thrusts.

“I love you.”

Another.

“Not just tonight. Not just now. Always.” He cries out.

And you clench around him. Yelling out as your orgasm builds too fast.

“C’mon that’s it..” He breathes. “Come for me. Let me feel it, yeah? Let me have it…please baby.”

“I love you,” You gasp. “I love you…I love you..”

And then you’re coming. Body shaking, mouth falling slack as he fucks you through it.

Following seconds later, spilling into you.

He collapses over you. “Fuck. You’re it for me.”

You hold him close.

“You still take it with milk?” He asks, voice soft.

You nod.

He hands you a mug. His fingers brushing against yours.

You sit on the couch together. Close.

“I keep thinking about the lemon tree,” You say. Cradling the mug in your hands.

He looks at you. “Yeah?”

You nod. “How many summers we sat there pretending everything was normal.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “We were idiots.”

You smile. “Still are.”

“I’ve loved you since we were kids.” He says quietly. “Since you made me sleep outside by the lemon tree because you said it wasn’t fair that only the birds got to live outside.”

You laugh, heart clenching.

“I’ve loved every version of you.” He continues. “The snot version. The barefoot version. The one who laughs too loud after a few drinks. The one who tried to date other people. The one who…the one who kissed other people in front of me because I waited too fucking long.”

You pause. Placing the mug down on the side table.

“I was scared that loving you would ruin everything.”

He pushes you hair behind your ear.

“I love you too.” You whisper. “You idiot.”

He laughs.

Leans in.

Kisses you.

Age 28

“This is where I almost lost you.”

“And now it’s where you’re asking to keep me?”

“No. Not asking.”

“Oh.”

Its late.

You’ve changed into one of Charles’s old shirts. Barefoot. As usual.

He finds you standing at the edge of the yard.

Where the broken stone path curves. Where the grass bends. Where the lemon tree leans.

You hear him before you see him. His footsteps always so loud.

Neither of you speak. He wraps his arms over your shoulders from behind. Your back to his chest as he nudges his head into the space between your shoulder and neck.

You hold his arms. Swaying to the light breeze. Staring at the lemon tree together.

“This is where I almost lost you.” He says.

And you glance at your side to him.

“And now it’s where you’re gonna ask to keep me?” You say, laughing. Teasing. Soft.

He smiles. Small. Shaky.

“No.” He says. Unwrapping his arms from you. “Not asking.”

And then you’re turning towards him.

And he drops to one knee.

Just like that.

Just him in the grass. Kneeling by the lemon tree. Choosing it to be the place where he does the most important thing he’ll ever do.

Your breath catches. And his hands tremble as he pulls a ring from his pocket.

“I wanted to do this right.” He says. “I want to choose you the way I should’ve all those years ago. Not just when it’s easy..or when we’re alone. But in front of every version of us we used to be.”

Your throat burns.

“I want every summer.” He whispers. Eyes glued to you. “Every winter. Every fight. Every make up. I want to kiss you goodnight when we’re tired. Want to raise mini versions of us.”

You laugh. You cry. And you’re nodding before he even finishes.

“I want you forever.”

And then finally, “Will you marry me?”

You fall to your knees right there in the grass. In front of the lemon tree. And kiss him hard enough that you both fall into it. Laughing. Like little kids again.

“Yes.” You whisper against his lips. “Always. In every lifetime…yes.”

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plaidos · 3 days ago

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i’m unimpressed by the rhetorical slight of hand here — “the terfs” are not unanimously mad at her. “the terfs” are not a uniform group who agree on everything, which is why you get more moderate trans exclusionsary radical feminists (such as Bechdel). you can certainly find criticisms against her from other terfs for not being transphobic enough, but you can also very easily (i would say much more easily) find many more celebrating & championing her.

you need look no further than the comments section of her blog, where you will incredibly frequently find people talking about “male socialisation”. As recently as 2017, Bechdel was praising a terf in her obituary and personally chose to include quotes about how she thought “male socialised” people shouldn’t be at michfest. her 2021 book has a two page spread dedicated to the majesty and magnificence of Michfest. this is very much still something she is looking back upon fondly — that doesn’t sound to me like she’s taking her distance. Besides, for her entire career she has been recommending people read the likes of Mary Daly & Adrienne Rich, practically the mothers of the terf movement. This isn’t somebody who was led astray by complicated politics, this is somebody who time and time again chose to align herself with people whose main politics were “the worst thing we could possibly do is accept that trans women are women”.

Besides — i don’t think Bechdel “didn’t think about it”. i know she thought about it, because trans people she knew personally asked her not to attend and she did anyway. Every year she would have to pass through dozens upon dozens of trans people protesting outside. She was attending the year they handed out leaflets telling people to keep their eyes peeled for transsexual interlopers, and kept attending for years after that.

for anybody still playing along at home, here’s a game to close out this post with: what would you describe the repeated attendance & financial support of a Radical Feminist event that, by policy, excluded trans women on the basis of being trans, other than “trans exclusionary radical feminism”? What type of person champions the works of Mary Daly & Adrienne Rich other than a trans-exclusionary radical feminist. what kind of trans inclusive feminist would even be comfortable recommending a single word of these authors without massive obvious overstated caveats?

and why the fuck is the burden of proof for transmisogyny so high? if somebody spent the first twenty years of their career recommending David Icke, i’d like to think that they couldn’t quietly keep recommending him into the 2020s without people thinking they’re a fucking nazi. in fact, even if they quietly stopped recommending David Icke, perhaps some kind of apology or even just a denouncement of him would be in order? I don’t understand why trans women are considered an acceptable collateral damage for fucking Terf Garfield.

“If Alison Bechdel is a terf, that makes my ‘over 35 non-binary queer dyke friends’ who went to michfest terfs too I guess 😂” yes. Literally yes. That’s the whole point: terfism is a lot more commonplace & normalised than people think, even within TME trans people.

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mydearzero · 2 days ago

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The Babysitter | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader

Summary: You didn’t have any superpowers, nor were you even qualified for the position, yet somehow a mishap between Alexei and Yelena ends up in getting you a new job. Bob-sitter.

Contents: No Y/N, fem!reader, college student!reader, mentions of food and eating in this chapter.

Read it on AO3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3 - Sweet Tooth

2.3K words

You didn’t really know what to expect of your new job. From what you understood from your conversation with Yelena, it was mostly intended for you to stick around Bob when they went on missions. But then came the unexpected attacks, or last-minute meetings. Alexei had concluded it’d be easiest if you just spent most of your time at the Watchtower. Your classes were mostly online, so it didn’t make too much of a difference in your life. It was good for you, too, to socialize with someone other than your laptop.

The first week was somewhat awkward. You’d tried a little too hard to keep Bob engaged, but soon realized he much preferred a silent companion. Not that he didn’t enjoy conversation, or your presence, but more that he craved actual genuine interest and not the artifice you were trying to engage him with. The happy inbetween ended up being him reading in the windowsill while you did your coursework.

The rest of the team was busier in their day to day life than you’d expected. John spent most of his time in his own home, trying to rekindle his relationship with his wife and child. He still came to the Watchtower every other day, joining the team for dinner and meetings. So many meetings. What they were about, you had no clue. You’d expected the life of a superhero to be a bit more eventful than the many, many meetings they attended.

Ava’d explained it was mainly because of their past as mercenaries and current connection to Val that they had to have a lot of meetings about the legality of things. Every step they took had to be approved until they could be trusted enough to make their own decisions.

Speaking of trusting someone enough to make their own decisions.

“Can we go to the store later?” It’d been about an hour or 2 since Bob last spoke. His voice startled you out of your focus. He quickly apologized for scaring you.

“Hey, hey, no worries. I was just really focussed. What do you want to go to the store for? And not that I don’t wanna come, but can’t you go alone?” You wondered.

“I mean, I can, I think. I’m pretty sure Yelena would prefer it if I stayed inside at all times wrapped up in bubble wrap. I don’t really need anything, I’ve just read about every book to be found in this place. Need some new material,” Bob chuckled.

“How about this, I’m almost done with this assignment. Let’s go to a bookstore and we can go get some lunch after, yeah?”

Bob beamed at the suggestion, clearly done with being cooped up inside at all times. He put the book he finished back on the shelf and walked into the hallway, presumably to go get his things. You typed a few more words into your document before saving it and closing your laptop.

You grabbed your bag off the floor and took out only a few essentials. No need to bring the entire thing if you were just going for lunch.

Bob was taking a little longer than expected, so you went to check in on him. You went to knock, but the door to his room was open. Just as you were about to ask if he was ready to go, he tugged the loose shirt he was wearing over his head to change it for another.

Holy shit. Bob is ripped.

You felt heat rush to your face as you quickly backed away from the door. Sure, Bob was cute, you weren’t blind. He had the whole soft broken boy thing going on. You never would’ve guessed he was built like a brick house under all those baggy sweaters. Sweet lord.

“Hey, you ready?” Speak of the devil. Incredibly toned devil. Very good looking devil.

“YEAH, I’m– Let’s go,” you walked towards the elevator before you could embarrass yourself any further. If your flushed complexion was even noticeable, Bob didn’t mention it. You had the instinct to fan your face, but resisted. You also resisted looking at Bob’s abdomen, now covered by yet another baggy shirt.

How hadn’t you noticed? His arms were quite toned, as well. He didn’t wear short sleeves very often in the week you’d known him. God, you had to get past this, mentally, or your job was suddenly going to be a lot harder. Like his hard abs. STOP THAT.

Wait, can Bob read minds? He better not. Bob? Bob? BOB? BOB!? BOB!! Alright, safe… For now.

“You alright?” Bob asked when you’d reached the bottom floor. He was waiting for you to get out of the elevator. You quickly got out and followed him past the reconstruction of the entryway. Bob had looked up a few bookstores in the area. You let him lead the way, even when you’d probably been in New York longer than he had.

You reached the first bookstore, a dusty secondhand one, after about 10 minutes of walking in silence. It wasn’t awkward, even if you’d expected it to be. Bob liked the silence, even when it was also one of his biggest enemies in life. The city made it so it was never actually quiet, though.

A small bell rang as you entered the store. Bob held the door for you, like a true gentleman.

“Anything specific you’re looking for?” You whispered as Bob bent his neck to read the spines. You browsed a little for yourself, as well, letting him take his time.

“Not particularly, no. Just anything that piques my interest. I like fiction, though,” he mumbled the last part as he took a book off the shelf.

“I thought you might be a fiction guy,” you smiled. In a different timeline where life hadn’t severely fucked him over, he was probably a big nerd. He was really smart, smarter than he let on.

“Really? What gives it away?” Bob chuckled, thumbing a few spines, looking for a specific title by the same author.

“Hmm, your general vibes, maybe? You just seem like the kind of guy who wants to escape reality every now and then.” You picked a book off the shelf you’d been meaning to read. College took up most of your time, you didn’t even remember the last time you’d actually sat down to read a book.

“That’s true, I guess. I like exploring new worlds, especially when worldbuilding is good,” Bob let you know. He’d put a few of the books he grabbed back, but held onto one you assumed he intended on buying.

He was slowly opening up, something you were glad for. He was a lot more confident in himself when he was more comfortable, you noticed.

Bob finished browsing and went to the register, taking your book out of your hands to pay for both. It was then he realized he had brought no means to pay besides a few stray dollars in the pockets of his pants.

You chuckled and playfully rolled your eyes. You paid for the books and the clerk put them in a bag, handing them to you. You gave the bag to Bob. “If I’m gonna be paying, the least you can do is carry them. They’re mostly yours, anyway.”

“I’ll pay you back. You’re not supposed to be spending money. If anything you’re supposed to be making it right now.” Bob promised.

You told him there was no need. It wasn’t an expensive store, and the pay you received for pretty much just being his friend more than covered the costs.

“Coffee?” You asked after you’d hit another bookstore. Bob agreed. Neither of you’d found anything at the last store. The books were mainly about business and finance, not the most interesting.

You were about to pull up your phone to search for a café when Bob spotted the cutest little one just across the street, ‘Little Paris.’

Bob held the door for you once again. He would have to stop being all chivalrous if you wanted any chance of escaping today emotionally unscathed.

You were led to a small booth in the back and got your menus. Bob seemingly had a hard time choosing between the many pastry and lunch options. In the end he settled for a stack of crėpes with chocolate sauce and an espresso.

“They balance each other out,” he tried to convince you, to no avail.

“If I’d known you had such a sweet tooth I’d have been trying to win you over with all the candy over the last week,” you laughed.

The waitress came and took your orders, taking back the menus and leaving you with Bob once again.

“You wouldn’t need candy to win me over, you’re sweet enough,” Bob said. Your eyebrows raised as far as they would go,

“Robert Reynolds, was that a pickup line?” Your jaw hung open in mock offense.

“Wh- No, that’s not what I meant! I meant you’ve been very nice, ‘s all…”

“Damn, here I thought you were hitting on me. Might’ve made this a lunch date.”

Bob flushed visibly, and you knew to take the teasing down a notch. Whether he was blushing because he had accidentally hit on you or because of the implication you’d go on a date with him, you weren’t sure.

Your drinks arrived just in time to break the awkward tension. You made Bob do a haul of the books he’d bought while you waited for your food to be served. They were mainly fantasy books, but there were a few self-help ones.

“To be honest, I don’t really think you can get the kind of help I need from books, but it might be a good start to at least read up on it, I suppose,” Bob explained.

“Somehow I don’t think those books cover superpowers,” you chimed in. Bob chuckled and agreed.

Your food arrived, and you’d never seen a grown man so delighted to see a plate of sweet gooeyness.

“Y’know–” Bob spoke in between bites. “Ever since I got these powers I’ve been crazy hungry. Bucky says it’s because your body burns so much more so your metabolism goes up, but sometimes I feel like an empty pit.”

You pointed to the corner of his mouth, where a little chocolate sauce had escaped. He quickly wiped it with a napkin before continuing his ravaging.

“It makes sense. Muscles… Assuming you have… Those… Uh, require energy, so…,” you chimed in, not really giving it much more thought. Mentally, you smacked your head against the wall. Physically, you just took another sip of your drink.

“I mean, I’m not sure I’d be sitting here if I had zero muscles at all, so… You’re probably right,” Bob took a big gulp of the espresso, wincing at the bitter aftertaste.

“You should eat until you feel full, though. We have plenty of time,” you smiled. You were nowhere near as far with your plate as Bob was with his, which was pretty much gone.

“Hmm, we’ll still be here by midnight, then. I’m sure they’d wanna close before that. I’m not a monster, these people deserve to go home at some point,” the statement was followed by his last bite.

“At some point, yes, but in the meantime, feel free to order more food.”

“Oh, I will. I don’t even remember what you’re having, but it looks really good,” Bob stared at your plate as he sipped his coffee. “You want some?” You offered, raising your fork with a bite on it.

“I mean, I– I’ll order my own,” Bob smiled awkwardly.

“You can still have a taste, if you want,” you dangled the fork in front of his face tauntingly.

Bob caught your wrist and snatched the fork out of your hand, putting the bite in his mouth. Your jaw dropped in shock, not expecting him to do that. His grip on your wrist had been stronger than he’d likely intended for it to be, but it had stung a little. It might bruise, but you didn’t care. Not if he was having a good time.

“Oh yeah, I’m definitely ordering this,” Bob nodded as he swallowed the bite. The waitress came over at the exact right moment, allowing him to order another plate.

You ordered another drink, even when yours hadn’t been entirely empty yet, just so Bob wouldn’t feel weird about ordering more.

When Bob was finally satiated you called the waitress for the bill. Bob blanched, once again remembering he was relying on you for money right now. “At least let me get the tip,” he offered, putting whatever bills were left in his pocket on the table. You let him.

When you finally made your way back to the tower it was later than you’d scheduled. You got up to the penthouse and saw Yelena and Ava sitting on the couch, watching some shitty reality show.

Bob put his new books on the shelves and handed you the one you’d picked out for yourself. You thanked him and put it in your bag, taking the opportunity to gather your stuff.

“I have to go, but I’ll be back tomorrow?” It was a question directed at both Yelena and Bob. You never knew what their schedule was like. Yelena nodded as she munched on some chips. “I’ll be here until like 2, so if you can come by before that, that’d be great!”

Before you got on the elevator your name rang from Bob’s lips. You turned back to look at him as you waited for the doors to open. “Thank you, for today I mean.” It was accompanied by a warm smile.

You returned the same warm smile. “Anytime.”

TAGLIST: @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @hopes-peak-akademy @rattheraddestrat @i-shall-abide @puer-aurea @kennywantskfc69 @spectacled-studies @hiddlebatchedloki @chimchoom @spidermiraculous-blog @s00ty-feet @28cnn @tinythebunni @softpia @roeroeroeyourboet @secretkittydreamland @cultish-corner

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orellazalonia · 16 hours ago

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I’ll Still Love You

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, you lose all memory of your relationship with Bucky. Even though it pains him to the core with grief, he stays by your side and quietly swears he’ll always love you no matter what happens. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Word Count: 2.8k+

A/N: This has ANGST!!! I hope you cry /j. I love this version more than the other to be honest, maybe you all will like it too! You are responsible for the media you consume. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Your Version

There were things Bucky didn’t think he’d ever have again.

Peace. Sleep. A future. And you.

You came into his life like silence after gunfire. Still and steady, almost unnoticeable at first. You didn’t push or prod. You didn’t flinch at the name Winter Soldier or look at his arm like it was a loaded weapon. You just existed in that calm, present, and kind way.

Many times you would ask how his day was, not his past. You told him what you dreamt about instead of asking what woke him screaming. You made him feel like a person, not a project nor a burden. And that was enough to terrify him.

But he kept coming back.

The first time he held your hand, it was hesitant. He was half-expecting you to pull away, but you didn’t. The first time he kissed you, it was desperate. Like he was drowning in memories and you were the only air left. And you kissed him back like you already knew how many pieces he was in, and didn’t mind picking them up one at a time.

He didn’t say I love you for a long time, not until it slipped out during a fight that he couldn’t remember why it happened to begin with. The words had always felt too big, too fragile. But he knew it the night you fell asleep on his chest, your breathing slow and your fingers resting over the surface of his metal arm. Like you cherished even the parts of him that brought so much destruction. He watched you sleep for hours, just holding you, trying to remember what it felt like to want to stay alive.

Sixteen months with you, and he still couldn’t believe it was real.

The little apartment above the bookstore wasn’t much, but it was yours. The heater barely worked. The neighbors were loud. But there were books in every corner, and a photo of you both pinned to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a cat. You called it “home.” And for once in his life, Bucky did too.

Every morning, he woke up with you tangled in the blankets beside him. Your head tucked beneath his chin, one arm slung over his waist. You always woke up first, but you never moved until he stirred. You said you liked to watch him even though he never knew why.

He always figured you saw something in him he couldn’t. And maybe that was what scared him most. That somehow, one day, you'd wake up and see him for what he really was. Not a man. Not a boyfriend. Just a weapon with blood on his hands.

But that day hadn’t come. Not yet.

When the mission briefing came through, it was supposed to be simple and low risk. An abandoned Hydra lab flagged for cleanup. Just intel recovery and demolition. No fights, no enemies. He didn’t want you going in. Something about the location sat wrong in his chest. But you insisted. Said you’d handled worse.

And maybe that was the problem. You always handled everything for him. For others. Even when you shouldn’t have had to.

He watched as you went down another hall to split up and cover more ground. He wished he had never left your side. Because then came the moment of static on the comms, then the flicker of power loss, and lastly the sudden radio silence.

He ran. It took six minutes to find you.

You were in a containment room, collapsed near a machine that looked like something between a scanner and a torture device. Your body was curled on the ground, breathing shallow, hands twitching.

He dropped to his knees beside you. “Hey. Hey… C’mon, Doll, open your eyes.”

You blinked and looked up at him. You stared at him like he was a stranger. When you spoke up, your voice was hoarse. “Who are you?”

The question didn’t register at first. He thought maybe it was the shock. Or a concussion. Maybe you were disoriented. But then you pushed yourself away from him and crawled back, visibly panicked. Your eyes were wide and your throat was working hard to swallow a scream.

“Please… don’t touch me.”

And just like that, the air left his lungs. He tried to stay calm. He tried saying your name, gently. Over and over. You flinched every time like it was a threat. Like he was. It was the look in your eyes that gutted him the most. Not fear of what had happened. Not confusion. But the absence of everything.

Everything you’d shared. The way you looked at him every morning. The jokes you made in the kitchen. The way you once whispered you’d never been safer than in his arms. It was all gone.

You didn’t know who he was. You didn’t know you loved him. And in that moment, he’d never felt more like the ghost they said he was.

You didn’t come home right away.

When he managed to coax you back to the tower, the Medics cleared you, of course. Physically, you were fine. Not a scratch on you. But the memory loss was real. The device had done something. Wiped neural pathways, scrambled connections, stripped entire years like peeling wallpaper.

You remembered your name. Your training. How to handle a weapon. How to take apart a gun and stitch a wound. But not him. Not the man who held you every night like you were the only thing tethering him to this century. Not Bucky.

At first, you stayed in a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility while they ran scans and tests. Bucky barely left your side. He hovered in corners, not too close, watching you try to relearn yourself in pieces. You were calm, quiet, and even polite.

You just didn’t know him.

He heard it in your voice every time you said his name: Barnes, not Bucky. Cold and distant like a fellow agent rather than the man who once made you laugh so hard you cried over a burnt grilled cheese sandwich in the middle of a power outage.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” You told him once, hands folded in your lap, and voice so gentle it cut him clean. “But… I don’t feel anything when I look at you. I’m sorry.”

He nodded and didn’t say anything more. What could he say?

He didn’t cry in front of you. But later, in the hallway, he braced his metal hand against the wall and exhaled like it hurt just to breathe. They had given you the option not to work for S.H.I.E.L.D anymore, to never see him again. To transfer and reset your life wherever you wanted.

But you didn’t. You looked at him and said, “Maybe… if I spend time with you, it might come back.”

So you came home.

You sat in the apartment like it was a museum. You traced the spines of your own books with unfamiliar fingertips. You opened drawers and stared at the little things like the shared grocery lists, photos of the two of you at Coney Island, a half-finished mug you’d made in a pottery class Bucky had hated but gone to anyway, just because you asked.

None of it sparked anything. But you wanted to remember and that mattered.

He made dinner the first night. Pasta, simple. You smiled faintly and said it tasted good. But you had always used to make fun of him for using too much garlic. He waited for you to say it, but you didn’t.

Later, you sat on opposite sides of the couch while a movie played in the background. You asked questions about yourself: what kind of music you liked, what books you used to read, or if you ever learned to play the old keyboard tucked beside the bookshelf.

Bucky answered every one like he was handling glass.

“You hated horror movies,” He said softly. “Used to bury your face in my shoulder even during the trailers. But you’d watch them anyway, just to laugh at me jumping.”

You tilted your head. “You get scared at horror movies?”

He cracked a faint smile. “Terrified.”

You laughed, really laughed, and for a second, just one fragile moment, it felt like you. He clung to that.

He didn’t touch you. Didn’t kiss you. Didn’t call you doll or lean against you the way he used to. You weren’t his anymore. Not yet. Maybe not ever again. But every time you laughed or asked about a memory, he let himself hope.

Hope that somewhere, buried deep inside your mind, you were still his.

When he wasn’t spending time around you, he could tell how the rest of the team practically tiptoes around him now.

Some aren’t subtle. Natasha gives him long looks across briefing tables, equal parts pity and protectiveness. She doesn’t speak unless spoken to and whenever she does, her voice is softer than usual. Controlled.

Sam tries, bless him. He cracks a joke or two, light and quick, as if humor could stitch something this deep. He claps Bucky on the shoulder once in the gym and says, “You’re still in there. She’ll find you.” But he doesn’t say anything back, simply giving a tight nod before walking off.

Tony doesn’t gloat much anymore. He doesn’t joke either. He just sends a file to Bucky’s secure inbox about neural-recovery tech, theories, names of people who’ve studied memory wipe reversal. No subject line. No message. But Bucky understands it for what it is: support in Stark language.

Even Clint says it plain. “You’re not giving up.” And Bucky says it back. “I’m not.”

But none of them really know how to be there for him.

Because they saw the way you used to look at him, like he wasn’t a weapon or a man with blood on his hands, but simply yours. And now… you don’t even flinch when you stand near him, because you don’t remember what there is to be afraid of or to love.

So they give him space. But not Steve.

It’s late when Steve knocks. He doesn’t bother answering, but Steve comes in anyway. He finds Bucky in the kitchen, t-shirt and sweatpants, staring at a chipped mug on the counter like it just insulted him.

Steve doesn’t say anything at first, just leans back against the counter, crossing his arms and waiting.

Bucky exhales, but doesn’t look up. “She used to use that one,” He murmurs. “Every morning. Even when the handle cracked.”

His best friend glances at the mug to see the tiny sunflowers on it, slightly faded from too many washes. He remembers seeing it in the sink a hundred times. He remembers seeing you curled against Bucky on the couch, sipping from it with both hands while Bucky tucked a blanket around you like you were something breakable.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Bucky says. His voice is low, shaky even now. “She’s here. She’s here, Stevie. But it’s like watching her ghost walk around our apartment.”

Steve swallows as his chest aches, but he doesn’t show it.

“She’s not gone, Buck.”

“She doesn’t remember me.”

“But she’s trying.”

That lands hard. Bucky finally looks up, eyes bloodshot but dry.

Steve pushes off the counter and takes a slow step forward. “You’re angry. You’re grieving her, even though she’s right in front of you. That’s hell. But Bucky…” He sighs. “You know what it’s like to lose everything and still survive. You’ve done it before.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches. “It’s not the same.”

“No. It’s not. Because this time, she’s trying to come back to you. You just have to be patient.”

Bucky looks down at the mug again. He breathes slowly, his tone more vulnerable now. “What if she never remembers? What if she falls in love with someone else, and I’m just some… ghost in a photo?”

Steve’s expression cracks for a moment but his voice remains gentle. “Then you’ll still love her. You’ll still be there, however she needs. Because that’s what you do when someone’s your home.”

Silence fills the air before Bucky finally nods. It’s a slow, pained motion done only once.

Steve steps closer to his friend and grips his shoulder, firm and steady. “You’re not alone in this. You never were.”

And with that, Bucky stays. He stays by your side at a comfortable distance, offering a steady presence and patient answers to any questions you have.

Even though it hurts him to see you this way, makes him sick to his stomach with grief and anguish at the loss of your love; Bucky never let it show around you, not even once.

Because if there was one thing he remembered and understood better than anyone, it was what it meant to lose pieces of yourself. He couldn’t be angry with you for forgetting, not when he’d spent decades trying to remember who he used to be.

So he doesn’t beg. Doesn’t plead. He doesn’t guilt you into trying harder either. He just stays.

Sometimes, you asked him questions.

“Did I… love you?”

He never lied. Never told you stories to manipulate your heart into remembering. He just answered, gently and honestly.

“Yeah,” He’d say. “You did. And I loved you too.”

And when you looked down or away or offered a polite smile instead of a knowing one, he’d excuse himself for a few minutes to the hallway where he could breathe through the ache in his chest. But Bucky wasn’t a man who gave up. Not on you. Not now.

Because the truth was, he’d wait as long as it took. Even if you never remembered. Even if he had to fall in love with you all over again from scratch and let you fall for him at your own pace, in your own way.

On some days, something sparked enough to give him hope.

One morning, it started small. Not with a kiss. Not with some dramatic tearful moment or sudden flood of recognition. Just… a hum.

You’re making tea, quiet and slow, the way you always did. The kettle hisses and clicks, and you’re standing in Bucky’s- your kitchen, waiting.

And you hum. A stupid little melody. Out of tune and familiar.

Bucky freezes in the doorway, his breath caught like a hook in his throat.

Because you always used to hum that song. A dumb old jazz piece he played on vinyl one night just to tease you, and you rolled your eyes and said it sounded like elevator music. Then you got it stuck in your head for weeks to the point where he’d find you humming it while brushing your teeth or waiting for the microwave. Once he heard it while you were patching up a bullet graze.

And now you’re doing it again, without realizing. He doesn’t say anything. He’s afraid if he moves too fast, the moment will vanish like mist.

You pour the tea then turn enough to notice him, tilting your head slightly in concern. “You okay?”

He swallows. “Yeah. Just… you always used to hum that.”

You blink. “Did I?”

He nods and you don’t say anything else. But you look thoughtful. Like maybe, for a flicker of a second, something stirred inside.

Later, it happens again.

You’re sitting on the couch. He’s a few feet away. Respectful as always. You yawn, curl your legs up under you, and reach for the blanket on the back of the couch. Without thinking, you toss one corner toward him.

He stares. Because you always used to share it like that. The dumb little blanket-sharing ritual, a habit you never talked about. Just muscle memory. A routine born of hundreds of nights side-by-side.

And now… now your body remembers what your mind doesn’t.

You notice the way he’s looking at the blanket. “Is this something I used to do?”

He nods again, slower this time. “Yeah.”

“…Do you want it?”

“No,” He says quickly, quietly. “I’m good.”

You study him a moment longer, then gently drape it across both your laps anyway. You don’t say anything. Neither does he. But he doesn’t move for a long time.

That night, when you go to bed, Bucky stays on the couch like he always does now. It’s separate and distant, yet safe. But his heart is full of knives. Because every second you’re here, every time you smile or laugh or hum that dumb melody, he remembers how it used to feel. The ease and the intimacy. The way you’d tuck your face into his chest and call him “Buck” in that soft, sleepy voice like you’d never say it for anyone else.

And he wonders if he’ll ever have that again. But even if he doesn’t, even if you never remember, and even if you move on someday and love someone else…

He knows one thing like gospel truth:

He will still love you. Always. Even if it breaks him.

Because it was never a choice. Not with you. You were the first thing that made him believe he could have a future. And he’ll keep loving you even if all you ever give him now are flickers of hope.

And now, even with your memory scattered like ash in the wind, you’re still the most beautiful thing he’s ever lost.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #marvel fic #marvel x reader #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #angst fic #angst

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acrux-rising · 11 hours ago

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sick and tired (but never of you)

ʚ♡ɞ synopsis how the aot men take care of you when you're sick ʚ♡ɞ wc 663 ʚ♡ɞ feat. e. jaeger, l. ackerman a. arlert, j. kirstein, r. braun, p. galliard

ʚ♡ɞ eren jaeger エレン・イェーガー

tries so hard to take care of you, he really does. but one thing’s for sure - he can’t cook for shit and has absolutely no idea how to take care of another human being (since he rarely gets sick himself)

googles your symptoms, inadvertently stressing you out

“you coughed, like, three times in a row… i think you might have pneumonia”

makes sure you hydrate well, and is literally at your beck and call the whole time, tending to your every need to make sure you get well as soon as possible

he hates seeing you in pain, after all

ʚ♡ɞ levi ackerman リヴァイ・アッカーマン

honestly? the best possible caretaker you could ask for

first thing he does is put on a mask and disinfect every surface you might have come into contact with. (if he owned a hazmat suit, he would wear it.)

makes you herbal teas or warm broth and gives you your meds regularly on the dot like a strict nurse

he’s not one to express his love for you verbally, but you’ll wake up to your favourite book on the nightstand, or your favourite meal on the dining table as you stumble out of your bedroom in a daze, still wrapped in your warm blanket

"better not complain about how you can't taste anything. would you rather have hypertension?"

ʚ♡ɞ jean kirstein ジャン・キルシュタイン

complains a lot in the beginning (“i told you it was going to be cold out, and you still insisted you didn’t need a jacket! when are you going to learn?”) of course he says this while tucking you in and tenderly brushing your hair out of your face

actually enjoys taking care of you and spoils you rotten - hot, comforting meals, massages, and your favourite movies that he normally refuses to watch, but he’ll make an exception this time

tries to be cool about it but his heart melts when you smile up at him and say thank you in that hoarse but still sweet voice of yours (what a big softie…)

"it's insane how pretty you look even when you're sick"

ʚ♡ɞ armin arlert アルミン・アルレルト

is an absolute administrative machine. he wakes up at the crack of dawn to switch off all your morning alarms, and calls in sick on your behalf.

when you wake up (around noon), he’s sitting by your bedside reading a book, whispering a gentle “good morning” to you

not the best at cooking, but he makes you soup and frankly, the love he put into it is more than enough to make you feel better instantly

takes your temperature when you’re asleep, making sure not to wake you

“right now, you need rest. don’t worry, love, i’ve got everything covered.”

ʚ♡ɞ reiner braun ライナー・ブラウン

this man runs hot all the time, so you know his cuddles are the absolute best. you wake up to a pair of strong arms around you, enveloping you in a comforting warmth

carries you everywhere without question (putting his muscles to good use)

moves all his work to your room, not letting you out of his sight for even a second - that’s how precious you are to him

gives death stares to the neighbours’ kids when they make too much noise playing in the yard

“you’ll get sick too if you stay here like this!” “don’ care… jus’ wanna be here with you”

ʚ♡ɞ porco galliard ポルコ・ガリアード

panics when you cough too hard, though he tries to hide it. he sits at the foot of your bed scrolling on his phone while glancing at you every 30 seconds

grumbles about you getting germs on him but dutifully stays by your side the whole time anyway

calls pieck for some much-needed advice (like eren, he does not know how to take care of a whole other person)

if you say thank you or show appreciation in any way or form, he gets all flustered immediately

“yeah, yeah, just don’t die or whatever.”

-> to aot masterlist -> to main masterlist

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pineconepie · 21 hours ago

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CHARACTERS: Octavian, Reader/You

WARNINGS/TAGS: Mostly fluff, brief descriptions of animal cruelty and death (from a movie), blanket forts, modern AU, parental yandere, slight infantilization, cuddling, gender neutral reader

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a commission! To the commissioner, I hope this is satisfactory! <3

"All of these screens are an eyesore," Octavian says, though doesn't resist as you drag him down the technology aisle. His cloak sweeps against his legs with his movements. You both get a lot of weird looks, to which Octavian glares them all down and pulls you close, as if they're giving weird looks at you and not his strange attire.

You smile at him. "Have you ever really seen a TV? Or a phone, for that matter? Anything?"

"Telegraphs are as far as I go, and those things were insufferable," Octavian huffs. "Though I have seen others on their phones many times when in town like now. I just never felt very curious about them."

"Here!" You point out the TVs on display, ranging in different sizes and shapes. Some of them have curved edges while others are so thin they can be mistaken for picture frames. They all play the same scene from some random drama show and none of them seem to hold Octavian's attention. You reach up and tap his nose, "You see how many colors they are? That's much better than a telegraph."

He laughs a little at that. "Sweetheart, anything is better than a telegraph. If this is what you want, I'll get the entire stock." He reaches into his cloak and pulls out an old-fashioned looking billfold.

"We only need one, Papa."

At the check-out, he pays, to which you awkwardly look away from the cashier.

"Sick costume," he says. "Did you guys come from the convention down the street?"

"Sure did," you answer upon seeing Octavian's confused expression. The cashier begins talking to another customer, prompting you to turn to Octavian while he fills out some things. "Are you excited to have some kind of entertainment other than books and gardening?"

"And cooking," he adds, not looking up from struggling with the electronic device. "I have you, though, and that's all the entertainment I need. You keep me on my toes every hour of the day." He finishes his indecipherable signature, making you snort. He sends you a playful glare. "Why on earth is everything digital nowadays? I can't even write my signature on a piece of paper now!"

You roll your eyes fondly.

...

Octavian tries hard to follow the directions you read to him. His eyebrows pinch together in concentration and there's a line between his brows from him wrinkling his nose. He wears reading glasses, which slip down his nose throughout the endeavor. He constantly pushes them back up.

Every time you try to help him, he refuses. "I've got it, Just let Papa handle this."

You're pretty sure he doesn't have it, but you don't dare argue. Instead, you just continue sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the living room floor while reading the directions.

Finally, after a grueling hour and thirty minutes, Octavian triumphantly stands back and looks at the TV propped against the wall. You grab the remote beside you, scooting up on your knees, and press the power button.

The screen comes on, much to your relief. Octavian lets out a big sigh as if he'd been holding his breath during the entire set-up process.

"So... what now?" Octavian asks.

"Now, we build our cozy little blanket fort in front of the TV and watch movies." You grin widely at him and put down the remote. You pick up the two bags filled with blankets, pillows, stuffed animals, and everything you bought for movie night. Well, Octavian was the one to do the buying, but you picked out everything.

"Let me do that, silly," he chuckles and grabs them from you. You stand back up, ready to protest, but he wags a finger at you before turning away to start setting up.

You think about helping, but then remember how stubborn he gets whenever you try to make things easier for him.

Once everything is set up, Octavian turns around with open arms. "Well? How is it? Does this pass inspection, Your Highness?" There's a mock bow to finish off.

Instead of answering him right away, you duck down and crawl into the little fort made of soft sheets and blankets. Inside, it's very spacious— much bigger than any blanket forts you ever made as a kid. In here, the cushions are soft and inviting and warm.

"It passed," you tell him as you wiggle around, searching for the perfect spot. Octavian makes his way in and lays himself across from you.

"How do we work this thing?" he asks, picking up the remote.

"Oh, right." You crawl out of the fort to grab the bag, showing him the movies that were on sale. "They were buy three get one free. For your first movie ever, I'd like you to do the honors of choosing."

He squints at each one like it's a foreign language. All of them are animated children's movies from the past thirty years or so. You're afraid anything more than a lighthearted kids cartoon would be too much for him, rather than yourself.

"The Fox and the Hound, The Princess and the Frog, Ponyo, and The Land Before Time," he reads aloud. He looks mildly concerned. "These are all age-appropriate, right?"

"I think your mind can handle these all, so yes."

"I meant for you, dear." He picks The Fox and the Hound movie case. "When I was younger, still a human, I had a bloodhound that looks like the dog here." You can't resist smiling at how cliche that sounds. Octavian puts the case down. "Ah, before we start, should I make some snacks?"

"Snacks!" you repeat happily and start getting up, but he pushes you back down gently.

"I'll make them, sweetling," he says. "Just stay here and wait, okay? Don't start the movie without me!" There's a playful spark in his eyes before he starts toward the kitchen.

"I won't, I won't," you laugh.

Barely five minutes later, he comes back with a bowl full of popcorn and two glasses balanced on the same tray. He's careful when he gives them to you.

As he pops open the DVD player and slides the disk inside, you notice him struggle with getting everything just right. You know he doesn't want you helping him, so instead you just lean back and pop pieces of popcorn into your mouth.

There's a few minutes of shuffling around and fiddling with the buttons, then the screen brightens and music begins playing. Octavian hurries back to the fort, careful not to step on any of the pillows and blankets. Finally, he settles in beside you, wraps an arm around your shoulder, and pulls you close to his chest.

The usual trailers started to play.

At a trailer for the Beauty and The Beast sequel, Octavian points. "Oh, that one looks lovely. I would love to see that when it comes out."

You shake your head fondly. "It's been out for probably two decades at least." Once again, his amazed expression is amusing.

The beginning scene starts, and Octavian is already clutching you closer. "The mother fox is going to be killed!"

"Papa, it's not real, don't worry," you reassure.

Octavian's expressions change rapidly, already emotionally invested from the first few seconds. He lifts you into his lap to cradle you like a baby when the mother fox hides her baby away to save him from the dog chasing her. His clutch tightens when the gunshots go off, insinuating her death. His wide-eyed stare of horror almost makes you feel bad.

"Are all movies like this?" he asks in horror.

"No," you answer. "But older movies like these were a bit more violent than most of today's movies meant for kids." You pat his chest lightly in reassurance.

"It has a happy ending at least, right?"

"Uh..." you trail off. "No spoilers."

Though he continues clutching you during moments of tension in the movie, his reactions make it worth the discomfort. You find yourself focusing more on him than the actual story. During every sad or remotely violent scene, Octavian covers your eyes with his palm.

His reactions end up feeling more like the movie rather than the one being played by the TV. Octavian does not have a good poker face at all, even if he were trying to subdue his reactions to each scene.

Despite it being a little intense, there are a lot of sweet scenes too, to which Octavian relaxes and stares at the television, absentmindedly petting your hair and kissing your forehead. His affectionate gestures are also distracting, but it feels nice to just be held like this after such a long day.

"Who's your favorite so far?" you ask.

He thinks about it briefly. "The owl, but I also do love Tod. I'll cry if anything happens to him. I definitely do not like that hunter." It makes you smile seeing how strongly he feels for the characters.

For the entire hour and a half, Octavian's reactions range from sorrow to shock to laughter to anger to amusement.

After the final scene plays and the credits begin, he stares at the TV. "That's... it? I thought they'd be friends again and live off somewhere happier!"

"It's a bittersweet ending."

He dramatically sighs, resting his cheek on top of your head. "That was the saddest thing ever. You broke my heart, (Y/n). Are you proud of yourself? You broke your poor father's heart." Despite this, he doesn't seem truly upset, just acting as if he were heartbroken.

"Well, this is your first-ever movie! If you didn't end up sobbing your heart out, then it wouldn't count as a successful movie experience." You snuggle closer against him. "Did you like it?"

"I loved it, believe it or not. Can we watch another one?" He hugs you even closer. "Something happier this time, for heaven's sake."

"Ponyo it is!"

#octavian oc #parental yandere #platonic yandere #commission #tw animal death #just in case lol #gender neutral reader #x gn reader

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ryker-writes · 24 hours ago

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Greetings, my friend –

You've been trying to get me into twst for a while, and I might be encouraged to play if you write something featuring the characters you think I'd like (give me emos & traumatised men). The scenario can be whatever you want pookie

Love the writing, keep it up ♡

p.s. if I like this I'll write you hcs for the npcs you like in our dnd campaign 🥰

Trips over myself with how fast I go to answer

Emo's and traumatized men...well, just about every housewarden is full of trauma. But emos/edgy men are more do-able! So, you get Malleus, Lilia, Leona, and Idia. You also get Jaxon as a bonus because you know him, he's emo, and traumatized! Please get the game, I'm begging you

Remember when I told all of you to say hi to my friend that's stalking my blog? Yeah, this is them

A very academic and studious s/o

Malleus:

Now, Malleus is a very smart guy himself, but he's never had to put as much effort in school as you are

He's seen many students put themselves deep into their studies (especially those failing), but you do it even when you're doing well in classes, almost like it's fun?

He's very perplexed by you, but he does understand and respect your ambition for your studies

Study dates! Study dates!

Well, it's more like you studying while he admires you and watches you with that fond loving smile

He doesn't need to study, he's one of the top mages for a reason, but he'll happily listen to you telling him all about what you're reading about and offer any insights he may have

Though he'll tell you all about gargoyles if you want!

Regardless if you're human, fae, beastman, merfolk, Malleus treats you a little like a fragile creature that forgets your own needs, so he's going to be reminding you of breaks and to drink water because he hates to see you not taking care of yourself

You will never have tp pay for your books or any school supplies every again because he's buying you brand new everything without even blinking

He admires your dedication, but part of him also wants your attention on him instead of the books so you might find him closer than usual on days when he wants your attention

It starts with sitting closer, and then becomes him trying to bring you snacks and water earlier than normal, to him trying to convince you to take longer breaks, and if you still don't give him as much attention, he's not against teleporting your schoolwork away for the evening

He looks like a sad puppy when you reject him attention for your studies

Malleus most happy just spending time around you, so hold his hand while you study or ask him what he thinks of the topics while in the peaceful quiet of one of your dorm rooms, and he'll be happy

Lilia:

Similarly to Malleus, he doesn't need to study that much

I mean technically he doesn't even need to be at Night Raven College and he's only there to support Malleus anyway, so studying isn't really his thing

but he'll happily help! And maybe distract you from time to time during it because he wants your attention

if you're studying history, he's got you covered, I mean, he's literally in the history books sooooo

he could actually tell you more about the history than the books will to be honest

his memory on all the things is like easy way to write a paper if you ever need, and he'll happily tell you everything in long stories

he'll bring you snacks and stuff, but it's probably best you don't eat it. If you do, well, you won't be able to study or do any work because you'll be sick in bed

while you're studying, he might poke you or ask you questions to try and get your attention on him, but if you're persistent and keep studying, he might just crawl his way into your space

he'll hang down from the ceiling above you and try to surprise you, crawl on your back, or he'd even worm his way into your lap

there's no way out of holding him. He's too persistent. Just give in

you might hear him mumbling about your dedication things like, "Ah, to be young again" or "the youth of today are fascinating in their determination"

he never elaborates on that either or says anything else when you question him

now, if you're studying too hard and pushing yourself beyond your limits, he's stopping you by literally carrying you away

despite his small size, he's absolutely going to succeed, don't even try to fight because it's futile (he's literally a war general, you're not winning)

he'll drag you far away from your books as he's telling you all about how you need to stay healthy and not push yourself too hard or else you won't be able to do your best work or be energized when you need it most

don't you worry though, he's good at helping you pace yourself (Forcibly moving you away when he's deemed you've done enough studying after a few hours) and you'll never be able to overwork yourself on his watch

Leona:

First of all, how dare you

anytime you're studying, he glares at those books like they've personally burned his home or something

don't get me wrong, he's not against you wanting to do well in school, but he just hates that you spend so much time with the books

you should be spending time with him >:|

he's going to be next to you the entire time too like if you're sitting on the ground or a bed, he's curled around you or laying across your lap

if you're sitting at a desk, he'll be a bit grumpier and try and convince you to move somewhere more comfortable

if you're too stubborn (his words), he'd either sit on the ground next to you and rest his head in your lap, or he'd pick you up and sit in the chair himself and place you in his lap before resting his head on your back and wrapping his arms around you

he's 100% napping while you study so you have the background noise of him snoring

Leona would like to listen to you talk about what you're studying, purely because he likes to fall asleep to your voice

He could help, but he's not a big fan of helping because he thinks you can figure it out on your own, and also he doesn't want to use his mind to figure it out

he knows the answers, but he doesn't do any of the schoolwork himself because it's too much work and effort

its why he's been held back before, like it's too much work for him, but if you can somehow convince him to let you help, he might be willing to give it a shot (if you promise to give him more cuddles or affection in return)

yeah, there's no overworking yourself or pushing yourself too hard while he's literally right there, like there's no way he's letting that happen

he will drag you to the bed and lay on top of you, and then make Ruggie hide your books somewhere until he deems it's okay for you to get back to studying

try as you might, Ruggie isn't telling you where he put them, like Leona has bribed him good for this

please don't test Leona with how far he'll go, he's not against using his unique magic to turn your work to sand

if you ever ignore him for schoolwork, he can get SO annoying and demanding for attention

you know how cats sometimes push their way into your lap and push the things you have away? He does that when he really wants your attention

good luck

Jaxon:

okay, we all know Jaxon loves his goody-two-shoes people, but this also goes for super smart people, like his twst ship is literally a guy that is obsessed with rules and success like come on now

it's basically his type

that being said, he doesn't get it at all! Jaxon himself has never done well in school (though that's partially for other reasons), nor does he have any desire to push himself nearly as hard as you do in order to do well in classes

the only class he can maybe help you with is music or practical magic, but even then he's sometimes struggling

on the bright side, he's not against bribing asking Ruggie to get anything you need to study, and has even asked him to get snacks or drinks sometimes for you

please don't ask him to read anything for you, he still struggles sometimes with his dyslexia and is trying so hard to act like it's not affecting him (especially in front of you)

Jaxon doesn't invade your space while studying like some people, but he does linger in the general area

if you ask he'd place you in his lap while you study or sit with his back against yours or against the side of your chair

usually he's on his phone or making small adjustments to one of his guitars (but if the noise bothers you he'd stop)

if you're lucky and in the privacy of one of your dorm rooms, he'd maybe get some sleep

tired and uncaring as he may seem half the time, he does pay close attention to you while you're studying

his care and attention while you're studying is done silently, with a water bottle or a snack silently being placed next to you

or if you're working too hard or studying for too long, he'll yank the books and papers once you're at an okay stopping point, and take them away

now, I don't know how tall you are, but he's pretty tall and one of the tallest among students, and he's not above holding your work out of your reach

most likely though he'd just hide it or keep it on him and make sure you can't take it from him, and if he's desperate, he'd hide it in his dad's office

he'd rather spend time with Crowley than let you overwork yourself

chances of getting him to study with you are slim, but I wish you luck

Idia:

Studying? You mean you actually study?

okay, Idia is a gamer and chronically online and speaks in internet terms, all his "studying" is done virtually with some game or video playing in the background

it's a great sentiment, wanting to do well in school, but he has daily quests to do in his games too

Idia isn't a guy that gets/is capable of handling a lot of physical affection, so he may break down if you want to hold his hand or have him connected to you while studying

his room is like a distraction goldmine, but unfortunately getting him to leave his room and study somewhere else is an extremely difficult task, so I hope you're good at focusing

you can have study dates, but it might include the background noise of one of his games running and the buzzing of technology

he (lovingly) refers to the great times you spend studying as "the grind" or the "XP farming so you can level up"

though he can help when you need it! He's an introvert and attends classes virtually, but he knows his stuff and can help you with most of the more practical subjects, especially math and science

if you really needed help though, he's already developed a virtual program to help him study with reminders for food and drinks and tools to help you review!

speaking of reminders for food and drinks, yeah, if he's not using that program then there's no way he's going to remember to even feed himself, much less you too

Ortho is probably gonna have to come in and remind both of you to take care of yourselves every hour or so, but don't worry, he's used to it with Idia

this also applies with reminders of when to stop/sleep, because Idia stays up late anyway

but! if he's absorbed in his game, he might stop every little bit and check in and be like "Shouldn't you be asleep?? Do you know what time it is?? Your energy bar has to be running low"

while he admires your dedication (though he doesn't fully understand it), he struggles to enforce his care unlike the others

he can't force you to do anything, but he's sure gonna try and pester you for a while if you don't take care of yourself

Idia sucks at taking care of himself, but he's not gonna let that happen to you

if worst comes to worst, he'll lock your work away in a safe with the highest technological security until you rest

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francesderwent · 2 days ago

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well, I am having too much fun to stop now. so—

these aren’t my favorites. they may not have changed me in any deep or lasting way. they might not even be good. but boy howdy do I think about them to this day

rules:

if it, or something from its series, was on the last list, it’s not also on this list (i.e. I think about The Thief all the time but The Thief fundamentally changed me as a person and so The Thief is not on this list)

if I read it for the first time in the last five-ish years it’s not on this list (i.e. Lockwood & Co, A Deadly Education, and The Penderwicks are not on this list)

I started at chapter books; picture books are not included (but rest assured I am always thinking about Strega Nona)

generally speaking one book is chosen to be representative of the whole series—I may think about that one the most, or that might just be the title I most remember

#cate reads #I did read a lot of possibly indefensible trash as a child lol #but you know what? I believe in a certain amount of trash as part of a healthy diet #if you’re curious which of these I consider trash and which I would wholeheartedly recommend you may certainly ask lol #in fact if you have questions or thoughts about ANY of these books you should ask!!! talk to meeeeeeeeee #*tortall and discworld are the exceptions to many above rules because there are simply SO many of them #keladry and sam vimes changed me as a person. alanna and tiffany are just rotating under the blorbo spotlight

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tarotbyjam24 · 11 hours ago

Text

Pick a pile : Your future spouse\lover's spicy thoughts of you [LGBTQ+ friendly]

pile 1 pile 2 pile 3 pile 4

masterlist\pick a piles feedbacks

Hello, beautiful souls! If you've enjoyed my readings, consider supporting me on Kofior booking a personalized session – it truly makes a difference. Don't forget to check out offer free readings and I'm always excited about exchanges and collabs!

Your likes, reblogs, and feedback are so appreciated 🩷.

Please remember, these are general readings, so trust your intuition and take what resonates.

pile एक

read by @tarotbyjam24

Close your eyes and feel my touch slow, deliberate, and maddening. I'll leave you on the edge, desperate for the release I'm not ready to give.

My mouth will always Be better than your hand.

guide your hands slowly down my waist and look me in the eyes and kiss me then i promise i will be quiet

guide my hands where you want them.

L.m.e.y.p.u.y.c.i.m.m

Respectfully I wanna makeout with you tillI can't breath

I want your hands everywhere they're not supposed to be.

You're in my head way too much I might as well give u some

I fucking need you every second of the day and its pissing me off.

I want your body against mine

I am like a rollercoaster. The faster I go, the louder you scream.

The way you react to my touch makes me want to push you even further, just to see how far you'll let me take you.

I'll let my hands wander, finding every place that makes you gasp.But I'll make you wait, drawing out the pleasure until you can't take it anymore."

Feel my touch ignite your skin, slow and deliberate. I'll tease you until you're trembling, then pull back just to watch you unravel.

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pile दो

read by @delulutarot

Your hands feel like they were made to map every inch of me.

I'll start with gentle strokes, then press deeper where it makes you gasp. But I won't give you what you want until you're trembling beneath me.

Your smile melts me every time. It's the sweetest thing I've ever seen.

I fucking need you every second of the day

I'll start with gentle caresses, then press deeper where it makes you gasp. But I'll keep you waiting, teasing until you're desperate for more.

I love how your eyes lock on me, but what's really driving me crazy is the way you try to resist touching me.

You're craving my touch more than you let on, and trust me, when I finally give you what you've been dreaming of, it'll be a whole new kind of addiction.

You're my first thought in the morning and my last at night, I love you.

I wanna feel ur hand on every inch of my body.

I wishyou were touching me Inappropriately right now

physical touch is my love language so don't be scared to grab my neck and start kissing me, I kinda need it

I'LL TEASE YOU UNTIL YOU PIN ME DOWN AND FUCK ME HARD

kiss me in front of anyone you think wants me.

I wanna tease you until you get so sensitive your moans become whimpers

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pile तीन

read by @delulutarot

you mean the whole entire world to me .

If you move you're mine .

Bite my lips and call me princess .

The more I see you, the harder it is to keep my hands to myself.

Your voice brings me so much comfort

wanna cuddle and watch funny movies all night long till we fall asleep in each others arms?

Watch him\her gasp .

Leave a trail of hickeys up and down so everyone knows, wherever they look, I'm yours.

16 billion eyes but yours is my favourite.

Tonight, my hands will worship your body, but I'll make you wait. I'll tease you until you're begging for the release I'm not ready to give.

My hands will start at your neck, working their way down, leaving you trembling. But I'll stop just short of where you need me most.

Tease me until I can't take it anymore!

I can't stop imagining the way you'd feel pressed against me, your breath hot on my neck as you whisper all the things you'd do to me.

You think you know what I want, but trust me, when I'm in control, you'll be begging me to take you to the edge.

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pile चार

read by @tarotbyjam24

i love talking to you so much, our silly jokes, all our conversations mean so much to me, i love that i can be myself with you, i really love spending time with you. i care, appreciate and love you so so much

horny for you .

Fuck. I wanna see you, hug you, kiss you, make you smile, make you laugh, and just lay in bed next to you.

The way you look at me should come with a warning label .

I like you more than I planned . Your lips look kinda lonely Maybe they wanna meet mine?

My biggest wish right now is us cuddling and me falling asleep in your arms

I'm like a drum. The harder you hit, the louder I resonate

I want you because of who you are, not just because you want me too

Take my hand, lead me to the bed, and show me the depths of your desire.

You're my first thought in the morning and my last at night, I love you.

You have no clue how bad I want to kiss you

I want to forget my name while I'm busy moaning yours.

you have beautiful eyes.

There's something magical about the way you make me feel-like i can be myself and still be loved unconditionally, with every flaw and every imperfection.

Cover my neck in hickeys

The softness of your touch is all I need to feel at home, no matter where we are.

I see the way your eyes follow me, how much you want to touch me, and let me tell you-when you finally do, it'll be nothing like you've ever imagined .

Can I fall asleep in your things ?

You can't stop thinking about me, can you? That's because I've got you hooked, and you don't even know how deep I'm willing to take you.

I'm starting to believe that you've made some sort of secret deal with the universe, because there's no way someone can be as charming and good-looking as you without some kind of cosmic help.

You've the cutest smile ever.

ngl..ur in my head way too much I might as well give u some

Tonight, I'm in charge. My fingers will trace your curves, teasing and tempting until you're arching toward me, desperate for what comes next.

You think I'm irresistible now?Wait until I let you explore every part of me -you won't be able to stop.

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Thank you from the bottom of my heart for allowing me to be a part of your journey. Wishing you peace and joy!

With love, Jam"

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ageingfangirl2 · 2 days ago

Text

Ran's Little Waitress (Tokyo Revengers - Bonten)

RAN HAITANI X FEMALE READER

CHAPTER SIX: TIME OFF

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SEVEN

The first day off, you didn’t move much. The swelling was still bad, and the bruises were tender to the touch. Even the weight of the ice pack made you wince. You stayed in your favourite oversized hoodie, the one with the stretched-out sleeves you liked to tuck your hands into, and thick socks that barely matched.

You curled up in your blanket cocoon on the couch, the glow from your TV casting a soft hue across the room as you rewatched your favourite anime for comfort. The intro song played three times before you realised you hadn’t even touched the mug of tea you’d made.

By the second day, you forced yourself to move a little more. Your knees still stung with every step, but you shuffled into the kitchen anyway. Baking always helped. The smell of vanilla and warm cinnamon filled the apartment while you carefully kneaded dough with bandaged fingers. Something was healing about doing something so normal.

Rindou had texted you once to ask what kind of cookies you liked baking. Then followed up with a ‘no reason’ and a random meme about criminals loving sweets. You hadn’t asked questions, not even how he got your number.

Books and manga lined your small bookshelf, most well-worn and loved, and you found yourself picking up one you hadn’t touched in a while—a crime thriller that oddly mirrored your current feelings of unease. It didn’t scare you, though. It made you feel in control. Like you could anticipate threats now. Outwit them.

When night fell, you didn’t dare go out. Not even to take the trash down the hall. The thought of footsteps behind you in the dark hallway made your stomach twist. So instead, you stay in with a warm mug of cocoa and your knitting needles, the rhythmic click-clack of them working through rows keeping you grounded.

You keep your phone close. Not for calls from the club—but in case he texted again.

Ran had messaged her once, briefly and bluntly, ‘You need anything?’

You didn’t answer right away, unsure if it was out of obligation or something else.

When you finally replied hours later with, ‘I'm okay. Thanks for checking in,’ he didn’t respond. But somehow, you felt like he read it right away.

Two days later, there was a knock at the door just as you pulled a fresh batch of cookies from the oven. The scent of brown sugar and chocolate chips lingered in the air as you wiped your hands on a dish towel and limped slightly toward the door.

You peek through the peephole. Ran.

Opening the door, you were hit by the sight of him standing there in casual clothes—dark jacket, no tie for once—with a white plastic bag dangling from his hand.

He held it out lazily, ‘Rindou made me bring you this.’

You take it, peeking inside to see the unmistakable tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Your favourite.

Your brow lifted, ‘Where is Rindou, anyway?’

‘Club business.’ It came too quickly. Too clean.

You squint at him, suspicious, but a smirk tugged at your lips, ‘Uh huh. You always deliver your brother’s snacks for him?’

Ran didn’t answer, just gave a one-shouldered shrug and looked past you, ‘You gonna make me stand in the hallway?’

‘I just pulled some cookies out of the oven,’ you offer, ‘want tea with them?’

That earned you the faintest smile, barely-there but real, ‘yeah. Sure.’

They sit at your small kitchen table, a mismatched set of mugs between them, yours with little cat faces, his a plain black one she grabbed without thinking.

He took a sip of tea, watching you as you talked—hands animated, voice soft, but brighter than it had been days before.

You pull your knees up onto the chair, showing that the bandages were smaller now, the swelling mostly gone. Your face, too, was significantly less bruised, just a light yellow-green under the eye now, mostly hidden beneath concealer.

‘I’ve been resting,’ you say, ‘staying in like you told me. But I think I’m ready to go back. I can handle it.’

Ran looked at her for a long moment, unreadable, ‘you sure?’

‘I am. I’m not gonna let some asshole scare me out of a job I worked hard to get,’ you hesitate, ‘I’ll be more careful this time. But I need this. I want this.’

He nodded slowly, ‘Alright. We’ll ease you back in. Not on a packed night. I’ll see what I can do, but no promises, because I want you healthy before you come back.’

You smile, relief softening your features, ‘Thanks for considering.’

There was a brief pause before you leaned forward a little, tapping a finger on the table near the cookie plate, ‘also… Mikey,’ your tone turned shy, ‘I wanted to thank him. Properly. Do you know if he likes anything sweet? I was thinking I could bake him something. Cookies, maybe? Cupcakes?’

Ran’s brow raised slightly at your genuine concern, ‘You want to bake Mikey something?’

You nod eagerly, ‘he saved me. I don’t think I’d be okay if he didn’t show up. It’s the least I can do.’

Ran’s lips twitched again at your sincerity, ‘he’s not really a sweets guy…but he’s got a soft spot for taiyaki.’

You hum, ‘taiyaki?’

‘Red bean filling. Sometimes custard. Don’t ask how I know.’

You grin, ‘Got it. Taiyaki it is.’

He took another bite of your cookie, chewing slowly, ‘You really bake just for fun?’

‘Yeah,’ you say, a little sheepish, ‘It’s comforting. Gives me something I can control.’

Ran stared at you, quiet for a second too long, ‘You’re tougher than you look,’ he murmured.

You smile softly, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, ‘you’re not so scary when you’re holding a mug of tea and eating cookies.’

Ran snorted, ‘Don’t let the guys hear that.’

Bonten Headquarters - Late Afternoon

Ran walked into the lounge area of Bonten HQ with a plain white pastry box in one hand and a look of mild irritation on his face. Not at the contents—just at the fact that he’d agreed to this.

Rindou was sprawled on the couch, watching something on his phone. Sanzu sat nearby, flipping through a stack of cash like he was counting it just for fun. Koko glanced up from his laptop, and Takeomi was nursing a whiskey at the bar.

Mikey sat in his usual seat—quiet, statue-still, eyes half-lidded but very much aware of everything happening around him.

Ran set the box down on the table in front of him.

‘She made these. For you,’ he said simply.

Mikey blinked, ‘She?’

‘The waitress. From the club. The one you dragged home the other night.’

‘She baked for me?’ Mikey’s voice was faint, almost confused.

‘She wanted to say thank you,’ Ran flopped into a chair and crossed his legs, clearly not up for more questions. ‘I said you liked taiyaki.’

Koko arched a brow, ‘Is Ran delivering sweets now? What next, little pink aprons?’

Rindou perked up, ‘Wait, wait—she baked taiyaki? Like, from scratch?’

Sanzu grinned, ‘Guess she really is trying to impress the boss.’

‘She’s not trying to impress me,’ Ran drawled, ‘she just wanted to bake for the guy who cracked someone’s skull for her.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Sanzu smirked, ‘open the damn box, I’m curious now.’

Mikey opened it slowly, and the scent that hit the room was immediate: sweet red bean, a hint of vanilla and custard, and that perfect golden crust smell. Warm. Soft. Homemade.

He picked one up with his fingers, taking a bite with no hesitation.

The room went silent.

Then, Mikey paused mid-chew, eyes narrowing in thought, ‘These are good,’ he mumbled through the bite.

‘No,’ Sanzu corrected, reaching for another one, ‘these are dangerously good. I might propose to her.’

‘You’ll scare her off,’ Ran muttered.

Koko tried a bite and nodded thoughtfully, ‘She could open her own bakery.’

Takeomi hummed in approval, already going for seconds, ‘we should put her on payroll just to bake.’

Mikey, still munching, looked up at Ran with his usual emotionless stare, ‘She really made these for me?’

Ran nodded once, ‘said you saved her. This was her way of saying thanks.’

There was a pause. Mikey stared down at the taiyaki in his hand like it held the answers to the universe.

‘She can bake again,’ he said, ‘whenever she wants.’

Ran smirked, just a little, ‘I’ll let her know.’

59 notes · View notes

sunnwila · 2 days ago

Text

dimples

high school best friend! sam winchester x f! hunter! reader

⋆༺♱༻⋆

summary: sam winchester transferred to your high school in your junior year. he lasted all of five months there but in that time, you grew close enough for sleepovers. you reunite on the hunt years later... closer to his brother than he likes honestly. it's shocking that you can hunt for all of two minutes before he sees you take down a vamp.

warnings: some very mild angst, some fluff. jealous sammy and dimpled sammy. nerdy sammy. LOTS of back story i got carried away, sorry. some shit head big brother dean too. brief j*hn winchester mentions... idiots in love!

i love sam's dimples, what can i say.

⋆༺♱༻⋆

The first time you met Sam you were freshly seventeen in your junior year of high school. Sam was just a year below you, despite being seventeen himself (he was forced to stay back a year because of moving around so much. This severely irked him).

No one had the nerve to go up to the new kid, he was lanky and had a mean resting face that dared people to mess with him. You didn't have it either honestly, but luckily for you, you didn't need to because Sam had beat you to it.

"Is that Frankenstein?" he asked, pointing to the book in your hand. His locker was a couple across from yours, but the hallway was nearly empty. He shut his with a click before striding over to you with his head tilted in curiosity. You looked down to the book you had taken out, it was the assigned reading for your Honors Lit class, and you gripped it at the realization that he was talking to you.

"Uh. Yes," you stumbled over your words which made him quirk a half smile, his dimple peeking out at you. Suddenly the giant kid with a size too small shirt and shaggy brown hair seemed completely harmless. You smiled back and from that moment on you'd been inseparable.

Dean had teased Sam endlessly about his "girlfriend" when he would pick him up from school and see you lingering by his side on the stairs.

"Girl and friend, Dean. She's my friend who happens to also be a girl," he would correct annoyed as he slid into the passenger seat, inconspicuously looking back out the window at you.

"Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night," he retorted with a chuckle and a glint in his eye.

Sam and you would pour over books, endlessly dissecting plot structure and sharing character analysis. He would geek out about whatever he was learning in history while you carefully listened and drew little cartoons of him while he babbled.

(His face would light up when he saw these drawings of himself, or sometimes it would be a panel of cartoon-him and cartoon-you doing something silly. Every time, he'd insist you sign them before carefully putting it in-between the pages in his book).

He'd purposely annoy you with arguments like who the best classic author was (he said Salinger, you said Steinbeck) and why Dally in the Outsiders was the best Greaser (you were quite fond of Ponyboy).

Sometimes you'd read in silence together, the white noise and the sound of his breathing enveloped you and you'd sometimes (a lot of times) get distracted peeking over your page to study his face and the way his brow furrowed when he concentrated.

Practically attached at the hip, you two would walk down the halls together, laughing about whatever stupid thing you could think of to get a peek at his dimples.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't harboring the teensiest crush on him.

What wasn't to love? His smile was the cutest. He was a full head taller than you, and then some. He loved to read all of the same books you did, and he was ever the gentleman, kind and reassuring. And he was funny! Most of the time you were in stitches when he would crack the rare joke (apart from his little sarcastic comments).

The only problem was that you didn't know a thing about him. All you knew was that he moved around a lot and had a brother. There was never a mention of his mother or father. The one time he had mentioned John was brief, and it was that he was kind of a hard ass because he was a Marine. The subject was quickly dropped in favor of Napolean and Napoleonic code, something he started reading about when he got bored in Pre-Calc the week prior.

You'd never gone to his house, but he would often come to yours, first to study, then to watch movies, then for dinner. Eventually he was spending weekends at your house. Your mother thought the two of you were dating. You had to shush her anytime she thought to bring it up with a sly smile at dinner. Sam wasn't stupid, he knew, but politely continued to eat with a faint blush on his cheeks, pretending he hadn't heard.

It irked you that you two could share so much of your time with each other, but you still knew so little about him. He knew everything there was to know about you. You'd only learned the little things, his favorite color (orange, the burnt siena kind), his favorite book (The Catcher in the Rye), how he liked his eggs in the morning (over medium, not too runny, but enough that he could dip his toast in it), and his favorite band (Alice in Chains). You took what you could get, and you never let it show, but it disappointed you that he didn't trust you to tell you. You were so vulnerable with him, did he think that you wouldn't understand?

One Friday he didn't come to school. You texted him a quick where r u??? before going into your shared chemistry class. You didn't hear from him the whole day and didn't see him again until that Tuesday. Worried sick, you pushed him for answers, especially for the black eye he was sporting. He dodged your questions and gave halfhearted attempts to change the subject until eventually he shut you out. He moved out of town a day later with no explanation. He had sent a goodbye text, but that was the last you heard from him.

For the next few years, you thought about Sam. All you'd had left of him was his Radiohead CD and an arbitrary green t shirt. You'd texted and texted but got no response.

When you'd graduated top of your class, you wished he was there. When you'd had no prom date, you wished he was there. When you were applying to schools you wished he was there.

When your mom got killed by a rugaru in your second semester of your freshman year of college, you'd wished he was there.

And like any hunter worth their salt, you dropped everything and began hunting the thing that killed her.

For a while you were chasing your own tail in circles. You came across other small hunters, but it wasn't until you'd met Bobby that you were finally able to track the thing down. All those years of your mom insisting on kick boxing and Jiu Jitsu classes were starting to make sense.

She'd been a retired hunter and a close friend of Bobby's. He told you that your father had been killed by a shifter a month before you were born, leaving your mother in ruins. Instead of aiming for revenge, she swore it off to keep you safe.

Fat load of good that did you.

Rugaru dead, you found yourself spending a lot of time with Bobby. You didn't go back to school, but you did start carrying your own weight around the scrapyard and helping with the hunter information hub.

That's how you met John Winchester. And evidently Dean.

When you first met them, you couldn't believe it. Were these the infamous Marine father and annoying brother Sam hardly spoke about back then? You couldn't believe it. You obviously hadn't known before that Sam's family were hunters, but things began shifting into place in your mind when you put two and two together.

He'd clam up when the subject of college was brought up, all the weekends he'd spend at your house, avoiding questions from your mother about where his family was and if he'd told them he was staying over. All the ominous talk about not wanting to go into the family business. Your heart swelled at the thought of seeing him again, only to deflate when Bobby had to explain that Sam wasn't in the life anymore. It was then you realized that all the time Sam spent with you, was to escape.

Pieces of you were glad Sam got out. His reluctance to mention his dad then made sense. But what stood out in your mind most often was his fiery blush when you told him that with the way he talked himself out of trouble all the time, he'd make a decent lawyer

Even three years later, you still thought about him. You missed him.

So you got to know the parts of Sam he hadn't shown you before.

Dean took to you almost immediately. He remembered you from that beat-down-town years ago and enjoyed annoying you just as much as his brother once had. When you got on your feet again and started hunting, you'd tagged along with John and Dean, eager to get out. When John got sick of lugging you around, calling you dead weight (not without a sneer and a scoff of disbelief from you) he sent you and Dean to small-fry jobs.

A month or two in, Dean and you found a rhythm. Find the monster of the week, do your homework, scramble to kill the thing, celebrate with a few beers and a night at a dive.

You hardly brought up Sam. It was a touchy subject. From the tidbits you'd gathered on drunk sappy nights with Dean, Sam had left without looking back. He'd run off to college and was determined to leave this life and his brother behind. Dean hadn't spoken to him in years. You weren't sure if you should tell him that it didn't sound like Sam to leave with no contact, but then again, he had done the same thing to you. You'd only been friends for five short months; you had no idea who he could've grown up to be.

John brought him up when he needed to point out how much better Sam was at research then you were, or really anything you did-- Sam was better. The pride in his voice mixed with the disappointed look in his eye encouraged you to keep your mouth shut. Usually, you'd just sit there and fume, you hadn't known the man long enough to spit something back, sufficing with muttered fuck you-s under your breath. You hadn't wanted to upset Dean, you knew how highly he thought of his father and had decided it wasn't worth it.

Fire would rise in your chest when you saw the pained look on Dean's face anytime his dad talked about Sam. In the months you'd gotten to know him, you became fiercely protective (something that made Dean wildly conflicted, he was the big brother/mama bear... having someone else dote on him was foreign, but strangely not unwelcome).

Usually, when John started on a tangent, you just removed yourself and lugged Dean with you. He kept the shouting up as you two stalked off to the Impala, or the Motel, or wherever he wasn't. It was around those times where he would send you two off on your own.

That's how you'd found yourselves in the Impala on the way back from a hunt in Raleigh. It took a week and a half to find a haunted doll hiding in someone's attic, but you'd managed to salt and burn it without much damage. Two years of hunting with Dean put you at a comfortable ease during a hunt and the two of you pretty much knew the ins and outs of each other, both as hunters and as friends.

On the way out of North Carolina, Dean decided to call John, to check in and see how his hunt in California was going. Fourteen missed calls later, Dean was worried. Bobby hadn't heard from him, and John wasn't necessarily a friendly hunter, so none of Bobby's hunter friends had seen or heard anything either.

The car was silent while he figured out what to do in his head. His resolve never faltered, his gaze trained on the road ahead.

"I think I should get Sam," he said.

"What?" The idea of seeing Sam for the first time in over five years almost made your heart stop. But you didn't want to be selfish. it wasn't fair to bring him back because of a silly schoolgirl crush.

"Our dad's missing, Sam deserves to know," he had replied, knuckles tightening on the wheel.

"Dean, are you sure we should even bring him back in?" As much as you missed Sam, you respected him more.

"Our Dad is missing," he said with a tone of finality that shut you up. You'd have plenty of time to argue with him later, it wasn't worth it right now.

"I'll drop you off at Bobby's," he added.

"What?" you repeated, starting the fight you'd planned for later. There was no way you were sitting this out, you'd told him as much, but he wouldn't have anything of it. This was something he felt he didn't need to drag you into. You didn't even like his dad anyways, he had said. Which was true but hearing him say it felt like a slap in the face, as if you weren't allowed to want to help Dean, someone who had become family.

The car ride was silent after your argument. You'd gotten out of the Impala without a word, lingering to see if he might say something. When nothing followed, you stood there like an idiot for another second before a simple "Goodluck" fell from your mouth and you shut the passenger door on him. You'd turned and trudged into the ranch ahead, too stubborn to actually give a proper goodbye.

For days you wanted to cry. You hadn't heard anything from him, Bobby mentioned he had called when he got Sam, but nothing else. When you got over yourself, you realized that in Dean's stupid protective head he probably thought he was looking after you. Whatever he thought had made his dad disappear, he didn't want you to get hurt. That's what Bobby had said. You tried to not let it sting whenever you thought about him thinking you weren't capable or a good enough hunter.

A week passed when you heard about Jess. Still nothing from Dean or Sam. You hadn't known he was in a relationship, neither did Dean, by the way he spoke about him--at least, he had never mentioned anything. A twinge of regret pierced through your heart, and embarrassingly enough, disappointment. That stupid high school crush never really went away. But you'd only sort of gotten to know him, briefly, you had no claim on him.

You didn't call Dean to check on them. You didn't want to press, you were sure Sam didn't need that right now.

Another week passed with nothing from them, and you quickly got sick of sitting around all day and decided to go back out and hunt. Overthinking your relationship with the both of them wasn't doing you any good. Bobby was worried for you, but you'd amassed quite the skill since your mother died, your fighting skills far passed anything Dean could muster, and your aim was getting better as time went on.

You took a car from the yard--something you'd been tinkering with for the time you'd spent there--and packed a bag. Then the gear. And after a nice roast dinner you'd made for Bobby and yourself, you hit the road, following a lead on a djinn down in Tennesse.

And just like that, you had spent a year hunting on your own. Not necessarily with the same efficiency that you achieved when you were hunting with Dean, but you handled your own well enough. Hunts took a little longer, but then again, you were finally on your own, no crutch to fall back on. It was relieving as much as it was lonely. You missed sharing breakfast or lunch or dinner with Dean at a diner, laughing when he stuffed his face.

And the money thing was kinda hard. Dean handled the fake credit cards. You'd learned how to hustle pool and so instead of committing credit card fraud, you used good old-fashioned misogyny to win a couple hundred bucks from loser guys at bars.

It was one of these nights that you found yourself at the edge of a pool table, hustling a group of guys that had a little more to drink then they probably should've.

Five of them crowded around the other side of the table, four cheering on the fifth who was currently aiming for a striped ball in the corner pocket. You'd beat two of them already, but somehow the others couldn't believe that you, a woman, could not beat them. Let alone have the smarts to hustle them out of their money. It must be beginner's luck they chortled amongst each other.

The laughing stopped when you beat the fourth guy. And like clockwork, the fifth stood up to play. You had to roll your eyes. Did they even consider the fact that you were hustling them? You couldn't tell if they were more upset that they were losing their money or that it was a woman they were losing to.

Either way, pride got in their way. Another win, and you had over half a grand in your hand. You had to laugh.

"Good game, hon. You almost had me!" you shook your head in amusement.

"You bitch," the fifth man snarled. Two other men saddled up behind him, giving menacing stares.

They weren't so amused, apparently.

"Freaky, huh? I mean, are you sure you guys weren't going easy on me?" you couldn't help yourself as you pocketed the cash. You hoped the kitchen was still open, maybe you could get some mozzarella sticks to celebrate your win.

"You think you're funny?" One guy said.

"Oh no! A little girl like me? Funny? Can't be," you grinned. A small audience was forming as people began to take notice of the hostility radiating off of the men. You knew when to quit it, so you smiled extra sweet at them, an evil glint in your eye, before bending down to pick up your bag from the ground.

It was at this precise moment that a few things happened at once. First, the fifth guy (the ringleader if you will) stepped forward, no doubt, with the intent to scare you. You had anticipated this and popped up, ready to play dirty and kick his knees in, when another man from the audience stepped in with a deep "Hey!" You got a brief flash of leather, and, unable to stop what had already been put in motion, side swiped the fuck out of the man stepping up to your defense.

"Shit!" he cursed as he went down. Shocked and apologetic, you turned to help him up, barely catching a glimpse of your victim, when a heavy hand came crashing down on your shoulder and pulled you away roughly. Assuming it was one of the other pissed off guys, you turned and swung in the general direction of what you assumed to be your attacker's head.

A familiar "oof" came when you made contact with a cheekbone. Immediately your brows furrowed, your hand slackened and your heart dropped. It couldn't be.

Your mouth was too slow on the uptake and Dean beat you to it. Hauling himself up from the floor where you'd swiped him down and called your name in disbelief. Your eyes widened when you realized.

Your head whipped around to see Sam standing behind you holding his cheek, bewildered.

"Holy shit!" you looked between Dean and Sam, the angry men stood forgotten on the sidelines of the whole ordeal, unsure of what to do. You paid no mind as you looked back to Sam again, not convinced this wasn't a dream.

"What are you doing here?" Dean asked as he pulled you in for a hug. You embraced him and shoved your face in his leather jacket.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?" you quipped, slapping his shoulder.

"Getting attacked by you, even though I was about to defend your ass!"

"My ass doesn't need any defending, thank you," you smiled.

"Right. You had it handled," he rolled his eyes. You slapped his shoulder again.

"Yeah, I did. I'm a way better fighter than you," you shrugged.

"You are not."

"Bobby thinks so."

"What?" That got him. Before you could unleash your witty reply, Sam cleared his throat behind you, turning both yours and Dean's attention to him. He wouldn't look at you at first, just made big expectant eyes at Dean.

"What?" he said, clueless. Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes, turning back to you with a soft smile on his face.

"Hi," he said, all sheepish.

"Hi!" You beamed and immediately pulled him in for a hug. He was at least three inches taller than the last time you'd hugged him. He smelled the same, though. Just the feeling of his heart beating against your cheek pulled you back to seventeen, pining after him and laughing in the echoing hallways.

"What are you-"

"Why are y-" you both cut each other off with an awkward chuckle as you pulled away.

"Sorry, you go," you smiled.

"No, no. You first," he gestured with his hand, eyebrows furrowing in curiosity, dimples peeking out in amazement.

"Uh, before you two start, can we sit? I need a beer," Dean chimed in with a grimace. You rolled your eyes, Sam mirroring your expression before turning to the nearest booth.

When you guys settled, Sam across from you and Dean on your right, you ask your question again, "Why are you guys here?"

"Hunt, duh," Dean replied, taking a sip from his beer. You saw Sam's eyes widen in annoyance in Dean's direction.

"Oh. Right. Sammy, she's a hunter now," he explained. Your head spun back to face Sam.

"Wait, you didn't know?"

"How was I supposed to know?" he replied, half joking, half butthurt at being left out.

"Well, I assumed your brother told you," you shrugged, looking to your right and fixing Dean with a look.

"Sorry, but he would've gotten all worried and distracted. You know how he is," he busied himself with a ring on his finger, avoiding eye contact.

"You're an idiot," you said before turning back to Sam with a smile.

"So you're a hunter..." he trailed off.

"Yeah, have been for about... four and a half years now?" you sighed.

"Wow. And that's how you know my brother," he said, eyeing Dean.

"Yeah. Went hunting with him and John a few times. Then with Dean for like, what? Six months?" you turned to ask.

"Eight," he replied.

"Eight months I guess," you said turning back to Sam. He had an unreadable look on his face. If you hadn't known any better, you'd say it looked like jealousy, but that couldn't be. He'd tensed up when you brought up John too, and by the clear lack of him around, you understood that they still hadn't found him. You didn't push the subject.

Sam's hands rested on the table in front of you, his fingers woven together and fidgeting. He didn't say anything for a while, just looked at you like you could disappear any moment. He seemed like he wanted to say something but refrained. Maybe for Dean's sake, maybe for his own. You wished he'd just say it.

After a moment he smiled, "Man, I can't believe it's you. I thought for sure you'd be a professor or something," he shook his head.

"A professor? Why?"

"Well, I was gonna say doctor, but you hated chemistry so much back then..." he trailed off. You laughed.

"Yeah, you're right," you wanted to reach out and touch his hand just to feel him. You still didn't believe he was right there in front of you, after all the years of wishing you could see him, hear his voice.

Dean spoke up then, "We're here about some disappearances."

"Me too. It's a vamp nest," you said without turning your head. You couldn't stop staring at Sam. He was looking down at his hands, so you drank him in without freaking him out. His hair had gotten longer; he kept his bangs though. The urge to trace the moles on his face made your fingers twitch and you had to squeeze them to remind yourself of where you were. Of who you were to him. His girlfriend had only died just last year.

"You're quick," Dean replied, "when'd you get here?"

"Mmmm, last Friday?"

"Huh," Sam chimed in, studying your face. Though he tried to mask his surprise at your efficiency in finding the monster in a short few days, his mouth gave it away, twitching in disbelief.

"Right, well, y'know where it is?" Dean sipped the last of his beer and motioned for another.

"Oh yeah, couple buildings down from here, was gonna head over after I gambled for my lunch money for tomorrow," you grinned. Sam laughed at this.

"Alright lemme finish this and let's go," Dean motioned.

"Are you hijacking my hunt?"

"You don't want help?" he tutted.

"Yeah, yeah," you swatted him away as he poked your arm. Sam watched this interaction closely, his jaw clenched. You only caught a glimpse of it before he steeled himself and his face went back to neutral.

Dean finished his beer in two big gulps and you and Sam followed him out and to your car.

"You fixed this thing up?" Dean gestured to your mustang.

"Mhmm, this is Cherry," you puffed up your chest in pride as the boys looked onto your cherry red muscle car.

"Creative," Sam quipped with a teasing smile. He peeked into the car, eager to see what you had in there. He wanted to take in as much about your new life as possible. He felt like he missed so much.

You popped your trunk, grabbing a machete and a book from your duffle.

"Hey, you still like this book?" you called out to Sam whose head was almost fully in your passenger side window. He shot himself up so fast, you were surprised he didn't hit his head. Sheepishly, he walked around to you where you held out your beaten copy of Frankenstein that the two of you had gushed over all those years ago. A laugh bubbled out of him, and you warmed at the sound.

"You still have this?" he reached out to take it from you, his fingers brushing yours, butterflies erupted in your stomach.

"Well, yeah. It's in your hand, isn't it?"

"Still a smartass then," he shook his head with a fond smile.

"Says you," you nudged his shoulder. Dean had wandered off to the Impala to grab their gear, so it was just the two of you alone. "You can have it," you said pushing the book closer to his chest. More fluttering in your stomach at the contact with his warm hands.

"No," he tried to argue but you shushed him.

"Seriously. I've read it so many times, I can recite whole pages, word for word." He laughed again at this, and you beamed.

"Fine. But I'm giving it back when I'm done."

"Sure, you are."

"I missed you," he said after a moment of silence. You looked up at him.

"I missed you too."

"I wanted to call so many times," he said.

"That's okay," you looked down and kicked at a pebble with the toe of your boot.

Both of you weren't sure what to say next. The Impala started with a roar in the distance, filling the silence between you two.

"I'm sorry about Jessica," you whispered. You didn't want to bring her up. You didn't know how Sam was doing; you hadn't ever talked about anything so vulnerable regarding his life with him before, but you needed him to know.

Before he could reply, Dean rolled up, window down and head sticking out his driver's side window.

"Alright, let's dust these fuckers, you comin'?"

"Right, yeah" you said, swinging the machete in your hand. Sam cleared his throat, eyeing your swinging before rounding the car and entering the passenger side. You sidled up to the trunk, tossing the weapon in with the others and swung around to the back, sat comfortably behind the brothers.

"How long you been huntin' again? Last I heard from Bobby you were hangin' around there," Dean asked as he sped off.

"Eh, year or so? I go back to Bobby's every coupla months though," you cracked your knuckles in the silence. Sam's head turned ever so slightly in your direction, you wouldn't have caught the motion if you weren't staring. He didn't say anything for the whole ride, but Dean did a whole lot of talking for the both of them, asking how you've been, commenting on the new machete, but never bringing up John.

When you got there, Dean assigned roles. You took the back entrance; he and Sam would take the front. You had a mean swing, and weren't worried, but Sam's eyebrows furrowed when Dean announced that you would be alone. He looked about to speak up, but you interrupted before he could say anything.

"I'm good. There's only like three of them in there, last I checked. I could do this alone if I wanted," you couldn't help the boast. Dean laughed and clapped his brother on the back.

"She ain't a little girl anymore," he strutted off (because yes Dean Winchester struts). Sam followed but not without a look of reluctance to you, "Be careful," he urged.

"I always am," you smiled before jogging to the back. You peered through the windows but saw nothing but shadows. It was pitch black out and there were no lights on inside. The back door opened without any force and you made your way inside, eyes scanning what looked to be the kitchen. You heard muffled footsteps to your right, but turned to see it was just Sam.

"Anything?"

"No, there's gotta be a basement," you replied. The two of you began searching for a door until you heard a grunt come from the room next to yours. There were a few more and what sounded like a punch landing. You and Sam ran to aid Dean in whatever he was dealing with when another vamp descended on you. You swung your machete around and nailed it in the arm. It hissed and swung its other arm at you, grabbing your shoulder.

In the mess of fighting, you caught a brief glance at Sam fighting his own vamp, it getting dangerously close to his neck at points.

You ripped from the vamp's grasp and kicked it down, knocking the wind out of it before swinging your machete around and slicing its head clean off. When you turned to see how the boys were doing, you were met with less success than yourself. Dean had gotten his weapon wrestled from him and thrown to the side.

You charged up to the vamp attacking him from behind and swung, but he moved at the last second and you cut through the air, nearly missing Dean's nose. His eyes widened before turning his attention back to the vampire, turning its attention on you, pissed.

Dean grabbed for his machete on the ground and charged, nicking its shoulder. You turned back to Sam who was far too preoccupied with watching your back that he was losing his battle. His arm was bleeding as he tried to fight off with his other good arm. As you made your way to help, the vamp kicked him across the floor, Sam slammed his head on the cabinets in the fall, and you winced. You turned back to Dean, who had his vamp cornered and was talking smack (because he always has to use that smart mouth). Seeing he was perfectly fine; you turned your attention back to your vampire.

Pissed, you took one swing to the unassuming man and his head thudded to the ground, rolling as you rushed over to Sam.

"Jesus," you said as you helped him up. He groaned. "Why the hell were you watching me?" you remarked, annoyed.

"I wasn't!" he defended, propped up against the cabinets behind him. Footsteps echoed behind you.

"Sammy what the hell!" Dean said behind you.

"He didn't bite you, did he?" you asked, brows furrowed and eyes scanning his body. You looked closer at the wound on his arm, and he hissed.

"No."

"No need to be pissy about it, c'mere," you hoisted yourself up and held out a hand for him to take. He grabbed it and used the leverage to pull himself up as well, not meeting your eyes.

"You could've gotten yourself killed," you scolded.

"Yeah, well I didn't," he mumbled, embarrassed.

"I dunno why you were so worried about me. I told you; I was fine. I can handle myself."

"Yeah, I gathered that," he replied with a huff as he walked through the back door.

"That was it right?" you turned to Dean who had been silent for the time being.

"Yeah, those assholes came from the basement. I checked after I wasted the other vamp."

"Wasted?" you teased.

"Shut up," he rolled his eyes with a smile. You turned your attention ahead of you again and saw that Sam was much further ahead than before, so you jogged to keep up with him.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he grumbled.

"You have a huge gash on your arm, and you hit your head like a motherfucker," you deadpanned. Normally, this would crack at least a small smile from Sam, but he said nothing keeping his eyes trained ahead.

"Listen, I don't understand why you're upset with me," you tried again.

"I'm not upset with you," he reluctantly responded after a moment.

"Then what's up?" More silence. You saw him chewing on his cheek, contemplating what to say next. "C'mon, you're my best friend," you nudged his bad arm, and he winced. "Shit, sorry."

He turned to you with a look in his eye, scanning over your face before speaking, "I wasn't expecting you to be so close with Dean."

You almost laughed, but for Sam's sake you reeled it in. A smile creeps up on you, and you watch his face for a second before replying, "Are you jealous, Winchester?"

He shook his head in disbelief and a small laugh fell from his lips. You smiled, "I missed that laugh." Your cheeks flushed at the moment of vulnerability, and you hesitated to meet his gaze. He dipped his head, so you had no choice but to look up at the puppy dog look he was giving you as the two of you walked right up to the side of the Impala.

You both stopped, saying nothing. You weren't sure what to say. Sam didn't have anything to be jealous of. Dean was your family, sure, but Sam was this big, never ending, sense of warmth. You held on to that stupid crush for years. How could you explain that to him?

You looked at him and studied his face. His lips were pursed slightly and his eyes darted back and forth over your face. You wished so badly to reach out and touch him but refrained, reminding yourself for the umpteenth time that it wasn't your place. Sam still said nothing.

Dean finally reached the two of you, clearing his throat with raised eyebrows. Some sight the two of you must've been, Sam bloody and beaten, and you are sheepish and wide eyed, turning from each other to look at Dean.

"Don't you two look cute," he remarked with a smirk, making Sam choke in surprise, his neck stiff with embarrassment. Your cheeks went red, and you squinted at Dean as if you could inflict physical pain through a look. He looked smug as he glanced between the two of you and the both of you took a step away from each other at the implication.

"I need a cigarette," you both said at the same time. Then, "You smoke?"

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not really proofread... sorry !

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