#protective sam is my bread and butter

[abcwordsurge]

fear is full of little gairen goodies, but chapter 36 in particular is killing me. you're telling me quinn intentionally made a fool of caine, reminded him of how awfully he's been treated by penny and how he should be embarrassed because everyone's going to make fun of him? and caine didn't kill him for it- god, he didn't even touch quinn. the only other person in the entire series who has ever gotten away with that, to the best of my memory, is diana. caine's literal love interest.

not to mention, caine's response is "ok I'll help you all out but only if quinn comes" which I had to reread like five times because oh my god

[here-have-some-stories]

Silent Laughter Chap 10

Chapter 1 Chapter 9

One week later:

An entire week had gone by and nothing had happened. The creature didn’t make itself seen again, no windows would mysteriously open and shut, no music playing all of a sudden, no creepy images or messed up photos. Nothing. By now I had twelve X’s marked down on my calendar, and I was on my thirteenth day of survival. 

It was on this very day that I realised I was running very low on food. I had been running out before, but that was a whole week ago. Now I needed to get more food supplies. So I guessed I had made it long enough. 

I made the decision to go out and walk to the local supermarket. I would take a knife with me. I knew, realistically, it probably wouldn’t do anything against the creature, but carrying it gave me a sense of safety and protection. 

As I was mentally preparing myself to shove into the outside world, I convinced myself that this could be a good thing. Not only would I get more food, but maybe I could possibly find some people who were actually alive. Ever since this had all started, I hadn’t actually gone past my street. I had no way of knowing if anyone outside of that was alive or not. 

When I stepped outside, I noticed everything was very dark, like it came straight out of some sort of horror movie. It was cold. I walked down the street, cautiously glancing over my shoulder and looking left and right every now and again. I rubbed my arms to keep me warm, but it didn’t do much. I wished I’d bought a jacket. 

I was about halfway down my street when I first noticed them. They hadn’t been around my house, but bodies were hanging from the trees, just like they had been in the nightmare I had. 

I felt my heart rate go faster. The atmosphere seemed similar to the one in my dream. I felt my chest constricting and felt like I was going to have a panic attack, or pass out. But I kept on walking, and tried to ignore the eyeless bodies. There was also a lot of blood pouring into the drains on the side of the road, and some sort of meat in the gutter, but I paid no attention to that, just kept on walking. 

When I made it to the streets with the shops on it, the darkness hadn’t cleared away, and there was still no one in sight. The bodies weren’t hanging anymore, instead they were scattered around on the ground, or hanging on fences, and there were more of them. It looked like some sort of massacre had happened here. The smell was horrible, and I brought up my hand to cover my nose and block out the stench.

The supermarket glass sliding doors had been smashed, and one was leaning on an angle. Most of the lights inside were off, apart from the occasional flickering ones. The creepy atmosphere was even worse inside, and I wanted to run back out, and keep running all the way home, but I pushed on and forced myself to step over the glass shattered on the ground.

Despite the darkness, I knew where everything was, and I easily made my ways to the different aisles, grabbing the food I thought I would need. I grabbed about two loaves of bread, a bottle of milk, some butter and spreads, a bag of fruit, a box of muesli bars, and some junk food snacks, because if I was going to die, why not spend my last days feasting like a king?

I was walking out of the chip aisle and all of a sudden I felt my foot fly up and I fell to the ground, dropping most of my food. I groaned as I stood up slowly and felt something wet and sticky on my hands. Blood. I slipped in blood. I quickly hurried away from it and hit something behind me. I turned around and saw a dismembered and bloody body of a store clerk. Black goop was leaking from where their eyes had been. I screamed, and grabbed up the food I could, before running out of the store, almost tripping up again and landing in glass. Ignoring the corpses on the street and in the trees, I ran all the way home, tears running down my face the whole time.

Next Chapter ->

Woo hoo! Back to back chapters. I've pretty much got the same message and reminders down here as always. Please comment if you liked it and if you have and feedback or suggestions please tell me. If you have any requests for stories or questions, just send them to my ask box and I'll get to them. Hope you liked it! -Kenickie

[mlobsters]

supernatural s9e7 bad boys (w. adam glass)

trying to piece together the logic of dean's story here.

DEAN We, uh – we crashed at the, uh ... the bungalow colony with the ping-pong table? SAM Yeah. Uh, y-you disappeared. Dad came back. You were gone. He shipped me off to Bobby's for a couple months and went and … found you. You were lost on a hunt or something. DEAN THAT'S what we told you. Right. SAM I'm sorry? That's what you told me? DEAN Truth is, uh… I lost the food money that Dad left for us in a card game. I knew you'd get hungry, so ... I tried taking the five-finger discount at the local market and got busted. I wasn't on a hunt. They sent me to a boys' home.

trying to wrap my head around sequence of events. lost food money (but they presumably had some food where they were staying) and dean called dad's cell after getting arrested? and if dean was 16 then this was 1995 so within the realm of possibility i guess

SAM A boys' home, like a … reform school? DEAN Yeah, more or less. It was a farm, and the guy who ran it – Sonny – he, uh, you know, he looked after me.

spent far too long reading on wikipedia to even understand what a reform school might even be these days. if it was like, juvie.. via like, the juvenile courts.. but boys homes i think are generally private things you have to pay for? and i dunno the overall gist but religious seems common. also dear internet, i'm not looking up boys homes to send my actual children away :S

how is sam not hounding him about acting so weird? and the zeke thing. come on now.

SAM Hey, Dean ... I mean, why didn't you just tell me you went to a boys' home? DEAN I don't know. Uh, it was Dad's idea. And then it just – you know, the story became the story. I was 16.

blegh. someone else could spin out how things might have changed, or not changed, if sam knew as a kid. protect sammy from the truth

SAM You were here for two months and Dad couldn't find you? DEAN Oh, no. He found me. He found me quick. But he left me here 'cause I lost our money.

again sounding more like juvie than whatever this reform school farm situation is

SAM You were 16. You made a mistake. DEAN Yeah. I made the mistake. Look, I know how you think. None of this was Dad's fault.

uh huh. totally appropriate discipline for the mistake 😒

hey she's back! she was in the spn homage to the xfiles home episode, and was in the xfiles home episode (and 2 others)! and the magicians she was the candy witch who took Q's blood (which never turned into anything despite sera gamble tweeting that it would be resolved in the finale 🤪 but cheekily stated such that you can say so they planned it never to go anywhere, great. you got us)

supernatural s4e11 family remains - karin konoval as mrs. curry

i know a lot of people are in multiple episodes, but if i don't notice it myself i don't bother mentioning it

DEPUTY BILLY Steven Hewlett caught him red-handed stealing up at his store. SONNY So what'd he take? DEPUTY BILLY Get this – peanut butter and bread.

the raging assholeitude of getting a 16 year old arrested for stealing a couple dollars worth of basic food. that it could be considered an offense even capable of being arrested for.

SONNY Okay. And how about family? DEPUTY BILLY Well, his old man called. Once he found out what happened, he said let him rot in jail. Judge is off on a fishing trip. Boy's too young to leave in County. So we thought it best he stay here till arraignment.

thanks for clearing up those logistics after i spent far too long trying to consider how this went down (my problem/fault).

YOUNG DEAN So, what is this place, anyway? SONNY It's for boys like you. You work the land. Teaches you some discipline and responsibility. Keep you out of trouble.

will do my best to stop thinking about the logic (or lack of) and go with it

YOUNG DEAN That's lame. SONNY Beats jail. Come on. I'll fix you something to eat.

trying to ignore the thought in my head that this is the most parenting he'll have been on the receiving end of in years

this show likes to swing from one extreme to another with the people playing the kids. first 18 year old dean here (who looks like he's in his 20s) with ~supposed~ 14 year old sam and now this kiddo playing dean is 18 but looks quite young and is.. 5'6.5". was looking at his imdb pictures at from about a boy (so he's next to sam) lol

s4e13 after school special brock kelly as young dean and colin ford as young sam / s10e12 about a boy - dylan everett as young dean

i ranted at length and provided cdc growth charts about the improbability of 6'4" sam winchester being that small at 14

from the wiki! Dylan Everett, who plays Young Dean in this episode, also plays Young Dean in 10.12 About A Boy (however, in that episode Dean is 14 and not 16) and in 11.08 Just My Imagination (where "Young Dean" is 13)

13 is slightly more reasonable lol oh but it gets even better

Originally Dean was written as 14, but upon seeing Dylan Everett on screen, the crew decided he looked older, and used ADR to change the age to 16 in post-production.

that's hilarious. they really should have stuck with 14. also the bed that dean supposedly slept in looked like a toddler size bed.

jesus fucking christ i meant to keep my trap shut during this episode. failed spectacularly

🥲it's fine

damnit wasn't prepared for an episode that was gonna make me cry

DEAN Let's try that again. If you're gonna be a man, you got to learn how to shake like one, okay?

i get what they were doing but 😒

YOUNG DEAN I meant for getting the charges against me dropped. SONNY Well, being hungry's not a crime. It's the stealing that is. But I feel if you only do that once, you don't deserve a record. And seeing as how we can't find your pops anywhere, you can stay here as long as you want, Dean. You're doing good in school. You're making friends. You made the wrestling team. I'm proud of you.

oh jesus. so he'll have to walk away from this like. loving, supportive place. to be with john and sam.

SONNY That story have anything to do with why you put the salt in front of your bunk door every night before bed? YOUNG DEAN Well, it's a family thing, so I can't really talk about it. SONNY Same family that left you here?

so he was there over a month after the charges had dropped because john wanted to teach him a lesson i guess. thanks for more reasons to be mad at john winchester. except the intended punishment ended up being more like a luxury vacation with a caring parental figure

i couldn't deal with that horribly awkward interaction with the lady who didn't remember dean, i had to skip it

is this the same farm as the time traveling to the 70s with mary etc

spn s9e7 bad boys / s4e3 in the beginning

the trees combined with the field behind was like ding ding familiar. double checked on the wiki of the map of known filming locations for both episodes because i don't trust myself

it's late and i'm only halfway through this. adjourned until tomorrow

[fuckspn]

when i think for more than .2 seconds about how john treated dean i get a stomachache and the urge to spit blood

[just-some-random-blogger]

GOO-GOO GAGA

Marvel Avengers Peter Parker x Barnes!Reader Summary: *insert snap that reads: just wanted to make that toxic rat toad regret disrespecting me but now i'm having a mental breakdown 🦿🤳🌪️🌬️* Work Count: 3k+ Warnings: Barnes Granddaughter!Reader, fluff, angst, toxic!ex, bad relationships, fake dating, pining, lying, naivete, stupidity, protective!Bucky, also it's an au so yeah, domestic!avengers, typos, etc.

A/N: i love this particular fake dating trope. This is actually my second story like this. Yeah. It's Underrated for realz. It's a Day6 fic though, so if ur interested in it, it's in my masterlist.

"And another thing. I don't know who needs to hear this," Natasha says, staring dead into my eyes, even though I wasn't even looking at her, "but three peanut butter sandwiches does not count for a meal."

I, without looking away from my homework, mid chewing said third peanut butter sandwich, flip her off from the couch in the large common room, all the way to across the floor where the kitchen was stationed where Nat was microwaving her leftovers.

"Put that down," a grumpy voice calls as he walks into the room with some bags in his hand. I snap to the voice and stand in protest. "HOW!" I shrug in confusion, "how do you always just walk in when I am at my tipping point?"

My grandfather bee lines over to me, raises a brow, and crosses his arms, "you mean I catch you and your vulgarity often because you were raised with no manners."

"Well," my other grandfather says, walking past him with some bags held as well, "it's genetic, pal."

The six foot, metal armed man rolls his eyes and shoves his blonde comrade on his way, "you're not helping, Steve."

I raise my hands, "it's not my fault I'm an orphan."

Grandpop turns to me, face full of fury, hands on his hips, "hey, hey, bellow the belt."

"Yeah," my other, other grandfather says, pointing whilst holding a plastic wrapped loaf of walnut bread, "that's genetic."

Grandpop turns to mischievously grinning Sam, "Imma whoop your ass."

Sam chuckles and leans back, before walking off, "that's learned."

Natasha walks over to us, just behind grandpop and gives me a look, while eating her takeout from last night, "hmm, you know what, Bucky, you should ground her."

" 'nough said, I was just about to say, no phone, no internet, no parties, nothing for a month," old flannel and stubble said, giving me a look.

I break into a a scoff, "first of all, bold of you to assume I even go to parties, second, I need both my phone and the internet for homework, third, you can't ground me, I'm literally an adult."

"Yeah, guess what, 18 year old with a lot of lip, I'm literally supposed to be in a museum, but we're here still having this conversation. So the day they finally turn me back in will be the day you're an adult, okay?"

I groan and roll my eyes, "you know what, fine." I look away and get my things, "I'd argue more but Nat's face makes me wanna explode into every sailor's word ever."

Natasha gives me a smirk. Sam walks over to her, walnut bread no longer in hand, and whispers, "what are you up to?"

They merely exchange a look before Steve cuts in again, "hey, you two, knock it off."

As my grandpa watches me begrudgingly gather my things and move to my room, he thinks and turns to Natasha, "why did she flip you off anyway?"

Natasha continues with her leftovers, "truth hurts."

I nearly choke on the sandwich I stuffed in my mouth on my travels to my room. I dump my things on my bed and look over my shoulder with scorn, that man literally can't even connect to the wifi, how does he even think he can ban me from the internet.

I sigh and climb onto my bed, lying on my back, pulling out my phone, sandwich drooping down my chin as I aimlessly chew on it. My fingers haphazardly press the buttons out of second nature and I find myself scrolling through my gallery, looking through the seemingly endless couple shots I had with this man.

I felt my eyes water, moreso because my eyes were sensitive over anything else.

But then my chest began to tighten.

With one hand hung up in above me, I pull my sandwich away to take proper bite. I prop myself up.

See, this was all Nat's fault.

Her and her mind games, and her sense and reason. Yeah, she was always right, but also, she's crazy.

Peter has been my best friend before he was a spider, before my dad died, before we both coincidentally became an Avenger in our own right.

He... he was my best friend. My confidant. The love between us was familial. He and I could never-- and besides, I had asked him for this, for this favor. I wanted to show my ratty ex that, yeah, if he could make out with the girl he told me not to worry about, then I could date my best friend he said was controlling and annoying. Clearly, it was that troll that was controlling and annoying in the end.

Suck on that.

I curl up in my bed and finish the last of my sandwich, thinking about what Natasha had been pestering me about as I tried to finish my Chem homework.

I couldn't though, it was pretty hard since I began to recall how we walked to school hand in hand as displayed a good enough amount of PDA so people would start talking. I inhale and lean back into a pillow beside me. I begin to relive how I sat on Peter's lap during lunch, how we hung by the field and made out for show.

I shudder, feeling goosebumps form on my skin at the memory.

My ex was livid when he saw us cuddling as we walked down the hallway. He caused a whole scene, as if we were still together and he wasn't just lip locked with that annoying girl.

"It's true then," my buffoon of an ex walks up to my locker. I turn to him, and so does Peter who was right beside me. He gives Peter a look and turns to me, "you settled for your nerd friend." He clicks his tongue, "You were probably going behind my back too, huh?"

I slam my locker and raise a brow, "stop projecting your cheating habits on me. I just finally realized if there was anyone in this school that could treat me right, it's Peter."

I miss the face Peter gives me as I am too preoccupied with wanting to bash this moron's face into the ground.

"You were never that hot anyway."

I scoff. Peter pulls me into his arms and soothes me, "come on, babe, this moron's not worth it."

"What did you call me, Park-" my ex squares up and grabs at Peter, but misses and ends up slamming his face into the lockers.

The people watching make an ooooh sound and I break into an amused laugh.

I sigh and shake the thought out of my head.

Everything that happened was all for show.

"You got me cheesecake?" I ask as Peter opened the box he had.

"You said you wanted one, so I could you one," he said simply. I sniffled. Peter turned to me and got a spoon, bringing it up to my mouth, "no stop crying over that moron, okay?"

"I'm not..." I say.

Peter gives me a look, "yeah, right. Then why are you crying?"

I sigh. What do you think, Peter?

Suddenly, Natasha's voice is ringing in my head.

Do you honestly think that if you feel like this about Peter that he doesn't feel the same way about you?

Seems sane, except she can't be right. She can't. What I've been doing with Peter was pretend, fake. Overblown, flashy, exaggerated, insincere, and done out of spite. Sure, it felt different to get ice cream with him when he'd sometimes insist on kissing my cheek for an instagram post. It made me feel like the younger version of me that nearly had asthma attacks whenever middle schooler Peter did something sweet for me.

But reality check, I don't have asthma anymore, and I sure as hell know for a fact as someone who came out of a bad relationship that building one on lies was not good for anyone.

It only made the welling of my tears form into real tears as I continued through my infinite supply of Peter through my roll.

Even after finishing my sandwich, I wasn't done looking.

That is, untill I got a text.

From Peter 🐸: ??? Uh Srgt barnes kicked me out??????

From Peter 🐸: he said you were grounded?????

From Peter 🐸: ???????

From Peter 🐸: ???? Uh why are u grounded??????

From Peter 🐸: Again???????

I stared at my phone as the messages flashed. As the last one came in, I mentally battled on whether or not I should reply.

I wiped my face and moaned.

It was probably for the best grandpop kicked Peter out. I don't know if it was a good idea to see him right know.

I don't even feel like replying to him right now.

But then again, I know for a fact this was all a part of Natasha's evil plan though. That sneaky old lady probably knew Peter sometimes snuck into my room through the vent. She would probably want me not to reply so Peter would continue to sneak in. I sniffle and give a quick response.

To Peter 🐸: he's just dramatic. You can just go home peter. Tell aunt may I said hi.

I huff and lock my phone. I sprawl on my chest and continue on my homework.

I get back into the groove and for a brief moment, I forget that Peter was even on my mind. That is until I hear a commotion in my ceiling vent and hear soft grunts and calls from Peter, calling out, "incoming!"

I avert my attention to the corner of my room and walk over to remove the cover of the vent, coming face to face with an out of breath but grinning Peter. I sigh, so much for that plan.

I move off, and in another few moments, and one swift landing down to the floor, Peter turns over to me and give me a look, "now, what's this grounded sentence for this time?"

I watch as Peter climbs on my bed and scans my work. I shake my head and shrug, "usual. I flipped Nat off for being up in my business."

He hums, knitting his brow, "#5 is wrong." He grabs a pen and flips the page of my notebook. He begins to redo the number and I just watch as he lies sprawled on his stomach in my bed fixing my chem homework.

Peter turns to me and raises a brow, "aren't you going to sit down?'

So I do.

The bed dips. Peter begins to tell me where I went wrong. I hear him speak, but all my focus was on how he was so casual about this whole setup. I mean, he was in my bedroom, uninvited, snuck in. This was fully a big deal. Plus, he and I were so close, like physically.

"You got that?" he asks, turning to me.

Then I remember, right, it was just Peter. My best friend, Peter. Peter Parker. That's all.

I nod, "thanks."

He smiles, "no problem." He then sits up and faces me, "now what else did you do?"

I shake my head, half amused, "you think so little of me."

"No, I don't. I know you go big or go home."

"Well," I roll my eyes, "I did an orphan joke."

Peter flinches and slaps his face, "NO!" he whisper-yells, "stop it with that!"

"Why? I'm literally the orphan!"

"Oh my-- Imagine if I told that to May! She would freak!"

"Well, that's because your sense of humor is vanilla."

Peter shakes his head profusely, "Duuuudee! Just think for a second okay. Bucky had a girlfriend. He served in world war 2 and had to say goodbye to her. He almost died, got turned into the winter soldier, gets woken into the 21st century, find out his lover from the 60's was pregnant and had a daughter, and that daughter of his had a daughter herself! But now his daughter's daughter went into the foster system since her grandma was dead, mom died in childbirth, and her dad died in a car crash. And now that he's met the only family he has, then she proceeds to joke about being an orphan."

"Dang, okay. You're always so serious about it."

"Well that's what Bucky most definitely feels, so lay off it, please."

"Fine, I'm always the bad guy," I retort, unconsciously turning my tears on.

Peter clearly instantly feels bad, "wait, oh no, don't cry. Why are you crying?"

I let out a pained sound and break into a groan and laugh, "I'm so pissed with chemistry."

Peter is panicked still as I play it off and rub my eyes. I fall back on my bed and sigh, "gosh, I forgot to ask grandpop to buy me cardboard for my diagram."

I sit back up, "I also need more glue for my glue gun."

"Do you want me to go get you some?" Peter asks.

"Nah, I need to go on a walk."

"It's getting pretty late though, plus you're grounded."

I stand and grab my phone and wallet, "it's fine. I'll ask grandpa Steve and say you're still outside. Just jump out the window this time."

It was, in fact, not fine.

I mean, I didn't struggle with my grandpas or anything, but Peter and I wound up getting burritos on our way back and he held my hand and took a couple selfie with me out of reflex. I stared at the notification as we walked through the now dark streets on our way back.

I looked at Peter as he walked a little bit more forward with my hand in one of his hands and his second burrito in the other, along with my art supplies clamped in-between his arm.

My heart was racing when I first realized we looked so much like a couple like this. But it sank simultaneously, knowing it wasn't real.

I can't keep doing this.

Not when I had this urge to hug him as we took the bus and I tested how he'd react and he didn't even flinch and just he rubbed my back. Not when he thoughtfully ordered my combo and offered to get some cupcakes, which was where we were headed now, because he knew how much I liked them.

So yeah, I freaked out when Peter ordered my favorite cupcake, even though best friends know each other's favorite food sometimes. And I defeatedly knew why I was so skittish around him when he literally just opened his mouth, it was because I so desperately wanted this to be real.

I didn't want how he looked at me to be... an act.

We spoke at the same time at one point while he sat in this cupcake place across from each other.

We obviously both stopped, and Peter smiled, insisting I continued as I insisted he did.

He does not relent, and chuckles, "I don't know why you're making a big deal of this. Just go on."

I suck in a breath, "fine." I place my hands on the table and turn to his amused expression, "I just... I've been thinking a lot. About us..." I turn away from him and clarify, "I mean. I'm really grateful and thankful for everything you do for me."

"As you should," Peter cheekily cuts in.

I turn to him and his smirk and feel my heart twist. I hold back a frown, "yeah. Uh, I... I just, I wanted to say that we can stop now."

Peter knits his brows, "stop what?"

"This. The pretending that we do."

Peter straightens on his seat, "pretending?"

"Yeah. We don't have to pretend to like each other anymore. I mean, gosh, this is a whole head ache in and of itself. I don't even think of my ex at all." I point to my temple, "It's all chem now."

Peter's jaw slacks. He nods slowly, "ah, right. Yeah. The fake dating."

I nod.

"Right, cause we've just been pretending the whole time."

I feel a lump in my throat form.

Peter purses his lips and chuckles, "this wasn't real at all... to either of us."

For a moment, we sit in silence.

"Should... should I delete all our Instagram posts?" Peter asks.

I have to admit, I'm a bit taken aback, "uh... I mean, if you want. You can, but you did just post it-"

"Right."

"-You can just get rid of it later."

"Right, right. Totally."

Another moment of silence passes.

I remember, "what was it you were supposed to say?"

"Ah... Nah, yeah, I was just going to say we could go to this skateboard event on Saturday. I saw a flyer for it. We should go."

I give a smile, "yeah. We should definitely go."

He smiles back, though unalike how he smiled before, "great."

And once another moment passed, Peter asked, "should we get going?"

I nod.

Then we made our way back. Beside the fact Peter was no holding on the brown paper bag with both of his hand and the feeling between us was weird, I would say it worked out pretty well.

"Hey!" Peter, panicked, calls, yanking me by my arm, my moving me out of the way of a passing bike.

I am looking at him as he pulls me against him and scowls at the biker, "watch where you're going, dude! You're gonna hurt yourself and innocent pedestrians!"

My breath hitches when he grabs my hand and leads me across the street, asking, "are you okay?"

I nod, "just shocked."

"That dude should get a thousand dollar ticket. You know, one time on my patrol, there was this small child that also almost got hit my a biker. It could have been so back had I not caught that girl in time."

Peter looks over to me after his rant, half wonder why there was no quick response in his favor.

He immediately lets go of my hand when he realizes how firmly he had it gripped in his.

"Sorry," he mutters quickly, wiping his hand on his pants. He looks away aimlessly.

I shake my head and smile, "it's okay."

"I'll try not to do that anymore- you know, since we're broken up."

"..."

"Not that is was every real..." Peter says, "of course not."

"Of course not," I repeat for absolutely no reason.

[babygirlwolverine]

For @dadstielweek, day 1: angelic

"Do you still have a halo?" Jack asked, swinging his legs against the counter as Cas made sandwiches for the Winchesters who were tirelessly researching in the next room.

"I'm not sure. Wouldn't you be able to see it if I did?" Cas asked, pushing a plate towards Jack along with a can of orange soda.

Humming vaguely, Jack took a bite before attempting to answer. "Well, you see-" Jack started, talking around a mouthful of food.

Cas reached out, tapping a finger against Jack's knee. "Finish eating before talking," he mumbled idly before resuming his task of buttering bread.

He listened carefully as Jack finished chewing before taking a sip of his drink. Nodding in approval, he waited for Jack to continue talking again.

"Well," Jack said, picking up a bottle top from the counter and flicking it at Cas' arm.

'Child,' Cas thought to himself, rolling his eyes fondly before sliding the bottle cap back at Jack.

"Sometimes I can see a shadow. This hazy glow above your head. Sometimes it's barely visible. It glows brighter at certain times. Until I can sometimes make out a shape, but the colors are refractory. Like a rainbow," Jack said, twirling the cap across his knuckles before getting bored and tapping the back of his shoes against the steel cupboards.

"When does it glow brighter?" Cas asked, and then, a second later, "Hand me the ham from the fridge. And no, that doesn't mean hand me everything except the ham." That had been Jack's game last week: hand Cas everything except what he'd asked for. Jack thought it was a hilarious charade, and Cas had pretended to be frustrated but had laughed at the kid's playful antics.

Placing the ham next to the plate, Jack took the opportunity to dart forwards and steal the potato chips- the ones Cas had specifically gotten out for Dean- with a victorious grin.

"You can tell Dean you stole his chips," Cas said mildly, even though he knew Dean would pretend to be annoyed for two seconds before teasing Jack.

Jack ignored the comment, instead climbing back onto the counter and crunching on a chip before answering Cas' previous question. "It's brighter when you're near Dean. Sam, too. But brightest around Dean. And me. When you're closer to me it gets brighter and more pronounced. Like our angelic auras intertwine."

Cas stopped his movements to look over at Jack. Despite being in an adult body, Jack was still only two-years-old. Sometimes it was surprising to remember he was so young, especially after saying something so profound as their angelic auras merging.

Smiling softly, he nodded at Jack. "My paternal bond to you does allow for angelic fusing."

Jack let the words process for a second before he smiled. "It's because we're your family. Me. Dean. Sam. Your true form comes to the surface when you're around us."

With a fond look, Cas nodded and reached out to squeeze Jack's knee. "Yes, it is," he confirmed. Finishing the sandwiches and putting them on plates, Cas was just about to guide them towards the library when Jack stopped. "Is that why I can see the shadow of your wings sometimes? You're protecting us?"

Cas seized, shoulders hunching as he automatically reached out to where the remains of his torn wings were. He hated thinking about them, even though sometimes he unfurled the tattered feathers to wrap around Jack or Dean or Sam when he could help them. "Yes. There's not much left of them anymore. But I try to protect you all when I can."

When Jack's hand brushed his shoulder, he thought he'd flinch away, but instead the touch was warm and comforting. "I like them. They're bright. A beacon when I feel lost. Just like your halo. Just like you."

The words settled like honey in Cas' veins. He barely had time to process them before Jack was smiling and disappearing into the library with a teasing, "Dean! Cas ate your chips."

Cas stood for a second, feeling the warmth radiate through his remaining grace and out to the tips of his wings. If only Jack knew how much their familial bond had made him feel like a better Angel and a better human.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 170

You may notice a lack of a "read more" on this post... That's not entirely accidental, unfortunately. I got home last night from my first day back at work, and really thought I queued this chapter for today, 9nly to find out when I checked this afternoon that I queued next weeks chapter for Dec 26th, 2021.

So, I scrambled to my mobile Docs app, copied it, and made this post just in time. Promise I will fix the break when I get home, so feel free not to reblog until I do that.

Thank you all for putting up with me 🤦🏼‍♀️

As always, thanks to @baelpenrose for beta-awesomeness, and to @quantumizedinsanity and @charlylimph-blog for your support.

Edit: Adjusted the title and added the Read More

I stepped out of the food prep area to the sound of Alice, Charly, and Conor emphatically discussing potential changes we would need to make in regards to our planned settlement on Von. The lockdown/house arrest had brought to the forefront a need to still physically reach members of the colony in the face of catastrophic weather or other obstacles, and both Charly and Alice were explaining to Conor the Pueblos of North America currently: entire cities and villages that lived in interconnected caves within stone cliffs. Given what we knew of Von’s geography, it was a strong possibility as a solution.

“Food’s ready!” I called out, setting the last bowl of bread onto the table. Because of the number of people we had ‘visiting’, dinner tonight was chili and all the toppings I could imagine, plus three kinds of bread. With Alice, Hannah, Derek, Sam, Charly, Coffey, Alistair, and Arthur all in our quarters at the same time, the table would never fit everyone, and this seemed a better compromise for the sake of everyone being able to eat and find somewhere to sit. Tyche and Antoine had been invited, but had politely declined when they saw the length of the guest list.

“So,” Charly started as everyone got seated. “Conor is Team Longhouses, Alice and I are Team Pueblos. Any takers?”

“Warrens,” Maverick responded promptly as he added a nearly-obscene amount of cheese to his bowl. “Animals clearly knew what they were doing with community structures. Hives, warrens, anthills. They really nailed it.”

“Mhm!” Charly’s eyes widened as she chewed her mouthful as quickly as possible. “I did think about that! But the surface is so rocky, and with no tectonics to break things up naturally, it would be really hard to burrow down. And glaciers half the year don’t leave a ton of topsoil for that kind of thing. Sam said there’s just enough for potential agriculture, but that’s about it.”

Sam nodded and handed a piece of buttered cornbread to Derek, who very deliberately made sure it didn’t touch his chili. “The glaciers will pick up anything in their path as they freeze in the front, and anything left behind as they melt will be very rich and fertile, but not deep enough for the kind of burrows you want for protection.”

“Naturally occurring caverns in the rock, made by water erosion though,” she shook her spoon for emphasis. “That’s where it’s at. Water can get into and make all kinds of places in stone, and definitely deep enough to protect from extreme heat and extreme cold.”

Conor shook his head with a grin. “We have time to figure it out. I’m not giving up!”

I rolled my eyes jokingly, but Arthur changed the topic for all our sakes. “Table the neverending housing argument before we get into planting again. What does everyone think about the human pirate and what they said?”

It was probably the only safe topic to discuss out loud, we had decided. Miys would clearly expect it to come up, and it definitely would have even without the increased level of paranoia going on currently. “It’s hard to be certain,” I started. “We knew even before we dropped out of FTL that there was a possibility we would be considered bioweapons. But we’re also talking about someone who was raised by pirates and potential slavers… They could be pretty brainwashed.” Antoine would probably wash my mouth out with soap at the term, but it was the one everyone understood, and I stood by it.

Derek set his plate down. “I think Teeth means well.” He had seen the footage of the interview, like everyone else on the Ark - although I didn’t know if he had waited that long to view it, and frankly was avoiding asking. “If they trade us for data, I want access to it.”

Another obvious statement, but everyone in the room knew what he actually meant: I am going to access that data no matter what you say, I’m just letting you know now that I’m doing it.

For the sake of form, Alice at least pretended to reprimand him. “You and I are going to be the ones retrieving it from their computer in that situation, but remember: no tampering. We’ll just go in, get the data we are asked to get, and leave.”

“Fine…” Derek drew the gesture out before returning to his dinner. Every time he encountered a traitorous bean, he would scowl and drop it in Maverick’s bowl. For whatever reason, Derek only had opinions about beans when they were in his chili. Anything else, he didn’t care, and it didn’t matter what kind of beans I used. Thou Shalt Not Bean The Chili was an unwritten commandment of Derek’s diet.

“I am leaning toward being brainwashed,” Hannah murmured, head down. She was the only person in the room who could come even close to lying to Miys, so she had been given the daunting role of advocating on behalf of the ever-mysterious Galactic Council - who were quickly ranking up there with the ubiquitous They in my mind. “The idea of wanting to isolate us so that we never leave Von on our own is just too far out there. It’s not like we haven’t already achieved space flight before.”

“Mmm, Von has poor metallicity, though,” Charly pointed out. “So we would be relearning the engineering from the ground up. Not saying it’s impossible, but it would take a while.”

“I believe the truth is in between,” Coffey intoned, setting down his plate and declining my offer of another helping. “From a legal standpoint, I understand that the Galactic Council is very hands off, almost negligent. It makes the idea that they are also benevolent enough to rescue an entire species out of the kindness of their hearts a difficult pill to swallow. However, equally difficult to believe is that they would put all this effort into relocating us and allowing us another chance, only to keep us isolated from everyone else for the entire foreseeable future.”

“Which is much longer for them than it is for us, yes,” Alistair pointed out. “However, don’t forget that they ostensibly approved this… relocation,” he scoffed and waved his hand dismissively, forcing Arthur to relocate his bowl and scowl. “Because we have vision on the specific scale we do. Even if they can interpret the data, it is so foreign to them that they clearly cannot process and react to it on the scales we are evolved for.”

“Humans do calculus before we understand what calculus is,” Sam stated with a nod. Most of us nodded, but Hannah and Alistair gave him curious looks. “Watch,” he cautioned before grabbing a bread roll and chucking it at Charly when she wasn’t paying attention. When she managed to see it out of the corner of her eye in time to catch it and bite into it, Sam smiled. “Calculus. And physics. And neither of us needed to do any math for that, we just… do.”

“So, they say they need us… but the only other human we’ve found is a pirate, not a pilot,” Arthur pointed out.

“They could have just sent us back to Earth,” Hannah forced herself to argue. “They knew before we did that there were still humans there after so long. Unless they don’t know that Teeth exists.”

More and more bowls were being set down, and Coffey silently started helping me gather them up. It was hard to tell if the conversation was putting everyone’s appetite off, or if they were actually done eating. Either way, it was clear that the time had come for my great, creative solution to plotting where Miys couldn’t interfere. As I set up an enormous pad of paper that I had spent two days getting fabricated, Charly grinned wickedly and pulled out a set of markers.

We were going to play Pictionary.

Okay, it wasn’t that creative, but Charly made appropriate explanations that the markers were made to be odorless to avoid setting off Derek’s sensory issues - the fact that our quarters smelled entirely of onions, garlic, cumin, and various peppers entirely notwithstanding. The idea was that the smell of the chili would confuse any particles we couldn’t prevent from wafting off the markers.

We made a show of explaining the rules, including the ‘house rule’ that gave everyone five minutes to draw instead of the standard one minute. Ostensibly this was to allow for motor issues and an equal chance, but in reality it was so that everyone had a chance to read the suggestions on the paper and for the ‘artist’ to add any notes.

After splitting into teams and deciding who would go first, Alistair was at the paper, reading his ‘clue’ - really the first topic we were going to discuss. Once the timer was flipped, he started writing furiously.

Noah is being secretive.

“Is it a movie?” Nod.

“OO! Is it a spy movie??” Charly called out.

Nod. We need a spy.

Various other suggestions, both nonsense clutter and actual suggestions, were called out. “Time travel” got “Started after FTL” added, followed by a truly inspired “The Sound of Thunder” causing “Pinpoint why and what changed” to get thrown on the board, with a gesture indicating we were getting close. Right at the end of the five minutes, Hannah pulled “Flashback!” out of her ass, which was apparently a French time travel film I had never heard of, starring someone named Sophia Aram.

Sophia will talk to Noah to see what she can find out about what changed.

I groaned, while Hannah played triumphant and drew her topic.

Do we believe Teeth?

The five minutes started, and while we had just been talking about this, we were able to be a little more transparent - for a very weird degree of transparency - now. “Total Recall” led to “Potentially brainwashed” with “The Manchurian Candidate” seconding it. A random “Cassandra” from Charly got “Telling the truth but we don’t believe them” thrown on the board.

“Oh, OH!” I shouted when it clicked. “The Adjustment Bureau!” Miys didn’t lie to us at the outset, and Teeth isn’t lying now, something has changed without our knowledge.

Hannah gestured for more suggestions, and Arthur snapped his fingers quickly. “Anthony Mackie.”

The time ran out right as Hannah added “We need to talk to the person in charge on their side” to her page.

Arthur took over as the ‘winner’ of that round, and snagged a piece of paper, but without looking at it, wrote Who will talk to Teeth to start communication with the pirate leader?

Rather than “People”, he went with “Characters”. There were a few false starts, with “Superboy” and “Chuckie Finster” failing to put Conor or Charly on the list. Once Conor got lucky with “Cassie Ainsworth” and Hannah got added - although I had no idea how Arthur understood that one and blamed Alistair - we were on a roll. The overwhelming majority suggested characters played by Charlie Chaplin, Chuck Norris, and various others, which hysterically led to a scowling Charly and a clear vote for her to be the one to meet with Teeth.

I can’t even lie, a not-insignificant portion of me was concerned the ship might explode if Charly got to scheming with an actual pirate. That, or Teeth was in for some very interesting potential upgrade options, I wasn’t sure which.

Last but not least was Maverick’s turn at the board, where he wrote in block letters BACKUP PLANS.

“The Italian Job” Steal the data anyway, out from under Miys and the Eko-mari’s noses-adjacent things.

“Schindler’s List” just got a scowl and a headshake, but “Argo” did get sneak the pirates out the back added to the board.

Eventually, those were the dominant back up plans, with small details being added to flesh them out in the form of absurd plots - to the point that Maverick didn’t understand a solid third of them. However, by the time everyone started trickling out we had several sheets of ideas written out, and everyone knew what their next steps were. If Derek’s involved “Argo” and “Rogue One” as instructions, at least Miys would be even more confused if they tried to read it.

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[wizkiddx]

...surprise

um okay so here I am trying angst again. this is kind of intended to be open ended bcos might have a part two at some point. im also lazy and has a few time jumps. also if someone could pls explain if you just get pics for the top of these off internet or credit on like gifs or something that’d be appreciated.

Summary: Tom comes home and everything is most definitely not the way he left, nor is it healthy

Warnings: please read with caution esp relationship with food / weightloss, but just generally a person in a bad bad head space, lots of self blame - then next parts will carry different warnings too

************************

Tom had been away for months. Months and months away from his girlfriend, separated entirely by his filming locations in Europe and America; while you were busy slowly and steadily climbing the ranks of your law firm. Being an intense period for the pair, you hadn’t managed to see each other in 2 and a half months.  Of course, both go you were used to this - 3 years deep into a relationship between an actor and a wanna-be lawyer- this was the name of the game.

But honestly? You both just kept falling deeper and deeper, making the separation harder to deal with - rather than getting used to it as one might hope.

That's why Tom felt such an incredibly overwhelming wave of relief as he dumped his bags just outside his front door. Even though he was exhausted from the travelling, just the mere act of finally phishing out his housekeys brought a massive grin to his face - caused particularly by the sight of his tacky little keyring from a Moroccan market that you’d bought him. That had been your first holiday. There’s that old saying that before you move in with someone go on holiday first - Tom understood it to mean you supposedly see all the bad and ugly stuff people can hide from each other, a prewiring before committing to living in the same space. However that holiday all he’d learned was incredible you are to him. To his dying day, Tom will never forget the moment he looked over to his left when the two of you were on this night time stargaze in the depth of the Moroccan desert. Y/n had never seen stars like it, the skies so incredibly clear and lit up with an array of magical blues and purples and whites on its sark background. The sight, for no unexplainable reason, had you completely opening up to Tom about things she’d never told a single soul. And in that moment he’d had this sort of realisation. Not about how much he loved her - because that is just the cliche thing everyone says… and also just wasn’t true.

In that moment he’d rather realised the potential. The sort of ‘I’m not there yet but I know you could become the centre of my universe’. The sort of ‘I’m not ready to say this yet, but I want to spend my life with you’. The sort of ‘at some point in my life I’m not sure my heart will be able to beat without yours’.

He still hadn’t quite got to explicitly saying all that yet, by asking you for the ultimate commitment. But he planned to now he was coming back to you.

Even with the chill of the early evening winter air, Tom was almost ecstatic as he unlocked the door and let himself in. He hadn’t told you that he was coming home, you thought he had another two weeks on the job, but Tom was a bit of an old romantic - he loved seeing your eyes fill with wonder as he surprised you in whatever way. Sometimes it was as simple as a note on the fridge, or a small bouquet from behind his back or as fancy as a surprise holiday.

However, this time, though it was only 6 in the evening, all the lights of their house were off making Tom raise an eyebrow as he quietly slipped off his shoes - not wanting to scare Y/n just in case.

Tom had sworn when he’d been on the phone with you the previous day, you didn’t have any plans tonight but perhaps maybe a spontaneous pub trip and been offered with work colleagues. The house felt a little cold as he padded through it, poking his head into every room just to check Y/n wasn’t there. His last port of call was the bedroom.

By this point, Tom was pretty resigned on the fact you were out and he’d maybe cook a meal for when you got back or hide about the house or something. But instead, when he poked his head around this door, he sighed in delight at the sight of a still mound under the plush white sheets. For a brief moment, Tom paused, before tiptoeing steadily round to her bedside. The light was still off but the hallway light illuminated the room enough so he could make out your soft features and the messy ball of hair that had been haphazardly thrown in a bun. Furthermore, he could also notice in the light the packet of painkillers and migraine tablets lying opened on the bedside - which made him freeze. Y/n didn’t get migraines often at all, but when she did Tom knew just how bad they could be. That explained the fact you were spark out at six o’clock, making Tom give a sympathetic smile. He crept back out the room with a little spring in his step, deciding that since he had had a long day travelling he'd grab a snack and join you. Unfortunately though, when he enthusiastically yanked the fridge open the sight was a rather depressing one. He didn’t really know what he was craving but the fridge contents were of almost no use to anyone. The place was bloody baron, apart from a tub of butter and of course his special beers that Y/n would never dare touch. With a small huff though, Tom resigned himself to some bread and butter, before getting ready for bed.

It was probably an hour later when Tom was carefully crawling under the duvet to settle in beside Y/n after the disappointing snack and maybe a solitary ‘welcome home beer’ - it would be rude not to. God was he excited to just have his girlfriend in his arms again though. So, Tom naturally reached over and powerfully yet gently pulled you back towards him - making your back flush with his as you mumbled something incoherent. Chuckling slightly at your apparent annoyance of being disturbed, Tom pressed a kiss to her temple before settling down momentarily.

But something wasn’t quite right, making Tom shuffle about a bit - ever adjusting huis grasp on your waist as he attempted to get comfy. With the migraine medications forcing you into a deep deep sleep you barely stirred and that just made the unease increase for Tom. Because you didn’t feel right. This didn’t feel right. Ever so slowly Tom started to peel back the duvet from your body from his now sitting upright position. Typically, Y/n was wearing one of his hoodies, however more concerningly it seemed to pool and collect around your frame more than normal.

Now, Y/n was never the most petite person in the world - by no means overweight, instead of beautiful curves and muscle. To Tom now though, it was as if someone had literally shrunk you - like a picture on a word document you needed to make narrower to fit the margins. Even in the dim light of the bedroom he know realised you looked pale. Honestly, Tom didn’t know how long he just sat there staring at you, until you sighed a little and pulled the duvet back up to just under your chin.

He didn’t know what to think or do. All he knew was you didn’t look well and that you hadn’t said a thing to him. Feeling so very uncomfortable within himself, Tom climbed out the bed and simultaneously grabbed his phone. He knew he had to call someone, to check that you hadn’t been ill - but then who to call? Someone that wouldn’t judge or instantly worry- your mum was completely off the cards. Also, he hadn’t even given you the chance to explain yet, so really he knew there was only a couple of options who were close enough to him too.

“Hey what’s up?” “Um nothing much, back in the UK though so-“ “Oh shit really! Kept that one quite bro” “Yeh well came back to surprise Y/n” “Oh you're soooo whipped” “Fuck off Haz, have you um… have you seen her recently anyway?” “You're asking me if I’ve seen your girl while you’ve been away?” “I’m being serious. You’re pretty much brother and sister and I’m -I’m a bit worried.” “What? You know she wouldn’t cheat especially with me” Haz’s tone turned less serious, using a goofy accent “ I know too much.” Haz still attempted to lighten the mood, this conversation very unexpected and making him grow more and more concerned himself. “Haz quit it. I’m worried she’s been ill. I’ve come in and she’s asleep with a migraine but there’s no food in the fridge and she’s skinny as hell.” “Fuck er sorry I didn’t realise. But um no she’s been cancelling on us for the past like two weeks cos like…I don’t know said she was just snowed under at the firm so” “But before then?” “No yeh she was fine. Went to the pub a couple times and she always drove so didn’t drink but nothing weird - think she wanted to keep a clear head. What are you thinking?” “I don’t know to be honest mate. She seemed fine on the phone but I swear to god she looks half the size  of what she was when I left.” “Just talk to her in the morning? She probably is just stressed if work has been mad busy.” Tom hummed in agreement, half trying to convince himself too. “Yeh yeh, sorry for bothering you.” “Oh shut up mate - I’ll see you both at your parents for the roast tomorrow? Sams got some new recipe I think, he’s been wittering on about it for days.” “Yeh we’ll be there, see you then mate.” 

After signing off to Haz, Tom placed his phone on the little table on the upstairs hallway and sighed. He knew he was being over-protective but he couldn’t help it. Y/n was always the one to care for him, in fact to care for everybody int he room and then some.

He’d get to the bottom of whatever this was tomorrow, and so the rest of the evening Tom spent rather unhappily get ready before bed yet again before climbing back in next to you.

///////////////////////////

Tom woke before you, a combination of jet lag and the worry in the pit of his stomach meaning he stirred awake first. Instinctively he pulled you closer and nuzzled his nose into the side of your neck as he slowly began to wake up properly - shrugging off the grogginess. Tom was still really excited for you to realise he was back, predicting you  to excitedly hug him ever so tight and then spend the morning between the sheets. He knew you found the distance tough, especially when all your closest friends were coupled off, it meant you just didn’t have ‘your person’. It was almost as if you were single again and instead of pining over an ex, hopelessly and completely in love with someone across the globe. But that just made your time together even more invaluable and precious.

So even with his slight unease at your slimmer silhouette, Tom didn't have any control over the loopy grin that came to his face as you started to stir and mumble something incoherent, all the while (and subconsciously) inching closer towards him. By the slight fluttering under your eyelid, Tom knew you were waking up and so took the moment to tuck your frizzy bed hair behind your ear. Sighing contently Y/n’s eyes fluttered completely open and Tom met your gaze with the most gently of smiles.

However, he then watched moment by moment as your expression morphed for one of peacefulness and content, through confusion, and ending at pure terror. He had barely thought of asking you why, before you yelped, throwing yourself up into a sitting position and backing as far away on the bed as you could from Tom. “TOM... I-you can’t be here! YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!” “Y/n hey what’s wrong-“ “GET OUT! G-GET THE FUCK OUT! YOU CAN’T BE HERE” you  yanked the bedsheets to completely cover your huddled up body, as if trying to protect yourself. At this point, tears were streaming down your face and what truly terrified Tom was the expression of horror in your eyes. He threw his hands in the air and unsteadily stumbled to his feet. “O-okay I’m-“ “GET OUT!!! YOU CAN'T SEE ME GET OUT!” Completely bemused and shocked, Tom just nodded jerkily -already halfway out the door and accidentally slamming it in haste.

He had absolutely zero clue what that was about. But what he knew for a fact? He’d never ever seen you like that… you looked so completely terrified… of him? Tom couldn’t for the life of him work out what the hell was going on, as he paced from the shut door to the hallway wall and back again, running his hand through his hair throughout. He could hear you sobbing and whisper yelling - presumably at yourself. It felt as though his heart was being torn out, seeing you that upset and it appearing as his fault? He was acting on pure instinct and adrenalin because your pain hurt him too. He had no control of the physiological response in his body, making his hands shake and breathing increase in speed as it inversely got shallower too.

And so he took a short inhalation, biting his bottom lip as he knocked on the door. “Y/n?….” He got no response after waiting a couple of seconds so tried again - because he could hear you trying to stifle your sobs. After another two failed attempts he opted for a different approach. “Y/n… I’m worried about you… look, I know your upset right now but I need you to let me know your okay… or I’ll have to come in and…and I don’t want to spook you” “Don’t come in.” It was a sharp reply, with a voice that was cracked and clearly trying to keep It together. “Okay… I-I’m sorry if my surprise of coming home was a dumb idea…I-I’ve missed you.” Tom tried speaking softly, as he knelt down and sat with this back against the wall while nervously fiddling with his watch strap that he’d forgot to take off last night. Again he waited for a response but got nothing, again having to warn you he needed to know you were okay. He heard movements from the other side of the door, making him turn his head to the left, pressing his ear on the cool gloss paint. “I-I’m sorry” You barely were whispering, but Tom could sense you were now sitting in a position mirroring his “You don’t meed to apologise love” Returning her tone, Tom sighed at the end - trying to get his brain to process what was going on.

Y/n wasn’t one to overreact and Tom could count on one hand the number of serious fights they’d had in the three year romance. And even then, he was the one to raise his voice - when she argued it was more reasoned, slow and controlled. Actually it was one of the things that in those moments infuriated him even more - you were just so level headed and sensible. Scratch that, sensible purely in this context - everywhere else you were just as loopy as him. So this situation felt so very alien. He didn’t know how to help you and he bloody hated feeling useless.

After a few moments, you replied to apologise once again, for shouting specifically,  and Tom nodded - not that you could see. But that was one of the things Y/n had taught him, sometimes you just have accept things - no matter the context. Accept he wasn’t actually a superhero and couldn’t do everything, accept that sometimes he could be a dick and out of line or accept an apology.

“Can you.. can you try and tell me why your upset? I want to help.” He was trying to be gentle, non-confrontational. But he knew something was so wrong. He needed to know so he could try and help out. “I…”Y/n began, but quickly trailed off, as if trying to formulate the words properly. “I’ve just been ill and” again another pause “and I haven’t been looking after myself very well. I just planned to be umm- to be better when you got back.”

It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t really the truth either, at least not the whole truth. But it wasn’t a lie.

“I’m not sure I understand why your so worried about what I think though?” Tom inquired, as he started to fiddle with the door handle in his left hand - as if easing the idea of coming into his girlfriend without scaring you. In reply, you sighed again trying to put the words together without explicitly spelling it out to him. “I don’t- I thought you’d just be disappointed or-or think I’m reliant on you. I’m not and I can handle myself I just…. I don’t know.” “I love you, you idiot.”Tom chuckled at that, while standing up. “Can I come in now please? I promise I’m not disappointed just want to help you feel better.”

The door opened and no sooner could Tom take a step forward than Y/n ran into his chest, wrapping herself tightly around him in apology. He knew that he didn’t have the full story but really didn’t want to push her, more preferring to just love her. So that’s what they spent the rest of the morning doing, in their pyjamas and watching TV. Quite obviously, she wasn’t really making a lot of conversation, Tom filled some gaps with talking about filming - to which she’d hum in agreement or chuckle along. But for the most part Y/n was concentrating on something else.

The all-consuming guilt. That was what was eating away at her.

part 2?

[kaminobiwan]

inhibition

pairing: obi-wan kenobi  x  jedi!reader

summary: Fluff. Sap. Domesticity with a little bit of plot sprinkled in. Dash of sa(n)d, but that's to be expected at this point. It’s Tatooine, y’all.

a/n: Having not read Kenobi yet I actually have no idea how Obi-Wan’s demeanor is towards young Luke, but it’s fic so who cares. They get FAMILY VIBES

This one got away from me. Positively wrenched out of my grip and flew away, leading to the longest fic I’ve ever written, but I think the end result is so worth it. Requested by @snips-n-skyguy0501 and an anon that wanted breakfast in bed and forehead kisses — I hope your foot feels better, Sam! (Taglist)

In the slick of the heat of Tatooine, there isn’t much you could really do but sleep it off.

Even with tiny windows, the determined rays of the planet’s twin suns never failed to make their way into the small compound that had served as your sanctuary for the better part of the past half decade. You can feel the warmth of the dawn seeping in, lingering on your features, but you’re not ready to come back to the living just yet.

It’s not usually that you lay in bed for more than a couple hours past sunrise, but given the past few days, you definitely deserved it — repeated visits to the Lars homestead had acquainted you with some of their regular customers, other families that lived in the Great Chott. With Obi-Wan being the least inclined out of the pair of you to interact with anyone not in immediate danger (“saving his sociability for you,” as he called it), you’d been the one to volunteer some of your talents when you could in exchange for food or parts. This week had seen a favor to one of the couples that bought water from Owen and Beru, with you helping to repair a lower-end vaporizer that had seen shinier days.

The trips across the salt flat had inflicted more of a beating on your feet than normal, and your shoes hadn’t been enough to protect you from the coarse desert floor. You’d come home the night before looking worse for wear, left hand rubbed raw from tinkering and right foot split open by an unforgiving blister, but Obi-Wan had patched you up without hesitation and insisted that you let him wrestle your weary bones to bed.

Now, your lover lays ever-present at your back, but judging by the heavy unmoving arm strewn across you, he’s not fully up either.

Without raising your eyelids, you turn in his grasp, the weight upon you comforting despite the swelter. You hear Obi-Wan mutter something incoherent, but you pay it no mind as you crane your neck slightly in search of his face. Lips meet a bearded chin first, and a hum escapes him, louder now. Still determined in reaching your goal, you stretch, limbs awakening, but mind lagging as it tries to shake free of the clutches of slumber.

It’s a race to consciousness as Obi-Wan starts to stir as well, evidently joining you in your quest for a kiss, and finally, after a few minutes more of half-asleep fumbling, it happens — mouths moulding together blissfully, weak and sweaty from the blazing heat, but your heart flutters at the taste of him.

When you open your eyes, a blue gaze is waiting. Obi-Wan smiles at the way your noses touch, unwilling to separate much from your embrace.

“Good morning.”

You yawn before responding, jerking as Obi-Wan juts an evil finger in your side midway. You’re not sentient enough to shoot him a half-hearted glare, so instead, you mumble it back and accidentally smack him in the face as you move to rise. 

He stops you before you can, chin hooking onto your nearest shoulder and tugging down, and you slump back to the sheets with a subdued giggle. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” you reply, and he nods, obviously pleased. “I have you to thank for that.”

He mouths at the skin behind your ear, only half-listening, but still fully fixated on you. You wonder if you’ll ever completely get used to his unbridled affection, even after more than five years living together in isolation, free to feel and show your love blatantly and unapologetically.

Not without a price that had been paid, but it was soul-healing love regardless.

“The Marstraps and their garden are doing well,” you comment absently, more to fill the silence as he lavishes you in physical worship than anything. “Maybe we should get into hydroponics.”

A sound of indifference.

“Did you know they have a daughter?” At that, Obi-Wan stills, face buried in your hair. You think his hand twitches at your abdomen, but in your groggy state, you can’t be completely sure. He never seems to know what to say when you talk of such things. Not then, not now. 

It’s not like you mean to imply anything by bringing it up, really. It’s more of...a gauge, of sorts. You’re probing. You’re not even sure why.

“Her name is Camie. She’s very sweet.”

Obi-Wan lifts his head lethargically, looking like he wants to utter a thousand words and nothing all at once. This time, he really does grip your hip, thumb grazing your ribcage thoughtfully, but you take it upon yourself to change the subject before things get too complicated.

“What time is it?”

“Still early,” he rumbles, and the gravelly tone sends satisfying vibrations to where your torsos are pressed against each other. “You’ll be able to get a couple more hours of rest.”

“Hmm.” His words trigger your body to succumb to the drowsiness you hadn’t quite gotten rid of, and your eyes droop contentedly again. “Will you be joining me?” 

Obi-Wan slips his other arm from underneath your neck, languidly sweeping over your form and nudging your temple fondly with his nose. “Unfortunately, no,” he murmurs into your hair, “but I think you’ll appreciate why.”

Your eyebrow lifts at the cryptic line, but you’re already falling back asleep as he lifts himself fully from you, and you give into the tiredness as his footsteps fade from your hearing.

———

Moments later — you’re not sure if he’s made good on his promise of extra hours — you feel the pressure of puckered lips against your eyelids, the scratch of his beard poking the thin skin around your eyes as you arise for the second time. This time, however, the enticing smell of food invades your senses, and you realize with a start that it’s not the boiled mealgrain that you usually have in the morning.

“Is that — ?” You shift in bed, reclining upon the headrest, but not yet sitting upright. You’re wide awake now, blinking alertly to find the source of the delectable aroma.

“Iktotch toast,” Obi-Wan announces proudly, setting a tray stacked with plates of steaming food on the table beside your shared bed. “And my attempt at a gartro omelet. Though, I couldn’t get all the necessary ingredients.” He sits on the edge, hand finding your blanketed shin and caressing it like second nature. “Just a fair warning.”

The thin sheet falls to your stomach as you twist to get a good look at his cooking, and you’re rewarded with the sight of brightly colored eggs and buttered bread topped with carbosyrup. Compared to the monochromatic meals you’ve come to expect day to day, it’s a welcome change.

In your excitement, you forget about the abrasions from yesterday, the still-raw skin of your palm screaming out in protest when you try to prop yourself up. Obi-Wan spots the small wince, and reaches for you as you cradle your stinging hand to your chest. “Better doesn’t mean good, apparently.” There’s a teasing to his locution, if only because he knows you too well. You don’t want to make a fuss out of it. You’re bested, anyhow, when he squeezes the blistered foot and you yelp. “Here, too. It still hurts? Shall I redress the wounds?”

A shake of your head precedes your response, as you assure him, “No, there’s no need. Truly.” Still, he’s adamant on being of more assistance, and it seems today is a good day. He’s happy, playful, even — it’s instants like these where you catch a glimpse of a different man, the echo of an old friend.

“Anything I can do to ease the pain?” Obi-Wan smirks, but it’s free of sarcasm as he leans above you, his hair falling in his eyes. It’s grown longer now, not quite the lion’s mane of a mullet he’d sported so many years ago, but unrulier than the clean-cropped cut that he’d had during his last years on Coruscant.

Another life. 

Though, you suppose, the rugged desert look is growing on you.

“A kiss on the bandage, maybe,” you quip, just as light-hearted, basking in the mood — what a rarity, nowadays, but always because of each other. “Perhaps it’ll help it heal faster.”

Obi-Wan scoots downwards, ruffling the sheets and uncovering more of your pajama-clad figure to the world, and grabs for your toes —

“Not there! I meant the hand,” you cry, just short of a laugh. “Were you really about to kiss the bottom of my foot?”

He joins in your amusement, chuckling as he traces his way back up to you with light kisses that begin at your legs. One on the knee, then on your navel, and right under your breast — the tease. His hands follow hotly along the trail his mouth leaves, yet it’s a heat you’re all too willing to endure. “Darling, you’d know I’d kiss you anywhere,” he says, grin honest and eager, and you smile suggestively at him from your place upon the pillows.

The moment turns soft, though, when he takes your injured hand, touching his lips to the pads of your fingers, completely avoiding the wrappings. Instead, he marks the exposed skin peeking from the bandages, leaving warm touches where he can reach. You let him make his way up your arm, relaxing the muscle and leaving it pliant in his hold, and these kisses are tender, sincere, adoring.

His lips brush the inside of your elbow, and you catch his gaze then, eyes serious and lacking the mirth of before. He beams, nevertheless, and it takes another four pecks up your shoulder, collarbone, and neck until he finally reaches your mouth. Your lips connect in a quiet climax, tension releasing and hushed sighs escaping the both of you as hands find cheeks and jaws to hold. His beard is longer, too, and a subtle drag of your fingers along his scruff doesn’t go unnoticed as he groans into the kiss.

Sluggishly, as if he’s struggling against the pull of quicksand, Obi-Wan pulls away, your digits still tangled in his auburn locks. “Eat,” he murmurs, placing one last kiss on your bare palm. As he places the tray in your lap, you sit up properly, kicking the last of the covers aside. “Company is coming.”

———

Company was actually more of a child-sitting gig, with the Lars traveling to Anchorhead and reluctant to let their nephew tag along just yet. The four of you had all agreed it was best to shelter the boy until you and Obi-Wan had gotten better at shielding the signatures of three Force-sensitives, and while you were quickly growing used to the strain of the constant use of the Force, there wasn’t a need for unnecessary ventures outside of the community when Luke could just stay with you and Obi-Wan.

On the other hand, if you asked Obi-Wan, he didn’t see why a trip to Tosche Station couldn’t wait until next week, seeing as how you couldn’t walk much without pain. Luke would undoubtedly aggravate the blister when he begged you to play.

But you hadn’t asked Obi-Wan, you dutifully reminded him throughout his musings over the food, unconcerned at the prospect. Breakfast had been as delicious as it had smelled — your taste buds had been assaulted with the flavor, but it had been a gratuitous ordeal that had reminded you of a bustling diner and the toothy grin of a Besalisk. “Just missing the powdered Christophsian sugar,” you’d praised, and he’d barely hidden his glowing simper as he cleared the dishes. You know his apprehension at looking after Luke today is more out of concern for you, rather than lack of willingness.

Just as there were good and bad days of disposition, Obi-Wan’s interactions with his old student’s son were varying. Some visits were joy-filled and vibrant with childish merriment, at the mercy of Luke’s wild imagination, but it wasn’t uncommon for Obi-Wan to retreat to your bed, floored by the striking resemblance the boy had to his father, the memories he tried so hard to forget rushing back in a dark cloud of resignation. Luke was under the impression that his favorite playmate suffered from intermittent cases of sand-fever, trusting enough to believe the excuse. Though he loved you just as much, it was Obi-Wan that Luke idolized the most, and you couldn’t at all blame him for feeling disappointed when Obi-Wan was too unsteady to come out and say hello.

But today, the promise of a happy afternoon rang throughout the air, and you allowed yourself the indulgence of looking forward to the rest of the day. At five years old, Luke was an adoring child, innocent in ways you’d never been able to see, not even with Anakin. He reminded you of a fresh snowbank, ironic as it was, pristine and untouched by the world. Your heart ached to keep it that way.

Luke launches himself at you as expected when he arrives, Owen being kind enough to deliver him instead of letting Obi-Wan make the ride over. Just as well, too — after the doting attentiveness of the morning, you didn’t want to stray too far from Obi-Wan’s side. The former Jedi catches the boy in midair, strong arms wrapping around his tiny frame and swinging him away from you to save you from exacerbating your wounds, and Luke screeches in hysterics as he’s tossed in a wide circle. He attacks Obi-Wan with energetic pokes when he’s finally set down, the older man letting out a surprised oof when he’s headbutted rather hard in the stomach. You muffle a guffaw in your elbow as Obi-Wan shoots you an accusatory scowl, massaging his middle as he assures Owen he’ll return his nephew in one piece. The farmer thanks you both, leaving without a second glance, and Obi-Wan is whisked away by the young Skywalker to entertain his latest fascination with womp rats.

———

They return before dusk, smelling like sweat and death, acrid scents practically steaming off of their robes. You cover your nose as Obi-Wan staggers in through the side door, steadying a chittering Luke as he trips over the trapdoor to the cellar. “Target practice,” Obi-Wan explains, somewhat apologetically. “His aim needs some work.”

“I blew a rat’s head off!” Luke declares boastfully, and cackles while running a victory circle around the kitchen. “It just exploded!”

You turn aghast to Obi-Wan, who ushers the boy into the refresher and instructs him to wash up. As Luke rinses off the trace of the outdoors, you stop Obi-Wan before he can come any closer. You can almost taste the sour aroma that wafts off of your husband. “Don’t tell me he means an actual womp rat. They’re twice his size. If you’re letting him near those predators, Obi-Wan, I’m going to —”

“Relax!” Obi-Wan exclaims defensively, palms raised as if to shield him from your wrath. “It was just a profogg. And we weren’t hunting in the beginning, just setting stink capsules near the hut. Poor thing got too close when we set it off and its friends decided they wanted revenge.”

The clarification does little to placate you, the knowledge that it’s most likely rodent guts contributing to the fumes only further motivating you to stay at a distance. But Obi-Wan has other plans, and a mischievous expression takes over his features as he runs at you, grabbing for your face as you squeal. “Disgusting! Obi-Wan!”

“Not even a peck for your one true love?” He asks, and you bat his hands away. “I was willing to kiss your foot this morning.”

“But you didn’t,” you remark impishly, holding in bubbling laughter. “I’m not kissing you while you smell like an eopie’s ass.”

“Language.” He seizes your wrists as you squirm, though your spirits are still high. You arch backwards, grappling to escape. “Luke might be listening.”

You catch your breath without inhaling in his direction, but it fails when you descend into snickering when a small voice protests, “No I’m not!”

“Go.” While he’s distracted, you push Obi-Wan towards Luke in the refresher, hard. “It’s time for a trim. I think you have profogg gunk in your beard.”

He stumbles back, too late to stop your words from being heard, and Luke yells, “You told me it was a womp rat!”

Another bout of laughter arises in your throat, and Obi-Wan fixes you with a withering glare you’re too perceptive to fall for. “Thanks,” he grumbles, none too grateful, and disappears into the sink.

———

“Careful of your fingers — you don’t want to cut yourself.”

After the bits of wildlife had been safely discarded down the drain and the boys had changed into fresh clothes, you watch as Obi-Wan guides Luke’s wobbly hands down his own stubbled throat. The sight of the shaving cream that covers most of Obi-Wan’s face is priceless, but you opt for appreciation rather than humour as the touching moment transpires.

“Better to cut me than you, but let’s aim for no one, alright?” Luke nods, tongue poking out in concentration as he shucks off more hair from Obi-Wan’s chin. He’s holding the razor with both hands, standing on a stool while Obi-Wan kneels to stay within reach. “Firmly, but with precision. Very graceful.”

Luke’s hyperactivity is nowhere to be found, and you admire his focus. Maybe you should have him shave your husband more often. Both the Lars and you would certainly benefit from the resulting tranquility.

But, no — you’d miss the beard too much.

“Done!” Luke leans back and throws his fists up in delight. Obi-Wan is quick to snatch up the tool to avoid any accidents, and places it back in its compartment as he turns to the boy overflowing with pride.

“Let’s check, shall we?” He rises from his knees with a low grunt and the pop of his joints — one you don’t miss, but refrain from pointing out. For a second, all you see is the back of Obi-Wan’s head as he washes away the lather, then it’s the dismayed twist of his mouth as the uneven patches of missed hair gleam in the mirror.

Luke bounces up and down, making an effort in vain to assess his work. Obi-Wan quickly readjusts his features as you hide your face, silently shaking with amusement. “Did I do okay?”

Obi-Wan squints down at him warmly, brushing the boy’s bangs out of the way. “Yes, An — Luke, you did.” Luke cheers underneath the large hand on his crown. “You did splendidly.”

In a flurry of shouts and whoops, Luke ducks out of Obi-Wan’s arm and exits the refresher, unaware of the almost-slip, but you freeze, more shocked than you have been in months. Years. Obi-Wan’s never done that before.

He meets your wide eyed stare in the mirror, all remains of Luke’s comical shaving job gone, neither of you able to verbalize exactly what you’re feeling.

But eventually, the impact of his blunder fades, and you break free from the fog of your stupefaction.

Your bandaged hand finds his shoulder, soaking up the droplets from his shower, and rubs consolingly, back and forth. You hope it conveys all that words can’t say. A pang strikes you as Obi-Wan lets out a trembling exhale, the unfinished name falling away to the empty room, and you resist the impulse to crush him into a hug.

He needs space.

The watery eyes you expect to see are dry in seconds, and all is well again.

———

You look on as Obi-Wan props Luke’s tuckered form into Beru’s waiting arms, meeting her gaze with a gentle understanding. She secures him into the passenger seat as she mounts the landspeeder slowly, seemingly sensing the hesitance radiating from two of you, uready to let the day end. When they finally depart, Obi-Wan watches them leave from the entrance of the dwelling.

“It’s alright to love him, you know.” You approach him once Beru and Luke are barely a speck on the horizon. You come up to latch around his chest, tiptoeing to kiss his back. “It’s okay to be attached.”

He shifts, rotating so that his back is to the wall after he’s sealed off the door. His own arms raise to encircle you, and you lean your cheek against his bicep before he plants a kiss to your forehead. It spells devotion as you sink further into him, muted ardor enveloping you both. “I know.”

“Do you?” Your voice is quiet to preserve the shroud of calm. “I worry you’re holding back, and you don’t have to. Not here.” Another kiss to his skin. “Not anymore.”

You feel the deep inhale more than you hear it, and his breathing soothes you more than you ever thought possible. It’s proof he’s here, real in your grip. You have each other. “I’m not,” he promises, lips stuck to your hairline. “Though you should know, my heart is reserved for you.”

That brings a laugh out of you, tinkling and bright. You clutch him tighter, warmth swelling inside you in spite of the cooling air of the evening. “You have room for Luke in there.”

Obi-Wan examines you closely, pausing only for a second before he speaks again. “Perhaps more than just him.”

And there it is, the admission you’ve always been curious for yet never wanted to ask. Your breath hitches — only a tad, but you know he picks up on it, and you peer at him cautiously. It’s a conversation you’ve avoided so many times before. 

Admittedly, today was the perfect day as any to prime the subject. You’ve never been sure whether Luke has assured Obi-Wan that he wants nothing to do with parenthood or if it inspires a desire to have a son of his own.

It’s not revisited until you’re crawling back into bed, back to his bare chest, and the ghosting touch of his hand smoothing down your front draws your attention away from the sensation of his body enfolding around yours. He’s trying to be discreet, you can tell.

“Practicing?” You whisper, with only a hint of knowing so as not to scare him off. There’s no need, you realize, when you feel his mouth twist into a lopsided smile against your nape and his fingers spread unabashedly across your stomach.

“Perhaps,” he repeats, and it’s enough.

[libsterslobsters]

Friends

Summary: Even after the battle with Thanos, The Winter Soldier's reputation still proceeds him (much to the chagrin of Bucky Barnes), which has a habit of making things more complicated than they need to be. That, on to of the fact that there’s certain question he and the Reader still haven't brought up (most importantly, why did she wait those five years he was gone), equals trouble, and poor Sam doesn't know what hit him.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem! enhanced! Super-soldier Reader (Reader can see bits of the future in visions as well as understand every language)

Warnings: angst, smut, fluff, insecure Bucky, Sam doesn't deserve any of this, IF YOU ARE UNDER EIGHTEEN, DON'T INTERACT!!!

‐------------------------------------------

 The day starts off normally enough. He and Sam are in the training room sparring while she practices her skills with the throwing knives on the opposite side. Bucky’s so involved with his task (Sam may not be enhanced per se, but dammit, he can move fast) that he doesn’t notice that he’s being watched until the sound of someone clearing their throat reaches his ears. On instinct, his head turns towards the noise and that’s when he sees the intruder. A man with an eye patch who looks vaguely familiar.

 “Wilson, Barnes, New Girl-” Sam’s head snaps up and as her final knife sticks in the wall, she studies the man in the eye patch as well. “-get your asses up to the situation room. Meeting in five.” With no further explanation for his presence, the man slips out of the room, the door slamming behind him.

 “Who the hell was that?” He says it more to himself than to the others, but Sam still shoots him a questioning look as they start in the direction of the elevator.

 “You mean you don’t know?” He almost shoots back that he wouldn’t be asking if he did, now would he, but before he can, she falls into step next to him, taking his hand.

 “That’s Nick Fury, Buck. Director of SHIELD back before it went up in flames.”

 “Oh, shit.” Well that certainly explains the vague recollection. Now that he knows who the man is, the whole picture is coming into focus. He remembers him. “I tried to kill him once.”

 Sam doesn’t bother to hide his snicker as they climb into the elevator and it begins to ascend.

 “It was a long time ago. I’m sure he’s gotten over it.” Despite her attempt at reassuring him, Bucky’s fairly certain Nick Fury is the type to hold a grudge.

 That theory is confirmed as soon as they step foot in the situation room and he’s instructed to take a seat against the back wall while the others are offered chairs in front of Fury’s desk. It’s also not lost on him that, no matter how far the former director paces, he always keeps Bucky in his eyeline. So much for bygones being bygones.

 “The president is going on a diplomatic mission and his head of security has requested that we lend him a protection detail.”

 “What’s the location?” Sam’s question is met with a frown.

 “That’s on a need-to-know basis. Everyone who’s involved will find out once you’re in the air.”

 “Still-” Sam tries again. “-we’re not bodyguards for hire. No world leader, no matter what country he’s from, warrants a protection unit consisting of three Avengers.”

 That lone good eye settles on Bucky once more, and he can guess what’s coming next.

 “Not three Avengers. Just two. Falcon and Soothsayer. The Winter Soldier is not required on this particular mission.”

 “Why?” This time, she’s the one speaking up.

 “Why what?”

 “Why Sam and me, not Bucky? Usually Falcon and Winter Soldier are the go-to task force.” He really wishes she hadn’t asked that. There’s no way the answer will make any of them happy.

 “Apart from the fact that you can see the future and speak every language flawlessly upon hearing it as well as having super soldier capabilities-” Here it comes. “-the president’s head of security felt that Sergeant Barnes is too volatile to act as an asset in this instance.”

 “Bullshit. Barnes is a seasoned combat veteran who’s received special training that allows him to operate seamlessly under any set of circumstances. I’m more likely to lose my shit than he is.” If only he were sitting closer, he could take her hand, try to silently communicate that he’s okay, this is just part of having his particular past, she doesn’t have to go to war for him.

 Fury crosses his arms, glaring at her. “I don’t know how much plainer I can make it. Your boyfriend’s services are not required. End of story.”

 “And if I choose not to accept this mission?” Sam shoots him a look that clearly says, “Is she really arguing with Nick Fury?” Bucky’s torn between being astounded himself and trying not to laugh at how shocked Fury looks.

 “If you chose to disobey direct orders, then you are no longer an Avenger.” He can sense where this is going to go, so before she has a chance to straight up quit, he stands.

 “Will that be all, Director Fury?” That definitely just put him on the shit list, or at least further down it.

 “That will be all. You’re dismissed.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

 She’s seething the whole drive home, and it shows. While usually Barnes is the one to drive (her guess is it’s a throwback to his youth when the gentlemanly thing to do was for the man to drive, one that he hasn’t even realized he’s doing), it’s rush hour, and he’s still getting used to modern New York traffic, so this time she’s behind the wheel. Normal highway offenses that wouldn’t ruffle her feathers are met with gritted teeth, and situations that would make her frustrated on a good day result in curses and the middle finger. And why not? Since the world at large is showing it’s ass, she’ll join in and show hers too.

 By the time they arrived home, her stormy mood has turned into a varitable hurricane, and she slams the apartment door instead of closing it.

 “Alright, that’s enough.” Bucky’s voice is measured, but she still bristles. “Doll, what’s gotten into you?”

 Her gut instinct is to reply with something seething, but a look at his face puts that to rest. He’s wearing a slight frown, those eyes wide with concern. At the same time, her anger fizzles and is replaced by a deep sadness.

 “I hate how Fury treated you.” Her voice is brittle, breaking off at the end. As much as she’s sick of  how the world views her Winter Soldier, she knows it affects him tenfold. When the world at large looks at the man standing in her kitchen, gazing at her with so much love and sympathy, they see a monster. Maybe it’s ignorance. Maybe it’s because they don’t want to see past the deeds HYDRA forced him to carry out. But it breaks her heart to know that this gentle, loyal to a fault, brilliant, hilarious hero is still regarded by those in power as some sort of heartless psychopath.

 Bucky doesn’t say anything, instead just collecting her into his arms and holding her close in response. Despite her best efforts to keep the tears at bay, a few leak out, and she knows he can feel them through his worn shirt. It’s ridiculous. He’s the one being scorned and she’s crying. Well, there’s something she can still do about this.

 “I’m not going to accept the mission.” She feels more than hears him sigh.

 “Doll, you know you can’t do that. They’ll kick you out of the Avengers.”

 “I don’t care.” Her words are reckless, she realizes that, but in the moment, she means them. “I won’t be part of a team where you’re not treated like a valuable player. Fuck the Avengers. I don’t want it if-”

 “It’s not about what you want though, is it?” She leans back to see his face, trying to read his meaning. Bucky chuckles wearily. “Sweetheart, you didn’t join the Avengers because you wanted something out of it. You did it because the world is a dangerous place, and we can make it safer. Together.” He gives her side a gentle squeeze. “This team is bigger than one person, and what we do is more important than a few jerks holding grudges.”

 She knows he’s right, but still…

 “It should be you on that protection detail. Not me.” She doesn’t doubt her capabilities, and in some ways she understands why her skllset would be deemed valuable for this mission. However, when it comes down to it, Barnes is the better option. He’s stronger than her, has years of experience, and was trained as a soldier. Protecting a target while remaining unseen is his bread and butter. By comparison, she’s a clumsy second.

 “Maybe.” He nods. “But to be honest, I don’t mind sitting this one out. A mission in close quarters with Sam for days on end, sitting through endless boring meetings?” Bucky feigns a shudder, which makes her snicker. “No thanks. You can have that.”

 “So you’re not disappointed?” She decides to pepper in some humor to lighten the mood. “Not missing out on every boy scout’s dream of meeting the president?”

 He narrows his eyes at her, but the twitch of his lips gives it away. “Did you just call me a boy scout?”

 Holding his gaze, she nods solumnly. “If the shoe fits.”

 They stay like that for a few moments, eyes locked, waiting to see which one will crack first. Finally, with a shrug, he tells her, “I don’t even know who the president is nowadays-” and she gives into the giggles.

 “Yeah, yeah. You’d better go pack your bags, solnyshka. Wheels are up in two hours.”

 Still chuckling softly, she squeezes his hand. “Love you, Buck.”

 “Love you too, Doll.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

 On the first full day he’s alone, Bucky keeps to his usual schedule. His alarm goes off at five thirty, and after realizing that the other side of the bed is cold (which jogs his memory), he gets up and bleerily makes his way to the kitchen. Normally the time spent waiting for the coffee to perk would be spent making jokes about the inevitable knots and tangles both of them would be sporting after a night of deep sleep, but instead, it’d dead silent, and he reads the news instead of joking around with his girl.

 Their apartment isn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, but without her there to make the familiar noises of getting ready for the day ahead, it feels huge and empty. Eerily so. Shaking his head, Bucky finishes dressing and grabs his keys. There’s no real point in going to the Avengers complex since Sam won’t be there, but it feels wrong somehow to hang around his home without her here.

 Rhodey doesn’t bother to hide his surprise when he catches sight of him, but doesn’t say anything other than to tell him to check his inbox for a requisition form which should cover the cost of new ammo. As it turns out, when you have absolutely nothing else to concentrate on other than the task at hand, doing paperwork goes much faster. By twelve o’clock, Bucky’s finished all three field reports that are due and filled out a good month’s worth of backlogged forms. So, after lunch (a peanut butter and jelly sandwich because she’s not around to meet up with at a diner for a quick bite before they both have to return to work), he heads to the training room.

 It takes all of two hours for him to thoroughly exhaust every workout option, and no one is available to spar with him. Unfortunately, he’s still left with two more hours to fill before he can justify leaving, so he does something he’s never done before: cleans his desk. Technically, it’s only been two months since he started the “day job” part of being an Avenger, but my god. You’d think it had been two years since this desk saw the business end of a duster. He draws out the task until the clock reads five in the afternoon and then, a trash bag full of odd papers and food wrappers in hand, heads out to the parking lot.

 Dinner is a silent affair. If she were here, he’d put his phone on silent while they worked together, preparing the evening meal, but tonight he watches Youtube video after Youtube video in an attempt to keep himself occupied. Finally, at nine o’clock, he crawls into bed. He’s  nowhere near asleep when, an hour and a half later, his phone dings with a text. It’s her.

 “Hey, you. Hope you didn’t miss me too much today.” A smile spreads over his face as he reads the teasing message, and he rapidly types back.

 “Nope. Barely realized you were gone.”

 “Good, ‘cause I definitely don’t miss you stealing the covers.” He snickers.

 “Yeah, and I had so much hot water for my shower this morning I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

 There’s a short pause, then-

 “Sorry. Got distracted picturing you in the shower.” She’s perfect. She really is.

 “Don’t worry about it. I was busy thinking about you in bed next to me.”

 “Dammit, Barnes. Here I was trying to be sexy, and you said something sweet.”

 They text back and forth for a few more minutes, during which she tells him that she can’t call because the hotel room is possibly bugged, and then finally, after exchanging “I love you’s” say goodnight.

 The second day is a little different. For the first time since his time in the Army, Bucky ignores his alarm. His body wakes him up at seven a.m., and instead of making his own coffee, he stops at the gas station around the corner to pick up a cup. He’s already made up his mind that he’s not going into work today (he’s caught up for the next two weeks at least), so instead, he just drives. Explores the open roads with no map and nowhere to be. Going where the highway takes him. That is, until he gets lost.

 He has a GPS on his phone (wonders of modern technology), but on a whim, he decides to check the map in his glove compartment. If he started in Brooklyn, and the last town was… yeah, he’s in New Jersey. Well, that was a fun road trip. Time to head back home.

 It’s a grand total of five hours later when he arrives back at his apartment, which means he still has nineish hours to kill before he can go to sleep. Alright, he needs another task, fast. As he makes himself a sandwich for lunch, he catches sight of the broom and dustpan. Cleaning. He can clean the apartment.

 Dusting, vaccuuming, mopping, doing dishes, and washing all of the clothes that, between him and his fiancee, they own, takes five hours. It would’ve been less, but he went over things three times to kill more time. There’s no real reason to cook, it’s just him, but because he’s trying to keep himself occupied, he attempts to make a quiche. Three dozen eggs later, he thinks he’s figured it out.

 The goodnight text comes at nine o’clock, but it’s short. “Hey. Can’t talk. Target is still active.” (he assumes she means the president). “Just wanted to check in. Love you.”

 He types a quick reply, then rolls over and starts to count ceiling tiles in an attempt to wear himself out.

 On the third day, Bucky doesn’t get out of bed until ten a.m. Not because he’s sleeping. Oh, no. Because there’s nothing else to do except scroll through news articles and watch videos of dogs getting scared by their own hiccups. He finally convinces himself to get up, but after much consideration, decides against putting on pants. It’s just him. There’s no one else around. Come to think of it, he might as well drink his coffee straight out of the pot. Again, no one else around. He draws the line at eating cereal straight out of the box, but that’s mostly because it requires milk.

 After eating, he settles in on the sofa and decides to take advantage of the seemingly endless supply of movies and television shows readily available at the click of a button. Leave It To Beaver attracts his attention because it’s in black and white. Made in the late 1950s. Okay, he’ll give it a go.

 Three seasons later, his phone dings and he realizes that it’s seven p.m. So that’s what people mean by “binge watching.” It’s a text (big shocker), but this time, he almost drops his phone as he reads. “The mission’s over. We’re heading out tonight. We should touch down tomorrow morning at seven a.m.”  Yes!

 “Alright. I’ll be there.” That’s not enough. “Looking forward to having you back, Doll.”

 It’s quiet for a few minutes, then-

 “So you’re not missing the bachelor life?”

 He snorts. Hell no. “I think 100 years of bachelorhood is enough.”

 That night, for the first time since she left, he sleeps well.

 When his alarm goes off, Bucky’s already been up for half an hour, changing the sheets on the bed, checking to makes sure he put all of the laundry away in the right drawers, and making a note of any foodstuffs they’re out of.  He takes more time showering and shaving than usual along with paying far more attention to which shirt he puts on. Part of him feels a little ridiculous, but it’s quickly overwhelmed by excitement. His girl’s coming home today! Before he climbs in his car, he brews a pot of her favorite tea and pours it into a thermos, adding sugar and milk to her specifications. Goodness knows she’s probably had  enough of doing without over the past four mornings.

 He’s expecting the quinjet to arrive a little later than predicted. He’s even expecting the other agents to disembark first. What he’s not expecting is, when he finally sees her, for her to be laughing at something Sam has said. If anything, he was expecting his partner to have gotten on her nerves. This is good. The three of them have had to work together a few times in the past months since the blip was undone. It’s good that they’re getting along. Bucky nods to himself. It’s healthy really, especially since they work in high-stress situations.

 As soon as he steps out of his car, he can make out their conversation.  

 “I can’t believe you made me listen to Elton John!” Sam’s shaking his head, but he’s smiling.

 She elbows him. “Hey, you ended up singing along, didn’t you? And you have to admit, the song’s catchy.”

 “Not when you sing it, it’s not. You have to be the most tone-deaf person on the face of this planet.”

 Whoa! Where the hell does Sam get off saying that to her? It’s true, but still. He’s about to intervene, tell him to go to hell, but she just shrugs.

 “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

 Sam whistles. “Remind me to make sure you’re on the opposite team next karaoke night.”

 Wait, there’s karaoke nights? He’s never been invited. Not that he’d want to go, but-

 “Yeah, because you know the only way you’d ever have a chance at winning is to go against me.”

 Something about that playful smile, the one he’s only ever seen before directed at him (usually when she’s teasing him about being an old man… god, she’s so young, what’s she doing with him anyway) irks him, and ultimately that’s what makes him step forward and interrupt the banter.

 “Good mission?” Okay, his mind’s definitely playing tricks on him. Her eyes light up and, completely abandoning Sam, she takes off at a run towards him. Bucky’s prepared for it and immediately pulls her into a tight embrace as soon as she’s near enough.

 “God, I missed you.” Yeah, it was all his imagination. Her lips press against his in punctuation to her statement, and by the time they break apart, he’s out of breath.

 “I missed you too, Doll, but the question still stands.”

 “Yes, it was good. Pretty boring for the most part, but…” He really should be paying attention, but his gaze shifts towards Sam. Is he crazy, or is Sam… watching her? That’s to be expected. They did just spend seventy-two odd hours in close quarters. It’s probably a remnant from the mission. Right?

 “...and between you and me-” She leans closer, body pressing against his side, and that redirects his attention. “-the president is kind of a dick.”

 She says it quietly, but Sam must’ve heard, because he nods.

 “Welcome to protecting world leaders.” Their eyes lock for a moment, and Bucky nods.

 “Wilson.”

 “Barnes.” And, Sam’s back to looking at her. “Gotta say, your girl’s more fun on stakeouts than you. Knows how to keep things interesting.” What the hell does that mean? He needs to calm down. He trusts her implicitly. It’s an innocent comment.

 “I could’ve told you that.” Of course she’s more interesting. When Bucky’s on a mission, he’s only interested in getting in and out as quickly and effectively as possible. That’s what he did as The Winter Soldier, and the years of sticking to a strict protocal haven’t made him more chatty. She and Sam are from the same generation. They have things to talk about. Things in common. Shared life experiences. Oh god, he’s so very much older than she is. Old and boring. 

 “Yeah.” Sam chuckles. “I think next time, I’m gonna ask if I can have her instead of you.”

 If he was paying closer attention to the woman by his side, Bucky would’ve caught the slight frown on her face at Sam’s words, but it’s lost on him thanks to her reply.

 “No thanks. If  I never have to share a hotel room with you again, it’ll be too soon.” Wait… they shared a hotel room? That’s common, but… one hotel room. Shared. That means one bathroom. One shower. One bed. Jesus, he needs to get ahold of himself. It’s fine. Everything is-

 “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow at the debrief?”

 She nods, smiling brightly. “Sure thing.”

 Sam approaches and… oh boy… they share a quick hug.

 Bucky’s not sure how long he’s just standing there, ordering the voices in his head to shut up, but it must be longer than necessary, because next thing he’s aware of is her calling his name.

 “Yeah.”

 “You okay there, Buck?” She peers up at him, frowning. “You seem a little… off.”

 “Fine.” Clearing his throat, he interlocks his fingers with hers. “Let’s go home.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

 It’s been bubbling underneath the surface for a while now. Ever since she returned home from the mission a week ago, really. Something about Barnes is… off. She’s not sure what, but he seems quieter somehow. More solemn.

 At first she thought he was hanging back, giving her a chance to readjust to life at home. That’s why she didn’t pay much attention when, on the first day, he stayed mostly silent, letting her carry the conversation. She took that time to fill him in on the highs and lows of the mission, the funny moments, the frightening ones, and everything in between. His response was pretty muted, but she brushed it off.

 The next day was the debrief. Despite not being involved in the mission, Bucky was called in. She chalked up the stiffness in his posture during the meeting to discomfort at being in the same room with Fury again. That is, until it was just him, her, and Sam, and if anything, Bucky seemed more sullen.

 She returned to teaching on the third day, so her mind was occupied with other things besides the man she loves for the majority of the day. He seemed more his normal self when she arrived home, and the evening was going pretty well until they settled in to watch television and she made an off-handed comment about how he really must’ve enjoyed Leave it to Beaver. His response was a sigh and the words, “It’s more in my age bracket, I guess.” After that, he was completely shut down, and she was torn between apologizing and asking him what the hell is going on.

 On day four, she wakes up with new determination. She’s going to fix this, whatever it is. Maybe he’s feeling left out since she went on a mission with his partner. Well, she has a simple solution to that. She’ll invite Sam over for dinner so that they can have some time to catch up. After all, with Steve all but out of the picture, Sam’s the closest thing to a friend Bucky’s got. And, since tomorrow is a Friday, it’ll work out perfectly. She expects an at least mildly positive response when she mentions the idea to Bucky, but instead, his lips quirk down slightly before he hides any and all emotions away and tells her,

 “Okay. If that’s what you want to do.”

 At least Sam’s a little more enthusiastic.

 “Sure. I’ll do anything to avoid cooking.”

 The day of the dinner, she makes a point to leave work as soon as her last class is dismissed. No student meetings. No talking to colleagues. She’s a woman on a mission. That mission takes her to three separate grocery stores, a bakery, and a liquor store. By the time she arrives home, she has all the ingredients for a traditional Sunday roast, a Boston cream pie, and a bottle of wine she was told would pair well with the meal.

 As per usual on her days to cook, when Bucky arrives home, he asks if he can help with any of the preparations. She cheerfully informs him that she’s got it covered, and from his expression, you’d think she’d told him to go jump off a bridge. She thinks about calling him back, but that’s when a pot decides to boil over, so she’s momentarily distracted.

 At six o’clock, there’s a knock on the door. Right on time.

 “Can you get that?” She calls from the kitchen to where he’s sitting in the living room. It’s unnervingly quiet for a moment, then-

 “Sure.” It’s said with all the excitement of someone agreeing to a root canal.

 Her gut tells her to leave the kitchen, go and oversee the hospitality in the other room, but she forces herself to stay in place, give them some time to get reacquainted.

 “Nice play you’ve got here.” Sam.

 “Thanks.”

 “Didn’t realize it was in the same building as Steve’s.” Oh no. She doesn’t have to be able to see  Bucky’s expression to know he’s taken a hit.

 “Yeah.”

 “Is that his old couch? I remember crashing on it a few times.”  

 “Same one.” 

 Well, this is thrilling. Shaking her head, she removes the cork from the wine, allowing it to breathe and makes her way towards the living room.

 “You okay, man? Seems like something’s eating you.”

 “Fine.” So it’s not just her imagination.

 “Hey, guys-” Two sets of eyes lock on her. Sam looks relieved. Bucky looks… sad? No, she’s reading this wrong. “-soup’s on.”

 Dinner is… awkward. Sam cracks jokes and tells old battle stories. She laughs at the appropriate times and asks polite questions, but the whole time, her attention is on Bucky. He’s not one to participate in idle chatter (at least not when it involves anyone outside of the two of them), but tonight he’s dead silent. At one point, Sam asks him a question, and the only reply is a glare and a sharp, “No.” She resists the urge to kick him under the table, instead focusing her frustrations into being cheery enough for both of them.

 The clock strikes eight, and although she wasn’t expecting Sam to leave this soon, she can’t blame him for making an excuse about having an early morning meeting at the V.A. to get out of there.

"That is, unless you could use some help with the cleanup?”

 She’s already prepared to brush it off, he’s a guest, they can handle it, but before she can speak-

 “No. I’ve got it covered.” It would be a less threatening sentiment if Barnes wasn’t standing directly in the kitchen door frame, blocking the room from view, arms crossed over his chest, frowning menacingly.

 “Right.” Sam nods and, muttering something about seeing them at work, sees himself out.

 As soon as the door closes, she collects their plates and, not bothering with a warning, pushes past her fiance into the kitchen. She’s hoping that the literal cold shoulder will serve as a warning for him to stay back, don’t fuck with her right now, but of course, her luck couldn’t work out just this one time because not thirty seconds later, he’s beside her, scraping plates in preparation for washing. Fine. If he insists on ignoring all the signs that point to “Do not disturb”, she’ll go ahead and get into it.

 “You didn’t have to be so rude to Sam tonight.” He freezes, hands gripping the ceramic bowl he’s emptying into the trashcan so tightly that she’s afraid it’ll shatter.

 “I wasn’t rude. I was quiet.” The bowl slams down on the counter top next to her, and if she weren’t so pissed off, she’d jump, startled. “There’s a difference.”

 “Not speaking when spoken to, answering with one-word statements?” Shaking her head, she turns on the tap. “That’s rude. Not quiet.”

 Another slam, this time of a wine glass. “Didn’t seem like the conversation suffered.”

 She opens her mouth, fully intent on calmly pointing out that friends talk to each other, that’s what they do, but instead what comes out is,

 “What the hell is wrong with you?” His jaw tenses, and she considers apologizing, but decides to stand her ground. He’s had this coming to him all damn week.

 “Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with me. Except that I’m not Sam.”

 She turns to face him, confused. “What does that even mean?”

 Not so much as pausing as he scrapes the remnants of dinner off of a plate, he nearly growls, “You go away on a mission, and when you come back-” The fork clatters as it’s tossed into the sink. “-he’s your new best friend.”

 “What’s wrong with that?” She refuses to let his gruffness ruffle her, instead allowing her own voice to turn hard. “Am I not supposed to have friends?”

 “That’s not what I’m saying-”

 “Then what is it?” She’s rapidly losing patience with the entire situation.

 “Nothing.” He shakes his head, returning to the sink. “Forget I said anything. Clearly my opinion isn’t needed since now you can talk to your good pal Sam.”

 Her mouth falls open, forming a perfect “o”, but she immediately snaps it shut. Fine. If he wants to go down that road…

 “You know what? You’re right.” She nods. “I do like talking to Sam.” His shoulders tense, but she continues. “It turns out we have a lot in common. You should try it sometime instead of shutting down anything that might lead to you actually liking the man!”

 “Well if you like him so much, then why are you even with me?” The words are practically hurled at her and she blinks in surprise. She’s never heard this much anger in his voice, not directed at her. So much anger and… dejection?

 “Is that what all of this is about?” She says it more to herself than him, but Bucky gives her a tight nod.

 “You said so yourself; you two have a lot in common-”

 “So do we-”

 “-And he’s closer to your age.”

 She rolls her eyes. “If I wanted someone closer to my age, do you think I would’ve spent the five years you were gone on my own?”

 “Why did you?” The trashcan lid slams shut and another fork is thrown into the sink. “For all you knew, I wasn’t coming back.” His eyes rake over her, and she has the urge to cross her arms, covering herself. “You’re a beautiful woman. Smart too. Even with half the population gone, you can’t tell me there wasn’t anyone interested. Why didn’t you start over?”

 “I couldn’t.” She expects her voice to shake, but it comes out deceptively strong.

 “Sure you could. Why didn’t you-”

 “Because I love you, okay?” Tears prick at her eyes even as she shouts the words, and she has to stare into the sink to keep him from seeing. “I love you. In  case you hadn’t realized it, I’m a one-and-done type. For me, it’s you. There’s only ever going to be you. I’m yours.”

 “Doll-”

 “What do you want from me, Bucky? Do I have to get on my knees to prove it to you? Because I’ll do it.” The tears are truly flowing now. She doesn’t have much time. So, with the last bit of bitterness she has in reserves, she mutters, “I can’t keep having this conversation for the rest of my life.”

 “And you shouldn’t have to.” The words take her by surprise, and she looks up. He’s peering at her, brow knitted, but this time, it’s not in anger. “Doll, you haven’t done anything wrong. I know that, just-” He groans, forcing his fingers through his hair. “-I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, ‘cause that’s how it’s always been. You don’t deserve that.”

 “I don’t.” She shakes her head, eyes still locked with his. “But you don’t deserve to live like that either. So what can we do to fix it?”

 For a few seconds it’s silent, the kind of silent you can feel pressing against you, strangling you, forcing the breath from your lungs. Then-

 “I don’t know, just-” Bucky sighs, and she pretends not to see the shine of tears in his eyes as well. “-can you keep reminding me? I know it’s a lot to ask, but just until I can get it through my thick skull-”

 It’s involuntary. Her mind has no control over her body as, without any warning, she grabs hold of his collar and, yanking hard, pulls him down for a kiss. As his arms envelope her, pulling her flush against his body, close enough that she can feel his heartbeat hammering against her chest, everything’s right for the first time in days.

 “I can do that.” She murmurs it against his ear, breath catching in her throat as his lips leave a trail of kisses across her jaw, leading down to her neck. “For as long as you need me to.”

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

 “I’m sorry.” It’s never an easy sentence to utter, to admit you were wrong, that you’re the one at fault. “I’m sorry.” In Bucky’s experience, most times he utters those words, it feels like he’s slapping a band-aid on a bullet wound. Most of the things he’s done are so bad, it doesn’t matter if he regrets them. There’s no absolution available. Especially this time. Especially now that he’s hurt her. But what else can he say? He truly is.

 “I’m sorry.”

 “You keep saying that.” They’re in bed now, lying side by side, his head buried in the cushion of her chest. Her hands are trailing up and down his uncovered back, tracing lazy patterns between gently kneading the tension of the past few days out of his muscles. For his part, all he can do is breath her in, her scent, her presence. That and repeat the same damn words over and over like a prayer.

 “And I’m going to keep telling you the same thing. It’s alright. It’s over. I love you.” He’d be happy just to drown in those reassurances, let them wash over him until it’s all he can remember. But that’s not realistic. Eventually he’ll have to get up, and when that happens, the next step will be making amends. He may not be a man who believes in the power of an apology, not after all he’s seen, but he’s wise enough to know that words need to be backed up with actions, and the sooner the better.

 He hates himself for moving, for interrupting such a peaceful moment, but he needs to get a start on repairing any damage that’s been done. Leaning back just enough to see her, he peers into her eyes, partially hidden between lowered lids.

 “Let me show you, then.” It takes a minute, but he can tell when she registers what he’s asking.

 “There’s nothing to prove, but I’ll never say no.”

 It’s nothing they haven’t done a thousand times before. He lifts the shirt from her body and eases her back against the mattress, those trusting eyes not straying from his face, and he can’t help but think to himself that he’s the only one who gets to see her like this. Exposed. Vulnerable. Whether he deserves it or not (he’s unsure if he’ll ever believe he does), he’s the one who gets to kiss her lips, feel them move against his, until, both of them breathless, he pulls away, leaving them a debauched red.

 From their years together, he knows that just below her earlobe is a hot spot; if he so much as brushes it with his tongue or allows his breath to tease over it, she’ll gasp, body growing more pliant beneath him. That, as he works his way lower, she likes the feeling of his hand over her throat, not applying pressure, just resting there, reminding her that she’s held. He’s caught her studying her reflection in the mirror, fingers lightly tracing over the marks he’s left in the hollow between her breasts, a small, secretive smile on her lips. Tomorrow, she’ll do it again.

 He knows, after removing the thin cotton panties from her lower half and settling between her legs, how to take her apart, piece by piece. Her hands grasp his hair, much shorter now than the first time they did this, as he teases her nub with his tongue, just enough to hear her soft moan before starting in earnest. He’s the only one to know exactly how much she can take, how rough he can be, or how teasing, before she’s absolutely desperate, but tonight, he doesn’t put that knowledge to good use, instead focusing on what will tip her over the edge most effectively.

 They’ve both got a hell of a lot of endurance, so this could go on for hours, but he knows after the first orgasm, she prefers for him to get on with it, get inside of her, and usually by that point, he’s beyond jokes or teasing her about being an eager little thing. Tonight’s no exception, although he takes special care to prepare her, working one, then two, then three fingers into her, immediately finding the spot inside of her that makes her breath catch in her throat. It’s only after he’s satisfied that she’s ready, that there will be no pain, that he tears open the packet from the nightstand drawer and, now covered, presses against her entrance.

 He’s the only one who knows that, as soon as her legs are locked around his waist, heels digging into his ass, she’s ready for him to pick up the pace, use the leverage of his resting on either side of her head, boxing her head, to rock against her faster. If he presses his face against her shoulder, he can hear each intake of breath, feel her pulse thundering away. If he lowers his forehead to hers, he can look into her eyes. Tonight, he chooses to take advantage of their position to place kisses on her nose, forehead, cheeks, really any part of her face he feels like pecking.

 It’s as often her on top, and god, that’s probably his favorite view in the world, but this time, he wants to be the one in control, taking care of her. Reaching between them, he urges her over the edge a second time, her nails digging into his shoulders providing just a tinge of pain that’s almost enough for him to lose it, but no, not yet. He wants her to cum one more time before he finishes.

 It doesn’t take long. She’s so sensitive at this point that, only minutes later, he feels her contract around him with a tale-tell moan, and that’s what sends him over, muffling his own moan against her sweaty neck.

 Before, he would resist the urge to just colapse on top of her, or at the very least, roll off quickly in fear that he’d crush her under his weight. Now that her status as a super soldier matches his own, he can relax, enjoy the feeling of her chest rising and falling against his, and moments later, her arms encircling his back.

 “I love you, Doll.” So much. Before it all, before the war and HYDRA and everything that followed, he was good with words, quick with sweet talk, but now, they seem to stick in his throat. Still, that’s what it all boils down to. He loves her, and as much as she claims that she’s his, he belongs just as much to her.

 “I love you, Bucky. Always.”

[gilded-gheists]

{part 1 to this post}

So anyway here’s more on why I think Tubbo should work with aphrodite in my witchcraft au to further prove my points as well as the things Ranboo and Tommy also work with. 

> I like the idea that Aphrodite wants to empower Tubbo and teach him about self-empowerment and doing things by himself, away from his family in the au. As he’s lived a life of tradition working in his family’s shadow and needs to break away and find his own path in witchcraft to find  the happiness that he can have in his craft.

> Aphrodite, as common knowledge kinda, accepts shells as offerings and Tubbo literally made a song called ‘life by the sea’ so I’d take a guess and say he likes the seaside and beach, leaning further into water witchcraft (and a later take on water-based deitie from the Norse pantheon as his patreon god) and becoming a sea witch down the path.

>So yeah, Tubbo ends up working with Aphrodite and keeps a small offering bowl for her (she understands as his family are highly strict about their following) which he tops up with pretty shells, dried rose petals, pink salt, rose quartz and, of course, an apple. 

>Tubbo is very skilled with candle and incense making! He’s great at both and often people in the town commission him to make them some or teach them how.

> Ranboo, when he starts to find his own niche, I feel would really get into helping spirits & daemons and inviting well-minded ones into his house to help him along his path. He’d stoke out antique shops with Niki (who slightly dabbles in helping spirits as part of shadow work) and look for objects that are cursed or have a spirit attached to help him along. Wherever it’s finding them a way for freedom or learning about witchcraft and spirits from them. Or even learning how to banish them properly too.

> As well as getting heavily into working with his ancestors in the path, Ranboo would be heavily interested in what exactly they did and I feel like his grimoire would become thick very quickly and full of information he learns and small little tabs poking out of it. 

> I know very little about it but am highly interested in draconic witchcraft myself and I feel like Ranboo would be too. He’d work with dragon guides and leave offerings for them on an alter dedicated to the dragon and his craft. Very dedicated to making it perfect for the dragon he works with.

> Sam teaches Tommy about the fae and how he works with them. He teaches him etiquette about how to not be tricked and not accept offerings from them. Leaving offerings for the fae and more. Tommy becomes fascinated with it and with his whole ‘protecting the land’ thing he has going on he leaves small offerings of buttered bread and thyme and a spoonful of honey out for them.

>I’m saying Tommy would make an excellent fae witch and would just be a really good one with that too. 

> Tommy works with animals a lot in this au as well as his familiar and his spirit guides. His whole thing is cultivating a better life for himself and those he cares about (humans and animals alike) with witchcraft. He has a very start-friendly path (fae can be handled properly, he works with a mentor after all who can teach him about them. Of course it’s usually not advised to dive into fae work though.)

>He has so many jars lining his room and it always smells like apple incense and caramel in his room.

>Sam also gets Tommy into the alternative ways of protection. Tommy’s favourite becomes sound cleansing and hanging herbs and fabrics and stained glass around his room. Think of Howl’s room from Howl’s Moving Castle  except less cluttered. 

(some little extra notes)

> when all of bench trio are finally friends, they make each other small ‘friendship’ protection jars that they all wear around their necks.

> They also all go on walks at night on the beach, kicking up sand, pushing each other into the ocean, looking for hag stones. Some nights they spend time in the forest too, looking for edible plants or herbs for Tommy to use the next day.

> They hold stupid competitions to see who can collect the most rainwater whenever it rains. Tommy always wins because he adds water to it. (oh and they always lend one another moon water if someone needs some for a spell but ran out :] )

>Tommy’s familiar is Hetta the chicken and I will die by my words. She helps him pick tarot cards in the morning and he meditates with her in his lap.

[holdmyhopeinyourhands]

I think writing Hurt Sam and Protective Bucky drabbles is my new bread and butter.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

Sorry but sub!Harry or sub!Sammy loving to feel small and protected even when getting frisky? Sam wanting to be the little spoon after a rough day with your hand slowly wandering, Harry wanting to lie with his head in your lap and innocently play with you when he's in the mood but also kinda exhausted from life, sitting on Sam's lap so he can lick and suck on your boobs not only for pleasure but also for comfort while you stroke his hair.

Also holding sweet little nonsense conversation about your day, love confessions, hushed compliments and such while loving Harry in missionary with your strap while he partially tries to answer your questions, partially just tries to get more praises out of you.

Just our lil subs being needy not only for the naughty but also for love.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk

YES YES YES YES!!!!!! This is my jam and jelly and bread and butter!

This is what I live for. I'm a complete softy, and this is the kind of d/s dynamics that i love best. One with a lot of love and warmth and intimacy 💞

i would gladly pamper them with kisses and cuddles and soft caresses any day, no questions asked periodttt

[440mxs-wife]

Broken Promises

Imagine: Gabriel tries to apologize after a fight.

It started out as any normal day. Well, normal for the hunting life, anyway. You rolled over to see your bedside clock telling you it was 8:30am, time to start your day. You also noticed the single red rose in the vase on your nightstand. Gabriel, you smiled to yourself as you closed your eyes and breathed in the rose's scent.

You and Gabriel had been seeing each other for the past year or so. Sam and Dean were a little skeptical at first, but then they saw how happy you were together. They did their best to stay civil whenever Gabriel was around, for your sake.

His favorite thing to do for you was to leave a single red rose for you to see each morning. He says he does it to show you how much he loves you. He even takes care to remove the thorns so you won't hurt yourself.

Your relationship hasn't been without its issues, though. You've caught Gabe with his arms around another woman on a few occasions. He assured you the women meant nothing, and that you are his one and only true love. You forgave him and you stayed together.

After your shower, you wrapped your hair in one towel and your body in another. You heard a fluttering of wings and could swear you smelled candy. You looked around, because you knew Gabriel was there, he just hadn't shown himself yet for some reason.

"Good morning, my love," you heard from behind you. "Good morning, Gabriel," you smiled, as you began to turn around.

"Whoa, hold on there a second. Loving the view, there, Sweetcheeks," he teased, reaching to pinch your backside.

You barely ducked out of his way, clutching the towel to your body. "You'd better clear out of here before Sam and/or Dean see you here with me in this state of undress," you warned.

"I am not afraid of Dean-o and/or Samsquatch," Gabriel scoffed. "Now come over here and let me see those 'sweet cheeks', Sweetcheeks," he taunted, reaching for your towel.

"Gabriel, now is not the time. I have to get dressed," you explained. Gabriel walked around you and got comfortable on the bed. He sat with his back against the headboard and his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. "By all means, Cupcake, please continue," he smirked.

You couldn't help but smile at his boldness, which also caused a blush to rise in your face. "Gabe, please. Either zap out and go do something else while I get dressed, or wait for me in the kitchen," you ordered.

"Ooh, I like it when you get bossy," he sassed. "All right, I'll give you 15 minutes to get dressed and not one second more. I'm pretty sure Dean-o and Samsquatch are in the kitchen by now. If they are, they won't be too pleased to see me unless you're there. I'll be back, baby," he promised, pulling you in for a slow, tender kiss. "There's more where that came from, sweetheart. I love you, you know," he said softly, as he caressed along your jawline with his index finger.

"Yes, Gabe, I know. I love you, too. Now, scoot, so I can get dressed, my love," you said as you tried to be stern. But the twinkle in his eye made it impossible, so you gave him a shy smile as he zapped out of sight.

You pulled on your favorite pair of dark blue jeans, a red scoop-neck T-shirt and red flannel shirt. Your black knee-high boots with the wedge heel completed your outfit. After running some styling gel through your short, spiky brown hair, you headed to the kitchen for some breakfast.

When you got there, coffee was already brewing and you popped a couple of pieces of bread into the toaster. As the bread toasted, you sliced a banana and retrieved the peanut butter from the pantry for your toast. When coffee finished brewing, you prepared it with a hot chocolate packet in the bottom and your favorite flavor of creamer.

You took your breakfast and your coffee over to the table. Just as you were about to sit in an empty seat, Gabriel appeared, so you ended up sitting on his lap. Gabe wrapped his arms around you, with Sam and Dean walking in just in time to witness this. They looked at each other and both rolled their eyes at the two of you. "Good morning, boys," you remarked.

"Good morning, hope you two haven't been carrying on any funny business in here. People eat and prepare food in here," Dean grumbled.

"Relax, Dean, I just sat down with my breakfast and Gabriel appeared. What's on the schedule today?" you asked, trying desperately to change the subject.

"Well, we've got that demon hunt to get packed for, the one up north of here," Sam explained.

"Demon hunt?" Gabe asked, suddenly on high alert. "But you're just staying back here to research, right, Cupcake?"

"Gabe, we've talked about this. I'm a hunter. You can't protect me from everything. I need to go on cases from time to time to keep my skills sharp. Please understand, I'll be careful, and I have Sam and Dean to look out for me," you replied.

"Come here, sugar," he said, pulling your hand as you followed him to the library. "Listen, I don't want you to go, baby. I've got a bad feeling about this. Besides, Thing One and Thing Two would sacrifice you for each other faster than you can say, 'Oh My Dad'," he retorted.

"Gabriel! That's an absolutely horrible thing to say. In all the hunts I've been on with them, they have always taken good care of me. I've even saved their butts a few times and I'm still here, aren't I?" you ranted.

"That's because you're the better hunter, Sweetcheeks," Gabe said, as he tried to smooth things over. "Please promise me that you'll stay behind on this hunt. You can go on the next one. Please, baby, promise me," he pleaded.

You thought about what he was asking of you. You didn't like that he was trying to control your hunting by saying when you can and can't go. You also didn't want to leave Sam and Dean short-handed, because these simple hunts have a way of going sideways for the Winchesters. Finally, you relented, stating you would ask to be left behind this time, even though you weren't crazy about the idea.

Gabe responded to you with a long kiss, full of passion and a promise of more later. "Thank you, my love. I know it's not what you want to do, but I appreciate your understanding. I have to go for now, but I'll be back soon. I love you," he said.

"I love you, too, Gabe. See you soon," you replied. A whoosh of wings, and he was gone.

You walked back into the kitchen to brief the guys. They weren't happy about your decision to stay behind and research, but they also understood your reasons. You told them, though, if they needed you, they should call and you would be there to back them up.

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

Sam and Dean met with the local law enforcement and the medical examiner about the recent deaths. They sent you the files in an email so that you could comb through it and look for any connections. They headed out for something to eat while you looked at the files.

After reviewing the files, you noticed that all of the victims had some of the same characteristics as you. Same age, hair/eye color and height. You shared your findings with Sam and Dean, and you all came to the same conclusion. In order to trap the leader of the demons, you had to become the bait. Not your favorite role, but you knew it had to be done to prevent any more deaths.

You packed your bag with extra clothes, toiletries, your demon blade and your flask of holy water. You picked up your keys for your 1968 royal blue Chevy Nova along with your wallet from your nightstand and headed for the garage. Once you hit the highway, you cranked up the classic rock and went to meet the boys.

A little after 11:00pm, you met with the boys at their motel. The plan was for you to get dressed up, sit at the bar and order a drink. Then you would wait for one of the demons to approach you and take you out of the bar. Sam and Dean would be outside, ready to follow.

The hunt went about as well as expected. The demon found you at the bar easily enough, and he whisked you away from the bar. He knew you were a hunter, though, and you ended up tied to a chair. Sam and Dean were occupied by other demons sent to attack, but they fought them off and took out the one holding you hostage.

On the way home, Dean convinced you to stop at the bar to celebrate a successful hunt. You agreed, but only for one drink, because you were tired. You also wanted to be home in case Gabriel decided to visit and make good on his earlier promise he made when he kissed you.

Sam and Dean walked in first, then Dean turned around abruptly. "You know what? Let's just go home. The place is really packed tonight. You're right, we just fought off some demons and we should get some sleep," he rattled off quickly.

"Dean, what's gotten into you? The place is damn near empty tonight," you observed as you pushed past him on your way to the bar. "Besides, a drink is just what I'll need to....help me....fall...." you trailed off.

Over in the corner, you caught a glimpse of a man with whiskey-colored hair and hazel eyes. His arms were wound tightly around a woman with raven black hair and an ample chest. You walked over, cleared your throat, and asked, "Gabe? What's going on here?"

"Well, look who's done with her 'research' and came out with the boys!" he snarled. "I went to the bunker to keep you company, but to my surprise, you weren't there. You promised me that you would stay behind while these two went out hunting!" he snapped.

"And you, Gabriel, promised me that you wouldn't do this anymore, that you wouldn't go out with other women. Well, it looks like we both broke our promises tonight. I'm sorry, but I'm done competing with other women for your heart. They can have you and you can have them, because we're done. Goodbye, Gabriel," your voice broke and you went running out of the bar, tears streaming down your face. You got behind the wheel and sped off towards the bunker.

Gabriel tried to follow you, but Sam and Dean blocked his way. "Don't even think about zapping in to talk to her. I think you'd better leave her alone for a while," Dean ordered. "She didn't deserve for you to treat her this way, and you certainly don't deserve her," he retorted.

Gabriel knew Dean was right, and that he had just made the biggest mistake of his life. He lost you, his one and only true love, but he was determined to get you back. He just wasn't sure quite yet how to do it.

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

The first few days were the hardest. During that time, you couldn't even smell a chocolate bar without bursting into tears. Sam and Dean tried to keep your spirits up, playing cards, taking road trips, having movie nights. After about a week, you started to mostly keep to your room, only coming out to shower and for meals.

Sam and Dean still went hunting, often leaving you behind to research cases and field calls from other hunters. On one of these occasions, Castiel paid you a visit.

"Hey Cas, what's going on? Something I can help you with?" you asked.

"As a matter of fact, yes. It's about Gabriel," he started but you held up your hand. 

"Stop. I am not interested in anything Gabriel has to say. I realize I made a mistake and broke my promise to him about not going hunting. I wouldn't have done so if my assistance wasn't absolutely needed. Doesn't make it right, I know, but still," you replied.

"Please, he asked me to see if you would find it in your heart to give him another chance. He said he was so angry about you going hunting that he wasn't thinking clearly," Cas pleaded.

"Let's say I agree to give him one more chance. What happens the next time I have to do the opposite of what he thinks I should do? Gabriel promised me that he wouldn't see other women. He said I was his one and only true love, but he was hanging all over that woman. I saw her, Cas. She was very pretty, much more attractive than me.

"Seeing Gabriel with her kinda made me feel like I'm nothing to him," you said in a small voice, tears threatening. "No. I can't--I won't go back to someone who thinks that little of me." Your phone started ringing and the caller ID showed it was Sam. "Excuse me, Cas, I have to take this. Hello?" you answered and Cas was gone. 

Following Castiel's visit, a single red rose began appearing again every morning in the vase you kept on your nightstand. Every morning, you plucked the rose out of the vase and dropped it in the wastebasket next to your bed. After about a week, you took the vase off your nightstand and put it in the drawer. Without the vase, the roses no longer appeared.

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

"Man, you've got to be desperate if you're coming to us for help," Dean smirked.

"You're right, I am desperate. She's completely ignoring me and told Castiel that she wasn't interested in anything I had to say. I used to leave a single rose for her every morning in this vase she kept on her nightstand. Now? She's been throwing away the flowers and has removed the vase. She used to forgive me when this would happen before. Why can't she just do that now?" he grumbled.

"Really?!? Are you that clueless about women, especially her?" Sam broke in angrily. "She should know that your actions match your words. She deserves to feel cherished, like she is the most important person in your life. She needs to know that you would do whatever it takes to keep her from feeling an ounce of pain. Most of all, she wants someone who thinks more of her than he does himself, not that she'll ever let him," Sam concluded.

"Gee, if I didn't know any better, Samsquatch, I'd think you had some sort of feelings for her. Well, forget it, she's mine," Gabriel growled.

Sam got right in Gabriel's face and said, "Then act like it and treat her as such, you big jerk! You know what she told Cas? She thinks that the other woman was much more attractive to you than she is. She said that seeing you together made her feel like she's nothing to you. What you did that night was a dick move. You were so upset that she went hunting behind your back, that you decided to hurt her back, right? That's not how love works."

He continued, "And just so you know, you did hurt her. At first, she couldn't even look at a piece of candy without breaking out into tears. Lately, we're lucky if she even says two words to anyone, and she only comes out of her room to shower and eat, if that. If you love her like you say you do, then SHOW HER. If not, leave her alone," Sam finished.

"Where is she now?" Gabriel asked quietly.

"She's in her room, probably asleep," Dean answered.

Gabriel zapped into your room but he kept himself invisible. He could see you on the bed, tossing and turning, mumbling something in your sleep. "Gabriel? Where are you? Wait--no....stop, please....NO! Get away from him! Don't hurt him, please! Take me instead! GABRIEL!! Hang on, my love, stay with me. We'll get you fixed up in no ti--Gabe? Gabe?? Gabriel?!? Sam, Dean, I've lost him. Oh, my love...." You dissolved into sobs while still asleep.

Gabe decided he had seen enough. Even in your dreams, you still loved him enough to put his well-being above your own, even after what he had done. He reached up to wipe away the tears on his face. After seeing you go through your nightmare of losing him, he realized what a jerk he'd been.

He walked slowly out to the main living area to where Sam and Dean were sitting. They could see that his eyes were red and puffy from crying. Before either of them could say anything, Gabriel said, "Please. You've got to help me. I still love her, and after what I just saw, I love her even more now. You're right, it was a dick move, going after that other chick. I should never have done that. Will you help me?" The boys looked at one other and grinned before each clamping a hand on Gabriel's shoulder and putting together a plan.

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

"Rise and shine, Valentine!" Dean bellowed, pulling the blankets off of you.

"Dean, you'd better be out of here before I count ten. I'm not getting out of bed today," you grumbled.

He sat down on the edge of your bed. "Oh, yes you are. You've been cooped up too long in here, and so far, we've let you, but not anymore. Please, honey. It's not good to be isolated like this. Sam and I want to take you out somewhere, so get out of bed, shower and meet us in the kitchen. You'll feel much better after your shower, and I'll have your coffee waiting, made just the way you like it," Dean promised.

You sighed. "All right. It looks like a beautiful spring day coming on, I would hate to let it go by without taking advantage of it," you agreed.

"That's the spirit! Now, hurry up, you don't want your coffee to get cold," Dean remarked. "I'll meet you in the kitchen."

"Hey, Dean?" he turned around to face you. "Thank you," you replied.

"You're welcome, honey. For what though?" he asked.

"For being such a good friend, caring about me, you know," you answered.

"Always, sweetheart. Always," he assured you, pulling you into a hug. "Now get thee to the shower, woman! Time's a-wastin'!"

Dean was right, you did feel better after your shower. As a matter of fact, you chose to wear one of your sundresses today, a pale yellow one with little navy blue flowers all over it. You pulled out your thin white sweater from the closet and your white Keds tennis shoes.

There was a little spring in your step as you walked towards the kitchen to get your coffee. You smiled at Sam and Dean as you sat down at the breakfast table.

"You look very nice today," Sam remarked. "Thank you, Sam," you replied. "And thank you for whatever we're going to do today. Dean's right, I've been stuck moping in my room for too long. Time to get out and enjoy the day," you said.

After breakfast, you all got into the Impala and ended up at a carnival that Sam had heard about and found on the internet. You split a funnel cake with Dean and you got to ride on the Ferris Wheel. Once you came down from your ride, Sam took you over to the games and won you a teddy bear from the ring toss game.

Soon, it was getting dark, and it was time to go home. You slid into the back seat of the Impala and it wasn't long before you were asleep. You woke up to Dean nudging your arm. When you looked around, though, you were in a clearing in the park and not at home in the bunker.

"Guys, what's going on? Why are we here and not at home?" you asked.

"This is the last part of your day. Our instructions are to escort you to that park bench and to wait with you until your host arrives," Dean explained.

You all walked over and you sat down on the bench. "And just who might this 'mystery host' be?" you inquired. Just then, the clearing was lit with a soft glow.

"Good evening, miss. Is this seat taken?" a man to your left asked.

"Gabriel...." you whispered, then quickly stood up to run back to the Impala, only to find that Sam and Dean had already left.

"Please, sweetheart, I would like to talk to you about that night," Gabriel pleaded.

"Gabriel, I don't know that there's anything more to say. You were upset that I broke my promise about not hunting, which was wrong on my part. But then you decided to get even with me with another woman. She was....beautiful, much prettier than me. I hope you're happy with her," you choked out. You started to walk away, but Gabriel caught your hand in his.

"No one makes me as happy as you do. No one can or ever will. What I did was wrong, and I'm so sorry, sweetheart for hurting you. It's just....I get scared whenever you go hunting. I'm afraid something will happen, and I won't be able to get to you fast enough. I don't want to lose you," Gabriel explained.

"Why didn't you say that before? I would've understood, Gabe. It may not have changed my decision, but at least I'd know how you're feeling," you replied. "Otherwise, it comes off like you're trying to control me, and that doesn't really work for me."

Gabriel reached up with his hands to cup your face. "I know, my love, and I'll try to remember that in the future. Sweetheart, I have a confession to make. That night you had your nightmare about me?" You nodded. "I was in your room, watching you go through it all. It broke my heart to see you in such pain over something that wasn't real. I wanted so badly to take you in my arms and comfort you, but I figured you still didn't want anything to do with me."

"Well....at the time I didn't. But now....you could try putting your arms around me, and we could see how it goes," you said shyly.

No sooner were the words out of your mouth that Gabriel's arms were around you, holding you close. "Oh, my love," Gabe whispered. "I've missed this so much, Sugar. You are my one and only love, now and forever, I promise." He searched your face as he tried to figure out what you were looking at. "Something wrong, darlin'?" he asked.

"Gabe, honey, are these your....wings? They're beautiful, all ivory-colored with flecks of gold in them," you marveled as you ran your hands along his feathers.

"You can see them?" he asked, and you nodded. "Sweetheart, the only way you could see my wings is if I let you, or you're my soulmate," Gabe explained. "That means we're meant to be together, forever and always."

"Sounds perfect to me," you said softly as you reached up and meshed your lips with his. The kiss started slow and gentle, but then Gabriel took over, the intensity building with each passing second.

"I love you, Sugar," Gabriel declared.

"I love you too, Gabriel. Let's go home," you suggested, as he zapped you both back to your room in the bunker.

[cas-kingdom]

Toast

A/N: For some reason, I never posted this here! And it was written years ago!

This is based on a tumblr post I saw eons ago - I claim no credit over the idea, and recognise that others may also have written their own fanfictions based on it too.

Title: Toast

Summary: Castiel makes toast for the first time.

Words: 961

Castiel tried. He really did. He tried to be like Sam and Dean, and like any normal human being, but he was an angel, and sometimes that made it a tiny bit more difficult. He didn't understand a lot of the things humans did; why did they feel a need to use the toilet numerous times during the day? Why was Dean so protective over a car? And why did Sam insist on washing his hair twice every night?

It was little things like these that confused him. He had always been curious of the humans when he had been up in Heaven, and could still vividly remember pestering Gabriel to bring him down to Earth one day to meet them. That day had happened - though Gabe hadn't been there - a very long time ago. He was now living in the Bunker with the Winchesters, but he was still having difficulty trying to understand everything the boys did. He got the concept of drinking, and brushing your teeth, and things like that, but others just… slipped through his mind.

Cas sighed as he looked up from the laptop on the table in front of him. He was trying to find a case he and the Winchesters could work on, but wasn't having any luck. The world seemed pretty quiet recently. Strange.

"Mornin' Cas."

The angel looked up, raising an eyebrow at Dean, who was trudging down the stairs. He was still in his pajamas, barefoot, and looking extremely tired. "Good morning, Dean," he replied monotonously – no change there.

"Any luck finding a case?"

"No, none so far."

"Really?"

"Really," Cas replied with a sigh, leaning back against his chair as he turned the laptop around to face Dean. The man squeezed his eyes shut and winced at the brightness, quickly pressing the button to lower it. He stared at the screen with narrowed eyes and scrolled down the page for a few minutes, raising both brows once he saw that the angel was right.

"Yeah, nothing here," he said, shutting the laptop. He sighed and flopped down onto a chair, closing his eyes.

"You look exhausted," Castiel told him. "Did you not sleep?"

"I did," Dean said, "pretty well, actually."

"Then why are you still tired?"

Dean glanced up at the angel. He was looking straight at him, head tilted to the side like a lost puppy, eyes narrowed slightly in his 'I don't understand that reference' expression.

"It's, er…" Dean wavered, trying to find a way to explain it. "Its just my body waking up, bud."

"Your… body?" Castiel asked hesitantly. Oh Father, please don't let this be another thing he would have to learn about humans.

"Yeah, it's like, uh… I've been asleep for a while, and so my body's been still, and now it's waking up. Get it?"

Cas nodded. "It's like recharging a mobile phone, right?"

"I guess you could put it like that," the man laughed, dragging a hand tiredly down his face. "But what'd really recharge me is a coffee and toast." At this, he turned pleading eyes on his friend.

Cas frowned. Coffee? Fine, yes, he'd made the Winchesters cups of coffee more times than he could count. But toast? He'd never worked that weird machine before in his life.

And thus came Dean's long (and probably very confusing, judging by the angel's expressions) explanation on how to put the bread in the toaster, and to make sure it didn't get burnt, and to know when he had put exactly the right amount of butter on so it would melt 'the proper way'.

Cas didn't understand.

But he said he did to shut Dean up.

Dean smiled as his friend walked off to the kitchen. Once he was out of sight, and the tell-tale sound of hands reaching into the bread bag and the fridge opening reached his ears, he sighed and turned back to the laptop, opening it and logging on. It was still on the page Cas had found, and so he slowly scrolled through the various cases, scanning the title and description of each one. His frown deepened when all he saw were clearly murder or suicide cases with nothing supernatural about them at all.

"You're up early," came a new voice, and the older Winchester looked up, smiling as he saw his brother walking down the stairs.

"Mornin', Sammy. You alright?"

"Fine, thanks," Sam replied. "Where's Cas?"

"Making me toast," Dean said with a smug grin.

"Toast?" Sam rose both eyebrows. "Cas knows how to make toast?"

"I taught him," Dean said, before turning his head in the direction of the kitchen. "How's it going, pal?"

"The bread is in," came the reply, sounding like he was on some TV show. "I am waiting for it to- AHHHH!"

Both Sam and Dean turned wide eyes on each other at the angel's scream, and before they knew it, the two were out of their seats and running towards the kitchen, a gun in both Winchesters' grips which they had grabbed on their way.

"Cas-"

"-why did you scream-"

"-what the hell happened-"

"-who've I gotta kill?"

The brothers skidded to a halt once they had entered the kitchen, guns poised and ready to fire, both panting heavily. They looked at Cas, expecting to see him in someone's (probably Lucifer's) grasp, an angel blade to his throat… but no.

He was on the ground.

Two slices of toast next to him.

Looking completely terrified.

"Er… Cas?" Sam asked confusedly. "What… um. What happened?"

Cas reached out and picked up both pieces of toast. He was breathing very heavily, hands shaking slightly. Slowly, he lifted his gaze and turned an accusing glare on Dean.

"You didn't tell me they flew out!"

SPN Masterpost

[carnoshin]

With an S/O who is Sam's "parent"

I know y'all don't care abt Sam, like, at all. But I adore him and he's. My son.

Brahms

Brahms doesn’t realize that Sam is odd until after he gives the doll to Sam. Like, sure the kid wears the same costume year round-- well, you of course have more than one set of clothes for him, but they’re mostly for when he gets his footie PJs absolutely filthy-- and Brahms has never seen Sam with his mask off or those bandages on his arms, but... Why wouldn’t your kid be... normal? For all intents and purposes, you are a normal person.

You don’t seem too worried when Sam just... walks into the kitchen with a new doll. You just pause for a couple of seconds and arch your shoulders before saying “Made a new friend, huh?” and relaxing again. He nods and sets the doll down at the table beside him, then begins to sneak his food under his mask as you talk to him while eating your own across from him.

Usually Sam is excited to leave the house with you, but after Sam gets the doll, he begins staying home when you go out. And eventually, Brahms comes out to see the kid who has his doll. And like. Sam is four foot somethin’. This boy is too small to be friends with Brahms. Like, it kind of freaks Brahms out because this is an actual child and not a man acting like a child. He just suddenly is like “Oh, yeah, I’m an adult.”

Sam starts knocking on the walls when you’re home so you kind of realize that’s where Sam’s friend lives. Like, not for a moment were you like “Oh, the doll is his friend!” No, it’s Sam, after all. You’re just hoping Sam won’t let his friend kill you.

One day Brahms is just. At the kitchen table with Sam. You’re used to this kind of thing from your adoptive kid, so... A big, silent, kinda gross adut man at the kitchen table isn’t that weird. It does kind of freak you out when you hear Brahms talk, cuz. Sam doesn’t talk unless he’s screaming, so hearing a child’s voice is extremely odd.

Basically, Sam matchmakes you and Brahms, because Brahms is Sam’s dad now, apparently. But Sam is also pretty protective of you: you’ve not let him down so far and that’s pretty rare. So for the first time in your long relationship with Sam, he acts like a normal, adjusted child almost all the time. Like, he’s gonna sit on your lap and ask to be carried and cuddle up with you and things like that. It’s kind of a warning to Brahms, in a way.

And this is because Brahms is a creep and spends a majority of his time literally breathing down your neck as you do housework. And usually Sam’s friends who do this stuff leave pretty easily and don’t go out of their way to do it and they don’t start ignoring Sam??? How fucking rude???

Billy & Stu (Ghostface)

He likes when they come over. Like I’ve said, he likes it if you have friends and he also likes being able to do whatever he wants while you’re occupied with your friends.

BUT as soon as he finds out you three are dating??? He’s pissed. He’s angry. He’s going to RUN AWAY.

Sam has forgotten that he disappears for days at a time no matter what. That is, until he’s at a recent murder scene where there’s some candy in the cupboard. And sure enough, there’s Ghostface. Oh, two Ghostfaces. Cool. They seem familiar... He’s going home, he’s had fun for a while. He wants to go home and have you make him cookies. He’s mainly forgotten that he’s angry at you.

Several days later the guys stop by and Sam recognizes their boots, like, immediately. And he just points at them, back and forth. You have to go over to talk to him and he pulls you in and whispers in your ear.

Literally you just sigh and look over at the guys while Sam clings to you-- not because he’s afraid they’ll hurt him, but because he knows he can kick their asses. Like... You’re so tired. You thought you had a normal relationship for the first time in a long time and, for once, it had nothing to do with Sam in any way.

Jason

Sam is drawn to places with killers. He just is. And the fact that Sam often needs to be moving around to avoid suspicion means that you’re usually accompanying him. This means that abandoned, but still livable homes are your guys’ bread and butter.

And pretty much every cabin within twelve acres of Camp Blood is abandoned, a little under half of which still have power and water running.

Jason meets Sam first. Little guy is drawn to violence and Jason provides that in droves. Sam probably offers Jason some candy or something.

Either way, Jason will inevitably follow Sam home and see you there. You’re probably gonna freak out after you realize that this must be the guy who kills everyone who comes into the woods, but Sam’ll rush to you and hug your legs and ask to be picked up: it’s how he’s going to show that you’re his parent, basically. And Jason certainly sees himself and his mother reflected by you two: I mean, the normal parent and the little boy with a sack over his head? It’s almost too on the nose.

He starts to avoid your house out of respect and keeps folks away. But eventually, Sam will drag him over to have a play date. And before you know it, you’re stumbling into a relationship with that big lovable lug. And Sam doesn’t seem to mind, in all honesty.

Herbert

What in the fuck is that? A child? Ew.

Sam does not get along with Herbert. Like, I think Sam is the type of kid who hisses and bites and grumbles loudly. So you’ll see Sam babble angrily at Herbert, who doesn’t understand what Sam is saying, but does understand the intent. And Herbert doesn’t care for that shit at all.

Like, he’s the type who has a kid make a face at him and he makes it back, but not in a “having fun” way: in a “hey, fuck you too” way.

Sam probably eats reagent at one point and you’re just like. “It’s fine.” and Herb is getting ready to do an at-home stomach pumping like “It’s not fine: he’s going to die.” and you just continuously are like “It’s fine. Sam can’t die.” By the time Herbert gets everything set up, even at your insistence, he realizes Sam should’ve died ten minutes ago if he were a normal human child. “Pff, Sam isn’t human, dude. It’s fine.” And Sam is just sitting on your lap, completely calm and trying his best to braid your hair. (Even if you have a buzzcut: kids, amirite?)

Herbert likely accidentally bonds with Sam over Herb’s... Disembodied creatures, basically? Before you know it, Herb is taking Sam to the grocery store to buy candy or taking him to the movies to see something R rated.

Sam has a habit of fucking with Herbert’s corpses. Not in a bad way-- most of them are violent from the get-go, so it’s not like Sam has to add an abnormal brain into the mix. But sometimes Herbert finds fingers missing and five feet away Sam is spitting out fingernails like they’re watermelon seeds.

Dan Cain

He’s just gonna assume you’re a normal single parent. Like, yeah, it’s weird that your kid wears a burlap sack all the time and likes to draw dead stuff, but... Well, plenty of kids are morbid at a young age. So whatever, right?

It’s genuinely not a big deal. He is, like, very much trying to be Sam’s new dad. Like, he’s ready to take Sam to Disneyland. He’s talking to you like “Shouldn’t Sam have some more friends?” and you’re like “Sam has plenty of friends.”

Dan is already at “I’m worried about our child’s development.” stage before he sees Sam’s face. Like, he’s six-ish (or something) and Dan has never heard him speak? That can’t be good, right?

So. It’s the exact opposite of with the Ghostface boys when Sam shows his face to Dan. Dan is the one who is like “I thought I finally had a normal partner. And this had nothing to do with Herbert.”