#i woulda taken longer breaks in between - but then

[sicklyseraphnsuch]

I dont know about you guys but if I had to face my neglectful abuser once a week for two years in order to progress - I would turn into the Joker

[pomefioredove]

Just want to say I LOVE your writing and just spotted your event. If you’re still open could I please have 16 sugar cookies with frosting, chocolate chips, and marshmallows? (Gosh that sounds good, now I want to bake)

Hope you’re well and staying warm!

AWW THANK YOU. rounding my savanaclaw day out w this one

order #16, sugar with frosting, marshmallows, and chocolate chips

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ enjoy yourself

tropes: fake dating, only one bed, roommates AU characters: leona additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, making out, a little suggestive, brief mention of hypothetical children but no mention of how the children come to be, etc word count: 700

"Nothing is going to happen,"

That was the first, and only thing Leona had said all evening.

He hadn't greeted his family at the door of the palace. He had let you do all the talking at dinner. He hadn't said a word since he gave you a briefing on his family that afternoon, before you left school.

"And don't mess this up," was the very last thing he told you.

Until now.

You look at him. On the crisp bedsheets, every little movement makes a sound. Especially with how quiet the room is.

"I know,"

"Just making sure you didn't get any funny ideas,"

The thought of having to spend the entire summer like this, with a stiff and silent and unhappy Leona, is scary.

Maybe you should've taken your chances with Crowley...

...But, when Leona came to you with an idea- you pretend to be his partner to piss off his family, he gives you a place to stay- you couldn't have refused.

"I think it's a little unfair that Grim gets his own room," you mutter.

Leona snorts. "Unfair is an understatement. But, hey, we're "dating", remember? It woulda been weird to request separate sleeping accommodations,"

You sigh. He's right, as always.

"Besides," he continues, his eyes narrowing. "You heard what they said at dinner."

You really wish he'd stop bringing that up. The memory of that, his sister-in-law's sweet smile as she suggested you two give Cheka a cousin to play with, makes you shudder.

"It was... a joke," you say.

"You know it wasn't,"

Again, he's right. Or maybe he's just honest. You sigh.

"I don't know if I can handle this all summer,"

Leona turns on his side with a smug smile, looking down at you. "Imagine how I feel. I'm related to these people,"

"Now are you happy I warned you before we left school? You're lucky you're so damn pitiful, or I wouldn't have said a thing and had a show with dinner, too."

You stick out your tongue at him, but you are grateful.

When he said they could be overbearing, you thought that was just Leona being Leona.

"They weren't supposed to like me,"

He sighs. "Tell me about it. I even fail at disappointing them,"

You sigh with him. Not even a day in the palace, and his idea was crumbling into sand and falling at your feet. His family was supposed to dislike you- the poor, magicless commoner from a place no one had even heard of.

They were supposed to awkwardly avoid you for the rest of the summer, and give both you and Leona some peace.

Instead, Falena was taken with your intelligence, you charmed his wife, and Cheka has been begging you to play with him all day.

"Well, this blows," Leona mutters, breaking the silence.

"Should we make out?"

Way to ruin the somber mood.

You shoot up in bed, eyes wide. "You JUST SAID nothing was going to happen!"

Leona scoffs, though there's an obvious smirk playing on his lips, as if he's trying and failing to be annoyed with your overblown reaction. He sits up with you.

"Relax. I was kidding,"

"Were you?"

"I was,"

You stare at each other for a moment longer, his eyes travelling across your face, his lips still curved into a smirk.

And then he closes the distance between you in the dark room and kisses you.

Once the shock has worn off and you can feel your soul re-entering your body, you kiss back. His hands rest on your waist, and then your hips, and then he's pulling you towards him with such ferocity that you end up on your back beneath him, expensive blankets thrown to the side.

You kiss in a way that you would dare not admit to anyone outside of the walls of his room, and after a few minutes, he pulls away, leaving you a breathless mess on the bed.

"Hm," he hums, running his thumb across your bottom lip, wiping up the spit that had collected there.

"...I don't know about you, but if we're going to be stuck in this room together for the whole summer, I think we should at least enjoy ourselves, hm?"

[pretending-ican-write]

Cowboy Up - Pt.6

A/n: It's here y'all! After this part we'll be getting into the show and I can't wait to start incorporating my own character into the episodes!

I need your input! I'm currently going through the show episode by episode to pull out what I want to use for this fic and I've reached ep5 when Travis first turns up and I am seriously undecided about his relationship with the reader. It is more than likely that they would have interacted on the circuit but I'm split between him having a flirty relationship or a older-brother-protective vibe. Let me know your thoughts!

Pairing: Ryan (Yellowstone) x Dutton!reader

WC: 1649

Previous part - Next part

---

That summer was one of the hottest y/n could ever recall having in Montana.  Unfortunately hot weather didn’t negate the fact that there was always work to do on the ranch.  Yesterday one of the freshly backed colts had thrown a fit in the corral resulting in kicking the fence hard enough to break it.  So the job for the day was to put a new log into the fence so they could use the corral again.

Y/n had abandoned jeans in favour of shorts out in the sun, a tank top and she had opted to swap her cowboy hat for the cap Kayce had given her for her birthday despite having claimed she’d never wear it around the wranglers.  Lloyd was holding the log up whilst she worked to secure it to the post.

Around the corral the other hands were doing their own work and a small group of them were hiding from the sun in the shade of the barn.  They were mostly busy watching y/n do her own work, more specifically how she looked in her shorts.

“God damn that girl has an ass,” one of them commented.

Another one agreed, “you just know that she’d give you a good time.”

Colby and Ryan were a little way off cleaning tack getting more annoyed at every comment the men were making.  Ryan was getting more frustrated by what they were saying and how oblivious she was to how they were treating her.  His friend was less concerned about that and more occupied trying to stop the hand from doing something he would regret.

Rip emerged from the barn to say something to them when Ryan snapped at them, “will you shut the fuck up?  It’s disgusting to hear you talk about her like that.  She’s your boss’ daughter for fuck sake have some damn respect.  Someone’ll rip your tongues out for saying that next time.” 

Y/n overheard his shouting from across the corral and couldn’t help but smile to herself at his defence of her.  Ever since Rip had threatened him (and the rest of the bunkhouse but they clearly hadn’t taken those threats to heart) after finding her asleep in Ryan’s bunk years ago, he’d been very careful with his interactions with the younger woman.  They’d remained close friends, and he’d been instrumental in her integration with the wranglers, but it had never gone further than that despite what both of them not-so-secretly wanted to happen.

Lloyd looked at the smile on her face and rolled his eyes, “y’all have been pining after each other for years.  When will it end?”

“If I had a say in it it would’ve been over before anyone noticed but if he has it his way it seems like never,” y/n sighed, “I think Rip’s threat from forever ago ruined it.”

He watched Ryan whose eyes were on her, “might go insane if I have to watch y’all making eyes at each other for much longer.  You and I can both handle Rip if needs be.”

She laughed at the idea of someone ‘handling’ Rip.  The only people she believed were able to handle the foreman were her father and Beth, no matter how poorly her sister treated the man.  In reality, Rip had a soft spot for the youngest Dutton and Lloyd was the only wrangler on the ranch that would stand a chance arguing against Rip.  He left her to go and deal with something else, leaving Colby to help with the other side of the fence.

“Swear he woulda murdered them if it had gone on much longer,” her friend joked, “practically fire in his eyes when he saw how they were looking at you.”

Y/n shook her head, “I’ve been trying to get him to make a move since I was 18, Colby.  I don’t think he’s gonna start now.”

“I love both of you but I will help Lloyd lock you in the tack room if this goes on any longer.  Feel sorry for the poor bastard watching this for years.  I’m done with it after a few months,” Colby laughed, “just make a move for everyone’s benefit.”

-/-/-

That evening the temperature had cooled down from the scorcher of the afternoon but it was still uncomfortable, hot enough that y/n was still wearing shorts.  Most of the hands were sitting around the table playing cards but she had chosen to sit the game out in favour of reading the book she’d been waiting weeks for.  Every once in a while some of the conversation would break through her reading bubble and y/n would laugh at the insults that got thrown around half-heartedly.

After a little while the focus of their conversation moved away from their game of poker to their romance lives, or more accurately their struggles with romance being wranglers.  They were complaining about how difficult it was with their work schedules to meet girls.  Y/n shook her head slightly at their trivial problems.

“Reckon we’d all be better off if Dutton over there gave a piece of ass up,” a hand commented nonchalantly.  

As soon as the words had come out of his mouth, Ryan was out of his chair as was Colby to stop his friend doing something.  Colby grabbed his shoulder and arm, keeping him firmly away from the other hand.

“Hit a nerve have I?  Thought she was supposed to be off limits to the bunkhouse?  Just you getting at or you sharing it with your friend?  Care to let us join in on-”

Before he was able to finish his sentence, Lloyd had punched him, “you don’t speak about her like that, ever.  Anyone thinks that’s okay and there’s more than just me to answer for.  Rip will know about this.”

The tension in the room was broken by the sound of the door slamming shut and they looked up to see that y/n was no longer sitting on the sofa.

Lloyd looked over at Ryan, “I think you best follow her.  Now or never, son.”

-/-/-

Ryan exited the bunkhouse and saw her sat on the corral fence in the fading light, cigarette smoke drifting into the sky.  He headed across the drive to join her and leant against the fence beside her, letting her finish the cigarette before starting the conversation.  When she was done, y/n threw the stub into the sand and watched silently as it smoked on the ground.  Her eyes remained fixed on the mountains as if she could pretend he wasn’t there if she didn’t look at him despite the fact his arm was practically touching her thigh.

“You gonna say anything?” She asked.

Ryan sighed, “was kinda waiting for you to start the conversation this time, sweetheart.”

“I don’t know what you expect me to say.  I really don’t need you jumping to protect me the moment one of them says something about me.  Can’t be a ranch hand and not expect someone to say something about it.  I’m a big girl.  Plus Rip has it handled, something you haven’t seemed to forget,” y/n added bitterly.

“You can’t seriously expect me to just sit there and let them say that shit about you y/n?  No one should say that,” he argued.

Y/n looked at him, “that’s exactly what I expect.  You got no right to be that overprotective with the people we fuckin’ work with when you’re just as bad as them sitting staring at me like that.”

“The fuck are you tryna say,” Ryan growled.

She sighed and turned around, getting off the fence to move away from him.  Y/n turned away to take another cigarette from her pocket to avoid answering his question.  He watched her for a moment as she took a long inhale before turning back to look at him.

“It’s all good and well you tryna fight anyone who has something to say about me but we both know you ain’t gonna do anything about it except just sit there and stare because you’re fuckin afraid!  I’m so over it Ryan either make the move I’ve been waiting for you to make for 10 years or stop acting like you get a say in my life,” she ranted at him.

Ryan took her in in front of him, cigarette between her lips and frustration in her eyes before making his decision.  Within one step he was in front of her, taking a moment to see if she would stop him before taking the cigarette out of her mouth and putting it out under his boot.  Y/n inhaled sharply when he placed his hands gently on her hips, using them to walk her backwards until her back hit the barn wall.  

Ryan kept one hand on her hip and moved the other to her cheek, “last chance to change your mind, sweetheart.”

“Been waiting for you since I was 18 don’t make me wait any longer,” she whispered into the space between them.

With no more hesitation he kissed her.  Y/n responded by fisting her hands in the front of his shirt.  After a moment, he pulled away and rested his forehead against her.  Y/n allowed her eyes to fall shut as she reveled in the moment she’d been imagining for so long.

Ryan kissed her again, “do I live up to expectations sweetheart?”

“Better than I could have hoped,” y/n smiled, “we’re gonna have to be careful though.  I reckon I can handle Rip if I need to but if dad finds out he won’t hesitate to fire you and I won’t let you leave here.”

He nodded, “I’ll follow your lead.  Colby won’t say anything and Lloyd’ll just be happy that he no longer has to deal with me staring at you longingly.”

“Gonna be fun sneaking round.  Never got to do it in high school,” she teased.

Ryan laughed, “you’ll be worth it sweetheart.”

[bunny300]

Imagine a world with superpowers. Heros and villains, the works.

In this world, the power usually finds someone between whatever ages, for arguments sake, we'll say before their eighteenth birthday, if they haven't gotten one by then, they won't get one. That's just the way it is. The way it's always been.

Imagine with me Civilian, age 27, (or whatever age you want over 18, I'd say still below 30 though), he's at a rough point in his life. His sister and her husband died (I imagine in a car wreck or some accident) and he has now taken over care for their two kids. He had to pick up another job. Found out his boyfriend was cheating on him. Just horrible things all happening within the span of a few months.

And on top of that, he's having these horrible pains and symptoms. Symptoms that were clear signs of an awakening, but he was brushed off. Dismissed. He was too old to be an awakened. To get powers. But no one had another answer for what was happening. He went to many doctors, spending money he didn't really have, adding more fatigue to an already overloaded life. As a last resort, he gets in to see someone at the heros awakeners association.

He made an appointment and still ended up waiting half a day. And once he got in, the conversation lasted no more than ten minutes. No one was willing to listen. The pain only worsened. It was said that the more painful the awakening, the more powerful a person is. He didn't know if that's what this was. Maybe it was some disease nobody could figure out. All he knew was that nobody cared to try.

We all know the straw that breaks the camel don't we? It's never the actual problem. It's a pencil falling on the ground and having no energy to pick it up or a friend canceling plans or one of another thousand trivial things.

Well, Civilian was on the verge of overflowing. All of the grief and pain of the last few months. Of becoming a caretaker to his sisters kids. Of the daily pain he's experiencing. The creaking and cracking he swears he can hear and feel in his bones. The migraines. The fatigue. The added work schedule. everything. All of this without even a second to process his own emotions.

On his way home he stops by to see his buddy. His buddy owns a pizza place and he's been giving, well, more like forcing him to take, pizza, since he knows our Civilian just doesn't have time or energy to cook, but also doesn't have money for takeout. He makes it home, sets the pizza on the table and calls the kids to eat.

They come bustling through, "No! Not pizza again."

"I wan' Mac n cheese please!"

"We have pizza." Civilian mutters, brushing a heavy hand over his exhausted face.

"You're horrible! Mom or dad woulda made us something! You don't care!"

"I wan' mama!!"

"I hate this!!!"

And as the words of what they're saying hit Civilian, everything becomes static electricity. It's all too much for him to bear. He falls to his knees, clutching his chest as the world starts to close in.

A horrible rushing pumping sound assaults his ears as fire dances behind his eyes. Everything feels too hot. Radioactive to the point he could've sworn his skin was melting.

He's on his knees, clutching his heart, head now on the floor, screaming as a sharp, burning something hits his heart. Everything hurts. Something is happening. The world is bending and boiling and burning. He can faintly hear screams. Screams aside from his own. He doesn't know how, but he manages a glance in the direction of the noise, all sound seems to disappear as tears that cannot be seen from the heat leak from his eyes. He can no longer make a sound but anyone could've been able to tell... his silent scream made the fire burn brighter. Made lightning flash from the sky. This event would be written in history as a tragedy with many casualties. But he didn't know that. All he knew was the pain and horror and sorrow and loss as so desperately reaches towards the now charred bodies in front of him.

White light dances in the fire behind his eyes. It's a miracle he can see anything at all, but at that moment, he wants to go blind. His flesh is being burnt and ripped and burnt and ripped--he knows it was, he can feel it--but there isn't a single blemish, unlike the two burnt bodies before him who'd gone still and quiet long ago.

When the sound finally came back to him, his wail could be heard across the city.

There was black smoke and black char and black, burnt bodies and black burnt burnt black everything burnt black burnt--but--not him. God, not him.

"Why?!" He wants to know. Choking on sobs, unable to move, curled up at the center of the destruction that was only growing. "Why?" He asked. "Why?" And right before he passes out, one final cry escapes his lips, "Why won't I burn?"

[robinrunsfiction]

To The Vows You Take - Chapter 6

(This is the longest chapter in the whole story, enjoy!)

Chapter 5

"About time you got here," Ray snarked when (YN) and Frank finally boarded the bus in Washington. "Why'd you guys have to change your flight?"

“We had to go to Vegas,” (YN) replied simply as she started unpacking some of her things into her bunk. She was trying to suppress the smile that was fighting to form on her face.

“What? To get married or something?” Gerard laughed.

“Yea,” Frank replied with a shrug. 

(YN) glanced over at Ray and Gerard, who were stunned into silence for a moment. They looked at each other, then back at their bandmates.

“You guys were dating?!” Gerard asked, totally astonished. "How did we not notice?! Why didn’t you say anything?!"

“I knew something was going on!” Ray exclaimed. "They've been acting different all year! I knew it!"

“Nope, we weren't dating,” (YN) answered.

Gerard’s eyes went wide. “(YN), are you, you're not pre-”

“No! Oh my god, no!” She rolled her eyes. “Me and Frank agreed in high school that if we weren’t married by 25, we’d marry each other.”

“Well shit, congratulations! We gotta celebrate, right?” Ray asked, getting excited.

“Hell yea!” Frank chimed in. “You guys buy the champagne!”

“Do you wanna announce it at the show tonight?” Gerard asked.

“No!” (YN) was quick to reply. “It’s just that we haven’t told our families yet. We don't wanna have them find out through the press.”

Gerard nodded. "Ok, but wow, I still can’t believe you guys eloped!"

"Believe it, baby," Frank said, patting Gerard on the cheek as he walked by.

~

“Ok, ready to call your mom?” Frank asked.

“No,” (YN) deadpanned.

“Better now than waiting any later,” he replied. It had been about a week since they had tied the knot and (YN) had been putting off calling her mom as long as possible. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of what they’d done, she just knew how her mom would react.

Frank pushed the call button on the phone in front of them and (YN) hoped it would just go to voicemail.

“Hello?” (YN)’s mom’s voice came through the speaker of the phone.

“Hey mom,” (YN) started wearily.

“Hi sweetie, what’s going on? I’m at the grocery store.”

(YN) winced and Frank had to stifle a giggle. “Umm, by any chance do you remember back when I was home for Christmas and that letter came that I wrote to myself?”

“Yes, vaguely.”

“Do you remember the one thing I said I hadn’t done?”

“No, off the top of my head I can’t say that I do.”

“Umm, well I’ve got you on speaker phone because Frank is here too and I called to tell you we went through with our pact to get married.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you, it’s loud in here, you did what?”

“Me and Frank got married in Vegas,” (YN) practically shouted. Frank was hiding his face to control his laughter and (YN) reached over and smacked his arm.

“What?!” In the background it sounded like glass breaking. “And you didn’t even call to tell me?!”

“I mean, I told you when I read the letter,” (YN) rubbed her eyes.

“Not that you were gonna go through with marrying Frankie! Oh, is Frankie there now?”

“Yea, hi Ms. (YLN),” he replied.

“Hi sweetie! Congratulations and welcome to the family!”

(YN) looked at Frank, jaw dropped, as he practically gloated. “Thank you Ms. (YLN).”

“(YN) I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me until after the fact!”

“We didn’t tell anyone, not even the other guys!” (YN) argued. "It's not eloping if everyone knows!"

“Well, have you told Frankie’s parents yet?”

“No, you’re our first call” (YN) replied, rolling her eyes.

“Ok good. Oh, goodness I didn’t even notice I dropped the jar of pickles, I’ve got to go, I want more details later, buh-bye.”

“Bye,” (YN) said, hanging up. "Yea it's a good thing we didn't tell her we called your mom first, she woulda lost it. Are you gonna call your dad?"

"Yea," he replied, already pulling up the contact info on his phone. 

"K, I'm gonna go grab some coffee," she said, getting up.

"How'd your mom react?" Gerard asked, looking up when (YN) walked in.

"She dropped a jar of pickles in the middle of the grocery store," (YN) sighed as she poured a mug of coffee.

Gerard chuckled. "Are you done?"

"No, Frank's calling his dad right now."

"That will go well," Gerard nodded reassuringly. 

"Yea, I think you’re right," she nodded as she made her way to the back of the bus where they'd been making the calls in privacy.

"So you finally told her-"

"Dad, hang on," Frank interrupted and (YN) gave Frank a confused look as she walked in. "Umm, no, but don't worry about it. Actually (YN) just walked in."

"Hi, Mr Iero," she greeted him brightly.

"I'm glad you're sticking together. Ever since you were kids, you two have been a team. That's what you want in life,  someone who is on your team. Friendship should come first, all that romance bullshit can come later on."

(YN) and Frank laughed, but when she glanced over at him, she saw he was looking at her. She smiled and looked away, realizing how much she was suddenly blushing. That was the problem. She could no longer deny the fact that she wanted the romantic bullshit with Frank. Her stomach did flips when he would look at her from across the room, his smile made her weak in the knees. She’d fallen for him completely, and she didn’t know what to do.

~

Frank had just taken a drag off his cigarette when a black SUV pulled up in the parking lot where their tour bus was parked. At long last, Mikey was back. He hopped up off the curb he was sitting on and warmly welcomed his friend with a hug. "Welcome back, man!"

"Hey! And congrats! I take a couple months off and half the band gets married?" Mikey laughed as he stored one of his bags in the compartment under the bus.

"That’s what happens when you’re not here to supervise us,” Frank laughed. “Did you know me and (YN) had originally planned to elope the day you and Alicia got married?"

"Seriously?" Mikey seemed genuinely shocked as they returned to the spot on the curb where Frank had been sitting. It was the only shade in sight.

"Yep."

“Where is she, by the way?” 

“On the phone with our realtor, we’re gonna see some houses when we’re back in Jersey before we head over to Europe.”

“Damn, you are serious about this.”

“As serious as a goddamn heart attack.”

“Wait, so how did all this happen again?”

“We made this pact in high school, we’d get married if we were still single at 25. And the chance to spend my life with (YN)? I’m not gonna pass that up.”

“You have feelings for her?”

“I’m surprised I’ve hid them this well for so long.”

“Shit,” Mikey muttered, taking the almost spent cigarette out of Frank’s hands and taking a drag himself. “So it’s happily ever after.”

“Not until I work up the nerve to tell her.”

Mikey coughed, Frank’s words taking him by surprise. “Wait, you haven’t told her?!”

Frank let his head hang. “Oh so you've been married like three months longer than me, and now you know it all? Just keep it between us ok?”

“Yea, yea I can, but you should tell her. She’s your wife.”

Frank couldn’t help the smile that formed across his face upon hearing those words. “Yea. I just gotta figure out the right time.”

~

(YN) had just finished applying her stage makeup when the door to the green room opened. She was surprised that it was only Mikey coming in, and no one else was with him. 

“Hey,” she said, glancing over at him. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Got pulled into an interview,” he answered, coming to stand behind her, checking his hair in the mirror.

“Ah yes, the joys of not being a guitarist or singer,” she smirked.

“I know right?” He laughed before flopping down on the couch. “So congrats.”

“Thanks,” she laughed lightly, shaking her head. “It’s crazy, right?”

“Why?”

"Because I saw 'My Best Friend's Wedding' at an impressionable age, and now I’m married to my bandmate.”

"What's wrong with that?"

(YN) sighed and shook her head. “Promise not to tell?”

Mikey sat up and nodded. “Of course.”

"It’s a problem because I realized that I've fallen in love with Frank and can't tell him because it'll ruin our marriage,” she explained and Mikey let out a laugh. “It’s absurd right?”

"You gotta tell him, (YN)."

(YN) just groaned in response. “But what if it fucks everything up?”

Mikey sighed. "You should be honest with the people you love," he replied. "Especially when it's about how you feel."

(YN) nodded silently.

“So... have you guys hooked up.”

“Mikey!"

"I’m just trying to lighten the mood!” He said defensively. “And I take your reaction as a yes."

(YN) smirked. "Fine, you wanna know? There was one time we did a long time ago."

“Wait, when?!”

“You probably don’t remember, but a long long time ago, I’m talking back in the van days, we were actually staying in a hotel for once. You, Gee, Ray, and Brian all went out, but me and Frank stayed back.”

“Oh yea! We were wondering if something happened that night,” Mikey laughed.

“Yep,” she said, getting up from her chair and starting to make her way toward the door. “And it was in the bed you and Ray shared that night! Bye!”

“Ew! What the fuck (YN)?!” Mikey shouted, as she ran out of the room, laughing evilly.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Pity in Short Supply (baon)

Summary:    In the aftermath of the kidnapping, Red has a few thoughts. There's a reason he's always called 'em liabilities.

Tags:  Kustard, Domestic, Established Relationship, Sans/Underfell Sans, Aftermath of a kidnapping, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Underfell Papyrus/Underswap Papyrus, Background Spicyhoney, A Touch of Lemon Goodness

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

By the time the sun was thinking about hopping over the horizon and getting started on its daily workout, the warehouse parking lot was starting to clear out. All the ambulances were long since gone, the only one of ‘em with a person in the back was the guy who was still stuck in that weird foam shit.

Red didn’t believe in karma; he’d spent much too long eating shit himself for that, but if there was any lingering threads of justice still clinging stubbornly in the air, it’d take a long, painful time to get that fucker loose.

Most of the Embassy Security teams were heading back with all the evidence stacked in their backseats and Red was standing in a shadowed corner away from the streetlights watching them pack it in. Some of ‘em would start working on interviewing the kidnappers who didn’t need a few hours to cut them loose from a little chemical warfare, along with the agents the FBI shipped their way. Some were gonna work on getting shit together for the inevitable interviews with the kidnappees sometime this afternoon. Red had some pull and plenty of strings to yank, but even he wasn’t gonna be able to hold back the tide of questions much longer than that.

There was probably gonna be a fit pitched somewhere along the line that he’d sent his trouble twins home to sleep before getting much info, but Red would have to hula that hoop when it rolled in. Wasn’t only about Stretch, it was about his bro; there was only so much the boss could take before he slammed face-first into his breaking point and he’d been skating a little too fucking close tonight for Red’s taste. Better to let him take his pretty little liability home, clean him up, spend a li’l time rubbing his scent all over him again like a dog in heat and wasn’t it a damn good thing none of ‘em could piss.

The last thing any of ‘em needed was his bro snapping and hauling his honey away like a shorter, skinnier, bald version fucking King Kong.

(and was the memory of his brother's bleak face as he sat there waiting for answers while Red lied out promises about getting his liability back in one piece gonna haunt his nightmares, fuck yes, 'course it was, gotta balance those books somehow, there was always a price, he'd learned that lesson fast while he was still carrying his baby bro on the streets. always a price, fucking always)

Red wasn’t too worried about losing any info, anyway. Wasn’t much chance of Stretch forgetting much, not with that eidetic memory of his. Not being able to forget was half of his fucking problems to begin with.

Out in the mostly deserted parking lot, the last couple agents were finished packing up their car, not even seeming to give him a second glance as they climbed in. ‘Seeming’ was the real shit there, to anyone who wasn’t used to watching. The driver, a deceptively slender deer Monster, their antlers cut stylishly down, paused just long enough for their eyes to flick his way. The subtlest of looks, but that was it. They didn’t make a show of asking if Red wanted a ride, didn’t play any ego trips over spotting him, just hopped into the car and sped off.

Good instincts. Red made a mental note to keep an eye on that one. Good, not great, ‘cause they didn’t notice the one standing further back behind him, the guy who took up the best shadows before Red even showed up.

He stepped up now, hands stuffed into his pockets as he shuffled his way to stand next to Red, untied shoelaces dragging on the damp asphalt. They stood there together while the first unbearable rim of sunlight crested and took the shadows with it, bathing them in painful, golden light.

Red pulled out a cigar and bit off the end, spitting it to the ground. He lit a match with a flick of his thumb and held the tip in the wavering flame. When the end was smoldering, he flicked the match into the puddle, the faint hiss of it extinguishing unheard as he asked in a cloud of exhaled smoke, “how’s it going, sansy?”

Red was looking at the empty parking lot, the puddles dotting it like a scattering of miniature lakes across a land of broken asphalt, so he didn’t see Sans shrug, but he could feel it, a ripple in the still air around them. “went like clockwork. we planned for this sort of shit, you know, planned it out for years. worked out possible sceneries with fuzzybuns, toriel, all the diplomats.” Sans’s ever-present smile widened humorousness, “even had a few for edge and stretch, guess we shoulda brainstormed on those ones a little more. don’t know if we coulda come up with that one, though. drugging him was always a contingency, but no one guessed they’d strip his ass down and lose every damn tracker on him.” Another tight shrug, one quick. cramped motion, “we’ll know better next time.”

The plume of smoke rising from Red’s cigar curled in the air, drifting like a mist in the dawn light. Red watched it and nothing else, letting his sockets fall half-closed as he followed the wispy path with his eye lights. “ain’t asking about the fucking ops. how’s it going, sansy.”

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the rough scrape of gravel shifting under Sans’s feet as he rocked on his heels. “you know, i took up with the security department for paps,” Sans said conversationally. “wanted to keep a close eye on him when he went traipsing around the big bad world to spread the good word. back underground, that whole sentry schtick was an excuse for a paycheck, i wasn’t guarding anything but my own g and a nap.”

“yeah?” Red stuck his cigar between his teeth and bit down, tasting the scatter of soggy, bitter tobacco on his tongue as the jagged tips tore through the fragile wrapper. “that so, sweetheart?”

“yeah, that’s so, dollface,” Sans chuckled mirthlessly. “little ironic, ain’t it, that it turns out i’m good at this shit. who would’ve thought.”

“yeah, never woulda guessed a judge might not be bad at the whole diggin’ up covert info,” Red shook his head sadly, “a shock, really, that ya could put that empty skull of yers to some good use.”

“sweet talker. gonna end up sleeping downstairs with the cat you keep that shit up.”

“fuck, don’t do that,” Red shuddered. “already worried if i don’t get up fast enough to feed that bitch, she’d gnaw off my pinky toe before i wake up.”

“that picky little shit wouldn’t eat you if you rolled yourself up like sushi and slathered on caviar.” Sans hesitated, then asked, softer, “how’s stretch doing?”

“like shit.” Red didn’t bother to cushion it; his pity came sparingly and Sans could take it. “he’s got his judge all cranked up to eleven. caught a helluva glimpse of me when i got here, thought he was gonna puke on my shoes.”

Sans let out a long, ragged exhale. “that’s my fault,” he said bleakly, “i got him to hit his on switch to look for that lost kid, should’ve known he’d have a hard time shutting it down again.”

“maybe.” Red wasn’t too concerned about it. If Stretch wanted to retire and shove all that down into the dark, wasn’t any dust off his ass, but the only way he’d lose it entirely would be if someone ripped it out of him by way of a dustpan. “if those fuckers hadn’t tried to pull a limburger baby on the kid, then it woulda died back down on its own.”

This time Sans chuckle was more real, a little honest humor creeping in. “don’t let stretch hear you call him kid, he’s already got his panties twisted halfway up his spine.”

Red scoffed, tapping away the ash gathering at the tip of his cigar. “honey bun might be the same age as us, but he ain’t as old as we are. don’t matter how the universe tried to age him up.”

The sound Sans made might’ve been a hum of agreement or the juicy, hawking prelude to spitting. The sun hadn’t had a chance to chase away the evening chill and Sans’s jacket was zipped up against it. Over the tab of his zipper, nearly concealed by neckline of his hood, Red could see the glossy rim of well-oiled dark leather, the slightest glint of metal. He let himself look at it for a long moment, take a sip of dark satisfaction at seeing his collar right where it was supposed to be. Then he looked away, back across the empty, crumbling parking lot.

Sans didn’t try to touch him, only shifted his stance until their fingers brushed in a way that could pretend to be accidental, bone lightly scraping bone.

“we should get going,” Red said. The sun was climbing higher, the stars giving way to gauzy, useless clouds. At least stars were interesting, a reminder there was another Aboveground than this one, another path upward that might someday be reached. “we got a lot of shit to do downtown.”

“we do,” Sans agreed. He tipped his head in Red’s direction, slanting him a glance out of the corner of his socket. His eye lights were tinted golden by the sunrise, sly and knowing in a way that had nothing to do with magic. “want me to blow you in the stairwell before we take off?”

Red didn’t wait for him to finish, tossing his half-burned cigar into a puddle, dousing it and sending a splash of ripples through the still water. “fuck, yes.”

He followed Sans into the warehouse and in moments he was braced against the rusty handrail with his shorts around his ankles in the dust, shuddering at the feel of that hot, wet mouth around him, worshiping his cock with lovingly sinful familiarity. Every inch of his focus was taken up by that and there wasn’t room to think about a single other thing. Not even the phantom sensation of metaphorically getting flayed alive by a wild orange gaze, the unexpected, needle-sharp feel of every one of his sins digging in their spidery claws as they crawled up his spine.

He didn’t think about it at all.

-fin

[renaxwrites]

Hi! May I request headcanons for Oikawa, Atsumu and Kageyama who fell in love with the same girl?

Nekoma’s Manager Pt. 3

- (Oikawa/Atsumu/Kageyama)

a/n: HAHA this is perfect!! I know it’s no hcs, but it’s the perfect pairing for another part to the Nekoma Manager x Atsumu. Since some of y’all asked, why not continue 👀 pt. 1  pt. 2  pt. 4

You were on the train back home, exhausted from this eventful week you had at the All-Japan Youth Training Camp. You yawn and stretch your arms over your head, careful not to hit the blueberry boy sitting beside you. He chuckles. 

“Tired, y/n-san?”

You breath out a sigh of light amusement. “That is a total understatement.”

Kageyama finds himself observing you in curiosity. He’s been feeling a little more giddy around you a couple days into the camp, with a newfound admiration at how hardworking and strong-willed you are. Not to mention, very pretty.

“If you want, you can nap. I’ll wake you up when our stop comes and walk you home,” he suggests. 

You blink, the thought of a nap already taking effect on your eyes. “Thanks, Tobio-kun. You’re an absolute life-saver.” After a few attempts to make your bag comfortable to rest your head on, no luck.

Bashfully, you turn to shyly ask, “Tobio-kun...can I...use your shoulder?”

“Hmm?”

“I know it’s awkward it’s just...my bag is uncomfortable...I’ll make it up to you I swear.”

He ponders for a second when a light bulb goes off in his head. “Well, we’re having a match against Aoba Johsai on Friday...you make it up by coming to watch. For the team, of course?” you notice a slight blush paint his cheeks.

You grin. “Tobio Kageyama, is this your way of asking me out?”

His face is almost as red as Nekoma’s color. “I-I mean, it sounded better in my head so, yeah I guess,” he looks away sheepishly. 

In response, you tuck your head onto his shoulder, and fall fast asleep. He holds his breath, afraid that any sudden movements will wake you up.

He kept his promise and gently woke you at your stop, then walked you home. 

Friday arrived, and you were anxious to see this match. Sure, it’s going to be an interesting match between two teams, but today, it was a face-off between the Great King and the King of the Court. 

You make your way over to Karasuno’s side, when you hear an unfamiliar voice call out for you. You turn to find the Great King and someone else standing before you. 

“Hey, you must be Nekoma’s manager. I’m Iwaizumi. This is Oikawa. There’s been a lot of talk about you and your skills. Just wanted to make a point to introduce myself to you, hopefully we can become acquainted.” He stuck out his hand for you to shake. 

You shake his hand. “Of course! Nice to meet you Iwaizumi. Looking forward to the match! Maybe if you play good I’ll slip you my highly-requested notes.”

The Great King was practically bursting at the seams from wanting to introduce himself, and couldn’t take it any longer. “So you’re both super smart and super pretty. If Iwa doesn’t want his notes I’ll gladly take your notes. And you don’t need the formalities, Tooru is fine.” He seems pretty smug, flaunting his captain power. 

His smugness reminded you of a certain twin back at the camp. What is it with boys thinking being stuck-up to you was considered flirting? Time to put him in his place. 

“Well, Tooru, I said if you play well I would give you my notes. You need to earn them, captain.” And with that you walk away with a wish of good luck. 

“Hard to get, huh? That’s a new one for you, Shittykawa.”

Oikawa puts his hands on his hips, gaze following your frame. 

“...I kind of like that.”

                                     

You walk over to Karasuno’s side, and are immediately greeted wholeheartedly by the team. You sit down on the bench and find the King of the Court plop down beside you. 

“How are you feeling, Tobio-kun?”

His face was monotone until he heard your question, to which he replied with a sense of determination. “Ready to show Oikawa that I’m not just his stupid successor. That I’m more than the name that others have called me.”

Something about his statement made you giddy. Maybe it was just his spunk that was contagious.

You put a hand on his shoulder in admiration, instantly making his face go haywire with blush. “I know you’ll do great. And don’t worry, I’ll make an extra set of stats for you if you perform well today,” you say with an innocent smile.

Someone else on the other side of the court saw this interaction. And he wasn’t having it.

Karasuno, usually a loud, rowdy bunch, went silent as the Great King strode up to where you and Kageyama sat. Both teams were as confused as you were. Needless to say, all eyes were on the three of you.

“So, y/n-chan. Seems like you and this ‘king’ are pretty close, hmm?”

You cross your arms, not ready to back down. “I guess you can say that.”

Kageyama rises, with him and Oikawa never breaking their battle of eye contact. 

“Well, y/n-chan, you can do much better than him, I think. Scratch that, I know. In fact, I’ll throw a little wager. Aoba Johsai wins, I take you out on a date, and vice versa.”

Before you could respond, Kageyama retorts. “She's not just some object to be won over. Where’s her respect?” He glances at you with a look of concern.

Just when things couldn’t get any wilder, you hear a smug voice of velvet.

“My my, glad I came. The battle for the throne is already more interesting than I was told it would be, and the game hasn’t even started.”

Atsumu Miya. 

“And what are you doing here?”

The blonde twin raises his hands in self-defense. “No harm in watching the so-called kings battle it out, right? Woulda came sooner if I knew you were gonna show up too,” he makes sure to include a wink, much to Oikawa and Kageyama’s dismay. 

“And who the hell are you now? We were having an important conversation with y/n-chan,” Oikawa spits out.

Atusumu shrugs. “What’s it to you? If you must know, I’m one of the top setters in Japan, so technically I’m more qualified to talk to her if I want.”

The two boys began to get closer, sizing each other up, continuing to banter until you stepped in.

“Everybody CALM the hell down.” You stop in between and pushed them on their chests in opposite directions. “The match is about to start, so get it together and relax.” By this point, everyone was watching. Even Hinata was recording on his phone, just in case.

You sighed in exasperation, with the three setters staring at you with intensity. “If anyone is deciding who I’m interested in, it’s myself. But right now, I’m focused on doing my job for this match. Period. And in response to deciding on who, I'll be fair to all of you by leaving it to what I told Atsumu.” They all lean in, anxious to know how to beat each other.

You grin. “No one qualifies to take me on a date until they beat Nekoma.”

The whistle blows, signaling for the match to start in a couple minutes.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I mean you had not one, not TWO, but THREE of the prettiest setters pining over you!! How are you not nervous at what they’ll say?” 

You take the phone away from your ear a bit as Yachi screamed on the other end of the line. “Well, I don't really know how they’ll react. I’ll let you know once our practice is over, though. Should be interesting,” you giggle, glad to have a girl friend to share boy gossip with. 

You walk into the gym and find the whole Nekoma team lined up, all with their arms crossed. No doubt waiting for you.

Kuroo and Yaku step up. “Y/l/n y/n. Would you care to explain? Kenma, pull up the video.”

Kenma raises his phone to you, showcasing the video that was taken of you and the three infamous setters at the match on Friday.

You roll your eyes jokingly, and begin to explain everything, starting from the All Youth training camp to what happened on Friday.

Once you’re finished. Kuroo and Yaku nod, leading the whole team into a huddle. They stay this way for a while, no doubt making bets. Eventually, they break huddle, all grinning smugly. 

“Well, I guess we’ve got our work cut out for us boys,” Kuroo announces.

“Time to crush some pretty setters’ dreams.”

tags: @hihiq @edensxgarden

[heyyy-hey-babyyy]

When We Were Young (Part IV)

Dean x Fem!Reader; Sam x Fem!Reader (platonic)

Read part I here ; Read part II here ; Read part III here

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of trauma/abuse, brief moments of self-harm, mentions of anxiety attack, a little dirty (not quite smut, but a bit steamy). 

Summary: Dean, Sam, and Y/N grew up together, but when she’s taken away for over 10 years, the boys have no idea what she’s been through. Will asking her to move into the bunker with them reveal more than she’s ready for?

2359 words

You tensed, anticipating the conclusion of the story and suddenly afraid of how Dean would react to what you were about to say. You took a deep breath before speaking.

“And when Greg opened the closet door and pulled back the blanket, I emptied the clip into his chest.”

It was deafening in the bedroom as you let the words you had never spoken out loud ring out and coat the empty spaces around you, never to be forgotten again. Dean hadn’t spoken, and you suddenly felt exhausted, reliving the darkest moment of your life. He still held you tight in his arms, but he was no longer comforting you, merely laying still as you pressed against his chest breathing him in. You couldn’t decide if you were worried for his reaction, or if you were relishing in the silence and warmth of his hold, but either way you were becoming anxious the longer he didn’t speak. 

Dean cleared his throat lightly, and you chanced glancing up at him. He wasn’t looking directly at you, but seemed to be lost in a memory for the moment. You curled back into his chest, and he tightened his hold, before you heard his voice, gruff from not being used. 

“When I was maybe, I don’t know, thirteen, fourteen, I killed my first vampire. She was young and dad decided I was old enough to go head to head with her because we were roughly the same size.” He huffed out a brief laugh. “Looking back it seems really messed up, but I was itching to get more into the hunt and this became the only way for me to prove it to my father.” He stopped, and it was your turn to try to comfort him, reaching up to run your fingers across his shoulders and you felt him relax a bit, letting out a deep breath he must have been holding. 

“Anyway, I took out the vamp no problem, and remember dad clapping me on the back, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of the vamp’s head. She hadn’t even barred fangs, and honestly looked just like a normal teenage girl, but one that I had just beheaded.” You continued lightly massaging his shoulders as you took comfort in the rumble of his voice against your cheek. “The image haunted me for weeks and after I woke dad up one night screaming in my sleep he sat down with me and instead of giving me the ‘she’s a monster, get over it’ talk he said something that I think about often.” Dean seemed to be completely lost in thought, and though you weren’t sure why he was telling you this, you listened intently, like he had just done for you. 

“He told me, ‘Dean, she was doing bad things. Yes, she was young, but sometimes people can’t come back from tasting a little bit of the darkness.’” 

You stopped moving your hands and he pulled you softly away from his chest and you looked into bright green eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. 

“Y/N.” He began, his tone growing serious. You shrunk back a little against his hold, afraid of what he was about to say. “Hey,” he softened, pulling you closer again so he could rub his hands up and down your arms. “Look at me.” You glanced back into his eyes as he continued speaking. “Some people can’t come back from the darkness.” 

Dean made everything seem so easy, and for a second you believed him. Perhaps you really could stop drowning in the guilt of what you did. But you shook your head at him with finality breaking your eye contact. You could never be forgiven for taking another human’s life. And you had too many secrets to ever live life like a normal person. Way too many skeletons in the closet. In that moment you felt profound guilt and sadness at the direction of your life. Sure, you were now in the arms of the man you had been in love with since before you even knew what love was, but he didn’t know anything about your life now. 

Dean saw the way you were reacting to his words. The way your mind was taking you from hope to guilt to sadness to absolute dread. He knew you thought you could hide from him, but he spent the better part of his childhood learning how to read the nerdy short girl who sometimes hung out with him at Bobby’s. And he could still read you like a book. 

“Hey, stop avoiding me, and look at me.” He said it with the tone that didn’t leave room for argument and you glanced up slowly. “You did what you had to do to protect yourself. That’s what your dad, my dad, and Bobby always taught us. Remember, ‘shoot first and ask questions later.’“ He smiled at you softly and you couldn’t help but smile back, feeling the memory pull at you. 

When you found yourself alone with Dean on endless nights when you were younger, waiting for your dad’s to return, you used to come up with outrageous situations that you both could maybe find yourselves in and the other would respond simply with ‘shoot first. Ask questions later.’ It was stupid and bordering on morbid, but it always made you laugh, and Dean would stare at you until your fits of giggles stopped. In those moments, you always felt like maybe Dean felt for you just as much as you felt for him. But you were just his friend who he would hang out with at Bobby’s. Not girlfriend material. And you were taken from the boys young anyway, shattering any hope of what could have been. And Greg successfully shattered any hope of you being comfortable with another human being. 

Dean saw it happening again. The way you went from joy to guilt to sadness to dread. It broke his heart to not know what was happening in your head. Whatever you were telling yourself to give you such a hopeless look. He wanted more than anything to take away your pain, but he had no idea where to even start. 

You coughed lightly, pulling away from his arms. “Uh, can we just go to bed, Dean? I’m tired and,” you stopped glancing at his bedside clock, “it’s nearly 4:00am.” He nodded softly, and you turned away in the opposite direction, pulling the comforter up to your chin, though you weren’t even remotely tired. You were too stuck in your own head, imagining what could have been if you hadn’t been taken away all those years ago. You were never one for coulda woulda shoulda, but laying this close to Dean had you feeling all kinds of ways and it was hard not to want so much of what you couldn’t have. You had been laying silent for a few moments, when you felt Dean shift slightly. 

“Hey,” he whispered, gauging if you were asleep. You turned your head back toward him, glancing into his eyes. “Uh,” he looked awkward and it made you smile. “Would it be okay, if I held you, Y/N? Just for tonight.” You were a bit shocked by his question, being that you had just been thinking about him, but you nodded, realizing quickly how much you wanted him close again. You turned back to your side away from him, and felt one arm snake under your head laying against the pillow, and the other crawl across your waist pulling you flush against him. He sighed contentedly, and you allowed yourself to breath normally, even though your body was trembling slightly and your breathing was a little erratic. 

Being this close to him, it was impossible to hide the way your body was reacting, and you felt him pull away from you a bit, but you grabbed his arm and placed it on your hip again. This is what you wanted. It’s Dean. He would never hurt you. You told yourself over and over to calm you racing heart. Besides, Greg never cuddled with you. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, baby?” Dean whispered, his breath tickling the hair by your ear, making your body tense up again. But you nodded placing your hand on his on your hip, and moving it further down your stomach. Dean let you guide his hand and when it landed in a comfortable place, you proceeded to run your fingers up and down his arm. A memory of Dean flashed across your eyes as you did this. 

You were playing some racing game that you were horrible at and he knew it, so of course he wanted to place a bet. You were no punk, so you agreed, sitting up a bit straighter as the cars raced around the tracks for their practice run before you pressed the start button. 

“If I win,” you started, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth in thought. “I get to ride in the front seat of the Impala the next time John takes us into town!” You didn’t really care about riding up front, but you knew it drove Dean insane to be in the back, and if you were up front you could play Dixie Chicks and Dean would have to shut up about it. 

He sighed dramatically, but agreed. “Okay, then if I win...” He trailed off trying to look deep in thought, but you knew him better than that. He was embarrassed, and you got serious thinking ‘what could he possibly be embarrassed to ask for?’

“If I win, I want you to do that arm scratching thing you do when you’re nervous, to distract yourself... I love that.” You stared at him stupidly in response, but nodded anyway. You always thought he thought that was annoying when you’d be watching a horror movie and you’d grab his arm and move your fingers up and down the smooth skin as a distraction. You hated the feeling yourself, but he never stopped you, so you figured he was just humoring you. 

Dean shrugged like it was no big deal and nodded back, looking toward the game, knowing he was going to win, and smiling to himself. 

You kept moving up and down his arm and Dean sighed into your hair. “I love this.” He whispered softly, almost as if he didn’t mean to. You smiled nodding that you knew. Dean leaned his head down to rest on your shoulder and he lightly kissed the open patch of skin on your collar bone, losing himself for a moment. You breathed out a little in surprise, and he felt you tense, moving his head back. “Sorry.” He whispered quickly, but you shook your head in response. 

“I liked it...” You whispered back, moving your hand to entangle your fingers with his on your waist, and he pulled you closer gripping you to him. His head returned and he placed another chaste kiss against your neck making goosebumps appear across your skin. He nuzzled into your neck lightly and you giggled involuntarily, nervous suddenly and he placed another kiss against your collarbone before speaking. 

“It broke my heart to let you leave...” He trailed off, lost in thought as you took in his words. “I begged my dad for months to take you back, but we couldn’t find you. It was like the system ate you up. I’m so sorry, baby. I should have saved you.” You shook your head at his last words, not wanting any of this to be his fault. Besides, after Greg, you didn’t want to be found. You wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault and that you had disappeared for years after the shooting, but he released your hand suddenly, moving his hand back over your stomach. Your shirt had rode up a bit and you felt the pads of Dean’s fingers glide smoothly across your exposed skin. You had never been touched so gently, and though it brought up feelings you hadn’t felt in years, you knew Dean wasn’t pressuring you into anything, but rather comforting you and letting you know you are wanted. The thought made you choke up, and Dean held you close to him. 

“Lets sleep. We can talk more tomorrow.” You nodded, and snuggled closer, relaxing as Dean’s fingers danced across your skin, and the sound of him humming “Let it Be” lightly into your ear soothed you into a dreamless sleep. 

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

It was well after noon and you were still fast asleep. Dean had pulled away from you gently around 9:00am and was returning now to check on you. He pulled the door closed, leaving it open a crack so he could hear if you called for him, when Sam came up next to him. 

“Hey,” He whispered. “How is she? How did last night go?” 

Dean put a finger to his lips and motioned for his brother to follow him into the bathroom across the hall. He closed the door and sat down with a huff on the toilet seat, Sam perching on the side of the bathtub. 

It took a few seconds for Dean to decide what he wanted to tell Sam, but his brother was ever patient waiting for Dean to say what he needed to. 

“Some awful stuff happened to her when she was taken into foster care after her dad died, Sammy...” Sam nodded looking up at his brother, remembering how chaotic things were after the social worker barged into Bobby’s house and took you out screaming for Dean along the way. Dean refused to stop looking for you and it was almost a year later when he finally resigned to returning to hunt with his dad and taking care of Sam again. 

Dean slammed his hand down loudly on the sink, and pulled it back quickly, straining to hear if he woke you. He didn’t hear anything so he turned back to Sam confessing what was weighing deep on his soul. 

“I don’t know what to do.” He stated simply.

Sam narrowed his eyes in confusion. “What do you mean?” Dean looked up at him with sorrow in his eyes.

“I love her, Sammy.”

Read part V here.

When We Were Young Tag list: @vicmc624​ 

[skullrock]

the party - Steve x Reader

pairing: Steve x Reader

prompt: “For your song prompts can you do one based on Sister and Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge and whoever you think those songs would work best with”

word count: 3.3k

warnings: swearing, dancing, cute and cocky and sweet Steve, smut, fluff 

a/n: this fic is rly long but it is wholesome and I hope you enjoy!

----------

The party was in full swing.

Parties weren’t really your thing, but your best friend, Anna, had insisted that you come to Lisa Hopkins’ on Friday night. You’d been to a few parties before, but tended to skip them, enjoying a quiet weekend alone. But the promise of drinking and dancing and kissing after midterms was a little too tempting.

It was fall now, the weather just beginning to cool. You decided to wear one of those velvet bodycon dresses, as uncomfortable as it was. You were excited at the prospect of meeting someone, despite the fact it would mainly be classmates.

You’re drinking from a plastic cup, some concoction of soda and juice and alcohol. It tastes like shit, but it gets the job done. You dance lazily in the corner, talking to some friends. You mainly just survey the room. Your eyes land on a tall, toned boy with long brown hair and dark irises.

Steve Harrington.

He had been checking you out for a while, both at school and this party. He knew you were quiet and shy, not talking to too many people outside of your group. He was a bit surprised to see you out, but even more surprised to see you in that tight dress. His jaw clenches as he watches you sway. He crosses his arms and leans back, eyes narrowing on you. When you look up at him, he smiles, and you blush and look away. He’s crushing, and hard, blushing along with you.

“What was that?” Anna asks beside you, nudging your side with her elbow.

“Nothing,” you laugh, consciously avoiding his gaze. “I mean - I don’t know.”

“Dude,” she says, grabbing your arm. “He’s blushing. You got the King to blush.”

“Ugh, please don’t call him that,” you beg. “It’s weird.”

Steve pushes off the wall and goes into another room to get another drink. If he’s ever going to get the courage to talk to you, he has to drink a good bit. As a new friend approaches your corner, Anna slips away, following him to the kitchen.

“Hi,” she says to him, reaching around him to grab a beer. He turns and looks at her.

“Hi?” he says.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” Anna says, leaning against the counter. “I saw you looking at Y/N. What’s the deal?”

He freezes, cheeks flaming red again, but he tries to seem non-chalant. “Well, you know. She’s pretty cute.”

“Yeah,” Anna replies bluntly. “So, either you go tell her what you think, or I will.”

He turns to look at her, glaring, and she smiles at him innocently. He should have shut up. Anna shrugs and walks away, back to the corner where you are. You furrow your brows at her as she walks up. Your eyes flicker behind her, where Steve is coming from the same direction, looking bothered. Your mouth drops and you whack her arm.

“You did not just talk to him,” you hiss, and she only smiles in response.

The staring game lasts a while longer, getting the both of you more and more excited. You watch as Steve talks to his friends, running his hand through his hair, watching his lips turn up into a grin as someone makes a joke. He’s watching you from the corner of his eyes, keeping tabs on where you are and where you go. Suddenly, a boy approaches you, asking you to dance. You figure why not? and make your way to where everyone else is dancing. Steve watches with a clenched jaw as your skin presses against the boy’s, how you throw your head back when you laugh, how you start to grind on the boy, a flushed look on your face. As you dance up on the stranger, you make intense eye contact with Steve. His hand clenches around his drink and his face flushes, watching your hips work. It feels downright sinful, and you suddenly realize how fucking hot it is in there.

“I’m going to get some air,” you tell the boy, and head off for the back porch. You secretly hope Steve follows you.

Sure enough, a few moments after you go outside, Steve follows. You hear the door creak open and turn quickly to look, feeling your stomach flip as your eyes meet his. You quickly look away.

“Hey,” he says, coming to stand beside you as you lean against the railing.

“Hi,” you whisper meekly, and he laughs lightly.

You both stay quiet for a while. Your heart is in your throat, hammering away, and you’re hot even out here in the cold.

Finally, he speaks.

“It’s funny,” he starts, laughing a bit. “I, um… I never would have guessed you could dance like that.”

You laugh in response, breaking some of the tension, but you can’t bring yourself to look over at him. “I guess I can be surprising.”

“Yeah,” he responds. “I always knew you as the quiet girl. I never woulda guessed you could dance like that… or wear something like that.”

You blush deeply and mentally kick yourself. “There’s a lot to me you don’t know, Steve Harrington,” you say lowly.

“And there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he says casually.

“Like?”

He is quiet for a few moments, gathering his thoughts. “Like how for the past few weeks, you’re the only girl I can think about.”

You laugh loudly, head thrown back, and he looks at you in surprise.

“Do you tell that to every girl?” you ask, finally looking over at him, but you’re met with a grave seriousness that you weren’t expecting.

“Well… yeah, I guess I do. But I do mean it,” he quips, a small smile forming. “I think I’ve… uh….” He runs a hand through his hair, then tilts his head and gives you a signature lopsided grin. “Got a bit of a crush.”

You feel like you can’t breathe. “Are you joking?”

“No.”

You bite your lip and look away. You stay quiet for a while more as you mull over your thoughts. You did want a break from all the bullshit of the past few weeks, and maybe that break could be Steve. Would a single night of fun really hurt? Maybe. It would cause a reputation, sleeping with Steve, but it would also cause him a reputation, sleeping with the quiet girl. His bets are on you, it seems, however. But it’s probably purely carnal. But is that a bad thing?

All Steve knows is that he wants that dress off of you as soon as possible. It’s all his boy brain can muster right now, watching you stare out into the backyard, taking in your curves.

You swallow hard and decide fuck it.

You reach your hand out and brush it beside his, making his breath hitch. You both finally make eye contact, and it’s enough to take you out and make your knees weak.

“I think I’ve got a crush too,” you whisper, inches from his face, and then you both finally connect.

It’s an awkward kiss at first, feeling each other out. But you both quickly get handsy, running your hands over each other, your fingers going for the buttons on his shirt. He laughs and pulls your hands away, but they come back up, and who is he to say no to that? Steve snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. As you grip his shirt and ghost your tongue over his bottom lip, something snaps in him. He brings a hand up to grip your hair and moves his lips down your jaw and onto your neck, making you sigh heavily.

“God,” he breathes. His lips come up and rest on your ear. “I want to tear you apart.”

Your brows furrow comically fast, and you still for a moment, a bit taken aback. But then you realize that’s exactly what you want. You want that rough type of sex, the kind you’d never had before, and the kind that you figure only Steve can give you.

You pull away and take a deep breath. “Take me home?”

He nods and digs through his pockets for his keys. You reach out and grab his arm. “Are you good to drive?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking at you with knitted brows. “Do you live close?”

“Like two streets over,” you say, licking your lips, looking at the chest exposed from the buttons you’d loosened.

“Oh. Well yeah, yeah, I can drive there.” He smiles at you, cockily, making you equally hate him and love him. “Look at you, caring about me.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, and he reaches around to pinch your ass before sweeping you away towards his car.

Anna watches you with wide eyes and a large smile, mocking a dramatic clap, and you roll your eyes and wave to her.

As you climb into Steve’s car, the apprehension comes back, biting both of you. Steve’s worried he’s moving too fast for you, or being too forward, and you’re worried about the same. You weren’t a virgin, but you didn’t do casual hookups. You worried you were in over your head. You check the clock on his dashboard – it’s already 2 am. Maybe you should just go to bed and sleep the tipsiness off.

You quietly give him directions, and he follows them hesitantly. As you pull into your driveway, he sits, unsure. You look over at him, and he looks back. Looking at him, his kind eyes, his boyish and pretty features, you are reminded of why you wanted him to take you home in the first place. You lean forward and catch his lips in yours again, relaxing him, and he cups your jaw in his hand.

You grab his hand and lead it down to your breasts, slowly, and he sighs in response, cupping one and massaging it.

“Such a bad girl,” he breathes, and the butterflies go from your stomach to in between your thighs. It’s a bit funny, hearing him say that about you, but you can’t find the time to care.

“No, I’m not,” you respond quietly. You smile. “I just wanted you to come tuck me in.”

He rolls his eyes and smiles back, catching your lips again, hands wandering. You start to giggle after a few seconds of this, asking, “Are you going to tuck me in or not?”

Steve gets out of the car in lightning speed, running over to open your door. You shake your head – why is he being a gentleman right now? – but take the hand he offers as you climb out. You stumble slightly and he catches you, kissing you again. You have to practically pull him towards your front door.

“You have to be quiet,” you say as you go to unlock it. “My parents are home.”

“A shame,” he whispers, pressing into your back. You can feel his erection against your ass and you sigh, pressing into it. “I wanted to hear you scream tonight.”

“While you tuck me in?”

You can’t see it, but he rolls his eyes.

After successfully sneaking your way into your room, you decide to give him a bit of a show while you were feeling confident. You push him away slightly and start to pull your sleeves down, and he watches with an open mouth. You shimmy out slowly, left in panties and your heels – no bra, as it wouldn’t look good under the dress. A wave of desire runs through Steve as he looks at you; he had never been with a girl that didn’t wear a bra. It would not have been a big deal to anyone except him.

You take your shoes off successfully and stand up straight, looking at him expectantly. He breathes out and whispers, “You are so beautiful.”

You notice your anxiety making you shake a bit and try to just focus on his smooth face and pink lips. “Tuck me in?”

He walks you backwards until you’re at your bed. He pulls the covers back and you lay down, goosebumps covering your skin. As he leans down (with a smile) to tuck the sheets around you, you pull him towards you, lips colliding, and he climbs on top of you breathlessly.

Your hands fly everywhere again. Your fingers run through his hair, gaining a moan from him, and you tug it lightly, making his hips buck. You smile at your discovery but continue your hands down. You tug his shirt and he parts briefly to take it off and chuck it. Your hands run down his toned chest, across his biceps, down to his jeans, and he bucks his hips again. He parts from your lips and kisses down your neck, sucking bruises into the skin, and you moan lightly.

“Are you sure?” he asks, coming up to meet your gaze. His hand cups your cheek and you see a tenderness in his brown eyes, one that you hadn’t seen with other partners. You trust him.

“I’m positive,” you pant. Your eyes glisten as they take in every feature. “Do whatever you’d like.”

He stills. “Are you sure? I mean – I don’t – I don’t want to hurt you, or anything –“

“Steve,” you whisper, cupping his cheek. “Shut up and tear me apart.”

He needs to further convincing. He is soon as naked as you, left only in his boxers, and he kisses down your chest and to your stomach. Your eyes flutter closed and you grip his hand, lacing your fingers through his. It’s a simple gesture, but one he had never experienced in bed before. He squeezes back and uses his free hand to rub your clit. You let out a strangled moan, careful to be quiet, and he dips into your folds to pump a finger in and out. After a few moments, he adds a second finger. His movements are gentle, and while you appreciate his tenderness, you want more. You whine and he seems to get the hint, picking up his pace, making your hips thrust and a hand flies up to your mouth. He reaches his thumb up to brush against your clit, and even though its awkward as his hand pumps in and out of you, you relish in the feeling.

You reach down and try to take his boxers off, but Steve pins your free hand to the bed. He unlaces his fingers from yours and reaches down, ridding them himself, and you can’t believe how good he looks. Well, you canbelieve it, as its all his exes would talk about, but you weren’t really expecting them to be truthful. You wrap a hand around his dick and pump as he moans sinfully, hands going back to work at your cunt, mouth wrapping around a nipple and biting and sucking harshly.

You press your mouth into his hair, moaning out his name, and he smiles around your breast, releasing it and going to the other one. The hand not pumping him runs through his hair and you tug, releasing another loud moan from him. He pulls away from you and you stare as his eyes squeeze shut, mouth open in an “o”. You continue to jerk him off and tug on his hair, and he swears he died and went to heaven, thrusting his hips into your hand and groaning, trying not to make too much noise. Eventually he pulls your hand away from his cock and he pulls you down to him.

“Condoms?” he asks. “I have one in my –“

You beat him to the punch, pointing at your nightstand, and he quickly gets one out and puts it on. He laces his hands in yours, pinned up by your head, and lines up with you. You feel like you can’t breathe, or maybe you literally can’t, and you pant up at him. His face his framed beautifully by his hair, and he looks like an angel.

“Are you sure?” he asks again.

“Positive,” you repeat, and he fills you in one thrust.

Steve starts slow but quickly picks up, eventually slamming into you so hard that your headboard slams against the wall. You wish you had the power to tell him to slow down, but you don’t. It feels way too good, to the point that you don’t give a damn if your parents question you in the morning. The feeling of him pulling completely out before plunging back in, his lips on your neck, pinning your hands down: it was all too much to handle. You bury your head in his hair again and he lifts his head to kiss you, drowning both of your moans out. You free a hand and pull on his hair and he whines sinfully, fucking into you even harder, spurred on by your touch.

His hands run down your body and he grips your thighs harshly, steadying himself. He makes a conscious effort to not cum too quickly at the feeling of you, the sounds you’re making, how slick and hot you are, the sheen of sweat and your hair fanned out around you making you look like someone out of his Playboy magazines. Steve finally reaches down and rubs your clit, and your vision goes black, head thrown back, and his lips clash against yours just in time to silence a loud moan.

“I’m going to cum,” you say against his lips, and he grins.

“Cum for me, Y/N,” he pants, fucking you quicker and harder than before, making you wander fleetingly how it’s even possible. “Cum all over my cock, sweetheart. You can do it, come on, let go.”

You cry out and his face buries itself into your neck, biting down as he has his release at the same time you do. You see stars, eyes clenched shut tightly, legs wrapping around his hips. His pace stammers for a moment before slowing down and stopping, panting into you. He rests on your chest and you play lazily with his hair, trying to catch your breath. He’s sticky and wet, but you can’t care, just enjoying how your hearts beat together, coming down from their highs.

Eventually Steve pulls out and disposes the condom in your bedside trashcan, laying down beside you after. His hand reaches for yours and your fingers interlace again – a silent gesture of trust.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, and you nod.

“My legs can’t stop shaking, but I’m great,” you say. “Are you?”

“I’m amazing,” he says, squeezing your hand, and you laugh.

You roll over to face him. “Do you still have a crush on me?”

He rolls over and faces you, too, eyes serious. “I do. And I can’t wait to see you on Monday.”

You bring his hand up to your chest, resting it above your heart. “I can’t wait, either.”

Steve pulls you back in and kisses you, gingerly this time, soft and slow and sweetly. His gentleness is dizzying.

After laying in silence for a few minutes, just staring at each other, you start to nod off, and Steve decides it’s time to go. He quietly gets up, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He dresses himself again and your eyes flicker open just as he is about to go.

“Steve,” you whisper, reaching your hand out. He comes and takes it, smiling down at you.

“I wish you could stay,” you mumble.

He nods, his content smile turning sad as his eyes turn downward. “I wish so too.”

“My parents –‘

“I know,” he responds. He gives your hand a kiss and releases it. “I’ll see you Monday.”

You smile dreamily. He walks towards the door again, wishing he didn’t have to go, leaving you in all your beaming glory behind. He shakes himself out of it and exits, quietly shutting the door on his way out.

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

tags (message if you want to join <3): @harrington-ofhawkins​ @wolfish-willow​ @gothackedalready​

[yepiamthesmileyface]

Just Friends(?)

[Image description: screenshot of an ask sent by @nemesis-is-my-middle-name​ reading “38 - Everyone thinks we’re already dating, but we’re just best friends- oh wait? (if ur taking prompts idk)” end image description]

Read it on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28347906

Going to a Denny’s after a case was always a gamble. On one hand, there was hot, cheap junk food at whatever ungodly time they wrapped up their investigation; but on the other, sometimes the Denny’s had specimens like this. Vivi sighed, shoving a huge bite of her pancakes in her mouth and trying to tune out the ravings of the old white man who had stormed up to their booth — at three in the morning, mind you — and started screeching about how you should be ashamed of yourselves, displaying such perversions in public!! and three people living in sin!!

Normally, Vivi would have at least been making snarky comments, if not actually challenging him to a fight for insulting her and her boys like that, but...she was tucked comfortably under Lewis’s arm, the hand that wasn’t holding her fork reached across and resting on Arthur’s thigh. Also, it was literally three in the morning, she was covered in mud and slime from chasing a giant frog-creature around in a nearby river, and she had been awake for twenty-one consecutive hours. She took another bite. The pancakes tasted extra good for the exhaustion and ache sunk into her bones, strawberry topping and whipped cream and thick fluffy pancakes and maple syrup...it was almost enough to get her to forget about the man shrieking at them. She glanced back over at him, idly noting that his face was turning an interesting shade of puce.

The waiter walked back over with the same jaded, unfazed look he wore when the three of them had staggered into the Denny’s, soaked to the bone and absolutely covered in muck. He folded his arms and stared at the old man. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re disturbing the other guests.” The old man turned to look at the waiter, puffing up not unlike the giant frog the Mystery Skulls had captured and returned to its actual habitat not half an hour ago, and rapidly deflating as he took in the completely impassive, almost dead-eyed stare of the late-night Denny’s waiter. He hurried out of the building, spitting one last insult about how they were all going to hell for living in sin. Given that he had used that particular phrase about nineteen times, it had kind of lost its fire, as far as Vivi was concerned.

Vivi felt some of the tension drain out of Lewis, and she turned her head, looking over at her boys. Lewis looked relieved and tired, catching her eye and smiling at her, soft and warm and completely unguarded. There was a streak of mud high on his cheek, almost matting in his no-longer-pristine hair. She smiled back, the expression billowing up like a balloon on a current of love, and reached up to wipe the smear away. Lewis leaned into her touch, and she cupped his cheek for a moment before wiping her hand on her skirt and leaning forward a little to peer around Lewis’s chest in order to check on Arthur. In contrast, Arthur looked like a live wire of tension, like he would either shatter or vault over the table and sprint away if anything else happened. Her smile dropped.

The waiter turned to them, ready with a scripted apology that actually carried a note of sincerity that Lewis quickly waved off. As he took care of talking to the waiter, Vivi leaned across him, patting Arthur’s leg quickly to get his attention. 

Arthur jumped, nearly hitting his knees on the table. Vivi felt a little guilty, but quickly pushed through. “Hey. It’s alright. He’s gone.”

Arthur met her gaze, eyes wide and grin forced. His hair hung limp around his face, framing him beautifully in dark gold. “Y-yeah. Plus — plu-plus, h-he — was, wasn’t even may-making any, any, any se-sen-se.”

She bit her lip. If his stutter was coming out that strong, he was either much more anxious or much more tired than she thought. Probably a combination of both. Pulling up a warm, playful grin from the depths of her chilled bones, she said, “Yeah. I mean, his argument was both really painfully dumb and also really Christian-centric! I mean, hello, not everyone is Christian, I’m definitely not, so, like…”

Arthur continued on like he hadn’t even heard her, leg starting to bounce under the hand she just realized she never moved. “I me-mean, I mean, he — h-he — we, we’re — I mean, we’re jus-just, just friends. Wh— I do-don’t kno— I dunno why h-he tho-thougth we we-were —”

Vivi felt Lewis freeze under her, and she wasn’t far behind. She felt breathless, like she had been punched in the gut, like he had slapped her in the face instead of saying those three little words bouncing around her head. We’re just friends?! “Wait. Wait, what?!” The words came out closer to a whine than she would have liked them to, but she was too stunned to really care.

At the same time, Lewis gasped like he had been shot. “You’re — are you breaking up with us?!” He sounded like he was two seconds away from bursting into loud sobs in the middle of this Denny’s.

Arthur’s mouth dropped open, and he stared at them with eyes the size of dinner plates. A stunned silence fell over their booth, broken only by the wavering sound of Lewis’s breathing.

Before any more drama could happen, Vivi held up her hand, forcing the words out past the cold spot that had taken up residence between her lungs. “No. Nuh-uh. Arthur, one word answer, and we’ll talk about this all when it’s tomorrow. Are you breaking up with us?”

Arthur opened and closed his mouth a few times before volunteering a tentative, “N-no…?”

Her shoulders slumped as she let out an explosive sigh. “Alright. Let’s — tomorrow? Tomorrow, when we’re not all so tired, we’re gonna talk about this, yes?”

Arthur nodded slowly, still boggling at them for some reason. Vivi was too tired to puzzle his behavior over properly, so she just glanced up at Lewis, who also nodded, unwinding his arm from around her to wipe at his face.

The rest of the night seemed to pass in snapshots to Vivi’s tired mind. Their dinner being boxed up. Walking back to the motel, just across the parking lot. Patting Mystery on the head and telling him he’s a good boy yes he is. Collapsing face first into the delicious crisp coolness of the starched motel bed. Lewis’s deep, tired chuckle as he took her glasses off her face. The weight of another body next to hers, but not the two she had become accustomed to after countless nights on the futon in the van. 

The next morning, she woke up slowly to the smell of coffee, and made to roll over so she could sit up. Instead, the world plummeted around her as she rolled right off the bed with a sharp, panicked yelp, caught in a devious trap of tangled blankets and sheets. A soft, almost stifled snort came from her left, and a pair of hands reached into the gordian knot of fabric, deftly untangling her. She squinted up at the blur of color and fuzz, the pale yellow-orange blur instantly recognizable as Arthur.

Vivi huffed, knowing full well he was smirking at her, the bastard. “Oh, like you’ve never rolled off the bed before.” She flailed her hand towards the bedside table, groping around blindly and not finding her quarry. “Where the hell’re —” A yawn interrupted her, wide enough to make her jaw crack. 

The Arthur-blur disappeared for a second, and when he came back, he slipped her glasses into her hands, his hands nice and warm where they made contact with hers. “Lew had ‘em over on his side of the bed for some reason.”

She slipped her glasses on, and the world came into rose-tinted focus. “Thanks, Artie.” She looked around the motel room, noting a distinct lack of giant purple-headed fops and talking dogs, and frowned. “Speaking of, where is he?”

“He’s grabbing all our meds from the van, I think. At least, I’m hoping he’s grabbing all of ours, he just said he’d get the meds, but I didn’t —” Arthur cut himself off with a swig from his travel mug. “Oh, and Mystery took himself out for a walk a couple’a minutes ago.”

Vivi laughed. “He’s probably definitely grabbing all of our meds. Did he make coffee, or did you?”

“It’s from the breakfast buffet, actually. Burnt, but not horrible. Better than that place in Staccatto, anyway,” Arthur shrugged, walking over to sprawl on the couch. “I grabbed you a cup, too, don’t worry.”

“The mud we were wading around in yesterday woulda been better coffee than that place in Staccatto,” Vivi grumbled, picking herself up and making a beeline for the coffee. “I’m pretty sure it was dirt. At least fifty percent dirt.” Leaning against the wall as she drank, she picked at the feeling that she was forgetting something. Something important, not just the fact that she forgot to shower last night and as such was still covered in itchy, flaky mud and sweat and her socks were sagging down without fresh sock glue — she shook her head to clear it. She was forgetting something important, something that had happened the night before. The case had gone well, they were paid half upfront and they would get the other half later that day, Lewis was getting their meds, breakfast was either the buffet or leftovers...leftovers. Wait. Her eyes widened as the whole Denny’s escapade came back to her in a flash. The bigoted old man who had practically burst a vein yelling at them, Arthur’s comment about them being just friends — but he wasn’t breaking up with them, apparently???

Downing the rest of the coffee in one gulp, she glanced towards the door, then back to Arthur. She should wait, Vivi told herself sternly. She should wait for Lewis, because Lewis was an important part of their relationship, and he should not be left out of serious relationship discussions.

Luckily, she was saved from the antsy feeling creeping around under her shoulder blades by the sound of the door opening. Lewis ducked in, a tote bag bearing the logo of a kitschy tourist trap in his hand. He beamed as he noticed her, walking up and giving her a good morning kiss.

Vivi laughed, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him away lightly. “Lew, I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet! No morning breath kisses, we all agreed those were the worst.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Arthur start, but Lewis just laughed, walking over to the table and setting the bag down on it. He started to unpack, first his own rainbow pill caddy, then Vivi’s cylindrical one, and finally Arthur’s loose assortment of orange bottles. “Fine, fine. Meds, everybody, come and get it.”

Once they had all taken their various medications, and Arthur had been chided into using his coffee to take his meds instead of taking them dry, Vivi took a deep breath. “Okay. Boys, I think we need to have a serious conversation now.” Arthur stiffened, and his eyes darted towards the windows. Vivi immediately strode forward, sitting down on the couch next to him. “I will sit on you if I have to, Artie,” she warned him, only half joking.

Arthur sighed and slumped against the couch, covering his face with his hands. His ears were cherry-red, and Vivi couldn’t help but find it cute.

Despite the cuteness, she shared a worried glance with Lewis as he settled down on the bed across from the couch. Lewis shook his head, a worried frown pulling at his face. She took another deep, grounding breath, setting her shoulders and sitting up straight before she looked at Arthur. “Okay. Arthur. What was that last night? You — you said we were just friends,” and those words still stung like a winter wind, “But then you say you’re not breaking up with us?”

It came out a touch more accusatory than she wanted it to, and Lewis took over with a gentle, “We’re not mad, Arthur. Not disappointed, either, but — if you don’t want us to even say we’re dating when we’re in public, I wish you’d told us earlier. It’s okay if you don’t! It really is, I get it, but…”

Arthur went impossibly redder, and curled in on himself, drawing his knees up towards his chest. “I dndwrdn…” he whined, muffled by his hands.

“I didn’t catch that, sorry,” Vivi said, wrapping her hands lightly around his wrists and tugging gently, trying to get him to lower them. 

Arthur took a deep breath, dropped his hands, and half yelled, “I didn’t know we were dating!!!” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, his hands shot back up so fast he practically slapped himself in the face.

Vivi sat back, stunned. He...didn’t know? How could he possibly not know?!

“I — I, I, you — you never asked!” Arthur yelped.

Oh, she had said that out loud. “What do you — Arthur, we asked you out two months ago!”

Lewis raised his hands in a T, using the same tone he used on his sisters when they were getting too rowdy. “Okay, you two, time out!”

They both fell silent, turning to face Lewis.

Lewis tilted his head, looking at their boyfriend. Who...apparently didn’t know that he was their boyfriend. “Arthur...do you really not remember? We asked you out when we were back home, almost two months ago.”

“Okay, yes, it was a month, four weeks, and five days, not two months, but I don’t think semantic arguments are gonna be a big help here, babe,” Vivi grumbled.

Arthur shook his head wordlessly, still hiding his cherry-red face.

A month, four weeks, five days, and a handful of hours ago…

“It honestly feels so weird not living out of the van, doesn’t it?” Vivi mused, taking a bite of pizza.

“It really does. I’d completely forgotten what it was like to be woken up in the morning by forty pounds of overenthusiastic child launched directly at my sternum,” Lewis laughed, rubbing at his chest.

“Lew, we’ve only been road tripping for three months. That’s a bit quick, big guy,” Arthur snickered, pausing to shove half a slice of his weird oyster pizza in his mouth.

“It was so nice, though! The most I had to deal with while living with y’all is your pointy elbows!” Lewis leaned over and mussed Arthur’s hair. A laugh bubbled out of Arthur as he batted at Lewis’s hand futilely, trying to save his cone of hair gel. Laughing, Lewis subsided, pulling back. “But, yeah, I woke up this morning with a Cayenne-shaped bruise right on my sternum.”

Vivi winced sympathetically, shaking her head. “Ouch. Did she mean to?”

“Nah. Just excited.” Lewis’s smile turned fond. “They missed me. Demanded souvenirs and made me sit down and be their personal giant teddy bear as they watched Moana for the eighth time. Then Paprika gave me about twenty bead bracelets. When y’all come to the Paradiso, she’s got your piles waiting.”

“She’s still doing bead bracelets?” Vivi asked, a note of excitement in her voice. The last time they had all gotten bead bracelets from Paprika, it was right after the Peppers had explained what transgender meant, and the three of them had all gotten a bead bracelet with the word transgender wildly misspelled, the pink, white, and blue of the flag slapped randomly on there. It was the best piece of jewelry she owned — hers said “trasgenner”, Arthur’s said “trainsgandr”, and Lewis’s said “trasgeneer”. Paprika had been very determined to do it on her own, and had just gone with her best guess on each one.

“Yep! She’s got one for both of you that has your favorite animal as a charm,” Lewis revealed, grinning.

“Perfect!” Vivi did a very restrained fist pump.

Arthur hummed, staring at the pizza boxes on the table. It was almost a full twenty seconds before he grabbed another slice. “That actually sounds really nice. Both the, the bracelets and the personal teddy bear Moana thing.”

“Honestly, it wasn’t bad at all.”

Silence descended on their table, comfortable and companionable. Vivi shut her pizza box, setting her elbows on the table and propping her head on her hands, studying the two in front of her. Butterflies were building in her stomach — they were just both so beautiful, the warm noonday sunlight making both her boys glow in different ways. Arthur looked like he was wreathed in gold, his hair and eyes shining the same color as the sunlight. On the other hand, the warm light brought out the full richness of Lewis’s skin tone and made his hair gleam like the satin of his ascot, as well as glinting off his sparkly magenta nail polish. She made eye contact with Lewis, jerking her chin towards Arthur and wiggling her eyebrows.

Lewis blushed, glancing at Arthur nervously. Arthur, completely oblivious, simply leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting closed. He didn’t look tired, or, at least, not drop dead exhausted, just relaxed, happy, and full, so Vivi took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders.

“So, Artie...there’s something we’ve been meaning to ask you.”

Arthur opened his eyes, meeting her gaze curiously. There was no undercurrent of nervousness in his eyes, and Vivi was warmed to the core by his trust in them — she had asked an extremely open-ended question. “Huh? What’s up?”

Lewis cleared his throat. “We want to ask you if...Arthur, would you like to go out with us?”

“I thought that’s what we’re already doing right now…?” Arthur looked adorably confused, brow furrowed as he looked between them. 

Vivi shook her head. “No, like, as a date. Will you go on a date with us, and-or be our boyfriend?”

Arthur sat very still for a long moment (she wasn’t even sure he was breathing) before a grin unfolded across his face, as resplendent as the sun itself. “Yeah. I’d — I’d really love that. I — yeah. Yeah, I’ll go out with you and be your boyfriend.”

“Oh, perfect!” Vivi squealed, barely restraining herself from launching across the table and kissing him until he was more lipstick-mark than man. “When works best for you? Should we go somewhere in town, or wait til we’re on the road again? There’s this sushi place in Tremolo that I’ve just been dying to try, we should go there, if we’re waiting til we’re on the road again. Or just in general, it seems really good and I haven’t had good sushi in ages.”

Arthur tilted his head, clearly considering her words. His smile took on a wistful edge. “...y’know...I don’t really need all the fancy date stuff. Just...I’m happy to do what we’ve been doing, just...together. Having you guys be — being with you guys, romantically — that...that would be enough for me,” he said softly.

Lewis grinned over at him, soft and sappy, and opened his mouth. Before he could say anything, his phone rang in his pocket, and he pulled it out, grimacing a little as he checked the caller ID. “It’s Papá. Hold on, I gotta take this.” He stood up, stepping a bit away. Not a minute later, he stepped back, regretful smile firmly in place. “...sorry, guys. I’m needed back at the Paradiso for free childcare,” he joked.

“Aww…” Vivi was really only half disappointed. They had pretty much finished up lunch, only a few slices left between the three of them (none of them hers), and she had a shift at the Tome Tomb coming up soon, anyway. And, more importantly, they had asked Arthur out and he said yes! Their couple was now officially a polycule!

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. “I can — give you a ride. I gotta get back to Uncle Lance’s place anyway, I’m...” he trailed off, and Vivi waited maybe ten seconds for him to finish his sentence before accepting that he had lost his train of thought.

“Well, then...the Tome Tomb ain’t far, I can walk. I guess this is the end of our first date,” Vivi sighed. She stood up, standing on her tiptoes and pulling Lewis down for a chaste kiss before walking over and pressing a kiss to Arthur’s stubble-roughened cheek — familiar territory that should have been safe enough, she did that in the post-case exhilaration at least half the time. 

Arthur blushed bright red anyway, and she left with a bright laugh, walking on clouds with the universe held in her hands.

A month, four weeks, five days, and a handful of hours after that…

Arthur groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Really?! I — guys, I had been awake for, like, two solid days at that point!”

“So you — you don’t remember us asking you out at all?” Lewis asked, shocked. 

“No! Or — well — ki-kinda? I — kinda thought I was dreaming…” Arthur trailed off into muttering, fidgeting with his bracelets and not making eye contact.

Vivi paused for a moment, eyebrows creeping up. “Wow. Way to inflate our egos, there, Artie,” she joked. 

“Wh— how am I inflating your ego?!” Arthur jerked his head up to look at her.

“We asked you out and you literally thought you were dreaming. We’re literally your dream partners!” She cackled.

Instead of laughing, Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, looking down, his words spilling out in a jumble. “Um. Y-yeah, actually...I — didn’t think it was — I, I mean, I’d, um I’d had dreams...like that...before. And...uh. Since then if I’m being honest.”

Vivi felt a blush rising in her cheeks, and she covered her mouth. 

“That’s...that’s incredibly sweet, Artie…” Lewis managed, blushing harder than she was. 

Vivi cleared her throat. “Sap,” she managed, shaking her head fondly.

Arthur took a deep, shaky breath. “So, um. Can...can we start over? On dating? I do — I really, really do want to date you guys, for real, I just...didn’t...know?”

“Of course!” Vivi and Lewis exclaimed in accidental unison.

“And this time you’ve definitely slept enough to be lucid,” Lewis added on lightheartedly. “You were snoring before I fell asleep.”

“Well…” Arthur smiled, lopsided. “I’m pretty sure I am, anyway. Lucid, that is — and how could you hear me snoring over Vivi’s, anyway? But, uh —”

“— Hey!” Vivi interrupted. “I don’t snore that loud!”

“You sound like a train, Vivs,” Arthur teased, before clearing his throat. “But, uh. Anyway. Wanna...wanna pinch me so I’m sure I’m not dreaming this time?”

Vivi smirked at him. “I’ll do you one better, actually.” 

Before he could respond, Vivi leaned over, pressing a kiss to his lips. It took him a moment to react, startled, but he hesitantly started to kiss back after a second or two. There weren’t any fireworks, at least for her; if anything, it felt like being electrocuted, but in a good way, sparks shooting through her whole body, curling her toes and making her fingertips tingle. Arthur’s hand came up to grip at her sweater. Vivi kept the kiss chaste, and pulled back after a moment, glancing at Lewis.

Lewis pouted at her, a smile tugging at his lips and his voice. “Aww, I wanted to kiss him first, you got to do it at the restaurant.”

Arthur licked his lips, breath coming out a little funny, and swallowed hard before he got up and stepped towards Lewis, grinning crookedly. “W-well...consolation prize?”

Lewis let out a bark of laughter, startling Arthur into jumping a little, and pulled Arthur close with a gentle hand. “I can live with that,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss him. 

Vivi settled back, watching her boys kiss from the lumpy motel couch. It felt like coming home, like kicking off her shoes and shedding her stress as easily as taking off her scarf. She ran her tongue over her teeth absentmindedly, and grimaced. “Whoops. Sorry, Artie, didn’t mean for our first kiss to be a morning breath kiss.”

Arthur broke away from the kiss he was sharing with Lewis to blink at her, swaying a little bit. “...huh?” he managed, brain visibly rebooting. “Oh! Uh. It’s okay, I don’t think I...noticed?”

“Still, it’s the principle of the matter,” Vivi wrinkled her nose, standing up. “I’ll be right back, you two keep doing what you’re doing.” She tossed in a wink for good measure, and made her way to the bathroom with the accompaniment of Arthur’s flustered squeak and Lewis’s deep, rich laughter.

[littlespoonevan]

asjdfh that conversation in 7x10 always bothered me so much!!! this ended up less confrontational than i had intended but hopefully it still makes it v clear how much ian is still in love with mickey <3 the dialogue during the first half of the conversation is taken directly from the scene in 7x10 so obviously, isn’t of my own creation.

(just a head’s up: i’m not accepting anymore prompts at the moment while i work on the ones in my inbox <3)

*

Ian turns the burner phone over in his hand, eyes flicking to the time on his watch and back to the phone.

He’s supposed to meet Mickey in twenty minutes.

Fuck.

Seeing him this morning had completely unravelled every carefully constructed lie Ian has been telling himself for the past two years. Namely, that he’s over Micky.

Because he isn’t. Fuck, he isn’t. It had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed not to press Mickey into the chain-link fence and devour him like he’d wanted to. Being in his orbit again, smelling that same familiar scent, feeling Mickey’s hands on him, staring into those blue eyes…Ian had been ready to toss any and all common sense out the window just to have a chance to kiss Mickey again.

He blows out a breath and pushes himself to stand up. Whatever happens tonight he thinks he needs to see Mickey again. Even if it’s just one last time.

He pockets the phone and hurries down the stairs, intent on slipping out without anyone noticing he’s gone, but his plans are foiled when he finds Fiona just waking up on the couch. They make general conversation for a minute or two while she tells him about the money issues at the laundromat but Ian’s focus gets pulled away the minute the burner phone starts vibrating with another text.

You coming or not, Gallagher?

Ian bites his lip, staring intently at the screen before he remembers to answer Fiona’s question of why he’s still awake. “Couldn’t sleep,” he replies absently. He snaps the phone shut, curling his fingers around it.

“You ever, uh, think about what woulda happened if you’d ran off with Jimmy-Steve?” He doesn’t know what possesses him to ask but he just- he thinks maybe she’ll get it. Maybe she’ll understand the mess of emotions spiralling through his head right now.

The look of complete and utter surprise on Fiona’s face followed by the amused puff of air tells him almost instantly she probably won’t get it.

“Lying sociopath Jimmy-Steve?” she prompts and Ian waits for her to keep going, hoping she might still surprise him. “My life would be a…non-stop psycho thriller. I definitely dodged a bullet with that one.”

And he tries not to but he can’t help the way his heart sinks at her words. He wants her to understand where he’s coming from. To remember the hold Jimmy-Steve used to have over her emotions and her willpower and her heart. Because more than anything, he wants someone to help him fucking rationalise what he’s feeling right now.

“What if nothing ever gives you that same thrill again?” he murmurs, avoiding her gaze and feeling his eyes being drawn back to the phone. “Would you still feel like you dodged a bullet?”

Fiona seems to think about it for a second, frowning as she answers. “I don’t know…Probably.”

He wonders what that’s like. To know with absolute certainty nothing and no one could ever make you feel that way again but that you’re still better off. He doesn’t believe that.

“Where’s this comin’ from?” Fiona asks him then, shifting on the couch to turn towards Ian more.

He sighs, figuring he may as well tell her some of it. “Things have been weird between me and Trev since Mickey got out.”

“You mean since Mickey busted out of prison and has got half the Chicago police department circling the South Side lookin’ for him?” Fiona retorts and she says it softly but it’s still cuts a bit.

“I can’t get him outta my head,” Ian admits, shaking his head and closing his eyes for a second as the memory of Mickey standing so close, being so present, sends his nerves tingling. “I’m just…trying to stop myself from doing something I shouldn’t.”

And he’s not, really. Because he knows whatever Fiona says he’ll still go. He knows even if this is a bad idea he’ll still go. He can’t help it. The compulsion to see Mickey again – for longer than five minutes this time – is beating steadily under his skin. But maybe he’s still just a child waiting for her permission so he doesn’t feel like he’s doing something wrong.

“You turned your life around,” Fiona says after a beat, eyes wide and solemn. “Mickey would set a match to it.”

The words leave Ian’s mouth before he’s even consciously aware he’s saying them. “He wouldn’t though,” he disagrees, voice quiet.

Fiona blinks, looking taken aback. “What d’you mean?”

“He wouldn’t.” Ian repeats, sounding more sure as he meets Fiona’s gaze. “The whole on-the-run thing- fine. But Mickey- All Mickey did when I got diagnosed was try to help me. He was the one who convinced me to sign the consent forms at the psych ward, he was the one who got me to take my meds, who talked me down when I was seein’ things, who lay with me when I couldn’t get outta bed. And what did he fucking get to show for it? Me breaking up with him because I thought he’d be better off without me and a fucking prison sentence.”

He feels himself flush at the shocked expression on Fiona’s face, simultaneously embarrassed he’s revealed so much and defiant against any protests she might have. When Fiona doesn’t say anything he bites his lip and keeps going.

“I asked you about Jimmy-Steve and you looked like his name hadn’t even entered your head in forever. It’s not the same for me, Fi. I think about him all the time,” he confesses, mouth twisting ruefully. “Even when I try to tell myself I don’t care anymore, even when I try to say I’ve moved on. He’s always there.”

Fiona heaves a breath, blinking rapidly as she stares down at the spot on the couch between them. Eventually she looks back up at him but the expression on her face suggests she has no idea what she has to say. “Hey,” she says, voice sounding strained. “I know you care about him, okay? I know. But you got your shit together without him, Ian. Remember that.”

Ian stares back at her and he knows she’s right but she also doesn’t get it. “It’s my fault I had to do it without him,” he whispers desperately. He loved me and I threw it back in his face. I love him and I never got the chance to tell him I still do.

Fiona sighs, rubbing at her temples. “Look, I can’t tell you what to do here. But you’ve survived this long without him. Sometimes moving on is the right thing, even if it doesn’t always feel like it.”

He nods, feeling the fight go out of him. He doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to say. Fiona gives him a small smile and stands up, ruffling his hair and murmuring, “Good night,” as she passes him to go upstairs.

Ian glances back down at the phone when she’s gone, feeling it vibrate in his hand once more.

Fiona’s right – he’s survived this long without Mickey.

He doesn’t just want to survive though; he wants to live again.

Standing up, he pulls his coat off the hook in the entryway and flips open the phone to Mickey’s last text.

Well?

Ian steels himself and opens the front door.

On my way.

*

[coraxaviary]

Halcyon

SHIFTY POWERS   X   READER

Preface:

My first actual x reader work. It was actually very fun to write except for my mini-breakdown when I couldn’t figure out how to force my fingers to type the word “kiss.” 

Summary: There is the forest, and an indescribable feeling of vitality. It doesn’t take long for you to realize the source of life is your proximity to Shifty.

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: None.

.

“Hey, Shifty,” you say, leaning heavily into his side, the light of the full moon making the night bright and luminary. Despite the relative dimness and landscape of shadows, you can still make out the shine of stars reflected in the sheen of Shifty’s eyes. He blinks, and then looks at you. You’re pressing close and for a fearful second you’re afraid he’ll pull back. He doesn’t, just answers.

“Yeah?” he says. The hard angular line of his shoulder is jutting into your arm, but you don’t mind it, just take the moment for how it is and try not to think too hard about any of the days before Zell am See, and maybe the days after, where you will be thrown into the boundless, bloodsoaked scatter-spray of islands that jut barely out of the Pacific ocean, on the other side of the globe.

Some of the memories have taken on a golden tint – like Toccoa, a happy medium between civilian mundanity and desperation-tinged fraternity. Toccoa is not that hard to think about. You remember when Shifty was smiling and laughing often, untouched by death and hunger in the good times.

“You ever think about how things woulda turned out if this war never happened?”

Shifty pauses for a second to look down at you, and then looks back out over the still lake, glassy surface only bothered occasionally by the meandering wind. The cicadas here are rising and swelling with the black of night. It must be late now, and both of you should head inside to get some sleep before you start training. Training to go to war – back to war, Speirs had phrased it, as if you’d somehow left.

The heavenly tint of Austria is deceiving, but no one ever forgets why they are here in the grassy knolls of a country that needed liberating, basking in the blue sky and the green lake and the emeraldine forests, where there are deer aplenty, bird in the air, and the deep, deep smell of earthy magic. It is enchanting, but it is not home. It does not possess the same familiarity of a shared language, American pavement, and the feeling of settlement and antique hope.

You wonder whether or not the American hope is a scam sold by the remnants of your fathers’ generation – a cheap marketing scheme to get as many young people as possible to sign up for a few years of shelling, killing, smoking, bleeding, and running. It’s not really important at this moment, though, so you refuse to ask Shifty something as heartbreaking as the dissolution of the American Dream in the face of world conflict.

“Yeah,” he finally answers. “I reckon’ everybody does.” He says it in that Southern, wild twang that settles in your bones as a souvenir of home, even though you’re not even from anywhere remotely near Virginia, or that small speck of town Shifty speaks so nostalgically about.

You move around a little bit, trying to make his shoulder less sharp in your side. It’s never been soft, because Shifty is muscled and unyielding like the other men, despite his rather gentle exterior.

“You think we’d have met?” you ask, and the question is loaded. What you really mean is to dig for any type of affection in Shifty, that old crush coming back with a vengeance now that you haven’t heard German shells in a month. You know he doesn’t really sense the underlying implication, the I wish we’d met in the calm part of the century, at least you don’t think. You tell yourself that the extra pause and the flick of his eyes to your face for a half-second longer is just Shifty being simultaneously thoughtful and languid and earnest like he always is.

“No, I wouldn’t wager. Not much of a chance,” he says briefly before fidgeting in his lap with some loose part of his uniform, as if some part of the answer bothers him. It bothers you, too, because you can’t have peace and friendship at the same time in any situation. And it’s sad, because you might even choose peace over meeting Easy, just for the chance to never have to do any of this… this rending, firing, and staunching ever.

“Hmm,” you say, because there’s nothing else to say. Shifty laughs emptily and you risk laying your head on his collarbone – something you haven’t done since you huddled in a foxhole together.

It sounds kind of weird to think, but you can hear him smiling in the dark: just the small sound of lips parting and saliva against teeth. You think it’s sad that you’ll probably never see that smile resurface when you’re done crawling up the sandy beaches under Japanese fire, but you smile too.

If his hand brushes against your waist, as if he wants to hold you but decides against it, neither of you acknowledge it.

~

He’s more like a fox to you than anything else, you realize, as you watch him with those sharp eyes and cheekbones and the set of his lips, always looking steady but piercing over the sight of his M-1. He waves at you to be still, and you stop walking, dappled glare of the filtering sun shining bright and bothersome in your eyes. Shifty is on the trail of something you can’t identify, and his look of concentration is almost animalistic as he fixates on the branches and bothered foliage. He looks at home here in the trees and leaves – illuminated with a yellow glow that makes his eyes bronze.

He nods and signals for you to mirror his line of approach, and you aim wide, the familiarity of flanking somehow overtaking the foreignness of hunting a deer. Suddenly, the both of you break into a clearing and there is a large doe standing in the center, eyes wide and ears pricked. It hears something – you don’t want to admit it, but maybe it’s your quiet gasp – and it bolts through the trees, leaving no trace.

Shifty’s eyes silently fade back from that wild look – the passion of hunting, you suppose – and he looks back at you. It’s a little disappointing to see him so earthly after getting used to hunter-Shifty for a while, the one that makes you think he might have some blood of Artemis in him or something, but you tell yourself that you are running away with strange metaphors.

“Sorry,” you try, knowing Shifty will try to blame it on himself.

“No, no,” he says, waving a hand, clearly disappointed but trying not to show it. “It’s alright.”

“I probably scared it,” you say.

Shifty doesn’t debate, but he looks down at his gun and back into the wilds, debating pursuit. He shakes his head. “Don’t be feelin’ bad,” he says. “I don’t really know if I’d feel right killin’ it anyway. What with all the food we got now.”

You both pause to process that statement. There is plentiful food in the kitchens, courtesy of the town, the farms, and the unhindered supply lines. It’s true, and you nod.

“We headin’ back?” you ask, and Shifty looks out, almost longingly, back into the greenery. You pause. “We don’t have to. I’m sure no one’s gonna miss us,” you amend, brushing your hair out of the way. You didn’t remember to tie it this time, and it spills out in neglected strands that you are constantly blowing out of your face. Shifty turns his head out of the corner of your eye.

“You think we can stay out for another hour?” he says, looking down at the ground.

“Yeah, sure,” you say, slinging your rifle back onto your shoulder. “Where d’ya wanna go?”

“Dunno yet,” he says, strangely avoiding your glance. Maybe he wants to ask you something and he doesn’t feel very comfortable about it, but you pretend all is well. Is he uncomfortable with you particularly? The possibility is dismaying, and you think that maybe you were staring for too long. “We can walk around,” he finally says, nodding at some invisible path he’s managed to pick out in the undergrowth.

You follow, watching Shifty meander with grace through the leaves. You are not so deft with plants, and are left ducking and wading and crashing through matter despite the gap Shifty is making, just a foot or so ahead. He pushes a stalk aside and unknowingly lets it go, and it whips back to lash your face.

“Ow,” you yelp, rubbing at the bridge of your nose. You’re not irritated, just surprised.

“What happened?” says Shifty almost immediately, turning around and moving a step closer. “You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, watching him come closer through your fingers.

Shifty reaches out and takes ahold of your wrists, pulling them away from your face, and he looks intently at the place where you are rubbing. “Oh, was that me?” he says, leaning in, and you realize just how close the two of you are, his fingers around your arms and almost touching your uniform where you hold your hands up to your chest.

Shifty is not really naive, but you are convinced that he is absolutely childlike in certain moments of concentration, like now. You can hear his breathing quite clearly over the shifting of foliage, and his eyes slowly lift to yours, only realizing now how you have started to hold your breath. You feel your cheeks start to heat, and you watch Shifty look a little harder at you with gradual realization.

There is silence between you, and only your eyes watching each other. Your heart is pounding in your throat as you try desperately to divine Shifty’s thoughts through his wide, keen eyes.

“It’s gonna leave a little bit of a mark,” he murmurs quietly, almost whispering, because it doesn’t take much volume for the words to go between you two, with the inches of separation. And very cautiously, like you’ll crack under him, he removes one of his hands from your wrists and reaches over the space, to brush very gently at your nose.

You aren’t holding your breath now, but you feel as if you are breathing very loudly, because it’s all you can hear with the pounding of your heart in your head. His eyes flick downwards slightly, over your face, and you don’t want to dare to hope anything. But in a move that seems daring for Shifty – because he’s never sudden with you, at least not on purpose – he surges forward and presses his lips to yours.

It’s sudden and it’s brief, but you break apart with wide eyes and panting breaths. You extricate your arms from his grasp, and reach up and over his shoulders to slide your hands into his hair, pressing your forehead to his and breathing in the scent of the forest – of life, of leaves, and of sun. His hands go to your waist; he smiles first, and it’s bright and magnetic, somehow even more warm than the filtering sunlight.

You smile without care, just for the moment, and you stay in the moment for as long as you can, just enjoying. You think, for a moment, that in this small slice of time, it is possible to choose both love and peace, even if that peace is fleeting.

And then you lean in for another kiss, surrounded by the living fairytale forest of Austria, and encompassed, all around, with the vitality of nature that is wild and free.

.

[bartramcat]

Speculation on Grissom's Romantic History

I was messing around with a long, long essay, and I went off on a tangent, speculating about Grissom's past relationships. Because I doubt I'll ever be happy with the longer essay, I decided to go ahead and post this part of it.

One of the problems with Grissom's romantic history is that the few pieces we are given are given without context. We know about the girl in college and Julia Holden. Okay, there are also Teri Miller, Charlotte Meridian, and Heather Kessler. Of the 3, only Heather has any long-term significance in his life. There is also an unnamed date in Blood Lust, who may or may not have been someone he was interested in, although doubtful. Since that took place after he found out about Hank, I suspect any dating was a distraction and not necessarily even romantic in nature, like his "bad date" with Charlotte.

We have no temporal context for Julia. I have absolutely no evidence for this, but I have always believed he met Julia through his mother: that his mother tried to play matchmaker for her socially awkward son. How and when this came about remains as open-ended as the rest of the information about this relationship. They could have been dating for 2 weeks or 2 years, or even off and on for 5 years. We don't know. While we were given no indication in the show that Grissom's mother moved to Vegas before he left the lab, 2MG tells us she did. Exactly when remains impossible to know. So even where it took place is unknown.

If Julia was Marlee's real age, there is no way she was the girl in college, as the oldest she would have been was 12 by the time Grissom had his Ph.D. Even if she was playing 3-5 years older, it's a stretch that she would have been in college with him. Given their relative ages, the relationship could have taken place anytime between circa 1983 and before he met Sara. It is possible she was his last fully consummated relationship before Sara. If it took place in his late 20s or 30s, I can believe perhaps he still thought he could learn to love Julia for his mother's sake and gave it a go. My read on Grissom is that once he fell in love with Sara that, for him, it was her or no one, so I can't place his relationship with Julia post 1998. (See below for comments on Teri Miller.)

The other problem is that I don't think Julia existed in the original construction of Gil Grissom, or, rather, the character who became fully formed as the series went on, doubtless with input from Billy Petersen. I think they concocted her for this episode, hence all the vagaries. One possibility is that Betty knew Julia from the deaf community in California, and she introduced her to Grissom on one of his visits home. Later, she learned Julia had taken a position at Gilbert and contacted her son and asked him to take her out to make her feel welcome in Vegas.

Part of my problem with it is that I don't think Grissom was capable of any long term relationships before he met Sara. And that self-knowledge played a large part in his reluctance to get involved with her, along with the age difference, being her supervisor, and his general feelings of inadequacy when confronted with the likes of Hank Pettigrew. My general supposition is that, while young, he may have attempted relationships only to withdraw from them when he discovered that sex without love made him sad.

As a kid growing up in the 60s and 70s, culture at the time was suffused with free love and sex. Relationships became sex first, love later, as opposed to the more traditional dating, love, marriage, sex. As someone who obviously didn't enjoy casual sex, Grissom probably felt he just didn't fit into the mores of his times, and I doubt he ever related comfortably with anyone in his peer group. In addition to his intellect, his sexual reticence was probably just one more way in which he felt out of his element in normal human interaction.

So my assumption is that Julia was a brief relationship, perhaps only a few months. While it's possible he thought he could learn to love her, when sex with her was purely physical and emotionally depressing, I suspect he began to break dates, blaming work (whatever work at the time), and, to his relief, she finally told him she wanted to move on.

I think the Teri Miller stuff, while canon, is spurious. And by that I don't think they had fleshed out either Grissom's character or sexual selectivity at that point. It's almost as if, originally, he was being portrayed as some kind of nerdy playboy. The one thing he says on their date is that he's surprised he is comfortable with her outside the lab, indicating even in this early manifestation that he wasn't usually in his comfort zone interacting in a purely social/romantic setting. I don't know why they pulled the plug so quickly: maybe on some weird level it was foreshadowing for Grissom's devotion to his job above everything (yes, even the love of his life). Or, perhaps, having realized he couldn't be Sara's boss and lover, he was working hard to find someone else. Of course, as it's obvious Sara is still in love with Grissom while dating Hank, it's obvious Grissom is in love with Sara even while pursuing Teri.

My best guess about the girl in college is that she was his first sexual relationship. I also suspect that that is why he thought he was in love with her. Even Gil Grissom was probably infused with testosterone between 16 and 20; biology at that age may have overcome his need for love and sex to be inseparable. Of course, psychologically, he did think he was in love, but, at that age, he probably thought sex was love and vice-versa. I suspect the girl was smart and possibly a little older, and he was blown away when she was interested in him. At some point, he realized they had nothing in common, and perhaps he saw for the first time a dichotomy between love and sex. Without the first, the second was pointless.

As for Heather, I think I have to go with Billy on this one. Even if the writers wanted to imply a sexual relationship, he disagreed, and he certainly never plays it as if he and Heather were ever lovers. She is his great Platonic infatuation; she is also the one who sees through the mask. I have a very eccentric view of any possible romantic relationship between them in that I think they would exhaust each other. Not sexually. But intellectually. Nor do I think they had an off camera relationship beyond the episodes in which we see them together. Every time he encounters her, they seem surprised to see each other, as if it has been a while. (There were phone calls in Immortality, and possibly when he was in Peru. I can certainly imagine Grissom calling her up and asking her opinion on the sex pots at the dig or any other kind of curiosities he may have encountered.)

For all of Grissom's emotional reticence, he is extremely protective of the people he loves, which includes his entire team and Heather. In Immortality, he credits her for his learning to love Sara, and I think he meant by that not the fact that he was in love with her but the recognition that truly loving someone had to be a two-way street, give and take between two people, not some idealized romantic concept.  While the time between LHB and Grissom getting together with Sara didn't connect the dots directly, the things Heather told him about himself possibly resonated for years. Despite the fact that Grissom is still Sara's boss, he is still 15 years older than she is, and she might someday leave him for someone younger, better, he still decides to take a chance. He goes from a man who is afraid to love lest he lose to one who believes it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

Interestingly enough, in both Pirates and TGTBATD, Grissom saves Heather from herself. He stopped her from committing manslaughter in the former and helped her heal from suicidal impulses in the latter by remedying her sense of loss. Hindsight is 20/20, but in both of those episodes he was already involved with Sara. If we conjecture that he credited her with giving him the emotional fortitude to become involved with Sara, then, perhaps, his protective instincts were coupled with gratitude. Don't know.

That he turned to her in LOATR is significant on a number of levels. He needed to talk about Sara, and I think he chose her for several reasons. First, she didn't know Sara, so she would be looking at the situation without an emotional connection to her. Second, she had no stake in the lab. While it is possible Catherine would have told him to go to Sara, she also had a reason to tell him not to, especially with the loss of Warrick. Finally, she would pull no punches.

I do not think they had sex in that episode. For one, Heather would have known it was pity sex, which they both would regret. Being a substitute for another woman is not her style. Secondly, Grissom was such a wreck that I don't think he could have even if he wanted to, which I doubt. I think he just didn't want to be alone. I have played around with the possibility that Heather made him talk about Sara, not just about the present but his whole history with her, to be his "therapist." And of all the people in the world, she was probably the only one who could have gotten him to open up. Nor would she have shied away from the hard or extremely personal questions.

After his stay at her place, Grissom seems to get his act together, although it's evident that he is losing interest in his job in Say Uncle. In Woulda Coulda Shoulda, he comes face to face with whether or not someone can change. Young Man with a Horn tells us he is ready to up the ante. My read is that he had already located Sara and her itinerary by that episode, and his cryptic words to Catherine at the end are his first verbal indication that he plans to go. So within a few weeks after his night with Heather, he is able to make a life-changing decision.

I know the original plan in Immortality was to have Grissom involved with Heather, and someone nixed it. A relationship was turned into a recent phone call. I certainly think Grissom was on her short list of people to call when her granddaughter was killed. As Heather was not emotionally involved with Sara when Grissom went to her, Grissom would have been a sympathetic but not emotionally involved ear when Allison died. If Grissom was out of range on the ocean for a period of time after that, I certainly think he would have called to check on her when he was back in range. That's my theory anyway. And when his friend was again implicated in a crime, he would have wanted to clear her. Oh yeah, and see the love of his life at the same time.

It's my opinion that a lot of folks who wanted him with Heather did so for the potential hot sex factor. The problem is that Grissom is simply not a hot sex for the sake of hot sex kind of guy. Hell, he's not even a casual sex kind of guy. I think the same thing drove the desire to see him with Catherine. I love his relationship with Catherine. Non sexual relationships between male and female co-workers who respect each other are among my favorite things on TV, albeit rare. (I was so disappointed when they made Picard and Crusher romantic. I loved their friendship. So glad Goren and Eames never crossed that line.)

Well, this ended up too long too. I realize the vast majority of this is pure speculation, but, for better or worse, CSI's 3rd person narrator is so selective it doesn't leave the viewer much choice.

[team-free-will-oneshots]

"Screw people.”

Title: “Screw People.” Requests:  Could you please do a shy hunter reader that’s a bookworm and doesn’t talk much with both him and the reader starting to get crushes on each other - @hford0311 and also; Dean request, if you want. In a bar/club, protecting the reader from jackasses, goes wrong when Dean gets kicked out, expects reader to go back into bar. Reader leaves with Dean? If you want to that is :) - @brokencasbutt67-writer Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: alcohol mentions, cursing, canon-typical violence, sexual harassment Word Count: 3.5k

note; i loved both of these requests and saw them fitting well together, hope u guys enjoy !! (also i was listening to this version of ‘iris’ by the goo goo dolls while writing the ending in the Impala, could be cool to listen to while reading if u want!)

alsoooo sorry this has taken so long to get up, thank you so much to the people who requested this for their patience!!!! xxxx

Masterlist

Finally, you were alone.

The mood was set, scented candles wafting lavender smoke into the air as you settled back onto the bed, a coy smile carving your expression as you turned down the fresh sheets. A blissful sigh fell through your parted lips as you stretched out your arm, fingers grasping and searching until finally, they found it - the object that had been at the back of your mind all day, tinging every thought, spurring every movement...

You pulled the hardcover edition of your favourite book into your lap, a grin splitting your face as you snuggled beneath your duvet and ardently threw open the novel to the page you had marked all-too-long ago. The tantalising rustling of pages paired with the familiar musk of a well-loved book served to eagerly drag you into the story’s depths, and suddenly you felt like a child again; tucked beneath your blankets well after bedtime, eyes straining in the dim light as you hungrily devoured a new story, pages flying as you frantically read, drinking in the fresh plot and bubbling with excitement over the adventures of the characters as you escaped into a fantasy world all your own, if only for a few hours.

The hunting life allowed little time for the simple pleasures of life - between the constantly switching monster of the week, paired with the looming threats that always overshadowed those associated with the Winchester brothers, you’d barely had a moment to yourself in weeks. And so, the moment the boys declared it was time for a break, you were snatching your favourite book from where it had been gathering dust on your shelf, bracing yourself to forget the outside world and the troubles it held, to escape into a world where a happy ending was guaranteed, where you weren’t destined to lose all those you cared for.

That was the beauty of books, you reasoned. You near always knew what to expect. Heroes meeting and facing adversaries, learning lessons about themselves and their relationships, and by the end of it all, finding some semblance of fulfilment or at the very least, closure. And of course, you weren’t one to complain about a touch of romance thrown in along the way.

Life had no such guidelines, especially the hunting life; no promises of happiness, of even making it past the next week. People were even less predictable; at least books were easy to read. Life’s characters were far less easy to understand. Perhaps that was why you insisted on avoiding them as vehemently as you did - books were your comfort, and all people had given you thus far was grief.

“Hey, Y/N, you busy?”

Well… maybe not all people.

You held up your book wordlessly, nose still buried beneath the pages as you ignored Dean Winchester’s query. He chuckled, leaning against the doorway.

“Whatcha reading?” he asked, peering at the cover as he sauntered into the room. You sighed, keeping your page with your thumb as you let the book fall shut around your fingers.

“Old favourite,” you explained. Dean nodded appreciatively.

“Cool. Well, just wanted to say hey - you did a great job on the hunt today, by the way,” he informed you, flashing you a proud smile that had you fighting to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, the slight acceleration of your heart. 

“O-oh. Thanks, but… I don’t think it was anything too spectacular,” you protested weakly, a nervous chuckle escaping you as you fiddled idly with the pages of your book. Dean shrugged.

“Hey, you got the job done - Sam and I woulda been toast without you,” he said. “You should give yourself some credit.”

You allowed a smile. “Thanks,” you tentatively replied, voice small. Dean held your gaze a moment longer, eyes heavy with an emotion you couldn’t quite place, before he cleared his throat and ducked his head.

“Look, uh- Sam and I are headed out tonight. Nothing fancy, just headed to the bar, some celebratory hey-we-killed-a-nest drinks, you know the drill. You can- you can come with us, if you want,” he invited. You laughed dryly.

“Thanks, but… I don’t think that’s really my scene,” you said. “Being surrounded by people? Not my thing.”

Dean shook his head in amusement. “I can’t believe how shy you are - you just took out those vamps like it’s nothing, Y/N. That’s pretty damn impressive,” he commended. “You have nothing to be shy about - you’re a total badass. If anyone has the right to be a cocky son-of-a-bitch, it’s you.”

You hid your smile as you glanced down to the book in your lap, fingertips nervously rubbing over the paper, curling it beneath your touch.

“I think you have enough cockiness for the both of us,” you said, sending him a shy grin. He snorted.

“Yeah, maybe. Well, offer still stands - Sam and I are leaving in fifteen,” he told you, straightening up and casting you once last, lingering glance as he headed towards the door. Your awaiting novel itched in your hands, eager to be read, but you paused as Dean hovered uncertainly for a moment by the doorway, as if locked in an internal debate.

“Hey, Dean?” you asked quietly, the words flying from your lips before you could halt them. That was the thing about Dean - talking to people wasn’t always easy for you, but something about the eldest Winchester set you at ease in a way no one else could ever hope to. He turned around immediately.

“Yeah?”

You tore your gaze from his jade eyes, though you felt the raise of goosebumps along your skin as he kept his soft stare trained on you. You flushed, tucking your hair behind your ear, cold fingers discordant against the heat of your cheeks.

“You ever think… sometimes monsters are easier to deal with than people?”

Dean frowned, ambling over to your bed and perching himself at its edge, only a few feet away from you. He shrugged. “Sometimes, sure - but people… people you can reason with. They have… morals, you know? A code. Means they can be scarier, sure, when they decide not to care - but when they do care, it’s…” Dean’s eyes flickered from yours to the ground, and he licked his lips as he chuckled breathlessly. “When you find someone to care about… I can’t imagine anything better,” he said, his eyes darting up to your own. You found yourself locked under the vice of his gaze, his expression softening with a flicker of vulnerability before he cleared his throat and broke the trance. “Why’d you ask?”

You released a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding. “I dunno. I guess, just- what you were saying earlier, about being a good hunter? It’s because monsters are easier. I get monsters - most of them don’t think too hard - all instinct, y’know? But people are… people are manipulative. They judge and they hate and they hurt, I just… with monsters, I know what I’m getting. People are a lot harder to trust,” you explained. Dean nodded slowly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I get that, but… ah, you’re probably right. Screw people,” he said with a cheeky grin. “But it’s not like you need to stay in contact with everyone you meet. Sometimes fun can just be… fun. Doesn’t need to be serious,” he told you, though there was a trepidatory edge to his playful tone. “You should come out tonight - let loose for once. You deserve it.”

An amused hum fell vibrated in your throat. “I dunno, I’m an all-in kinda person,” you mumbled, and you saw a small smile tilt the corner of Dean’s lips.

“Yeah. Me too.”

You scoffed. “You, really? Mr Different-Girl-Every-Night? You’re a serial flirt,” you teased, and he smiled, shaking his head.

“Yeah, but there’s a difference between a fling and actually getting to know someone - I dunno if you’ve noticed, but sometimes it feels like I care a little too much.” His smile died, and he quickly shook his head, throwing up another grinning facade. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your nerdiness.” He cast a pointed glare at your book. “Seeya later.”

Dean left, the bedsprings jumping back into place as he picked himself up from the seat, traipsing through the door and leaving you with sweaty palms and a stomach full of butterflies. You watched as he left, eyes lingering a moment too long on the empty doorway before you turned your attention back to the novel in your lap.

You wanted to read, you really did - but it seemed no matter how hard you tried, the words would blur into an incomprehensible mass that your eyes instinctively skimmed, only for you to reach the end of the page without having understood any of it at all. After a few failed attempts at reading the same few lines over, you sighed in defeat, setting the book aside as you leaned back against the headrest.

Maybe Dean was right - maybe you should give ‘people’ another chance. Maybe it was time to put your incessant shyness and distrust behind you, to ‘let loose’, as Dean had so aptly described it. 

Dean…

You thought of the warmth of his smile, the vibrant ringing of his laugh, the coy smiles he’d shoot you when no one else was looking… the idea of going out was sounding more and more appealing.

And so, you decisively marched to the library, where Dean was grabbing Baby’s keys as Sam shrugged on his jacket. The sound of your footsteps had both their eyes jumping towards you, and you could’ve sworn you saw a flicker of hope in Dean’s surprised expression.

“Hey, uh, I was thinking that I might take you up on that offer, Dean,” you said, extending a wry smile. “Mind if I come?”

Dean’s mouth opened and closed silently, before he finally nodded. “I-uh- yeah, of course!” he exclaimed, just as shocked at your decision to step out of your comfort zone as you were. “What changed your mind?”

You shrugged, looking down at your feet as you scuffed the floor with the toe of your boot. “Maybe I should give people a chance - you’re right, I should let loose every now and then,” you said, tone clouded with false certainty. Dean frowned, but let your uncertainty slide as his concerned expression was replaced with an encouraging smile.

“Great, finally a drinking partner who can keep up with me,” he quipped, shooting a glare at Sam, who rolled his eyes.

“Hey, someone has to drive you home when you’re plastered,” Sam countered. You laughed, the uneasy atmosphere dissipating as the three of you walked to the car. Dean shot you a wolfish grin, and the warm sensation that buzzed in your chest had you certain that you were making the right choice.

What was the worst that could happen?

---

Turned out, the ‘worst’ had a name - it was Brandon. You knew this only because he refused to let you forget it.

“Come on, sweet cheeks, let me buy you a drink,” he coaxed, words stumbling into one another as his hot breath rolled over your face, reeking of beer as he leaned in uncomfortably close on clumsy feet. 

“Uh, I’m good, thanks,” you replied, throwing him a distasteful, uncertain glance as you took a step back. Your eyes flitted over to the bar, where Sam was talking to a girl and Dean was grabbing drinks for the both of you. Catching your glance, his brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as he noticed your company.

‘You okay?’ he mouthed. You managed to give him a tight-lipped smile and a short nod before Brandon was dragging your attention back to him.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that, baby,” he slurred, leaning forward so that his face was inches from yours. “It’s just one drink.”

You took another step back. “Like I said, I’m good,” you insisted, though your voice came out small and hesitant. You gritted your teeth as he snorted scornfully, and your hand balled into your fist at your side as he sauntered forwards once more. Though you weren’t necessarily one for confrontation, you had no qualms about putting this asshole in his place. Barely twenty-four hours ago you’d single-handedly taken on three vampires - you were pretty sure you could handle an overeager drunken bastard.

Before you had the chance to put him in his place, however, Brandon was being shoved away from you by a familiar pair of toned arms. 

“They’re not interested, jackass,” Dean growled, taking a protective stance over you that you comfortably settled into. The drunk stumbled back, mouth falling open in outrage.

“Who asked you, huh?” he challenged, and Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he ran his tongue along his teeth. You could see his hands curled into white-knuckled fists at his side.

“I think a better question is; why can’t you take no for an answer? They said they’re good, man. Give it a rest,” Dean spat through clenched teeth. Brandon snorted.

“Mind your own fucking business, dick,” he snarled. “You want ‘em all to yourself, huh? Selfish prick.”

Dean scoffed, shaking his head with a grim smile, and for a moment you thought he was going to turn away… until he slammed his fist into your harasser’s jaw with a hard crack that made even you wince.

When Brandon arose, he was nursing a red jaw and a bleeding nose, but the red fluid trickling across his lips and staining his chin did nothing to mask the pure hatred etched into his expression as he lunged at Dean. The eldest Winchester blocked him easily, grabbing his wrist and slamming his face into a nearby booth table. There was a flurry of movement and shouts as Dean landed another punch to the man’s cheek, pressing him into the table with his arms locked behind his back.

“Apologise,” Dean demanded, and Brandon gasped for air.

“I’m sorry, man, I’m sorry!” he exclaimed. Dean kneed him, and the man grunted in pain.

“Not to me, idiot. To them,” he hissed, nodding towards where you stood with wide eyes and brow half-cocked in appreciation at Dean’s strength as he held the bulky man down like he weighed nothing. 

“I’m sorry! Christ, let me go, please!” he said frantically. 

“Dean, what the hell!” Sam’s voice interjected from behind you, and suddenly a bouncer was peeling Dean from his bruised and bloody opponent.

“Time to go,” he said in a gruff voice. Sam stepped forward, and the bouncer shot him a look.

“He with you?”

“Look, we don’t want any trouble-” Sam began, but Dean made a sound of angered amusement.

“Speak for yourself, Sammy,” he muttered, still glaring daggers at Brandon. Dean caught your eye as the bouncer dragged him outside, and the last you saw of him before he was tossed outside was his cocky wink. You chuckled to yourself as Sam quirked an eyebrow.

“What the hell happened?”

You shook your head, walking to a window and watching as Dean paced before finally heading towards the parked Impala. 

“Guy was a dick - he deserved it,” you said, watching as Dean wiped his bloody knuckles on his jacket. “Look, I think I’m gonna head off with Dean,” you added, and Sam cast you a concerned expression.

“Do you want me to come?” he asked, though you could hear the reluctance in his tone as he glanced back at the girl he’d been talking with, who was still waiting for him by the bar. You smirked.

“Nah, I’m good - you go have some fun,” you teased, giving Sam a playful smile that he sheepishly returned.

“Alright. Seeya later, Y/N.”

Sam left, and you braved the cool night air as you walked to the Impala. The tail lights were on but the engine was off, the car sitting perfectly still in the parking lot. As you approached, the music from the bar echoed distantly behind you, captured by the walls and bouncing hollowly into the darkness, fading into nothing but a thumping bass and a vague suggestion of guitar and vocals.

You tried the passenger door. Locked. You tapped on the window, and watched as Dean leaned across the seat to unlatch it. The moment it swung open you slipped inside, the familiar scent of leather overruling the pollution and alcoholic odour the car park carried. The door fell shut with a heavy click, blocking any lingering traces of music from your ears. 

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, hearing only the haggard sounds of one another’s breathing and the light static of the radio. You glanced over at Dean.

“How’s your hand?” you asked. Dean laughed darkly.

“Fine,” he told you, but extended his hand towards you when you raised a quizzical brow. You tenderly took his palm against your own, turning over his fist to look at his knuckles - red and raw and tender, but nothing serious. Instead of releasing him from your grip, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze, and Dean tentatively raised his gaze to yours. 

“I could’ve handled that guy, y’know,” you told him sternly. Dean ducked his head guiltily.

“Yeah, I know, it was just… the way he was treating you…” He trailed off, a weighted sigh heaving from his lips as he shook his head to himself. “You didn’t deserve that. No one does, but… especially not you. I… got angry.”

You smiled wryly. “Bit of an understatement,” you said, and he laughed, genuinely this time.

“Yeah, maybe,” he allowed. “Look, I don’t think I’m welcome here tonight - I’m gonna head home. Just… give me a call when you wanna be picked up.”

“Nah, I’m ready to call it a night, too,” you said, leaning back into the seat. Dean looked at you in surprise.

“What? What happened to getting loose, giving people a chance, all that crap? Seriously, I don’t think you need to worry about that jackass - I doubt that dickhead will ever approach another person in his life,” he said seriously, and you laughed.

“Yeah, I doubt it - but I don’t think I’m really in the mood to let my hair down,” you replied, amused.

“Wait, what? But we were having such a good time!” he countered, and you met his eyes again, nodding.

“Yeah - we were. Screw other people, Dean. I thought I needed to act like someone I’m not to be happy - someone I thought I should be. But… partying? Being around a whole bunch of strangers? That’s not me, Dean. I… I don’t need to surround myself with people to be happy, it’s not in my nature. I just need… a few people I really care about,” you said, giving him a tiny smile and a pointed look.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he murmured. “Y/N… sweetheart, you never need to make yourself uncomfortable because you feel like that’s how you ‘should be.’ You… damn, Y/N, you might be shy, but it’s frickin’ adorable,” he said playfully, and you laughed, elbowing him gently as you ducked your head in embarrassment, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I mean it, Y/N - you’re… you’re fucking amazing,” Dean breathed, and your laughter died as his eyes found yours again. He held your gaze, and you felt his eyes burning into your soul, piercing through your quiet front and seeing you for you in a way that no one else ever had.

And suddenly, he was kissing you.

His breath was warm as it blended with yours, and he tasted of whiskey and moonshine as his large hand found your cheek, cradling it as though you were something easily broken. His chapped lips bit into your own and your leg cramped up as you twisted to press closer to him, but none of that seemed to matter as you lost yourself in the bliss of kissing Dean Winchester.

You pulled away, catching your breath and taking a moment to soothe your racing heart as you ran your hand along his jaw, his stubble grazing your fingertips as he closed his eyes beneath your loving touch. 

“So… you’re sure you don’t wanna go back in?” he checked, and you giggled, shaking your head.

“Definitely not,” you breathed, your breath fanning over his lips as you leaned your forehead against his. Dean melted against you, his arms looping around your waist and bringing you close to his chest.

“Good,” he murmured, “because I don’t think I can let you go until I get another kiss…” he said, raising a cocky eyebrow. You grinned.

“I think that could be arranged…” you purred, sealing your mouth against his.

Screw people, you thought as you lost yourself once again in Dean’s reverent touch. You had all you needed right here.

__________

Forever tags: @babygirloreo​ @calaofnoldor​ @lmpala97​ @sebastianshoe​ @81mysteriouslyme​ @castieliswatchingoverme​ @kina666​ @liviaolivia​ @simplyxparker​ @helpmeluci​ @demonsofhunting​ @bee-happy-buzz-on​ @lilulo-12​ @amandatar-06​

Dean tags: @polina-93​ @justagirlinafandomworld​ @coupleofgoons​ @justanotherwinchester​ @shadowkat-83​ @teenwaywardasgardian​

If you want to be added to any tag lists just shoot me a message!

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Blue Eyes Part 23

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 23: Ella makes a decision to return to Alfie. 

         The ocean made Ella think about Margate and her confrontation with Alfie on the beach. It was a strange paradox because it felt like a lifetime ago but it was still so fresh in her memory. She sighed deeply and submerged her hands into the damp, cool sand. The coarse texture grounding her. It was as Isabel had taught her. To use nature to her advantage. It was uncanny how the prickly feeling of a piece of bark, a smooth stone, or the unbearable cold of a river would startle Ella back to her senses. To remind her that she didn’t want to be numb, she wanted to be alive.

           She had come out to the beach, about half a mile walk from where they’d camped, to make her decision. The Youngs had arrived the day before and offered to take Ella north with them if she so chose. Even Isabel offered to accompany her if she did decide to go north.

           Ella’s heart longed for Alfie but she didn’t want to make the choice based on their separation. There were plenty of times that she wanted to go home simply because she missed him so much it hurt. But she wasn’t there to escape him. She was there for a purpose, to find herself. The decision had to be based on whether she had truly come to terms with her losses.

           Mind still whirring, she stood up from the sand and walked to the shore’s edge. She waded through the water up to her shins, gathering her long skirt to her thighs to keep the fabric dry. The Atlantic was relentlessly chilly and the sharp stings of cold cleared her head within moments. She let her toes sink into the sand. The salty air whipped up around her, stirring up her hair and loose blouse.

           She didn’t see Lilac in her dreams anymore. She hadn’t dreamed of the foals either. They had moved beyond the fog, out of sight, to a different place. They were at peace. And so was she.  

~~~~~~~~~~~`

           “Ella Shelby!”

           On her return to camp from the beach, a man on a horse approached. Once he got close enough, she recognized the face from her past. Isaac was one of the Young boys. They ran into each other quite often at fairs. His brothers often tempted her brothers into boxing but Ella couldn’t recall who won the most.

           Isaac appeared to have grown into his awkward, gangly height. No doubt from being on the road his entire life.

           “How are you, Isaac?” Ella greeted politely.

           “Good,” The man pulled his horse up to walk beside Ella. “Heard you’ve been traveling with the Lees, finally leave Birmingham behind? Going back to your roots, aye?” He wondered.

��          “I’ll be returning to London very soon.” She informed him firmly. Even though she'd only just made the decision to go back home, it felt concrete. It was a good indicator that she'd made the right choice already.

           “Thought you were gonna come up north with us.” He looked a tad disappointed at the news.

           “I’ve decided to return home.” The two approached the camp where Isabel was out with Roddy. “I’ve a husband to return to. It’s been a long time we’ve been apart.”

           “Married?” He snorted. “To think Ella Shelby actually got married. I never woulda believed it. Lashav, to think you were holding out for me all these years.” He pressed a hand to his heart and dismounted his horse.

           Ella rolled her eyes. “You’d be so lucky.”

           Isabel walked over, giving the Young man a look. “So keres?” She confronted him.

           “Nothing, Izzy, just greeting Ella,” Isaac replied. “Didn’t know she married a gadje.”

           “Va, I’ve seen him and he could probably eat you alive.” Isabel retorted and linked arms with her friend.

           Isaac only chuckled and shook his head before heading into camp with his horse in tow.

           “Idiot,” Isabel muttered. “How was your walk?”

           “Good.” Ella nodded and followed her back to the vardo. “Got to clear me head a little.”

           “And did you decide?”

           Ella glanced over her shoulder to where Isaac was. “Well, I’m sure as not hell traveling anywhere with him.” She laughed and sighed. “Besides, I miss Alfie too much to go any further. I’d like to go back.”      

           Isabel smiled warmly and squeezed her friend’s arm. “I’m so proud of you. Let’s get a letter out to him as soon as possible.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Nine months after she left with the Lees, Ella sent a letter to Alfie saying she would be returning to London. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he read those words. He’d been waiting every day for that letter to finally arrive. Reading it through felt like a dream. His Ella was finally returning to him.

           Alfie drove out with Polly and Tommy to greet Ella and welcome her back home. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the vardos and smoke rising from the fires. He got out of the car with energy in his step.

           “Alfie!”

           The sight of her struck him like a bolt of lightning. There was a glow about her that Alfie hadn’t seen in so long. He thought that side of her had been torn away from him for good. But there she was. Ella had gained back the weight she lost in the hospital and the sparkle was back in her blue eyes.

           Alfie couldn’t wipe the smile off his face when he saw her running over. Her hair had grown out and the Lee girls had intricately braided wildflowers into her dark hair. An alluring nymph of the British countryside. She moved across the long grass with such grace and weightlessness that was otherworldly.

           “There’s my wild gypsy girl.” He laughed and swept her off her feet, spinning her around. “Fucking missed you like hell.” He groaned and buried his face in her hair.

           “I missed you more.” She replied with all the charm and wit that had been covered with anger and sorrow. “Oh! I helped a mare foal!” She exclaimed joyfully. “We named her Lilac, she’s an Irish Cob. Oh, there’s so much I need to tell you.”

           Alfie chuckled at her enthusiasm. It was so relieving to see her so happy. It truly made the wait worth it. “Well, you’ve got plenty of time to tell me everything, love.”

           Ella was overwhelmed with the distance that had been put between them. Spurred on by the reunion, she kissed him. Both were a little too caught up in the moment to remember where they were. Alfie let her back down on her feet but continued to kiss her, gently parting her lips and pressing a hand to the small of her back.

           Tommy rolled his eyes and cleared his throat to break the two apart. “Are you going to say hello to us too?”

           Ella and Alfie drew away, both looking a little sheepish. He let her go so she could greet her brother and aunt.

           “Where’s this foal then, chavi?” Tommy asked.

           “She’ll be with her mother now; Isabel is out with them I think.” She said and waved her brother along to follow her to the pastures they were camped.

           Alfie and Polly followed a bit farther behind them. “She looks much better.” Ella’s aunt noted. “You did the right thing.”

           He shrugged. “I would wait years for her if it meant she’d come back better.” He watched Ella and Tommy go out to see the mare and foal and the sun felt a little brighter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Ella was afraid that Cyril and Anthea were going to have a heart attack when she walked into the room. The two tackled her, tails wagging and licking her cheeks.

           “Hi, hi!” She giggled, dropping to the floor and trying to hug them both close. “I know, I missed you too! Oh, Thea, look how big you’ve gotten.”

           “Yeah, she’s taken up to chewing on the fucking baseboards,” Alfie grumbled and hung up his and Ella’s coat.

           “Oh, naughty girl.” Ella cooed. “Were you giving papa a hard time while I was gone?”

           Alfie chuckled. “They were alright, missed you like hell though. Everyone did. Can’t tell you how many times your brothers asked if I’d heard anything from you.”

           Ella stood up and walked over to him. “I missed you all too. Missed you the most though.” She touched his cheek.

           “I won’t tell anyone you said that.” He winked at her and rested his hands on her hips. “Let me get a look at ya.” He murmured, his eyes grazing over her. Studying her face. The features that he had memorized. Seeing those blue eyes again was like a dream. He lifted his hand to trace the braids woven in her hair. “Grown it out again, have you?”

           “Your hair’s longer too.” She remarked once she saw him without his hat on.

           “Yeah well…” He cleared his throat. “’Member when I told you ‘bout Jewish mourning?”

           It was quite fuzzy. Alfie had told her only moments before it got out that she was pregnant. “Yeah, I think so.”

           “Parents are s’posed to mourn for a year. Now I know that I weren’t…” He blinked a few times and shook his head. “Never mind.”

           “Alfie.” She lightly scratched her nails over his cheek and drew his eyes to her. “It’s okay.”

           “I should’ve taken that fucking bullet.” He mumbled and touched his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry.”  

           “But we can’t go back. All we can do is go forward. So that’s what we’ll do. I’ve learned not to apologize for things that were beyond my control.”

           The two held each other close in the hallway. Reuniting and syncing their hearts to beat as one again.

~~~~~~~~~~

October 23, 1929

Camden Town, London

           “El, can you please do some gypsy magic to get this baby out of me?” Minnie bemoaned from her spot on the couch. The woman was heavily pregnant and trying to reach her stockings to fix them. After a few attempts to stretch over her massive stomach, she gave up with a disgruntled noise and flopped back against the throw pillow.

           Ella laughed as she came in from the kitchen. When Minnie’s husband was working, she’d taken up to helping her friend around the house. It was a good way to spend the time now that she didn’t work at the law office anymore. Instead, she was back on the Shelby payroll so long as she fostered good communication between her husband and brothers.

           “I’d have to ask my aunt she might have some tricks.” She set down the tray of tea and lunch for her best friend. “Here.” She offered to help adjust her stockings.

           “Just take ‘em off,” Minnie grumbled. “Not like I can go anywhere looking like a beached whale.” She folded her hands over her stomach with a pout.

           Ella smiled and shook her head, tugging off the stockings and placing them over the arm of the couch. “Anything else you need?”

           “Oh, El, you’re such a gift.” Minnie sat up and touched her friend’s cheek affectionately.

           “Well, as long as I’m the top choice for babysitting.” She teased. In the years that had passed since her miscarriage, Ella’s life had been very steady. It was something she enjoyed very much. The consistent routine was a joy to her and there was very little she would change. Her relationship with Alfie was strong and she was learning to trust her family again. It was comforting to know she could balance the two and that her love life and family life didn’t have to be at constant odds. Even though Arthur gave Alfie deadly looks and Tommy did his best to come out on top in negotiations, they were becoming accustomed to having him around.

           “I’ve got to get my nails done before Thursday.” Ella frowned at the chipped polish on her nails. "They look a mess."

           “What’s the occasion?”

           “Oh, Alfie and I are going to Paris for his birthday. His birthday's on the first but he’s got a meeting that weekend so we decided to go early. We figured the longer we waited the worse the weather would be."

           Minnie smiled coyly. “How romantic.”

           Ella rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the silly smile on her face. “He’s calling it the honeymoon we never took.” She admitted. "I think he's just being silly is all."

           Her friend squealed. “Oh, bless you both. Still so in love after all these years.”

           “We haven't been together that long.” She winced playfully. “I’d hate to grow tired of him after four years.”

           “Well for your fifth anniversary he’ll have to take you somewhere else if you’re going to Paris this week. Now I’ve heard Venice is just gorgeous.” Minnie gushed. “Or somewhere on the Mediterranean. Warm weather, beautiful beaches. The water's actually warm and clear instead of the shit we've got here.”

           Ella just laughed. “I think I’d be quite content celebrating our anniversary in London. Sometimes it’s nice just staying at home.” She hoped that by their anniversary next year, things would still be peaceful and unnoteworthy.

October 28th 1929

Paris, France

           “Alfie, love, will you do up my dress?”

           He came out of the hotel suite’s bathroom, fixing his cuff links. It was fairly rare those days that Alfie got so dressed up. He and Ella frequented some of the Shelby events but he certainly wasn’t going to imitate Tommy with his immaculate tuxedos and expensive trappings. But for a dinner with his wife, he’d dress to the nines.

           “Fucking hell.” He quipped from the doorway. “Ella Solomons, how many times have I told you to warn me ‘fore you put on a number like that?” He put a hand to his heart as if the sight of his wife had nearly knocked him right off his feet.

           She giggled. “Oh, stop it.”

           “Honestly, love, you look a dream.” He continued and began buttoning up the back of her royal blue dress. Alfie adored the color on her as it always managed to make her eyes appear even more bright than they already were. When he finished, he took her hand and led her into a little spin so he could see all angles.

           Ella blushed and spun around teasingly. The deep blue gown cinched at the waist but had a loose bodice with stunning silver beads. The skirt grazed the ground but had a slit that reached just to her knee, giving Alfie a sinful glance at her silver-colored heels.

           “Swear you make everything look good, El.” He remarked.

           She smiled and drew him in for a deep kiss. “I think it’ll look better on the floor.” She purred against his lips.

           Alfie groaned. “You wanna make us miss our dinner, love?” He growled playfully, pulling her flush to him.

           “No, I’m starving. Just wanted to give you a little preview for tonight.” She pecked his lips and slipped away from his grip.

           He chuckled. “Cheeky girl.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

           After a few filling dinner courses, Alfie and Ella decided to take a walk around Paris before returning for the rest of the night’s activities.

           “I have something for you.” He said as they walked hand in hand through the lively streets.

           “Me? It’s your birthday coming up, not mine.” She replied and poked his side. She'd already given his birthday gifts before they left, that way she wouldn't have to travel with them and risk losing the presents. Alfie was chuffed to open the finely made matching leather collar and leash for Cyril and Anthea, a beautiful fountain pen with the date of their wedding engraved in the silver, and a scarf since he'd been complaining audibly about the turning weather.

           “I know but I don’t need an occasion to spoil you, now do I?” He stopped and pulled a box out of his pocket.

           “Alfie…” She took the jewelry box with a look of hesitation.

           “Go on, open it. I ain’t waiting for Hanukah to give it to you.” He smiled encouragingly.

           Ella sighed and opened the box. Embedded in plush was a gorgeous necklace, the chain embedded with tiny diamonds, all linked together ending with a teardrop-shaped blue-gray Alexandrite stone.

           “Alfie…” She stammered in disbelief. “It’s gorgeous.”

           He smiled. “You like it?”

           There were tears in her eyes as she nodded. “You didn’t have to…”

           “None of that, now.” He carefully took the necklace out of the box and helped put it on. “Had them add the diamonds to give it a bit more. Looked sorta plain without them. Took me forever to find the gem though, clearest one I could find.”

           She laughed. Her husband was such a jewel critic. He’d refuse anything that wasn’t absolutely perfect. “I don’t know what to say.”

           Alfie rested his hands on her shoulders and turned her back around after he did the clasp. “Don’t hafta say anything, love. You deserve everything, no questions asked.”

           Ella kissed him softly. “I love you.” Her fingers began to work at his bowtie, slowly undoing the silky black fabric.

           “What’re you doing?” He murmured, a little too occupied with kissing her.

           “I want you to take me back to the room,” She left kisses over his cheek, moving to whisper in his ear. “Take this dress off me but leave the necklace on. Take this,” She placed the undone tie in his hand. “And use it to tie me to the bed.” She nibbled on his ear lobe. “And fuck me however you like.”

           Alfie was afraid his knees were going to give in right then and there. “Fucking hell, woman, you tryna do me in?” He groaned helplessly. "Ain't even me birthday yet and you've already treated me like a king."

           Ella pulled away and gave him an innocent look. “Not sure what you’re talking about Mr. Solomons.” She batted her eyelashes and reached a hand out to him. “But will you escort me back to the hotel?”

           “You minx.” He shook his head and gladly led her back to the suite.

October 29th 1929

Paris, France

           Alfie and Ella slept through most of the morning. After the eventful night together, they were more than happy to sleep in. With no engagements to attend, they could stay in bed the rest of the day if they so pleased. But the phone began to ring in the early afternoon interrupting their piece of heaven on Earth. Alfie groaned and threw a pillow over his face to try and block out the noise.

           Ella stirred and cuddled close to her husband. “Alfie, who’s that calling?” She mumbled absent-mindedly.

           “Dunno, love. Not important though.” He wrapped his arms around her bare body.

           She smiled sleepily and pressed her cheek into his chest, content to ignore the ringing, just waiting for it to stop.  

           It did, for a moment. Alfie kissed her forehead and ran his fingers over her hips and thighs. “How are you?” He asked.

           “Good.” She threw a leg over his hips to straddle him. “I don’t think this has to end though.” She murmured and kissed his neck. "I think we're well rested enough to continue last night's activities."

           “You’re relentless.” Despite that statement, he began to wake up more and captured her lips.

           Then the phone began to ring again. The loud, obnoxious chiming along with the vibrations of the receiver rattling. They parted and Ella moved to get up. Alfie wrapped his arms around her waist to keep her in bed. “Ignore it.” He coaxed again and rolled them over so he was hovering over her. The ringing continued for a bit as he kissed down her entire body, grazing each little mark he’d left the night before.

           Ella soon forgot about the phone and giggled, wrapping her arms around her husband’s neck as he lavished her with love. "Oh, Alfie." She sighed adoringly, gratefully indulging in her husband's affection.

           But the phone went off again.

           “Fucking hell,” Alfie grumbled, the third calling really beginning to turn the mood sour.

           “It’s gotta be important.” Ella bit her lip. “You should get it.”

           Alfie ceded and reluctantly left his wife in bed, getting up to answer the phone. “This better be fucking good.” He barked into the phone.

           “I’m guessing you haven’t read the news,” Tommy replied.

           “No, mate, I’m on holiday with me wife, I haven’t had the chance to read the fucking news.” He retorted, grumpy that his brother-in-law had interrupted their morning. Nothing like Tommy Shelby's voice to completely turn his mood upside down.

           “Well, I suggest you do. The world’s burning.”

           “Tommy, I ain’t in the mood for your gypsy mystique.” Alfie turned around to his wife. “Ella, love, will you go get the paper?” He requested.

           She looked a bit confused but got out of bed. After putting on a robe, she stepped outside and picked up the newspaper that had been left at the hotel door. She read the headline as she walked back into the room. “It’s in French, I can’t understand it.”

           Alfie took the paper and tried to pick out any words he recognized. But his French was very limited. “Tommy, for fuck's sake, just tell me what happened. Neither of us read French.”

           “The stock market’s crashed.” He finally answered. The words were still difficult to get out. It was as if saying them made it true and he desperately did not want that to be the fact.

           “Well, that’s what you get for investing in America, mate. I never trusted them.” Alfie shrugged.

           “The whole world’s fucked, Alfie, this affects you just as much as it affects my company.” Tommy retorted with a bite in his voice. He wasn't in the mood for Alfie's superiority complex over him.

           Ella perched on the edge of the bed and watched her husband discuss the matter with her brother. Although she was listening, she wasn’t too sure what was going on. But the longer Alfie spoke with Tommy, the more worried he looked.

           “Didn’t think you wanted me at family meetings, Tom,” Alfie said after Tommy said he and Ella needed to return to England to attend the family meeting the next day.

           “Things have changed,” Tommy replied in a clipped tone. “Noon tomorrow.”

           Alfie was going to say something else but his brother-in-law promptly hung up the phone. “Don’t think we’ll be able to make noon tomorrow.” He muttered and scratched his beard.

           “What’s happened?” Ella asked.

           “Stock market’s crashed. Things aren’t looking good. Your cousin’s gonna get thrown in the cut once he gets home. Your brother’s right pissed at him.”

           “Things are looking good…so what does that mean?” She shook her head. The news was a bit of a shock. According to Michael, the New York Stock Exchange was going to make the company a fortune. There was no ceiling, in fact, it would only keep going up.

           “It means the world’s in for quite a shock.” Alfie sighed and ruffled his hair as he thought through what Tommy had told him. “I’ve got to make arrangements to get us back home.”

           She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “We’ve got tickets for Thursday to return home.” They had, after all, planned to be in Paris all week before Alfie’s birthday.

           “I know, love.” He walked over and kiss her hair. “But Tommy wants to address the family.” The two embraced, a little stunned by the news. “I suppose that includes me now too.” He grumbled into Ella’s hair.

Romani:

Lashav: Shame So keres: What are you doing? Gadje: Non-gypsy Va: yes

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams @biba3434 @kimmietea @karmezii​ @enrapturedbythemoon​ @vampgirl1997​

Tag list: @deaflikehawkeye​ @octaviareina​ @mylovelykelsifer​ @doubletriplepowerbomb​ @ramblingbaby​ @fuseburner​ @kaetastic​

Masterlist

PB Masterpost

[atc74]

Break Up With Him

Square(s) Filled: Photography AU for @spngenrebingo

Warnings: Slight angst, brutal honesty, fluffy finish

Summary: Y/N meets Dean Winchester, a photographer at her school. While she feels something, she’s in a relationship, and content to be friends with Dean. It isn’t until Dean calls her out that she wakes up and decides she deserves more. 

Pairing: Photographer!Dean x Teacher!Reader

Word Count: 1770

Written for: @spngenrebingo and my dear friend who shall remain nameless. 

Beta’d by: @amanda-teaches, thank you!

A/N: If you’re stuck in a relationship because it’s familiar or you’re just complacent with the comfortability of it, take stock and decide you need more, want more, deserve more. Don’t settle. This song is inspired by Old Dominion’s Break Up With Him. Lyrics are in bold, italics are flashbacks. 

Want to capture Dean’s scent? Buy it here from @scentsfromthebunker!

You looked at your phone, the screen lit up with an incoming call. It was almost midnight, but a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you remembered back to the first time you met him. 

All of your students were neatly lined up in the hallway, waiting to be called for their turn to take school pictures. You had been working in the school for years, but now this was your class, and being in charge was still a little overwhelming at times. You held up your hand, signaling for the class to keep quiet as you walked down the line, checking their hair and faces. Having pictures after the lunch hour was hit or miss with small children. 

After a bit of waiting, your class was called, and they quietly filed inside the gymnasium and stopped when you did at the table. You were busy collecting wrinkled picture forms from sweaty hands and didn’t even notice the photographer approach you. 

“Excuse me, Ms. Y/L/N?” A deep voice sounded from behind you. 

You whipped around, coming face to face, or face to chest rather, with a tall man. “Yes?” you squeaked, surprised. 

“Hi, I’m Dean, the photographer. We’re all set for your class if you’re ready?” he said, smiling. His eyes, a gorgeous moss sprinkled with flecks of gold, sparkled under the harsh fluorescent lighting. 

“Oh, uh, yes. We’re ready. Aiden, buddy you’re up first,” you managed to direct the first student in line, outwardly keeping your cool, while you felt your insides heating up unexpectedly. Your class of twenty was finished quickly, and you found yourself in front of the camera for your own staff photo. 

“Okay, Ms. Y/L/N. We’re just going to get yours real quick. Just give me a minute here to adjust,” Dean informed you, smirking in your direction. As he fiddled with the settings on his camera, you turned when one of your students said something and you laughed, eyes shining. You turned back towards Dean when you heard the camera shutter, meeting his eyes once more. “Sorry about that, I’m ready for you.” 

“Hey,” you smiled softly answering his call. 

“Hey girl, what’s up? I know it’s late, but I knew you’d pick it up,” Dean’s voice came through the speaker, the deep gravel running through you. 

“Dean Winchester, are you drunk?” you giggled. 

“Nah, I’m not drunk. Okay, maybe I do have a little buzz,” Dean admitted. “But that song came on and I just thought what harm could come from one little call. I know you say you’re taken but I say girl you’re takin’ too long.”

More than two weeks had passed since the last time you saw Dean.

“It’s complicated, Dean,” you sighed, taking another sip of margarita. After picture day, Dean had messaged you. He was new in town and didn’t know anyone. You agreed to meet him for coffee, but one coffee turned into two. Within a few months, that one meeting morphed into the easiest, most comfortable friendship, with a hint of heat, that you’d ever experienced. That’s what made it complicated. 

“Y/N, I’ve known you for a few months now, and you barely talk about the guy,” he argued. “And when you do, it’s never the lovey, dovey, spaced out look one expects to see when they’re talking about their significant other. It’s masked with frustration and have to’s, not get to’s.”

“Dean, you don’t know,” you began. 

“Fuck that, Y/N. First and foremost, I am your friend. Secondly, do I long for something more? Truthfully, yes. But I’ll never push you into something, especially knowing you’re with this guy. My biggest concern is that you are happy. Tell me, are you? Happy?”

You couldn’t even look him in the eye. No one had been able to read you that quickly before, not even your best friend. She didn’t call you out on your bullshit, not where James was concerned. But Dean waltzed right into your comfortable life with his stupid pretty face and honesty, and turned the whole thing upside down. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, but you’re so full of life and to see you phoning it in when you’re with him kills me. You might love him, but you’re not in love with him. You stay because it’s familiar and comfortable. It’s a relationship of convenience for both of you. And...and you deserve better is all,” Dean sighed, draining the rest of his beer. He stood, throwing some bills down on the table. “I wish you could see you the way I see you. I’m sorry.” 

You watched as he retreated to the door, his broad shoulders pushing through the throngs of people. You willed him to turn back, but he kept walking. You hung your head, blinking the tears back, but failed. Ordering an Uber, you finished your drink, wondering how you let him get under your skin so quickly and cursed him for being right about, well, everything. 

You sighed, closing your eyes, your head hitting the armrest of the couch where you had been wallowing away your thoughts. 

“To tell him that it’s over, then bring it on over,” he murmured. “Stringing him along any longer girl is just wasting precious time. You deserve to live your best life and we both know it’s not with him.”

“Oh and you think it’s with you, huh?” You sat up, finally filled with a little bit of that fire Dean saw in you. 

“Look, I know you don’t want to break his heart, but that ain’t no good reason to be keeping us apart,” Dean blurted out. “I’ve never hid the way I felt about you, but I’ve respected your relationship.”

“Respected it? You trash it every chance you get!” you snapped, standing and pacing your living room. “Telling me he’s not good enough, telling me I’m phoning it in? You’ve got some nerve, Winchester!” 

“He isn’t! Nobody will ever be good enough for you, but you deserve someone that is willing to go out of their way to try. To put in a little effort,” he argued. “To make you smile when you’re sad. Someone that will listen when you vent. You know I’m right, you woulda hung up by now if you weren’t thinking it too. No pressure, whatever, just do what you gotta do. I gotta go. Bye, Y/N.”

“Dean?” you whispered his name, but the line had gone dead. You tossed the phone down on the couch in frustration. He was an idiot, but he was right. You hadn’t been happy with James for a while now and everyone knew it, even you. You grabbed your phone, purse, and keys and got in your car. 

The car rolled to a stop outside his house, the radio still on. Resting your head on the steering wheel, you took a few deep breaths when that song came on. For three minutes, you sang along, eyes closed. When you opened them after the song ended, you realized those may have been the three most pivotal minutes of your life. “Just rip it off like a band-aid, right?”

You got out of the car and closed the door. Filled with a new level of determination, you strode to his front door and knocked loudly. A rustling from inside warned you he was coming and, before you could lose your nerve, the door opened. 

“You know it’s not your business to be all up in, but there you were, all up in my business. In my head,” you pointed out, your index finger, poking him repeatedly in the chest. “You were right. Why did you have to be right?” 

“Care to catch me up, Y/N? I’m a little buzzed and not really following you,” he chuckled, rubbing his chest where you poked him. 

“I told him it was me, not him. I even lied to him and told him we’d still be friends,” you continued ranting, blowing past him into his kitchen. Your purse and keys hit the counter, and you grabbed the bottle of whiskey he’d left out. The first sip burned a little as it slid down your throat. 

Dean’s look went from perplexed to recognition in the time it took you to enter his house and take a second sip off the bottle. “You did what now?”

“I got tired of denying it to you, to myself. So I put my big girl pants on, and I told him I wasn’t in love with him,” you confessed. “You were right, I wasn’t in love.”

Dean didn’t press, he just stepped closer to you. 

“I couldn’t deny you and I kinda fit like a glove. I told him it was over, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. It wasn’t until that stupid song came and you just thought what harm could come from one little call,” you ranted, the bottle neck clenched in your hand. “I broke up with him.”

“Ripped it off just like a band-aid?” he smiled, taking another step. 

You nodded. “Didn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would. Maybe that’s why I put it off for so long.” 

“Does it hurt now?” he asked, reaching out hesitantly. 

You shook your head, meeting his evergreen eyes. He reached for the bottle, breaking it out of your iron grip. “Well, maybe a little…”

“Show me,” he encouraged.

“Right here,” you whispered, placing your finger on your lips. 

“Let me make it better,” Dean murmurmed, finally closing the space between your bodies. Heat radiated off his chest like the sun on a summer day, warming you with the help of the whiskey. 

The brush of his lips against yours was softer than you anticipated, but less than you needed. Your hands gripped his worn gray henley, pulling him closer, forcing the kiss to deepen. Your lips pressed firmly to his, your head dipping to the left, changing the angle. Dean took the opportunity to lift you to the counter, leveling the height difference. 

His lips parted as he took a breath and you took a chance, slipping your whiskey soaked tongue between them, tasting him for the first time. It was heat and longing, and you were drunk on the feel of him. Dean pulled back, his eyes raking over your face. 

“Thank you, Dean.” 

“For what?” he asked. 

“For being right,” you replied. 

“That’s probably the first and last time a woman thanked me for being right,” he chuckled. 

“I’m sorry for being so stubborn,” you admitted. 

“You’re worth the wait.”

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