#some I could do at home given time but like there’s ceramic stuff too and just

[eastberlin]

I wish I could go back to school for art.

[waywardimpalawriter]

hi! i really love your writing, and was really hoping you could do another dean winchester x f! plus size reader. possibly were they are best friends and she is pining for someone else. so before she can make her move on someone else he stops her and confess his love for her. idk maybe some angst/fluff/smut?? you don’t have to if u don’t want to, it’s totally up to you. like no pressure at all! but seriously, i do really love all your writing and i wanted to say thank you for everything u write and do!! <3 once again no pressure at all with this ask, but overall thank you!!<3

Just one good reason

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Female Reader

SPN mixed Bingo Square: Hurt/Comfort Square

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester,

Setting: mid season 11

Rating: E (explicit), NSFW, 18+ only please

Warnings: angst, smut, yearning, grumpy and sweet Dean (yes they need a warning),

Word count: 12,805 (Truly Was suppose to be this long. I blame Dean for this.)

Summary: He’s given a million reasons, damaged goods, blood on his hands, nightmares, scared in so many ways. But most of all that he’s not good enough. Just when you’re ready to walk out that door he gives you one good reason to stay.

Notes: Thank you Anon for this request, I love writing for Dean so very much and to add a plus size gal in as well that just makes my day. I do hope you’ll enjoy this story. The song “Million Reasons” both version’s by Lady Gaga and Briana Buckmaster are inspiration for this story.

Tag list: Is open for all character’s and series I write for.

@spnmixedbingo

Dean Winchester list: @akshi8278

Just one good reason list: @chickensarentcheap

@impala1967dwinchester, @lilacprincessofrecovery, @superavengerpotterstar @jbbarnesgirl @sofreddie  @slightlyobsessedwithissues  

Ancient hinges creak wearily, firm hand pushing to hold open the heavy door letting you and Sam pass by. Fatigued sigh leaves slightly chapped lips, “It’s good to be home.” Taking the stairs down two at a time, tossing duffle bags towards the war table.

“Going soft on us old man?” Teasing quip tugging a smile from your lips as you drop down into the nearest chair. “Getting use to having that soft bed under your ass now huh?”

Scoffing, whiskey flecked green eyes settling on your plush frame, “Woman you forget we’re the same age first off.” Playfully stocking towards you, hands placed on the back of your chair to cage you in. “Second damn right that bed is magical, memory form baby, it remembers me,” poking your side, giggle leaving your lips body squirming in the seat.

“Stop,” pleading tone entering your voice, trying to evaded his questing hands trailing along your curvy sides. “Please,” puppy eyes begging for mercy, his hands aren’t willing to give. Though you can’t bring yourself to care seeing the weight, even for a moment, disappear from his countenance. Or the fact your sides aren’t the ticklish spot on your body, moving in the seat purely for show.

“Say your sorry for calling me old,” brow lifting watching you squirm under his hands. Wishing and not for the first time, he could have your soft body slotted against his harder frame. Knowing how well you fit just in a different way, one that hasn’t been enough for a long time.

Giggles burst from your lips, hands flat against the hard plains of his chest tugging on the dark blue t-shirt to distract from his plans. Pushing him away which had as much of an effect as a toy bulldozer did against a real brick wall. “Okay, okay I’m sorry, promise I’m sorry,” gasping for breath giving a hard tap to his shoulder.

“Now who’s giving up too soon?” Hands pause as his eyes catch yours for a long moment. Smiling face beaming up at him, heart beating triple time and not from assaulting you with his hands. Unable to resist the urge to touch your soft skin. Callused fingers come up to barely graze just under your left eye carefully capturing the eyelash on the tip of his forefinger from your cheek, “Make a wish.”

Leaning forward to place your lips close to the offered digit, eyes closed to blow a cold stream, eyelash fluttering away unseen. Keeping your libs lowered for a bit longer torn between what you truly desire and what’s within your grasp. Whiskey roughened voice breaking through your thoughts, sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine.

“What you wish for?” Swallowing hard, beloved eyes flutter open to ensnare his in there depths. Catching something simmering just below but disappears quicker than a jack rabbit running from a coyote.

Clearing yours throat, “Can’t tell ya Deano won’t come true if I do.” Giving a smile, pressing him backwards to raise and grab your duffle bag. Cell phone signaling an incoming text message making you pull the the black case wrapped piece of tech out of your front jeans pocket. Bright smile pulling your lips higher seeing just who’s messaged you. “Catch y’all later.”

“Someone good?” Sam speaks for the first time since coming home. Watching the scene between his brother and best friend. Wanting to strangle the both of you for not seeing what’s right in front of you.

Head snapping up from buried in your phone to stare wide eyed at Sam, “Yes, no I mean it’s nothing but could be something.”

“Will again?” Peripheral catching the dark scowl pass over Dean’s features before disappearing behind a mask of indifference.

Humming sweetly, sparkle lighting your eyes that go back to your phone for a moment. “He’s asking if we can meet up tomorrow for lunch, trying to choose where to eat.”

“What about,” clearing his throat to unclog the emotions choking off the air to breath. “That little diner in town? It’s your favorite and serves the best pie aside yours of course.”

Trapping and tugging your bottom lip between nibbling teeth, head shaking in the negative. “Nope he’s not fond of greasy foods.”

‘Plus that’s our spot,’ unbridled thought slides into your mind and you want to look over at Dean to remind him. But push those thoughts aside with a wave, heading towards the bedrooms carefully making sure not to bump into a wall while responding.

Green eyes follow till you round the corner, heart catching in his throat cursing himself for mentioning your diner. Knowing better yet wanting confirmation without asking if the spot is still special.

“You’re an idiot Dean,” shaggy brown head shaking as he to snaps up his duffle bag to head towards his room. “The foundation is already there start building before it cracks.”

“Thanks Riddler, just cause I’m Batman doesn’t mean you have to be so fucking vague.” Left with his thoughts and the growing feeling he’s loosing you to another man. Dean leaves his stuff lay where it landed glancing over the chair you vacated not five minutes ago then heading towards the kitchen. In need of something harder than beer but settling for the dark brew being the only alcohol in the bunker.

Opening the fridge door, grabbing a brew his fingers brush against the clear plastic container holding a single slice of pecan pie. Eyes unseeing, drifting back into memories when the Mark of Cain still burned into his skin.

2015

Charlie’s dead, beaten, murdered and left in a pool of her own blood. Every time his eyes close she’s there, expressionless sea green eyes staring blankly into his own. Never hearing her snarky retorts, sassy ways or those hugs she gave. Staring into cold brown sludge, hands gripping the mug a little too tightly. Not sure why he chose to come here of all places. When he could’ve started out on his hunt for the Styne’s. Deep down though he knows the reason right as the little bell signals someone’s entered the small family owned diner. Knowing exactly who and trying to ready himself for your present.

Never ready for how your soft fingers brush along his temple, settling on his shoulder for a moment while you slide into the worn pleather covered booth. Trailing those gentle fingers down his black and grey plaid covered arm. Tugging one hand from around the ceramic cup to intertwine your fingers. Head coming to rest on his shoulder, no words just comfort in a time when he needs it most.

“You shouldn’t be here,” dark with hints of gravel and kissed with pain in the tone. Whiskey flicked green obits focus, for the first time on something besides the cup in his hands, landing on the top of your head.

Shrugging, “Where else should I be Dean?” Looking up at him sorrowful eyes meeting right when your other palm comes up to brush moisture from his cheek. Unnoticed tears sliding down cool cheeks, “You’re my best friend there’s no place I’d rather be then right here helping you.”

“You could get killed,” the very through twists his heart till almost bursting. Brings bile to rise in the back of his throat, slithering through his system to settle unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach. It’s one thing to loose Charlie a heavy casualty. But you, Dean isn’t sure he’d come back from the dark path he’d follow for vengeance.

Soft sad smile turns your lips barely upward, “Not gonna happen I have my knight in shining Impala to keep me safe.”

“I couldn’t keep Charlie safe how can I…”

Shaking your head, finger placed over his kissable lips, “You’ve given me a million reasons already Dean Winchester and I don’t believe a single one of them.” Resting your foreheads together a moment, tenderness skating across your veins for the man beside you, “You might not believe it but your a good man.”

Pie filled plate slides across scared formica table top, metal fork clattering against the ceramic pushed in front. “More coffee,” sweet feminine voice floats from beside you.

Nodding, “Please, sugar and cream too.” Giving her a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes feeling Dean stir beside you.

“Black like my soul you know that sweetheart,” slightly chapped lips brush your cheek. A simple thank you for this act of kindness he feels undeserving of. If he hadn’t already been head over heels in love with you this sweet gesture would’ve sealed the deal.

Breathless gasp parts your lips as you turn finding Dean closer almost invading your space. Leather, motor oil and Irish Spring tickle your nose, eyes locking with those agony drenched obits, making another gasp exist your lungs. Heartache rocketing through your body, colliding with anger directed at the Styne’s.

“Eat your pie Winchester we’ll talk about that soul of yours later after dealing with the Styne’s.”

Heart freezing at the mention of the murdering family, “No,” rougher than intended, Dean grabs your chin twisting your face towards his. Rage hot and potent flaring through those beautiful greens. “No you will stay with Sam I’ll deal with them myself…”

“Dean you can’t be serious…” grabbing his wrist, pleading in your eyes for him to listen. Loosing Charlie splintered your heart, counting her as the sister you’ve never had. Her blood demanding revenge for the grievous act. But loosing Dean would kill you, knowing you never would come back from that agony.

“I am, deadly so. You try and sneak along I’ll toss that sexy ass outta Baby faster than you can pray to Castiel.”

Snorting, pulling your chin from his grasp, “You couldn’t lift me Winchester and you can’t stop me…” but the look he gives you does. Any farther flow of words halt in there bid to tumble out of your mouth.

“No I can’t,” callused palms cup your cheeks keeping you in place. Searching your eyes and making sure you understood, “I don’t want you to come with me Y/N. If there’s anytime to listen its now. I’ve lost one sister I didn’t want.” Bitting those words out to keep from speaking the others which threaten to pour from his being. “I can’t loose you,” resting your foreheads together again.

Nodding, trying to keep yourself from rubbing your cheek into his palm or worse press your lips against his. Lying to yourself isn’t something you normally do and you wouldn’t start now with the realization you were in love with your best friend and worried your going to loose him to the all consuming darkness.

You're giving me a million reasons to let you go

You're giving me a million reasons to quit the show

You're giving me a million reasons

Give me a million reasons

Giving me a million reasons

About a million reasons

Present

Downing the last of his long neck, drawing patterns over the hardwood table underneath with the condensation from the bottle. Eyes trained on that single slice of pie you’d bought him weeks ago.

“I wouldn’t eat that if I were you D,” mirth filled voice floats towards him before you reach his side in body.

Hand coming into view grabbing for the container to toss it out. But Dean’s quicker, “If you value your life, you’ll unhand my pie,” thick fingers circle your wrist pulling your plush body down beside him. “It’s not nice to steal a man’s pie woman,” keeping his tone light, playful and away from the looming fate he knows will visit upon his person once you figure out Will is the man you truly want. Deserving of your light, and laughter, the sweetness, of your beauty that Dean only hopes the other man will appreciate.

Gasping in mock outrage, “Who me?” Hand to heart trying to keep the laughter from your tone. “I would never deprive you of pie Deano. But I would that slice since I think it’s become a science experiment.”

Narrowing his eyes towards the offending sweet dessert, “It is not.” Poking twice before pulling the pie forward for a closer inspection. Musical laughter meeting his ears, smothering the smirk threatening to bloom over his lips. “Okay so maybe your right,” turning his pouting face towards you.

“Course I am,” giving him a wink then standing to toss the ruined sweets out. Pausing by the panty, you peek in unaware Dean’s watching you from his seat.

Teasing sway to your generous hips has his eyes tracking every movement. Bitting the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning at how temping you look. Thick thighs encased in blue denim jeans feet bare from wearing those steal toed Dr. Martins during hunts. Body stretching upwards, soft cotton baby blue tank top riding up to bare a silver of delicate skin to his eyes. Your fingers barely snag the sugar container’s edge, pulling it down to clasp against your ample chest.

Chastising himself for the erotic thoughts flipping through his mind on a single film reel. “What exactly are you doing sweetheart?” Carefully keeping his lower half away from your line of sight. Lest you find out the problem currently tenting his jeans, teeth gritting to stop himself from acting on all those thoughts.

“Never you mind Dean Winchester,” tossing over your shoulder, checking for vanilla extract, light syrup, and butter from the fridge. Last stop the freezer mentally trying to remember if you there's a pie shell left or would need to make one. Hoping for at least a single, since checking the flour stock and coming up almost empty. “Start a list for me please and put flour on it,” setting the three ingredients in your hands down. Turning back to open the metal door to peer into the freeze, swaying slighting to a song running through your head. A triumphant “Yes,” exists your lips, a little dance of excitement upon finding the last shell.

Damn near swallowing his tongue so entranced by your movements gulping different words back down to keep from making a total fool of himself. As he utters, “Not till I know exactly what your making over there Betty Crocker.”

“Resorting to blackmail now?” Brow arched, unconsciously licking your lips slowly. Unaware of Dean watching the path it takes across your pump bottom lip, tucking it between indenting teeth.

For distraction purposes, Dean pulls his phone from the front pocket of his jeans. Bringing up the list app a suggestion to simplify things you gave him months back. Forcing himself to focus on the small screen in his hands instead of the woman currently dancing around the kitchen. Pulling bowls, pots and pans out, one chance glance has an inaudible groan vibrating through his chest at the sight of your plush ass. Bent over shifting through sheet pans knowing which you look for as arousal flares to life so potent Dean turns quickly hiding his reacting. Planting his face in the palms of his hands, elbows bent to catch the weight. Fingers digging into eye sockets to use the pain and banish the thoughts from reappearing.

Frowning at his actions you come over after putting the pan on the counter. Fingers running through his hair, scraping the scalp with short nails. Pleased smile at the groan you pull from his lips as he rubs his head into your palm like a little puppy. “Something wrong Dean?” Worry dancing through the cadence of your voice other hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Fine,” head popping up, forcing your fingers to slide out of his hair. Taking a chance to glance up into your worried eyes. Underserving of your soft touch searing his skin. An itch to run from our presence skitters across his veins. “I’m fine sweetheart just tired.”

Searching his face, those whiskey flecked green eyes so unlike the blue-greens of Will’s, catching something hiding in those deep depths he’s trying to hide. Never fooled by words, always inspecting his actions and those little tells partially concealed though you know them all too well. “You’re covering something up Winchester I’ll get it out of you one way or another,” patting his cheek and stepping away.

‘I don’t want you to go on that date,’ on the tip of his tongue poised to leave his lips he keeps smashed together burying those feelings to not ruin this chance you have at an apple pie life. The very thought tears his heart, rendering another hole in the punched out organ. Though it’s his own fault for giving you a million reasons to keep that boundary line in place. Tip toeing almost across a few times, but always toeing the line keeping himself in check. Head snapping around when something hard hits the back of his head, scowl in place though it’s more playful than menacing. “Did you just…” glancing towards the floor to find a lone pecan on the ground behind him. Head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed on your face, which is the total opposite of his holding a sweetly innocent look concealing the trouble he knows you’ll cause. “Seriously a pecan? That could’ve done damage Babe Ruth.”

Eyes rolling, snort issuing from your up turned lips, “I don’t know what you speak of Dean I’m just here making a pie minding my own business. Can’t help it if a pecan has it out for you.”

“Possessed it must be,” voice pitched in a poor imitation of Master Yoda, getting a boo hiss from your general direction. “Though something tells me a certain someone threw the poor helpless nut.”

Shrugging, face neutral a picture of indifference with hands on your wide hips ingredients spread out over the counter. “Stop calling yourself names Dean it’s not nice.” Bottom lip trapped for a second to keep from giggling at the way he’s looking towards you.

Enjoying this moment of normalcy you’ve managed to capture in these dark and dangerous times. Thoughts skittering towards Will, if he’s able to put up with the hunters life style? Former Marine, Will knows so little of what truly goes bump in the night making you worry he wouldn’t feel at ease. It’s the reason you’ve hesitated each time he’s asked you out. Not wanting to drag someone else into a life of blood and death. Persistence and patience paid off when you finally agreed on a dinner date for tomorrow night. One your actually looking forward to.

But then you glance towards Dean, seeing the smile grace those soft looking lips, shinning in his whiskey flecked green orbs for the first time in months and you hesitate. Would you want to leave this life for a man who wouldn’t understand you not fully anyway? Or stay and remain the best friend till a hunt takes one of you out? Could you truly leave your home with the Winchesters, with Dean?

His voice breaks through the your thoughts, ruthful chuckle echoing through the room, “Haha sweetheart stop trying to be John Candy it ain’t workin for ya,” bending to scoop up the tossed nut a memory filters through his mind. Opening a wound he thought long since closed over soaked in whiskey and women who’s names he’s forgotten. Shaking the thought away to ask, “You gonna chunk a nut at your boyfriend tomorrow night too? Or is that reserved for me?”

Not sure why he’s even asking or teasing you about it or the fact there’s a bite to the tone. He shouldn’t care about a simple date, yet the thought twists his gut smile slipping from his lips as he looks down at the pecan in hand. Unwillingly letting those images fill and play before his eyes.

If I had a highway, I would run for the hills

If you could find a dry way, I'd forever be still

But you're giving me a million reasons

Give me a million reasons

Giving me a million reasons

About a million reasons

December 2011

Run down two room shack a nicer way of putting it truly, you think while pulling up outside next to Baby’s sleek black side. Hands gripping the steer wheel till knuckles hurt and you can focus again through the haze of tears spilling down your cold cheeks. Still trying to grasp the fact Bobby Singer legendary hunter, go to lore man, and surrogate father, dead by a bullet from Dick Roman’s gun. Itching for vengeance you try to quell for another time when you can let all the anger out. For right now you knew he needed you more than any strategy planning or revenge thought.

Remembering Sam’s voice shaking, laced with pain, peppered with rage but above all coated in sadness you could hear over the phone lines. Never hesitating to drop the case — for now — breaking speed limit in the need to reunite with your boys. You’d do anything for family even those who weren’t by blood. Learning a long time ago that family doesn’t end with the DNA flowing through your veins.

Shaking those thoughts from your mind and existing the car only to lean back in and grab the bags from the passenger side. Standing to full height to peer over the top locking eyes with those anger clouded greens. “No I didn’t bring you anything Winchester so don’t bother asking.” Trying to lighten the situation with poorly used humor.

Words fail to leave thinned lips as you pass by, hand holding the creaking barely held together door open for you. Following behind his voice scratchy from no use, “Sam call you?”

“Of course silly why wouldn’t he?” Placing the bags on what could pass for a pile of rubble instead of an island countertop. Turning to face him cataloging each feature, the stone set of his jaw, shoulders tight with tension, eyes those beautiful normally vibrate whiskey flecked greens mute with anguish he tries to hide.

Shrugging, shoulders dropping forward with no will to keep them up, “He shouldn’t have your needed else where Y/N.”

“Bullshit Winchester,” moving with purpose to stand in his personal space. “Bobby was just as much a father to me as to you. There’s no other place I’d rather be than here, for a different reason yes but I’m not leaving so suck it up buttercup.”

Catching the flash of anger tinging the deep greens whether directed at you or himself you’re not sure. “We already salted and burned his body, there’s no reason for you to stay.” Turning away from your softening eyes knowing your going to try and reason with him. Make him see he’s not responsible for what happened.

“I know,” two simple words make him pause and turn back. “I didn’t come to say goodbye to Bobby, I came for you.” Taking one step closer arms wrapping around his slumped shoulders bringing him into the shelter of your embrace. Steady hands running the length of his stiff back, imparting your warm, trying to give comfort knowing he’s unaccepting of such sympathies.

Brows furrowing, frown tipping his lips downward, fists clinching at his sides, Dean tries to keep himself from giving into the solace he so easily could find in your embrace. Warmth sinking into his skin through the layers of clothing he wears, tingling his skin, quickening his pulse.“Why?”

“You need me, your not listening to Sam or Castiel talking about going off to track Roman down yourself,” spitting the Leviathan’s name out like chewed to long gum. Head resting against his strong chest feeling the slightly erratic beat of his heart against your ear.

Back stiffening, “I don’t need you to tell me what to do Y/N I can make that decision on my own.” Low growl rattling through his chest as he pulls from your arms and steps from the warmth evaporating from his body. “You should leave.”

“And get yourself killed?” Hands slamming to your wide hips glaring daggers at your best friend. “What happened wasn’t your fault Dean. Any one of us could’ve taken that bullet, Bobby knew the risks of the mission, accepted them and died…” swallowing the tears threatening to slip from your eyes. “A hero,” ignoring his last words, reaching out to try and take his hand only to have him pull away like you’ve burned him.

“Don’t, don’t try to reason this with me I know better,” turning his back to head for the wall covered in papers trying to figure out just what Dick Roman’s up too.

Shaking your head knowing he’s hurting but not wanting to voice those feelings, to make him appear weak. With a sigh leaving your frowning lips you move silently beside him looking over the wall of weird trying to piece together how everything connects. Brushing your hand against his, pinkie trailing to catch what you think is his forefinger. Wrapping the little finger tightly around his you lean over, “I’m right here when you’re ready Dean, I’m not leaving nor letting go.”

“You should,” not bothering to turn and face you. Memories of Lisa and Ben filter through his thoughts along with Bobby, his father and what he can remember of his mother. “I’m poison and get everyone around me killed.” He doesn’t want to add you to the growing list. Rather wanting you to leave and find a different path for your life.

Tugging on his finger to wrap the middle and forefinger with your ring and pinkie fingers, “Then Sam and I are the antidote to your poison.” Giving a soft sad smile to his side profile, wrapping him up into your arms. Resting your head on his shoulder, voice a gentle whisper of breath upon his cheek and neck,“Those reasons keep tallying up Winchester we’ll hit a million before long.”

Reminding you both of a long ago discussion between the two of you in Bobby’s junk yard while still teenagers. Before angels and demons, vampires thought long dead and ancient Leviathan brought back from the pit of purgatory. When you made the packed to never fall for each other and always remain best friends. To never let go no matter how dire the situation, you’d have each other’s back.

Evaporating memories of long ago, you speak softly still resting your head on his shoulder. “You work on this mosaic of papers you have plastered over the walls. I have a pie to bake,” not giving it much thought you quickly press a kiss to his stubbled cheek then turn to head back towards the passable kitchen area.

Tingles dance over his skin for longer than he wishes, wanting to suppress those feelings bubbling up to try and consume him. Thinking he could bury them under the mounting pain and self hated. Yet, the warmth of your arms, soft press of your lips, your words register and sink into his brain Dean turns to watch you work unable stop a few of those feelings from dancing around his heart. Single thought shocking him in its stark contradiction to his current state of mind, Dean Winchester self proclaimed ladies man has fallen in love with his best friend. A sucker punch to the gut making him gasp and reel that silent declaration in. Stuffing it under the right full emotions of anger and pain. Letting them tap dance through his veins instead, something much safer for the both of them. Something he could understand and deal with.

I bow down to pray

I try to make the worst seem better

Lord, show me the way

To cut through all his worn out leather

I've got a hundred million reasons to walk away

But, baby, I just need one good one to stay

Head stuck in a cycle, I look off and I stare

It's like that I've stopped breathing, but completely aware

'Cause you're giving me a million reasons

Give me a million reasons

Giving me a million reasons

About a million reasons

Present

“He’s not my boyfriend yet Dean,” eyes rolling as you turn to melt the butter in a small sauce pan. Though there is a part of you wishing he could one day fill the role unless a single good reason can change your mind comes your way.

“But you want him too?” Words muttered through presses together teeth. Hating the fact he’s letting something so trivial effect him in such a way. You’ve had other boyfriends, one night stands he’s had to sit through yet this one feels different. As if he could truly loose you this time and those thoughts scare the shit outta him the most. Because yes you’re his best friend for longer than he can remember but above that you’re the woman who gets him, argues with him, sets his ass straight when he’s being stupid and above all or so he hopes, loves him warts and all.

Hands pause at his question looking into the melting golden liquid bubbling silently remembering to flick the tiny knob and turn the heat off. While your head screams to say yes but it’s a little small voice beating quickly beneath your ribcage making you pause. Clearing your throat to gather what thoughts you could from their scattered places. You’ve always spoke with honesty to Dean, unless circumstances dictated other wise, and you weren’t about to change now. Through you wouldn’t turn to face him when you did wanting to keep from seeing his eyes. Finding the reason for his questions in those green depths you’ve fallen for though never spoken the feelings. “Yes, he could…” swallowing to coat your dry throat to spit out the words rotting your stomach. “I could have a chance at happiness with Will, Dean. Why do you even ask?”

“I don’t want to loose you,” ‘Because I love you,’ on the tip of his tongue to tell you, give voice and life to his true feelings. Wanting you to stay and forget about those million other reasons he’s let slip between the cracks in your relationship.

Frozen in place, hands gripping the countertop beside the stove. “You wouldn’t loose me Dean I’d still go on hunts with you, I’d stick around,” lies tasting bitter on your tongue, heart beating triple time wondering if he’ll pick up on the dishonesty your speaking. Always feeling he’d never see you as anything other than his best friend. Never the type of woman to draw his attention, too soft and plush in places most men wouldn’t want and you didn’t pine for a man who’s given you a million reasons to walk away. So you shoved those feelings, the love you held back trying to make it work with other men. To find the one who’d surpass Dean destroying your feelings for the green eyed hunter, giving you the one reason to stay and belong. So why now did he have to put doubts in your mind? Why ask these questions when in years past he’d brush other men away as nothing more than a passing fancy?

Silently Dean stands slowly making his way towards you, taking in the ridged stance of your plush form. Hands itch to wrap around your thick waist and haul you against his chest. Pausing right beside you, brushing his fingers against yours too hook what he thinks is your forefinger with his pinkie. “You and I both know things wouldn’t stay the same between us sweetheart. He’d find a way to take you away from me,” praying you won’t pull away Dean turns to stare at your profile. Taking in the beauty he’s catalogued thousands of times, the curve of your lips when you smile, slope of your nose, eyes bright with laughter or spiting fire when angry usually at him. Softness of your cheeks under his palms the times he’s actually got to cup and caress the skin.

“We’ll remain best friends Dean that’ll never change,” gathering the courage to turn and look into his eyes. Catching the sadness coating those beloved greens making your heart ache. Tongue slipping out to tug back your bottom lip between your teeth indented them to keep from asking the question your heart demands.

Of its own accord Dean’s free hand comes up to brush over your cheek, cupping the soft skin, fingers spread from apple to jaw wanting so badly to draw you in and kiss those tempting lips. “I want you happy Y/N and if it’s possible out of this life, been wanting that for you since Bobby,” sliding his hand to your chin to pinch the end with his thumb and forefinger tipping your face up to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I’ll miss you sweetheart.”

Eyes lock with stormy greens after he pulls back, soft gasp parting your lips at the simple touch, words sounding like a goodbye instead of their usual see ya later. Grappling for words to say, questions to ask, trying to figure out what’s going on, and why now. But he’s gone before your brain can catch up with your mouth, and your turning to rush after, seeing his back disappear around the corner.

Feet finally responding to command as you quickly follow stopping at the doorway, “Give me one good reason.” Praying he’ll listen and stop, hoping it’s not too late. “Stop giving me all these reasons to leave.”

Back ridged but his mind a flurry of thoughts and answers, more questions than he could shake a stick at. Only one reason comes to mind, “Good reason to what?”

Traveling the short distance to take his hand intertwining your fingers with his, needing him to turn around and look at you. Needing the connection while stating, “Give me a good reason to stay Dean to not go tomorrow night.”

“I can’t,” partly wanting to flinch from your touch, to tug his hand free, and partly wanting to sink into your familiar embrace. Soak in the peace he always finds in your arms, to bath in your warmth and possibly bask in your love. But Dean wouldn’t be selfish he’d let you go even if it meant killing his own heart and soul.

The urge to punch him grows strong but your refrain from using violence, “Why not? Too scared? Or you just don’t care?”

The warmth of your hand disappears from searing into his palm, tingling those long nimble fingers, his eyes close knowing you’re walking away because of that millionth reason. Till the first brush of soft fingers tender in there touch upon his cheek. He gives in to the urge and rubs his slightly stubbled cheek into your palm. “If that’s you Sam, I’m gonna kick your ass dude,” ignoring your questions in favor of basking in your touch instead. Hearing the soft giggle from your lips brings a smile to his own. Eyes finally opening too stare into yours, almost doing a doubt take at what he sees in those beloved depths. “I don’t deserve you Y/N.”

“Stop giving me a million reasons Dean and give me the one that’ll make me stay,” imploring him with your touch, fingers tracing over his cheeks and jaw. Tracing his plush bottom lip with the pad of your thumb, “I just need one good reason.”

He’d find the situation funny if it’s anyone else standing in front asking the same question. Even Sam would get a chuckle from his lips, but you, his breath freezes, heart thumping wildly in equal measures of terror and excitement. The very thoughts running unrestrained in his mind scare the shit out of him, but only one truly feels right. Snaking an arm around your thick waist pulling you against his strong chest, fitting like missing puzzle pieces. His free hand coming up to cup your cheek, “I love you.”

Tears slip from their ducts barely held back till those three simple words spill from his mouth jump starting your heart and sending your emotions swirling. Warm palms cradle your wet cheeks, gun callused thumbs brush hot tears away, you spy the worry and fear your non response sparks. “Do you mean it?” Wanting clarification before handing your heart over to the very man who’s held it for so long.

Knowing what your asking Dean stops waiting and lowers his mouth to yours. That first touch of lips electricity shoots through you veins. Body responding quicker with arms going around his neck to pull him firmly against you not a wisp of space between your bodies. Fingers tangling in the short hairs at the back of his head while you slot your lips against his. Demanding and deep, a tangled dance of tongues. Clashing of teeth, a melding mouths and finding the right angles to draw those delicious moans from each of you. Till air becomes necessary and you break apart panting, “That answer your question sweetheart?”

“No,” smirking when his eyes narrow, “I wanna hear it again.”

No hesitation in speaking those three words, “I love you.” Groaning when your lips smash back to his. Stealing breath from his lungs and a moan from his chest, Dean walks you backward till your pressed against the cool tile wall. Lower pelvis holding your soft body in place so his hands can dance over your cotton covered plush form. Palm’s flat against your thick waist, slowly dragging them around and down to cup your generous ass. Squeezing firmly and making you gasp.

Using the opening as a way to work his tongue back into your mouth, delving in for another taste of your sweetness. Low groan existing when rearranging his mouth to fit differently and snag a gulp of air. Stubble abrading your chin in the most spectacular of ways. Pooling heat low in your belly and making your mind wander in other more salacious directions. Brought back from teetering on the deliciously desirable edge by a sharp bite, his teeth nabbing your bottom lip to tug, letting go with a wet pop. Breath fanning out over your heated cheeks. Eyes once closed now open and locked with yours a pleading undertone to the desire darkened greens.

Knowing what he wants to hear and unable to wait along, “I love you too Dean.” Heart bursting with unrestrained joy flooding your system and making you love drunk.

“Thank fucking God,” groaning, resting your foreheads together still trying to reign in the wild thumping of his heart. Your admission only serves to make the largest muscle spasm quicker. All his pent up emotions, desires and needs flowing to the surface, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from rushing into something too fast. Remembering it’s still fresh and new between the two of you a different path to the relationship already established in friendship.

Giggling softly, you cup both his cheeks, thumbs brushing along his skin, three days worth of stubble abrading your palms. “So,” teasing smirk pulling at your lips, “I better call Will huh?”

“For?” Trying to keep the bitter growl from escaping and giving away his feelings on the sore subject. Tugging your soft body back in place from your wiggles to side free, not ready to let you go just yet.

Sliding one hand down his chest to rest where you know his anti-possession tattoo resides. Tracing the edges with the tip of your finger over the black t-shirt he’s wearing, locking eyes with his, “Seems I’m a taken woman. Wouldn’t want to lead the poor guy on now would I?” Watching how those whiskey flecked greens darken, pushing his lower body deeper into your plush form. Barely heard as you try not to give away the whimper of need his body produces in your own, with his pressed so tightly. Cool concrete keeping you body temp from over heating for the moment.

“No,” clearing his throat leaning in to draw his nose over your jawline. Touring towards your ear, catching the lobe between his front teeth to tug. Low desire filled growl leaving his lips, followed by, “Tomorrow is another day sweetheart and right now you’ve got better things to do.”

Heading tipping over granting access to the parts of your neck he wants, trying to keep the shiver from rolling over your body. Heat flooding your veins sparking a need you’ve never felt with any of the other men you’d previously had relations with. “What,” licking your parched lips, “what better things Dean?” Praying it’s the same idea rolling around your head for the longest time.

Pausing in his mapping of your neck and shoulder with his lips, Dean raises his head to spear you with a heated look. “Me for starters sweetheart, that is of course…” uneasiness has him trailing off the first time in his life. The bitter taste of uncertainty coating his thoughts for a fraction of a second before your lips land back on his.

Teasingly soft presses, little ghost touches of your tongue, playfully dotting his cheeks, chin and forehead with your lips before brushing close to his ear. “Hey Dean,” smiling against his skin, tenderly pressing your lips just south of his ear. Nibbling the found patch of sensitive skin behind committing the spot to memory for later. Breath puffing out quicker feeling him shiver, knowing what the next words would invoke in Dean and his love for the movie. “You big stud. Take me to bed or lose me forever,” sultry tone added to the cadence.

His eyes close for a moment, heart swelling as you recite the words to one of his favorite movies. Marveling at the fact you’ve remembered the lines perfectly and Dean falls deeper in love with you if that’s possible.

The gentle caresses of your lips against his skin setting fire to his nerve endings, room in his jeans becoming a hot commodity as his shaft thickens and throbs. Finding the distraction almost too much while trying to recall the next line. Teasing giggles reach his ears that he replies to with a deep chuckle. Words coming back to him, “Show me the way home, honey.”

Reaching down to tug one hand from your ass, chuckling with a shake of your head when it doesn’t budge but squeezes the generous globe. Notching himself tighter into your body, smirk appearing as your eyes widen, gasp issuing from parted lips. Bitting the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling before the words can escape. “Is that a pickle in your pocket or you just happy to see me?”

“Oh sweetheart it’s a great big dill I can show ya,” flashing a smirk, both of you trying hard not to laugh.

“Preferably,” deep voice tinged with slight offense but liberally coated in amusement. “In your own room so the both of you aren’t bare ass naked in the hallway bumping like bunnies,” having rounded the corner towards the kitchen and catching the intimate embrace. “A vision I don’t want branded into my skull thank you very much,” Sam paused arms crossed in annoyance. Golden dotted green eyes dancing with mirth, catching the playfully scandalous expression cross your features. Glancing towards Dean who buries his face in your neck getting a deep chuckle from his brother.

Try as you might to keep from busting out laughing they just rolled out of your mouth as your eyes lock with Sam’s. Acting stoic but the smile tugging at his lips and the teasing flash through his eyes speak a different story. Only thing holding you up is Dean’s body still pressed heavily against your. The man in question glancing up first to look at you then over his shoulder towards Sam. “Don’t even start Sammy,” grumbling good-naturedly giving him a middle finger salute and the opening you need to slip from between his hard body and the wall. Teasing growl rumbling through his chest at the loss of your warmth. Dean reaches out to snag your arm but you manage to dance out of his reach, giggles echoing off the walls trailing behind your disappearing form.

“Wouldn’t dream of it Dean but Cas owes me fifty bucks,” patent Sam Winchester smirk sliding over his lips. Brow raised at his scoff, “Can’t believe I had a betting pot going?”

Watching you run off happy grin tipping his mouth upward, he looks back at Sam grin still in place. “Just can’t believe it’s with Cas. Rowena maybe, Jody, Claire, Alex and Donna fuck yes but Cas,” incredulous look stealing over his features for a few moments.

“Who say’s the bet’s not bigger than you think,” broad shoulders shrugging same smirk in place, Sam enters the kitchen on that note leaving Dean to stare wide eyed after his baby brother. “Matter of time, always just a matter of time,” laughter tinged voice exists the kitchen, unseen shake of his head at the mess left behind.

Stock still for a fraction of a second till soft giggles echo quietly down the hall, grin turning into full blown smile. Need rushing back through his veins in remembrance of your position just a few short moments ago. Low curse existing his mouth, Dean turns racing off to find which room you’re hiding in.

Nerves tingled through your body, worry interrupting thoughts/memories of short minutes ago. Hard press of his body against yours, warm moist breath fanning out over your skin sending tingles of a different kind to skitter across your veins. But now standing in Dean’s room trying to figure out where to lay or stand that would invoke images of sensuality. You look down at your bare feet toes wiggling against cold concrete. Up wards to thick jeans clad thighs, a baby blue tank top covering your torso, self consciousness went out the window decades ago. After the first serious injuries you suffered at the hands of a vengeful spirit had you damn near stripped naked in front of Dean. Confidence in face of adversity knowing he’s the only one for miles around to patch you up.

Now though is different, same confidence but wishing for sexier clothing something to entice and tease. Small snort issues from the depths of your body knowing damn well you had nothing of the sort in your possession. Flannels, tank tops, t-shirts and jeans hunter’s required staples along with the functional under garments you groan at remembering are mismatched at the present.

“Beautiful even in those rumpled clothing,” deep voice breaking through thoughts and making a squeak sound as you quickly turn to face the lazily leaning against the door jam hunter. Arms crossed over muscular chest, biceps straining the black t-shirt’s sleeves, “I meant what I said before Sammy interrupted us.”

Tugging your bottom lip back under indented top teeth turning to face him fully, “Which part?” Barely keeping the mirth from bubbling over, “That I should show you the way home or you have a big dill?” Easy going banter calming your nerves even the part about feeling ill-prepared clothing wise.

Tender infused whiskey fleck green eyes turn molten with each sweep of your body. ���I love you,” words escape as eyes stay locked, Dean pushing away from the doorway. Booted foot catching the hardwood door and slamming it shut behind him. Stocking towards you as a lion would his prey, licking parched lips wanting to devour you. Hands fisting at his side though to keep from reaching out and doing just that incase it’s something your not ready for.

His breath froze upon seeing you walking around his room, something akin to relief floods his veins along with a sense of rightness. Sure you’ve come in hundreds of times to wake him from a nightmare or mornings, to barrow music and to talk. Yet, this time feels different giving your relationship changed moments ago. Catching the indecision clearly written in those beloved eyes that don’t focus on one place too long. For a moment Dean wishes he could read your thoughts but then having hunted and lived together for decades he picked up the situation and cues without having to know your thoughts.

Pleased hum breaks Dean from the wondering trail his thoughts took him on to spy the sweet smile gracing your lips. Hands positioned on your hips one cocked to the side as you stand there waiting expectedly. Restraining himself, Dean opens his palms to bring them up and cup your cheeks dragging you against him. Lips meeting in the tenderest of kisses that he keeps in place while speaking, “You want this, want me?”

Recognizing his vulnerability and what he’s asking with those simple words, arms wrap around his back fisting the shirt tightly to press the two of you together. Love saturated eyes burn into those greens you could drown in, “That’s my question Winchester stop stealing my lines.” Flattening one palm to slide up and into his hair. Pressing another kiss to his soft lips you’ve only imaged kissing till now. The reality so much better than any fantasy you ever came up with.

“Calling me a thief now sweetheart?” Using jokes to cover the fact he’s searching for the right words. Flustered and frustration slither through his veins in a combination Dean’s not accustom, words stammering of unintelligible nature tumble from his mouth. The feel of your blunt nails sending pleasurable shivers down his spine.

Nodding, craning your neck back a few inches but keeping your eyes locked, “You stole my lines and my heart Dean so yes that would make you a thief.” Hand sliding over his back now and settling into the back pocket of his jeans, “I also meant what I said back there.” Catching the cocked brow you elaborate, “Take me to bed Dean I’m tired of waiting, I want to know how it feels to have you inside me.”

Soft groan issues from parted lips. Wanting to act on your words so damn badly his body vibrates with barely contained desire. Forehead coming to rest against yours, strong hands sliding too loosely wrap around and caress your neck. “You know I’m not great at relationships. I could seriously fuck things up.”

“I know but then so could I,” any doubts or insecurities evaporating into the ether with every look.

Callused fingers brush over your bare shoulders sending sensual shivers cascading down your body. Rubbing your thighs together for added friction with the heated look Dean’s fixing you with. Boosting your confidence to step back his hands drop to the side as you own pinch at the hem of your tank top. Slowly pulling it from your body, letting it drop with a barely heard whisper.

“Fucking hell sweetheart,” resolve snapping, reaching for your hips and tugging you back against him harder than intended. Lips sealing quickly to swallow the gasp existed parted lips Dean takes advantage of and slips his tongue inside the warm cavern of your mouth.

There’s nothing gentle about this kiss, it’s all teeth and tongues, fighting desperately for dominance. Pulling groans from the depths of Dean’s soul as he pulls whimpers and moans from your own. Till air becomes needed though it doesn’t stop your mouth from trailing a hot path across his stubbled jaw. Nibbling towards that little patch behind his ear to flick the tip of your tongue against. Smirking at the shutter rolling through his body, fingers dancing a rhythm over his shirt covered torso. Hem reached you tug twice to which he nods reaching behind him grasping and pulling the garment off to join yours.

Hands, palms flat immediately going to ghost over his rippling tummy. Muscle covered soften causing all moisture to pool south, clit throbbing almost painfully. Sure you’ve seen him bare chested before this time it’s different. For pleasure instead of patching him up. Drawing desired groans rather than pain filled. “I know Sam would abject but I so wouldn’t mind seeing you walk around shirtless.”

Full belly chuckle leaves Dean’s lips, “Sweetheart don’t talk about other men right now especially not my brother.” Possessive hands landing on your naked plush waist, fingers spanning the distance and gripping the flesh in his palm. Dreams having nothing on the real woman in his palms.

“Just stating facts sir nothing more,” trailing your fingers over the slightly hair roughen skin. Brushing pebbled nipples from the cool air and your proximity. Reserving a gasp when you lean forward to lap with the tip of our tongue and nip at the peaked point. Glancing to lock eyes as you switch and give the same attention to its twin giving the same attention getting a hiss from your actions. Dragging you lips upward to trace his tattoo with kisses.

Molten green eyes drinking in the sight of your lips on his skin, shooting desire straight to his cock. Throbbing need demanding attention no matter how good your soft lips feel against his body. “Baby girl,” groaning at the nip you place, eyes close to compose himself. Flying open as air cool brushes his skin inside of the shared heat of both your bodies. Mesmerized by the way you reach back to unclasp your bra, pushing your lushes breasts out teasing his vision, salivating for a taste of your skin.

He steps forward crowding into your space backing you into the bed till the back of your calves hit the edge. Wrapping his arms around your plush form to brush hands away and do the task himself. Finger tips skimming the edges of both straps till reaching the top at your shoulders and drawing them down. Keeping his eyes locked with yours while pulling the garment from your pliant body tossing it behind him. Eyes flicking down on a groan, licking his dry lips at the beauty displayed for his ravenous gaze.

“Lay down for me sweetheart,” meeting your lust blown orbs with his own. “I wanna see you in my bed,” biting off a whimper when you drop onto the edge. Bountiful breasts bouncing teasingly as he watches you slide backwards towards the head board. Hands going to the button of your jeans, low growl pausing your nimble fingers. “That’s for me to do baby girl, just,” swallowing harshly as he looks you over. Partially naked spread out over his bed picture perfect memory for those times when the darkness tries to steal this happiness. “Give me a moment to drink you in.” Unable to decide where to look first, “So fucking gorgeous.” Toeing off his boots, hands going to his own jeans your shaking head pausing the movements.

“I get the same pleasure,” licking your lips slowly while raising up on your elbows. Beckoning him with two crooked fingers, hand resting with the palms up beside your plush body, “Get up here before I get impatience and take matters into my own hands.”

Declaration making him pause a moment low growl rumbling from deep with in his chest. As desire blown green meet yours, smirk gracing his handsome features. One knee comes to rest on the mattress Dean leans forward keeping eyes locked while pressing a kiss to your ankle. Grinning, feeling the quiver that runs through your body. “You wouldn’t dare sweetheart,” adding his other knee to spread your legs and slowly fit his body between.

“Shall we make a bet Winchester?” Using your free foot to brushing the nearest thigh with the flat. Sliding towards the very noticeable bulge busting the seams of his jeans, toes teasing the thick ridge before pressing the flat of your foot against him. Rubbing the length slowly pleased when a growl echos the room.

Grabbing that foot tickling the pad enjoying the way you squirm and giggle. Taking the opportunity to move fully between your legs. “About that bet hum,” fingertips drawing an invisible path of fire down the middle your body. Bracing then both arms on either side of your shoulders hovering over you, warm breath fanning out over your cheek he nuzzles with stubbled chin. Pulling a whimper from your gasping lips.

Of there own accord, your hands slide up the strength of his arms and biceps to clasping fingers together around the back of his neck. Left leg draped over his waist to pull him against your pelvis, breathless moan parting your lips at the contact of his hard length pressing into your dripping center. “I don’t want slow or gentle Dean,” head tipping back to give access to his questing lips that find your wildly thumping pulse, sucking a mark into the soft skin. “We have all night for that I just…” words caught upon seeing whiskey flecked green eyes dilated almost pitch with desire. Cheshire Cat grin tugging kiss swollen lips upward.

“Just what sweetheart?” Humming, brushing your lips together before returning to his last spot. One hand dragging over your soft body cupping the generous globe massaging gently feeling the nipple peak against his palm. Teasingly circling the stiff nub with the tip of his index finger before giving a sharp pinch and making you gasp out. Back arching at the pleasurable pain skittering across your veins.

Grasping what’s left of your mind to try and form coherent words, body responding instead pressing your chest into his large hand. Nails score down his back, one completing the journey to give his ass a tight squeeze. As the other detours to between your intimately pressed body. Happy to find enough space to slot your palm against his erection, cupping his throbbing length and giving short little strokes. Smile blooming with a breathless groan against your collarbone where Dean’s forehead currently rests. Nimble fingers pop the small metal disk, pulling the zipper tab down to slip the hand inside. Warmth enveloping palm feeling him twitch has you slowly licking your lips at the mire thought of getting to taste him.

“You’re killing me Y/N,” rutting his hips into your hand, mouth coming back to claim yours in a punishingly bruising kill. Tangling your tongues together, nipping a little harder on your bottom lip than meaning to but the accompanying moan flows straight to his cock. Making him twitch against your palm that has slowed with the distraction of the kiss.

Breaking for air, panting while trying to form and speak the right words, “We’re both a little over dressed Dean.” Pulling your hand from the tight confines of his jeans, using the one at his ass to help pull them and his boxers down only stopping when you couldn’t reach anything passed his knees. Sigh of relief exists his parted lips making you giggle and press a kiss to his chin. “Feel better?” Bottom lip trapped and nibbled on as your fingers brush his length. Finding your fingers barely wrap around the girth while to stroke, palm sliding over precum leaking head. Hips thrust forward at the sensations tingling down his back gathering low in his belly.

“Now who’s over dressed?” Mumbling the words against your skin. Dean regretfully brushes your hand aside grinning at the annoyed huff that leaves your lips. “Ah sweetheart put that sexy pout away you’ll get a chance to taste me soon enough. Cause if you keep using that soft hand on my cock I’ll cum faster than I want.”

His words presenting so many thoughts to run through your mind only cut off when wet warm heat engulfs your right nipple. Tongue flicking quickly over taut peak, blunt teeth nipping then soothing over with the tip of his tongue. Switching to the twin leaving both sloppy wet and tight, gleaming in the low light of his room. Worshipping at the temple of your body with kisses pressed into your tummy, running scared callused hands over your skin in silent reverence. Eyes taking in very inch Dean sits back on his knees between your parted legs. Tracing his knuckles along the seam of your jeans covered cunt, making you jolt against him.

Pausing to strip your jeans and panties from your body, tossing them and kicking his own off to land somewhere on the floor. Raising up on elbows to finally get a chance to look at him in all his naked glory. Tracing each divot of scars over a broad chest, passing over the middle to admire thick bowed legs spread wide. Lips licked slowly upon landing on his ridge cock, slightly curved and resting against his lower belly. Palm itching for a touch, mouth watering for that taste. “You’re beautiful Dean,” words whispered so low your unsure if he’s really heard them.

Heat blooms over his cheeks at your admission, looking your fill of his adonis body. Dean returns the admiration. Tracing the features of your beloved face, staring a little too long at your heaving breasts, soft tummy he wants to nibble on at some point. Thick thighs he can’t wait to have wrapped around his waist once he’s buried deep inside your wet heat. The very though has his eyes dropping between your parted legs, glistening folds beckoning him forward. Caught in that tempting trance, Dean slides back between your legs. Brushing his lips just above your mound and receiving a whimper from you. Locking eyes, “I think you got that backwards sweetheart, it’s you who’s beautiful.” Dipping to run the thick flat of his tongue through your folds, humming at the tangy sweetness exploding over his taste buds.

Hips cantering against his mouth, your own letting a deep moan free as one hand slides down to card through his short brown locks. Tugging the strands getting a groan to vibrate against your cunt while his talented tongue dances through your soaked folds. Torturing your clit with ghosted touches, one arm wraps around our thigh spreading you open. As the other slips a finger inside your wet channel, finding you squeezing and tight, garnering a deep groan of arousal from the man between your lips.

“Dean,” voice wrecked and he’s barely touched you. When he doesn’t answer or budge from his sensual assault on your cunt. Lips having formed a perfect O around your clit, tongue flicking kitten licks to the tiny nerve filled nub. Pleased with he whimpers and whines that filter through his desire filled mind.

Resulting in you tugging on his hair harder, back arching as a small shock rocks through your body, tingling your belly when he bites carefully on your clit. “Dean please,” eyes rolling back into your head at the added second finger. Crooked and pressing into the little spongy spot you’ve never had anyone touch. Ripping a half scream from the hidden depths of your soul.

Smug smirk tugging over slick wet lips, stubbled chin coming to rest just above your mound. Watching as you heave a breath, breasts catching his eyes for a moment till you tug again. Fingers anything but still as they thrust and scissor you open, working you carefully to fit his slightly above average length not wanting to hurt you. “Yes sweetheart?” Licking his lips from your slick.

Free hand coming up to cover your heated face, “Don’t sound so smug,” gasping the last word when his thumb brushes over your clit making you jump and wither. Heat spreading from that special spot in your belly, where the tight coil starts to wind higher. Thick thighs tremble with each sensation Dean draws out of you. “Need you, please, please.”

Caressing your quivering walls with the gun callused pads of his fingers, massaging your clit as you plead. Breath chocked out on another moan, chest heavy, heat coating your skin as you wither under him. “Ah but I can’t help myself sweetheart you don’t know what seeing you like this does to me.”

Gathering what little strength you have in your limbs to reach down and cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing over the skin under his eyes. “Why don’t you get up here and show me Dean?” Voice wreaked yet a tender undertone rides through the cadence.

Pressing a single kiss to the pulsing little clit, giving once last flick making your squirm and Dean to chuckle. Slowly pulling his fingers out, stroking twice more your hips chasing the indescribable ecstasy winding its way through your veins. Only to have the tingles dance slower, the coil start to unwind as frustrated huff leaving your gasping lips.

Taking advantage to plunder your mouth, greedy for a sample of the wet cavern and a tongue tango that draws out a sharp moan of need. Especially tasting your tangy sweetness from his lips, sucking the bottom between your teeth to nibble. While reaching blindly over to the nightstand, damn near yanking the whole draw on the ground in his haste. “Give me a sec woman,” huffing out he rolls slightly off you. The noise drawing a giggle out causing him too stiffen, glancing back with a playful glare to refocus on finding his prize.

Using the opportunity to nose the thick column of his neck, taking in the scent of whiskey, leather and motor oil, peppered now with sex and sweat. Addicting and unable to help yourself from sink your teeth into his skin gently but hard enough to leave a small soon to purple mark. Soothing over with the flat of your tongue catching sight of the pause your actions caused. The aroused moan that leaves his lips, head resting on the bed to try and gather himself from your onslaught.

“Something wrong Dean?” Nipping just below his jaw, tracing your fingers along his side. Index finger swirling through the spares, crisp hairs leading a path to what you’ve craved to have inside you for a long time. Nimble fingers surround the base forming a perfect circle that can’t close but tightens. Stroking his length teasingly slow. In return receiving a warning growl — the sound devastating your senses making you throb — from the man currently fishing for a condom and growing frustrated when his fingers come up empty. “Shall I stop my love? Am I distracting you?” Whispered words breathed into his ear, lips kissing the shell. Knowing damn well just how tormenting you are to his senes and body. If his twitching cock your hand currently wrapping around stroking and the shallow breaths are any indication.

“Ha,” triumphant shout of accomplishment, Dean rolls back over you pressing bodies together and into the mattress. “Now where were we?” Flashing that teasing smirk with a hard rutting of his hips against your dripping core and tight fisted hand.

“What to you so long stud?” Biting back the giggles when he fixes you with a scowl.

Breath hissing out through clinched teeth when taking your hand off his cock, bringing those wickedly wonderful fingers to his lips and sucking on each one with a short nibble. Placing the open condom pack in your palm, “Do the honors sweetheart.”

Curling your fingers around the little foil packet, pressing your other hand into the back of his neck drawing Dean in for a tender kiss. Slow meld of your lips, light sips of your warm mouths. Tenderly tugging his bottom lip, to slide your tongue over the bruised skin and into his mouth. Licking and touring the heated cavern, seeking out ways to make his moan and grunt. A moment of forgetfulness while mapping his tonsils and sucking on his tongue, till you break for air. Chasing his mouth for more kisses only to receive a chuckle instead.

Eyes open to spear him with a heated look, foil packet crinkling in your hand a remind of your mission. Slipping fingers from his soft hair, to trace over his body, joining its partner between the two of your heaving bodies. Unlocking your eyes to glance down, hand wrapping back around his thick shaft to stroke twice getting a needy moan from the man above you. Before teasingly rolling the condom on paying special attention to the thick pulsing vein on the underside, mouth watering at the thoughts of getting to taste it later.

Dean grasps one of your hips to bring the leg around his waist, opening you up and feeling your soft skin under his palm. Sliding between your bodies to entwine his fingers with your, pumping his cock together. Different sounds, a hiss from Dean and a moan from you exists on shuttering breaths. Eyes reattach both blown with desire and coated in need, you notch the head of his cock at your entrance pressing the heel of your foot into the small of his back to urge him forward.

Teeth clamping to draw blood from your bottom lip but also to keep from screaming out in pleasure as he slowly sinks inside your quivering depths. Reaching up with his other hand to free your bruised lip, brushing the pad of his thumb over the glistening skin. “I wanna hear you sweetheart don’t hold back.”

“What about Sam?” Breath hitching, mouth hanging open on a moan that’s trapped on the edge of a scream when he bottoms out against you. Bodies flush, joined hands now resting above your head where Dean’s placed them.

Leaning in to press open mouth kisses to your lips and neck letting you adjust to his size, the exquisite stretch thumps through your veins the slight sting only heightening the pleasure. “Never mention his name while we’re in bed sweetheart,” snagging the lobe of your ear with his teeth. Pleased when you nod speechless, though not enough, “Words baby girl I wanna hear that prefect voice of yours.”

Swallowing trying to form words to answer, scoring your nails down his back an impatience mewling whimper leaves instead. Using the leg not wrapped around Dean’s waist as leverage to plant and push your hips up against him. Squeezing your walls tightly around his shaft drawing out a grunt from his lips. “Dean…” going to say more but he chooses that moment to pull out till just the crown rested inside your pulsing channel. “Just you…” hips snapping forward to fill you quickly stealing those words into a loud scream of ecstasy.

Starting a hard punishing rhythm, repeatedly waiting till your fixing to speak and either pulling out or trusting home. Always taking away what your going to say. Knowing your trapped between frustration and pleasure, Dean captures your mouth in another deep kiss. While his hips snap against yours, wrapping the other leg around his waist to angle you differently. Pressing your intertwined hands into the pillow beside your head and breaking the bruising kiss to gulp a lung full of air into both your burning lungs.

Feeling your walls start to quiver around his hammering cock, knowing by the pinched look on your countenance, the quivering of your thick thighs clutching at his trim waist. Heels pressing into the small of his back drawing him forward with quickened strokes that he’s shortened from the long deep thrusts. Notching your legs higher on his waist to press forward, curling his pelvis into your core, determined to make you cum first. Wanting to feel you soak his cock, see the looks of pleasure dance across your features.

Sliding his fingers through your soaked folds to find your pearl pulsing, pressing the pad of his thumb circling to make a gasp fly from your lips. Back arching, tingles no longer gentle but tap dancing a rhythm through your veins. Dean’s name a chant from your dry, parched lips, panting to try and fill your starving lungs. Body vibrating on a higher frequency only Dean’s turned in on as with every snap of his hips, brush of his thumb sends your spiraling deeper into euphoria.

Reaching up to wrap your hand around his neck to bring him back down for another kiss. This one sloppy as the thrusts of Dean’s hips, brief touches of lips, wet slide of your tongues across the other. Eyes sliding closed only to snap back open with a pinch to your nipple soothed over my his teasing fingers.

“Keep those beautiful eyes open for me sweetheart and cum for me I know your close. You just gotta let go for me,” resting your foreheads together, gritting his teeth to starve off his own orgasm. The wet clinch almost too much for Dean to handle. Always wondering but never imagining how good this truly would feel.

“Dean,” breathing out his name, a series of moans and whimpers following. Trying to capture his mouth for another kiss that’s broken off when your orgasm slams into you soaking Dean’s cock in your slick. Eyes rolling back his name a screamed prayer from your lips.

Body convulsing in pleasurable all consuming fire, little sparks of light pin prick behind your tightly closed eyes. Moisture breath fans out over your neck where Dean buries his face, lips pressing into your skin. Chasing that high while working you through your orgasm the wet clinch of your walls prove too much to starve off any long. Giving in with a groan of your name rubbed into your skin as he fills the condom. Circling his hips a few more times to drag out the pleasurable spikes racking his frame.

Collapsing into your arms a welcome weight pressing you into the mattress as you both try to capture your breath. He brings your joined hands down starting to untwine them but the shake of your head stops the actions.

“For a few moments longer,” voice hoarse from screaming out your pleasure. Free hand coming up to card through his sweat drenched hair. Brushing the strands back from his forehead and sliding your lips over his. Brief touches, lingering into something deeper. Tender caresses of mouth’s, nibbling, and sucking softly on bruised skin. Dean starts to move getting a whimpered whine from your throat tightening your arms around him.

“Gotta clear you up sweetheart I’m not going anywhere,” reassuring you with another soft kiss while carefully pulling out of your tender depths. Mesmerized by the slick coating your tights and dripping from your convulsing walls. Brushing his fingers over the reddening swollen skin, gasp reaching his ears, eyes flying up to yours. Then flicking across your body seeing the beard burn on your neck and chest, hand prints blooming over your hips. “Did I hurt you?”

Sitting up to cup his cheeks, “No Dean you didn’t hurt me. If you had I would’ve told you.” Leaning in to kiss him tendering, “Better take care of that mess it’ll get awful sticky otherwise,” giving him a bright smile. Watching while he gingerly takes the spent condom off, tying it closed before tossing it into the waste bin by the night stand.

Raising to walk on shaky bowed legs to grab up the wash cloth from the sink. Wetting with warm water he turns back stunned to find you watching him with a grin on your lips. “Like what you see?”

“Hmm no,” seeing the frown you go to finish. “Love Dean, I see the man I love,” frown switching to teasing smirk as he nears the bed.

Nudging you to lay back and spread your legs, tenderly wiping you clean. Dragging the warm cloth over your folds and inner thighs. Tossing it behind him to crawl into bed gathering your pliant plush body against his hard chest. Back pressed into his front, arms wrapped tightly around your thick waist. Placing a kiss to your shoulder, “I love to you Y/N, get some rest I’m far from through with you.”

Soft giggles vibrate into his chest, “Careful you’re getting old baby you sure you’ll have the stamina?” Toying with the fingers tapping against your tummy sending shivers cross your body.

Low growl accompanies the drag of his teeth over your sensitive skin, drawing a moan from your lips. Pressing his hips into your generous ass, “Give me an hour sweetheart and I’ll show you just how much stamina your man has.”

[lubdubsworld]

Change of heart (Chapter 7)

Chapter 1   Chapter 2    Chapter 3     Chapter 4     Chapter 5   Chapter 6

Summary : Times are changing. After years of being oppressed, werewolves are taking a stand against humans , demanding equal rights and fair treatment. Heading the movement is Kim Taehyung, the breathtaking heir to the Kim fortune and one of the few remaining Alpha werewolves in the country. His disdain for the human race is well known and well warranted. They killed his family after all….. He wants to change the world , to put humans in their place but when his five year old daughter takes a shine to their very human neighbor , maybe he has to start with a change of heart , first.

: Pairing : Taehyung x OC / Werewolf AU!!

Genre : Romance, Explicit Content.

Chapter 7

The incessant buzzing of his phone was what woke Taehyung up, his entire body aching something fierce. 

He groaned , spitting  what felt like damp hair out of his mouth, blinking against the shaft of sunlight pouring into the room through the slats of the large windows . His bedroom faced the river, and every morning the sun spilled right into his bed , lighting the room up . He loved waking up to warmth and sometimes it made up for the absence of a warm body next to him on the bed. 

But today, with her wrapped around him, he hated the intrusion....wanted nothing more than to burrow into the bed and stay there for the rest of the year. 

It took him a second to realize that Mirae was lying on top of him and he was still, technically inside her. He had been so completely gone the previous night that he could barely remember a thing. 

Other than the fact that he hadn’t had sex that good in his life. Ever. 

Cupping the back of her head gently and wrapping one arm around her waist, he carefully rolled over, laying her gently on the bed next to him. She whimpered when he slid out of her and he winced when a rush of fluids spilled out of her, drenching his thighs and the sheets. 

Bits of the night began to come back to him then. 

Vague memories of fucking her to within an inch of her life. 

Guilt began to coil around his insides as he pushed the hair of her face. She looked like she had been mauled by an animal. Hickeys bloomed all over her neck, her jaw and even on the fleshy curve of her cheeks. Her hair looked matted with sweat and damp and cum . He had a mental image of her then, weakly crawling away when he tried to push into her for the fifth time, and she had been too sore to take him , begging him to let her suck him off  instead  and he flinched when he remembered holding her down against the pillow and fucking her mouth.

He’d managed to keep his knot out of her mouth, but he’d also had a really fierce orgasm, and his release had pretty much ended up all over her. 

His phone was still ringing and he reached across the bed to grab it, answering the call before checking who it was.

“Taehyung...are you alright?” It’s Dr. Lee and Taehyung blinks, surprised.

“Oh..yes. Dr. Lee , is everything okay?”

“I was only calling to check up on you. My sister told me that you were taking Ms. Yoon home and it made me wonder. Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, doc. In fact better than fine. My head is surprisingly clear. I was fully prepared for this thing to last like a week but I feel normal already.”

Dr. Lee laughed. 

“Perks of  biting your actual mate and not an impostor. How is she, by the way?”

Taehyung relaxed a bit, staring at the girl in his bed. He gently stroked the hair off her face, running the back of his fingers across the smooth skin of her cheeks. 

“She’s ... fine.” He said roughly, “ Or as fine as you’d expect her to be.” He added as an afterthought, remembering that she had tried to get up from the bed for a drink of water and her legs had given out almost at once.

“And the mating mark? Did you dress it up like I told you?”

“Yes... It wasn’t that deep but you should probably drop by tomorrow and take a look at it anyway. “ An incessant beeping told him he was getting another call and he quickly apologized and hung up on the doctor  taking the other call.

“Tae, the shipment isn’t here on time. We’ve been trying to find the CI who gave us the info and the fucker seems to have run aground. Either that or Yoon’s men got to him.... “ Seokjin’s voice trembled with frustration and anger.

“Oh...fuck hyung that’s bad. Okay, what does Namjoon think? “

“Namjoon says that we should go ahead with drilling that dude we caught during the raid last week, Jaehyun or whatever. He thinks he may have some clue because he was fucking one of the bigger suppliers’ daughter.” 

Taehyung groaned.

“What about the reports from the lab? Did they test positive for any other controlled substance? I know we’ve only focused on a couple of them ...I don’t want to be blindsided by anything. “

“That scientist dude is a pain in the ass, refuses to talk to anyone but you and definitely only in person. “ Seokjin scoffed.

“That’s fine.. I’ll be there in an hour. “ Taehyung said sharply.

Seokjin made a noise of disapproval.

“What? Namjoon told me you were with your mate.... You’re going to leave her?”

Taehyung rolled his eyes at that. 

“She’s not my actual mate hyung. As in... what we have isn’t like official or anything. She agreed to it because I asked her to help me out and she knows that this isn’t anything more than a business arrangement. I didn’t even want to do it but...sometimes you do things for the greater good....” 

He moved to get up out of the bed , levering himself up to stand. He felt better than he had in weeks, his body thrumming with vitality and his mind sharp and clear. 

“She’s human right? Is she actually okay?” 

Taehyung scoffed at the implication . 

“I’m not leaving her bleeding and unconscious, if that's’ what you’re wondering. I bought a bunch of pain stuff for her.... the kind humans use.” He felt that pang of disappointment again. 

She was incredible....beautiful and kind and full of heart, yeah but the fact that she was a human was ...... It was just cruel to her. 

. He had spouted some nonsense to her about wanting to do this everyday for the rest of their life but nothing could be farther from the truth than that.   The idea of having to handle his bedmate with kid gloves made him jittery and nervous. 

She was so fucking fragile and he had struggled so hard last night, holding back, over and over again and she had still come out of it completely wrecked.

If she were a wolf, she’d be perfectly fine by now. Healed and happy and probably even up for some morning sex.

And yes the last bit made him sound like a horny bastard but come on, he was a healthy young wolf and an Alpha at that and his libido had always been on the higher side.

He shook his head as though to clear the way his thoughts were heading. It was ridiculous that he was even thinking about this. It was over. He had claimed her. She was his. His wolf was calm now. He could go about his life without having to worry about going into rut or losing his mind at the thought of another wolf near her. 

And he would not feel guilty about it. 

there was something called the greater good. In the grand scheme of things, one night of discomfort would not cost her anything. But what he was doing was going to change the world for his people. 

Seokjin’s voice filtered in through his thoughts. 

“At least tell her before you leave, Taehyung. You’re literally the kind of bastard who would do something as insensitive as leave her after you mated her and then act like you did nothing wrong. ” 

Annoyed , Taehyung hung up without replying.

Glancing at her, he moved to touch her cheeks again. She was asleep. Sound asleep by the look of it. It would be far more insensitive to wake her up. He would go and meet the guy about the lab results and get back here before she was up. 

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

“Ow.” 

 I groaned , muffling my agony against the white sheets as I tried to will myself to get up. Breathe through the pain, I told myself firmly. You do not want to spend the entire day like this. You need a shower, stat. 

 “Taehyung?” I called out weakly, for what felt like the tenth time. But the eerie stillness in the room told me I was alone in the apartment.

 I fumbled with my phone, fighting the urge to call him. If he had left, there had to have been a reason , a reason important enough for him to leave and it struck me again that I had been a little hasty, agreeing to this. 

Fueled entirely by my wish to get rid of the excess amount of cum all over me., I dug both my elbows into the bed, lifting my self up to my hand and knees. The pain radiating from my spine, settling deep in my center and the harsh abrasions on my insides.....all of it was a reminder that I had definitely bitten off more than I could chew. 

The first thing I did was grab the pain killers on the table, popping three of them into my mouth and dry swallowing. It was a little past eleven in the morning and I was starving. But I had to get a shower first. 

The trip to the bathroom was an ordeal and I had to fight tears, just to stand. 

Okay. Maybe a bath was in order than. 

I fumbled with the taps, watching warm water fill the ceramic tub, sweating a bit in the humid room. I glanced at my thighs, lightly stroking the bruises and watching them bloom purple under my fingertips. 

The pain was already ebbing, the tablets doing their thing and with my head a little clearer, my thoughts felt heavy. Regret churned, curdling in my gut and I could taste heartbreak on my tongue. 

Sleeping with him had been a mistake. 

A colossal fucking mistake, I thought desperately. I was already feeling abandoned and miserable. I wanted to throw on some clothes and go find him in his office . Wanted to curl into his lap and then refuse to leave. 

But mostly I wanted to kick myself for feeling that way. 

Taehyung wasn’t ..... available for any kind of relationship.

 He was an Alpha werewolf and important man. 

An important bureaucrat. Someone with power and responsibility. A man driven by his need to protect his kind and destroy anyone who meant him harm.  

A man who would do anything to get his way , even if it meant seducing a human he didn’t even like. 

And he had seduced me I thought , feeling unaccountably upset at myself. 

In the  vivid light of day, with my body aching so fierce and my head spinning , I could remember everything that happened the previous day with a sort of vivid clarity. And it was almost an out of body experience, like watching the whole thing happen to someone else. 

The way he had framed his words, the soothing comfort, the reassurances. That stupid fucking dance in the living room with the most cliché song in the world, it was like something straight out of a chick-lit novel. Something only a naïve, immature , desperate woman would fall for. 

What a cruel heartless bastard, I thought angrily. There was no way he didn’t know the effect of his words and actions on me. There was no way he didn’t know that he was purposely playing the part of a loving partner just to break down any defenses I may have put up. 

And like an idiot I had fallen for it. 

Staring around at the apartment and realizing he had just left me to fend for myself, without so much as a note....... After spouting all that nonsense about making sure I was comfortable. 

And I realized with a jolt that he really only meant it for the sex. All that affection, all that concern had been just for the few hours he had me in his bed. When he meant he wanted to make me feel me meant it only for when we were having sex. 

Now that he had got what he wanted , he was back to being the guy he actually was. 

A complete stranger. 

It made me  feel so incredibly foolish . 

Wetness spilled onto my foot and I realized the tub was overflowing. I closed the taps quickly before pulling the drain to lower the water level a bit. 

Climbing in, I settled back against the hard edge of the tub, letting my eyes flutter shut as the warm water soothed my sore muscles. 

“You’re up?” 

Jungkook’s voice startled me, and I nearly went under.

“Careful.” Fingers gripped my shoulder, pulling me back to stability and I gasped out, running a hand over my face to get rid of the water. 

“You... Where did you come from?” I stared at him , gripping the edges of the tub and watching him.

Jungkook looked like a breath of fresh air, hair slightly damp and clad in a white t shirt and blue jeans. He was grimacing a bit, eyebrows furrowed in evident annoyance.

“This entire room reeks.” He complained, turning on the ventilator in the corner of the bathroom. 

I groaned, settling back and just staring at him as he rummaged in the cupboard, pulling out a few bottles, a fresh wash clothe and bottle of body wash. 

My body hummed in delight at the thought of actually being cared for. 

“I’m not even kidding, is this what having a mate is like? You look like you were in a fight with a thorny hedgerow.” He commented, making his way over , but not before stripping out of his shirt and wiggling out of his jeans. 

I hummed, enjoying the view for a second as he finally settled on a small ottoman, right next to the tub. 

I gave him a sweet smile.

“Why are you here?” I whispered. He reached over to press a kiss to my forehead.

“Hyung told me to come. He got caught up with work and he feels bad about leaving you here all by yourself.” 

“Kim Taehyung....told you to come take care of me. Sounds fake but okay.” 

Jungkook laughed.

“To be fair he actually told your brother. But Yugyeom’s busy and he also doesn’t want to see you naked and so he gave me a call.” Jungkook carefully squeezed a dollop of body wash onto the cloth, before gently smoothing the soft linen against my skin. His gaze held mine as he carefully lathered up my shoulders, my collarbones and the curve of my neck. He took care not to touch the dressing on my neck, where Taehyung had bitten me. 

I smiled when one finger stretched out, tracing circles on my skin . Jungkook was too young to be subtle , and I felt a pang of guilt when I saw the very obvious look in his eye.

 Arousal looked so blatant on his handsome face, lips parted, slicked wet. Eyes heavy and intent as he gently rubbed the skin near my throat, thumb now curving around my neck , gently pressing in. 

His gaze met mine and I held it, feeling his hands move lower, fingers curling lightly on the curve of my breasts. When I felt the brush of his thumb on the hard peak of my nipple, I grabbed his wrist.

Tugging his hand away gently, I used my free hand to lightly flick his forehead.

“Behave.” I warned. 

His gaze turned pouty and he let out a breathy, “ Just wanted to make you feel good noona.” 

“You made me feel a billion times better just by showing up here today. But, I don’t want you to get mauled by Taehyung in case he’s feeling territorial again.  ”   I smiled, shaking my head. “ I’ll take it from here. Why don’t you go wait in the bedroom and I’ll call you when I’m done so you can help me out. of the tub.”

Which in itself , probably wouldn’t be necessary. The pills had done their trick and other than feeling well fucked, I didn’t particularly hurt. 

“He doesn’t deserve you.” Jungkook’s voice was petulant , eyes clearly showing how upset he was. He moved back a bit but made no other attempt to leave.

“I thought you liked him.” I chuckled lightly as he carefully arranged the body wash and the washcloths near the tub. I reached for it myself, carefully scrubbing over my skin, for now ignoring the way Jungkook kept his eyes trained on my body as I pulled my legs up to wash them. It was odd, how little his gaze affected me compared to how my body had reacted to Taehyung last night. 

With Jungkook it was...just physical. 

I liked being touched , so I enjoyed sex with Jungkook. 

With Taehyung it had been something so much more.

The very idea of Taehyung touching me, the idea of him wanting to touch me..that had been so overwhelming. 

And so sex with Taehyung had blown my mind. 

“What do you mean, like him? “ Jungkook frowned. 

“It was always Tae hyung, this and Tae hyung that...” I teased. “ You were never subtle about your little man crush on him.” 

I carefully grabbed the showerhead, wetting my hair gently. 

Jungkook scoffed.

“Of course I like him. You can’t be a wolf and not like Kim Taehyung. He’s done so much for us.” He grabbed the shampoo off the counter but before I could take it from him, he squeezed a bit of it into his palms and sank his fingers into my hair.

“Let me do this for you, noona.,” He muttered , voice deep and soothing and I couldn’t contain the moan that escaped, his fingers feeling like heaven as they carefully lathered up the damp strands, massaging my scalp till my eyes fluttered shut.

“Taehyung has things he needs to do and ...well, I agreed to this just so he could avoid any distractions.” I said gently, reaching out and lightly touching his arm.

“That doesn’t give him the right to hurt you though. “ 

I laughed despite myself.

“Why do you think he hurt me?” 

Jungkook stopped his ministrations.

“You wear your heart on your sleeve.” 

I felt my breath catch at that. This thing with Jungkook, it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing where I felt comfortable enough sharing my feelings for someone else with him. I felt awful, embarrassed and annoyed that  something I hadn’t even fully known myself was , apparently obvious to the world.  . 

Embarrassed because it would never be reciprocated. 

Annoyed because I should have nipped this thing in the bud. 

But I couldn’t talk about this now. 

“It’s not... “ I hesitated. “ It’s not going to be a problem. For me. I’m going to fix it. “  The dull throb of the bite on my neck mocked me, even as I said it. I had agreed to something momentous , something that carried a lot of consequences behind it, and I had done it on a whim. 

Taehyung with his honey dripping tongue and gentle but firm hands had made me dance to his tune so perfectly. But now that the act was over, I was definitely in danger of drowning. 

“ So, you’re just going to hang around while he does his own thing.” Jungkook frowned.

“Actually she’s free to walk out anytime she likes.”

Taehyung’s voice broke through the bathroom like a clanging cymbal and I jerked out of the tub in shock.

Jungkook startled too, eyes going wide as he scrambled to his feet. 

Taehyung looked like he had stepped right out of a magazine. 

He was wearing a perfectly pressed pinstriped white button down and teal green slacks , a slim patterned tie , in hues of green and red, perfectly knotted at the base of his throat and  he also had on a waistcoat, fitting him like a glove, setting off his broad shoulders and trim waist. 

He had his hair styled into a perfect  part, the thick silky locks arching into perfect side bangs that fell into his eyes.

Eyes that held a whole lot of fury as they took in the sight of me, naked in his tub while an almost naked Jungkook had his fingers buried in my hair. 

“I thought you would still be sore from last night....but I suppose that isn’t true, if you felt the need to call for your fuck buddy so soon?” He drawled casually. 

I felt anger swell inside me.

“ Jungkook was kind enough to help me out because I couldn’t even move.” I gritted out. 

“A feat that required him to strip to his boxers?” 

“Hyung, just chill. If I fucked her you would be able to smell it. “ Jungkook snapped, moving to shrug his clothes back on. 

Taehyung ignored him , grabbing a pair of fluffy white towels from the linen closet.

He gave me a look.

“You done?” He asked shortly. 

And somehow, its the sheer disinterest in his tone, the gaze that may as well be directed at a stranger on the fucking road..... That is what really  stings.

I felt like the entire weight of every bad decision I had ever made in my life had just dropped on my head. Almost sagging from the sheer hurt permeating my entire body, I grabbed the edge of the tub and levered myself up, not even bothered that I was completely naked. 

I stepped right out of the tub, completely ignoring the way my limbs practically screamed in protest at the movement. 

I held my hand out for the towel, completely ignoring, Jungkook’s hasty, “ Fuck” or the way Taehyung’s eyes that had gone as wide as saucers. 

He held the towel out and I yanked it out of his grip, wrapping the fabric around my body. 

Taehyung let out a harsh, “ Get the fuck out of my house.” at Jungkook who quickly grabbed his jeans and stumbled out with a rushed.

“I’ll call you noona.” 

I glared at Taehyung, refusing to so much as acknowledge him as I pushed past him into the living room.

“Jungkook wait, I’m coming with you.” I called out angrily and the wolf stopped, looking surprised as he finished pulling his jeans on, fumbling with his buttons.

“Leave, Jungkook.” Taehyung snapped.

“Uh....” Jungkook stared between the two of us.

“Why the fuck are you still here?” This time Taehyung’s voice was louder, deeper, bordering on a true snarl and Jungkook recoiled.

“Fine. I’ll just get a cab then.” 

I turned to the bag with my clothes, grabbing the first thing I could get my hands on. 

Taehyung’s voice came from behind me , tired and weary.

“Please don’t leave.”

I stopped, closing my eyes and willing myself not to completely lose it.

“Please , just.... I know I shouldn’t be angry. This thing with us is ...nothing.” He said softly, which , fucking  ouch .  Having him actually say it was so much worse. 

But he wasn’t done.

  “  Its just a fucking favor you’re doing me, i know that is what it is. We don’t owe each other anything I know , but if you're gonna see Jungkook just... not in my house okay. I didn’t like him with you...in  my  house.”

I turned around to stare at him.

“What do you think I was doing with him in  your  house Taehyung? He came over to help because Yugyeom was busy. You were the one who asked him to check up on me....weren’t you?”

Taehyung ran his fingers through his hair. 

“I don’t fucking know...all I know is that my wolf smelled you and another alpha and-”

“You know you’re the only were who speaks like that...” I said angrily.

Taehyung blinked.

“Like what?”

“Like you and your wolf are two different entities. Like you can do any thing you want and then blame your damn wolf for it. And its beginning to piss me off.” 

Taehyung flinched at that.

“I’m just... I’m trying to do this in a way that our lives don’t get fucked up. I can’t... Your father....”

“I know. I know my fucking father is a scumbag and that he needs to rot in hell and I am willing to help you do it. But if only you could just.... give me a fucking break .,...” 

“I know...and I’m sorry. I just... I’m in a mess. Your father got rid of three of the dealers we could tie him to and it looks like there are other people involved in this whole thing. Other powerful men. I’m just... I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to do this without getting someone close to your father.”

I stared at him.

“Well, its not me. He hates my guts... He would never confide in me.”

“But he has a soft spot for a really close friend of mine....I believe you’ve met him....his name is Cha Eun Woo.”

I froze. 

“Taehyung....”  I groaned in disbelief. 

“I wanted to ask you if you would pretend to date Cha Eun Woo...”

I felt like my head was about to splinter in two. 

“Just long enough for me to get the info I need. Eun Woo is good at what he does and he can easily get into your father’s good graces, get him to confide in him and we could bring this entire fucking racket down...but the only way Eun woo could have access to your father would be through you.... “ 

Taehyung sounded desperate as he spoke, and I felt dangerously close to crying. 

“So it wasn’t enough that you got to fuck me? You’re just gonna pimp me out to your friends now...” I choked out.

“Fucking hell, Rae...That’s not what this is....This is for the...”

“Greater good.....yeah... I know.... I fucking heard you today morning on the fucking phone...Telling your friend how you had to suffer through a night with me for the greater good. And that's just perfectly fine....what I really don’t understand is why you had to fucking pretend like you actually gave a shit about me.... “ I  choked out , my eyes dampening against my wishes . 

Taehyung froze, eyes wide. 

Something awfully close to pity began to swim in them and I swallowed the bile rising up my throat. 

“Fine. Tell your fucking friend to come pick me up.” 

I couldn’t bring myself to even look at him. 

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

Author’s Note : Feedback is love.

Let me know what you guys thought. 

Taglist : @veronawrites

@ladyartemesia

@jincentvangogh

@bonyg

[drabbles-mc]

I Like Me Better

Nestor Oceteva x F!Reader

Request from Anon: Hi! If you’re doing requests can I get a short fic based on the song I like me better by Lauv with Nestor🥺

Part 2 can be found Here

Warnings: language, lots of softness and pining

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: (I know I’ve posted this story like 5 times today alone. So sorry to everyone who has been getting bombarded with it while I figure out my posting/tagging issues. Love y’all and I owe you xo) This story definitely took on a life of its own once I sat down and started writing it. I love me some Soft Nestor and the whole “almost relationship” type of deal. Hope you enjoy!

General Mayans Taglist: @mayans-sauce​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @paintballkid711​ @tomhardydallasstarsgirl​ @queenbeered​ @sillygoose6969​ @sesamepancakes​ @yourwonkywriter​ @chibsytelford​ @gemini0410​ @multiyfandomgirl40​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​  @plentyoffandoms @georgiaaintnopeach​ @twistnet​ @garbinge​ @themoonandthewicked​ @bucky-iss-bae​ @encounterthepast​ @everyhowlmarksthedead​ @rosieposie0624​ @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo​ @mijop​ @xladymacbethx​ @blessedboo​ @holl2712​

You were laughing as you watched snowflakes get stuck in Nestor’s facial hair and braids as he talked to you on the phone. Ever since you moved, the two of you had one weekly scheduled phone call, and one video chat. No matter what either of you were doing, you always made time for those two things. Even if for the rest of the week you didn’t really get to talk to each other, you always had those two things.

When Nestor said he was going to have to talk to you on the go before he called, you didn’t expect it to be quite so literal. You figured maybe he’d be driving, but wherever he was, he was walking, and it was snowing. He didn’t look thrilled about either of those things.

“I’m not made for the fucking snow,” he was trying to sound annoyed but you could see the laughter building up inside him.

“Good thing you didn’t move with me to New York then,” you laughed as you watched him brush snowflakes off of his eyelashes, “You’d never last out here.”

“Why would you voluntarily put up with this every year?”

“It’s pretty when you’re not being a baby about it,” you laughed, “Where did Miguel send you anyway?”

“Into the cold, that’s where,” he kept a serious expression for a moment before laughing.

“Next time you wanna experience the cold, come do it with me! My door is always open.”

“You’re the only person worth braving this shit for, Y/N,” he chuckled.

“Well,” you smiled at him from the warmth and comfort of your couch, “me and Miguel, apparently.” There was a knock at your door and you sighed, “Hold on a sec, I gotta grab that,” you got up and walked over to the door.

When you unlocked and pulled the door open, the phone dropped from your hands as you took in the sight of Nestor standing on your front step. You squealed, throwing your arms around him in a hug that swept you off the ground. He laughed as he held you tight against him.

He gently set you back down, making sure that your feet didn’t land in the snow on your steps, or on top of your discarded phone, “I told you, you’re the only one worth braving this shit for.”

“I can’t believe you’re really here!” without thinking better of it, you reached and cupped his face in your hands, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that he was actually standing right there in front of you. He let out a slight shiver and it snapped you back to the situation at hand. You laughed as you waved him inside, “Shit, come inside. Get out of the cold.”

You grabbed your phone off the ground before you shut and locked the door behind the both of you, mind reeling from the fact that Nestor was at your house. You’d been back home to visit a couple times since you moved away, but he’d never made the trek to New York. You couldn’t blame him—you knew what his life with Galindo was like. You were surprised that he was able to be that far away from the family without it causing some kind of issue.

“What brings you out my way?” you took his coat from him and hung it up, chuckling as the snow fell off of it onto the floor.

“You,” he replied, looking up at you with a smile as he took his shoes off, “I wanted to see you, and not just through a phone screen.”

His words made your entire body feel warm. You motioned for him to follow you into the kitchen, nodding towards the counter for him to sit while you got the both of you a cup of coffee. He needed it more to warm up than anything else. He looked around your house with an approving smile. You’d given him the video tour after you had moved all of your stuff in, but it looked so much better in person. It felt so homey. Your walls were covered with photographs and artwork that you’d brought from home. Nestor smiled to himself when he saw that he’d made it up on the wall in a few pictures, along with the rest of your family and friends back in California.

You set the hug down in front of him, and he chuckled when he saw I ❤ NY printed on the side of it. He cupped his hands around it, letting the warmth seep into his fingers from the ceramic, “Fitting.”

You sipped from your own mug with a smile, “Gotta manifest it, Nes.”

The two of you existed in silence for a minute while he thawed out. You watched him as he looked around your small home. It wasn’t much, especially compared to the homes of all the people in his circles back in California, but it was yours and you loved it. You had never been someone who needed much. You just needed to feel comfortable and safe, and this house did more than just that for you.

You noticed him staring at the photos on the walls and the fridge, and you smiled. A little bit of weight settled over your heart as you watched him study them, knowing that he was looking at the ones of the two of you. It was all bittersweet to look back on. The two of you hadn’t ever dated, but you danced around the outskirts of it for a long time. There were times when the lines felt a little fuzzy, but nothing ever really happened. You were best friends, and you knew that he’d do anything for you, and you for him. But the timing was just never quite right, life was just never quite calm enough to try and make it work.

When you had told him that you had accepted a job offer on the other side of the country, he was trying so hard to be happy for you, but it wasn’t easy. You were a port in the storm for him, and he had no idea what he was going to do without you around. But he was supportive. He helped you pack, scrolled through apartment and housing listings with you, and found the best deal on a plane ticket. He never let you see how much it had hurt him—those were feelings that he processed in private. He’d thought about coming out to visit you every day since you left, but he worried that if he did, he wouldn’t come back home.

Before either of you could spiral too far into the past, you spoke up with a smile, “So, how long are you in town for?” he didn’t have any bags, so you assumed that he couldn’t be in town for long.

“I’m not sure,” he rested a hand on the back of his neck, “Told Mikey I needed to take some time. And this was the first place I thought to come to.”

You couldn’t hide your surprise—work had always been a priority for Nestor. Miguel was at the forefront of his decisions, always. “Really?” you raised your eyebrows, “You…you can take a leave of absence with…what you do?” you couldn’t quite wrap your head around it.

He shrugged, “Apparently,” he chuckled, “He said alright. So, here I am.”

You could feel that it wasn’t what he wanted to talk about, so you let the topic drop, “Well, you know you’re more than welcome to stay for however long you want to. Although your lack of luggage is a little concerning.”

He laughed, “Got lost in the shuffle. Airline said they’ll mail it here.”

You shook your head, unable to contain your laughter, “Damn, that sucks. Welcome to New York.”

You were on the opposite side of the counter from him, leaning forward onto it, propped up by your elbows. The two of you started to catch up about things that slipped from your minds when you called each other. He told you about some of the chaos that he wasn’t allowed to say over an unsecure phoneline. You listened intently, fighting the urge to reach out and entwine your fingers with his. Everything felt so right with him there with you.

“Sorry,” he chuckled as he took another sip of his coffee, “I don’t mean to do all the talking. I’ve just…I’ve missed having you to talk to.”

You nodded, “I know the feeling,” you drummed your fingers on the surface of the counter, “Well, now that you’re here, normally I’d say we should go do touristy things. But something tells me you’ve had your required dose of snow for the day?”

He laughed, “What’ve you got in mind?”

You shook your head, “Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow. I’m sure you’ve had a long enough day. We can camp out at least until your luggage gets here. Or I can take you shopping, whichever you prefer.”

He smiled at you, “I think I’m alright with staying in.”

“That’s what I figured,” you chuckled, “Well, I was not expecting company. I’m assuming you’ll be alright with ordering in?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“I know this really great Chinese place. Their wonton soup is…perfection.”

The two of you made your way to your living room and sprawled onto the couch. You leaned up against Nestor’s side as you got your phone out to place the order. You picked a few things that you wanted to eat before handing it to him so he could pick stuff as well. While he was looking through the menu, you turned on the television and pulled the blanket off the back of your couch so it covered the both of you.

Nestor handed your phone back to you so you could place the order. He’d hardly noticed how you tucked the both of you in. He smiled as he rested his arm against your side, hand brushing lightly against your stomach.

“Is this…”

“I decided last week that I was going to rewatch all of Law & Order SVU from the very beginning,” you laughed.

He shook his head with a laugh, “Do you have a moral objection to happy shows or…?”

“It’s a good show!” you snuggled into him a little more.

“What has New York done to you?”

You smiled and shook your head, “Given me time to do shit like this.”

“You like it here though?” his eyes were watching the television, but one hand was gently massaging circles into the side of your neck.

“Yea, I do. It’s a nice change of pace—I think it was the right move for me,” you glanced up at him and smiled, unbelievably happy about the fact that he was really laying on your couch in New York with you. Never in a million years did you think that would happen.

Once the food got there the two of you switched up your positions a little bit. The TV was still on but neither of you were paying attention to it. You were each sitting cross-legged facing each other on the couch. You were laughing as you watched him fumble with his chopsticks. You had forks, obviously, but it was a matter of pride whenever you two ate together because he knew that you were extremely good at using them and he didn’t want to be left out.

“Almost two years since we got Chinese together and you didn’t use any of that time to teach yourself how to use chopsticks?”

He chuckled as he struggled with his noodles, “Didn’t make it to the top of my priority list, I apologize.”

“I’ll teach you before you leave. Way better than taking back a cheesy souvenir,” you smiled at him as you picked up a piece of chicken.

As the night wore on, your coffee table became covered in takeout food boxes, and a couple empty bottles of wine that the two of you had managed to drink your way through. You were sprawled across his lap, wine glass lightly hanging from your fingertips as you rambled on about what you had been up to since you moved. Nestor couldn’t take his eyes off of you, soaking up the fact that he was able to be so close to you.

“I’ve missed you,” you veered off your current story completely as you felt the warmth from his hand soak into your leg.

He looked at you, laughing quietly at the sudden admission, “I’ve missed you too.”

“Were you ever mad at me for leaving?”

He shook his head, no hesitation in his answer at all, “Of course not,” he studied your face, the way your skin glowed whenever you drank, the way your eyes got a little glassy when you had more than just one glass of wine, “Doesn’t mean that I don’t miss you, though.”

You hummed in quiet contentment as he reassuringly rubbed his hand up and down your leg, “I think about you all the time.”

His hand stilled for a moment and you were afraid that maybe you were saying too much. Maybe the reason that things worked so well was because everything was in limbo. Before you could worry too much he gave your leg a light squeeze, “I think about you too.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence after that, resituating yourself so that your head was resting against his chest. It was hard to focus on much of anything when all you could think about was the way your body was pressed up against his. The steadiness of his breathing felt like the only thing that was still grounding you. Your entire body felt warm from the wine, but deep down you knew it was more than just that.

“If you’re tired,” he spoke up after a few minutes of silence, “you can go to bed. Don’t exhaust yourself on my account,” there was a smile on his face.

You stretched, fighting back a yawn, “Come with me,” you sat upright and looked over at him, “I won’t lie to you, my guest room is empty because I have been putting off buying furniture for it,” you chuckled, “And my bed is way more comfortable than the couch, believe me.”

“Yea,” he nodded, his voice soft as he bit back a laugh, “okay.”

He followed you up the stairs and into your room, looking around the house as he did. It was hard for him to wrap his head around what your life was like now that you were so far away from everything that you had grown up with, everyone you had grown up with. It seemed like you had created such a cozy little life for yourself, and it couldn’t help but to think that you might never have had that if you hadn’t taken the plunge to move across the country.

“Don’t mind the clothes,” you apologized as you flicked on the light to your bedroom, “I promise they’re clean—I just hate folding laundry.”

He laughed, shaking his head, “It’s fine.”

You changed into a baggy long-sleeve shirt and a pair of shorts, immediately crawling underneath your blankets. You nestled back against your pillow and looked over at Nestor, who was unbuttoning his shirt, eyes cast down at the floor.

You were lying on your side, scrolling on your phone when you felt the mattress dip as Nestor climbed into bed beside you. He pulled the blanket up over himself and rolled onto his side so he could look over at you. You looked up from your phone, a smile starting to take over your features as you took in how close he was to you. You set your phone off to the side and rested your cheek against the palm of your hand.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” you said with a laugh.

“Give it a couple days,” he joked, “Soon you’ll be begging for me to go back home.”

You snuggled closer to him, resting your face against his chest, “I doubt it.”

You woke up the next morning to the feeling of Nestor’s arms wrapped tightly around you, keeping you snug against his chest. Taking a slow, deep bre ath you took in the fact that this was really happening. He shifted slightly, arms squeezing you for a moment before he settled back into his sleep. The selfish part of you never wanted him to go home because you would love to wake up like this every morning. The warmth trapped underneath the blanket made you forget about the fact that there was a considerable amount of snow covering the ground outside.

You let your eyes close again as you focused on the steady beat of his heart. You slowly slid your legs and tangled them up with his. A few moments later you felt his fingers sliding lightly up and down your back. You glanced up at him and smiled when you saw that his eyes were still closed, but there was a peaceful smile on his face. You don’t ever remember seeing him so calm, so relaxed.

“Good morning,” he mumbled as he pressed his hand flat against your back, pushing you against him.

You chuckled as you rested your hands against his chest, “Good morning. You sleep okay?”

“Mhm,” he finally opened his eyes, “like a fucking rock,” he laughed.

You smiled up at him, “Good.”

The two of you laid there, soaking up the quiet peacefulness of the morning. You hadn’t woken up wrapped up in someone’s arms in a very long time, and there was something about the clinginess of Nestor’s grasp that told you he was in the same boat. You smiled to yourself as you felt his fingers lazily massaging between your shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come visit sooner,” he said.

You pulled back away from him so you could get a better look at his face, “You don’t have to be sorry—I know your life doesn’t make it easy. It’s hard to find the time.”

“I should’ve made the time.”

“Nes, don’t—”

He cut you off as he shook his head, “I’m not trying to make excuses. I know that I should’ve come out to see you. I just, I knew that it was going to be hard to convince myself to go back home once I did. I like me so much better when I’m with you,” he gently cupped your face in his hand.

You rested your hand over his, “Well, I like you all the time,” you smiled, “And no matter what, I’ll always be here whenever you need a break to recharge and get away from everything for a little while. But listen,” you waited for him to look at you, “don’t spend all of your time here thinking about the fact that you think you should’ve made it out here sooner. None of that matters. You’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

He rested his forehead against yours, “See? That’s what I mean—how am I supposed to go back home after that?” you could see the hint of a smile on his face.

You laughed, “Just remember how much you hate the snow. Short vacations out this way will be just right for you.”

He chuckled and shook his head, “Yea, maybe.”

You gave his hand a light squeeze, “C’mon, let’s go make breakfast and see if your luggage will come in today or if I get to take you shopping.”

He laughed, rolling his eyes, “Can’t wait for that.”

You flung the blanket off the both of you and hopped out of bed. Walking around to Nestor’s side, you held out your hands and pulled him up, laughing as he exaggeratedly stumbled into you and wrapped you in a hug. Your laughter was muffled against his chest but he reveled in the way it all felt.

While you were measuring out grounds into the coffee maker, you saw Nestor out of the corner of your eye looking through your fridge, trying to see what he could salvage to make breakfast with. You smiled to yourself as you set the pot to brew. You leaned back against the counter and watched him pulling things out from the drawers of your refrigerator.

“Playing chef today?” you asked with a smile.

“Better me than you,” he laughed.

You feigned offence, “Excuse you, I am an amazing cook.”

He smiled as he set everything out on the counter, “You are, but I’m better.”

“But I’m better,” you mocked with a laugh, “Cocky.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“How long did you say you were staying again?” you laughed.

“At least until I learn how to use chopsticks,” he chuckled as he looked through your cabinets for a frying pan, “So it might be a while.”

You couldn’t make yourself take your eyes off him, “Good.”

He heard the softness in your tone and looked over at you from his food prep on the counter. He smiled, tilting his head slightly as if to ask if there was something that you wanted to say. You shook your head with a small smile before walking over and wrapping your arms around his middle, the side of your face resting against his back. You didn’t know how long he was going to be staying, but you knew that regardless you were going to be making the most of it.

[secret-rendezvous1d]

YESS!! OMG!! your recent post ... a prompt where he gets out and he’s just trying to get used to the normal life again and one day he has like a break down at their apartment and when yn comes back from work her heart just breaks :( she comforts him and tells him how much she loves, cares, and missed him and he just feels so loved after being in prison for a long time and not really loving who he is in there

Oh, god. Sweet baby-

Mess.

When she stepped foot through the front door, she tripped over an overturned book that had somehow ended up in the entryway of their apartment. Her brow furrowing in confusion because it was a rather inconspicuous place to leave an open book... but, as she looked in a little further into their home, her eyes were met with an empty bookcase and a floor full of books that were open and face-down and seemingly thrown haphazardly. 

It was a mess.

When she closed the door and picked up the books in her path, rounding the corner into their living room, she was greeted with smashed glass and a broken lamp that laid shattered upon the linoleum wood of their floor-plan. A lightbulb crunching under her footsteps, ceramic turning to dust beneath her shoes and she caught the toe of her trainer against the covered wire that had been torn free from the plug still in the wall socket. 

It was a mess.

Her first thought was that they’d been robbed, as anyone would think if they saw what YN had seen upon her arrival home. That someone had broken into their home and taken some of their most valuable possessions and smashed up their belongings because destruction was all these criminals lived for to show a dominance they only dreamed of having. Expecting her jewellery to have gone missing, her second set of credentials, her photos overturned and her drawers completely ransacked.

But a tiny sniffle and a wet cough muffled behind the bedroom door brought her back to reality and she wanted to laugh at herself - Spencer had been at home all day so how the heck would a robber even make it through the door and be as silent in this amount of ruckus? 

“Spencer?”

She taps her knuckles against the wood of the bedroom door and wrapped her hand around the knob, twisting it and slowly pushing it open, a creak filling the silence of the house. Not really sure of what she was expecting, hoping for the best and expecting the worst so she was prepared on both ends.

But the bedroom was empty and there was a huge contrast to the living room; the bed was still neatly made and the bedside lamps were still intact and their clothes weren’t thrown on the floor from the open doors of the wardrobe. One of her sweaters was missing, she could see from the empty hanger that was swinging on the rail, and she could feel a pit in her stomach beginning to form. But she felt a wash of relief over her because it was far from a break-in and her mind felt a little more at ease given that she wasn’t a victim in her own home.

There was still a sense of unease though... over her loving boyfriend.

“Spencer?”

“YN?”

Her name comes out in a whimper, almost surprised at the sudden presence of his girlfriend, spoken in question. A soft, wet and shaky whimper that he most definitely would have considered pathetic if he heard himself speak with a tone. The bathroom door was open, with just a slither at the frame, and the light was switched on and she didn’t understand how she’d missed it when she entered the bedroom - she wasn’t really looking there yet so she blamed the ignorance on the matter. 

When she opened the door, he was in the bathtub. His long legs bent up to his chest, arms holding them to his body with his socked feet pushing against the side of the tub, her sweater draped over his legs and clutched in a tight fist like it would disappear if it touched the floor after he dropped it. His cheeks were red, his eyes were bloodshot and his lips were bitten raw and his hair looked messy and like it had been pulled over time. 

“Spencer-”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. And it’s broken. He looks broken. His eyes innocent and lost and she hated seeing him like that; this wasn’t the Spencer she knew and it most definitely wasn’t the same Spencer she had picked up from prison after he was freed. This was the shell of a man she once knew, someone she longed to have back, someone she loved with all her heart and felt heartbroken by the changes he was forced to make to survive. “I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head and swallows back a lump in her throat, climbing into the tub beside him and laying an arm over his shoulders, pulling him into her side.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Spence.”

“I trashed our house,” he scoffs heavily and it’s filled with tears, “I-”

“That doesn’t matter, baby. We can buy new lamps and we can buy new bulbs and some new books, Spence. That’s all material stuff that we can replace. But, we can’t buy a new you,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and inhaling the sweet scent of her own shampoo that clung to the curled strands of his hair, “I don’t want to replace you.”

There’s a sob that breaks free from his chest. A loud, guttural sob that shook his body to the core and she swore it brought tears to her eyes. It wasn’t the upset he was feeling, it wasn’t the stress he was going through and it wasn’t because of the changes he needed to get used to... it was the sob that tore her to bits. A dribble of tears leaking down her cheeks.

“You won’t have to.”

“Good,” she smiles wetly and he looks up at her, “I missed you. I missed you all the time and-”

“I missed you, too.”

His forehead bumps against hers and his eyes shut in contentment, his warm breathing flushing over her face, her hands coming up to cup his cheeks with both palms, thumbs brushing over his wet cheeks to wipe away the falling tears and the moisture that was left behind in their tracks.

“Whoever you were in there, whatever you did, it’s over. You never have to go to that place again, you never have to think about it again, you never have to think about leaving me or our home or the team again,” she presses a kiss to one of his wet cheeks and then presses another kiss to his other cheek, “you’re back here, you’re safe, you’re not on your own anymore. I’m right here. I hated seeing you in there, I hated thinking about you in there and I could see how you hated being stuck in there as an innocent man.”

An eye peeks open and looks at her.

“We knew you were innocent. I knew you were. I’m never leaving you, okay? I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to go somewhere,” she nuzzles her nose to his as he grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners and squinting up and it’s the first proper smile she’s seen from him in a long, long time. “I love you, Spencer Reid. And I’ll love you, always.” 

“Thank you for trusting me, for believing me, for staying here and standing by my side.”

His lips look inviting to her and all she’s wanted to do, from the moment he came home, was kiss him for every second they missed together and she takes that opportunity without letting another minute go missing and cups his face in her palms. Tasting the salt from his tears and feeling the moisture from his tears on her own lips, hard and deep and one that had pent up emotions behind it. A kiss he had longed to have, one that he wouldn’t take advantage of, a fear in his chest because he didn’t want one kiss to be their last. 

“I really do love you, YN.” xx

[katzkinder]

Tarte Tatin

[Here's the follow up to "Strawberry Madeleine" I said I'd do! 🥳 Feat: Tsurugi getting all the presents. All of them. And a very special gift from Freya.]

Tsurugi can’t remember the last time he was so excited for his birthday.

Actually, that’s a lie. He absolutely can. The last time was when he turned twenty and had gone out, ID in hand and stupid grin on his face, to buy as much beer as Yumikage’s credit card could handle as the first official adult of their little trio (or as much as the clerk would let him purchase). Two bikes, three idiots, and three cases of cheap beer, all pedaling towards the ocean on a beautiful, moonlit night, not a cloud in the sky.

The only thing that had dampened his mood then was the heat of Yumikage’s back against his as he stared up at the sky, at the moon, and recalled the promise he had asked his friend to make, and the offer of freedom he had turned down.

Neither of those things were a problem anymore.

Never again would Hod have to worry over killing Baldr to save him from himself.

~~~

The venue is, of course, Yumikage’s apartment. The walls are thick, the living room is large, and there’s no one there but him to bother if they get rowdy (aside from the neighbors, but Tsurugi never cared much for what they thought).

Most importantly, though, it’s a familiar place. Every year, ever since Yumikage started living in the high end apartments, each of them would have their birthday there. It was also the place Tsurugi went to when he no longer had a home, his best friend opening his own to him, and Tsurugi had felt so guilty, had been so worried, about what that change would mean for them.

As it turned out... It didn’t mean much at all.

Of course, with his weird sense of boundaries and how touchy he can get with people he likes, other people might not agree. --Especially when he and Yumikage still shared a bed.

~~~

All the guests had arrived. First, of course, were Jun, Takuto, and surprisingly, Jun’s parents. Tsurugi had hefted Takuto onto his hip, chirping at them all to come in, and led them to the living room where they had prepared snacks, drinks, big, big bowls of pretty much everything you would need for a party. Chips and dips and little trays of veggies, big two liters of soda and a store bought cake chilling in the fridge, hard candies and caramels, even a crummy cheese platter with little tiny sausages and crackers.

Next had been Freya, Iduna, and the two subclasses Takuto had taken to calling his uncles, much to their delight. Opening the door, he’d been met with three party poppers being set off in his face, Iduna, Gil, and Ray shouting their congratulations at him while he had stood there, stunned, trying to process the colorful streamers and confetti now decorating his head, shoulders, and the entry hall. Soon, though, he was laughing, dragging them all in by the arms while Freya shook her head and tried not to look too fond, a gentle scolding on her lips while C3’s ace inventor promised to clean up the mess herself.

Four presents joined the pile, and four more members of his family joined the festivities.

Finally came the Sloth pair, Kuro and Mahiru, and the gift he had been told to open immediately. The one that almost made him cry. So small, so little, so… Perfect.

Turning to bring them back to the group, Tsurugi thought to himself, All these people… Are happy I was born.

At that point, the tears he had been holding back started to overflow, quickly dripping down his face and onto the floor, much to the Sloth pair’s worry. Even Kuro, as blank faced as he normally kept himself, was clearly startled. Clearly worried. About him.

It only made the tears come faster.

“Uwah! Tsurugi-san?! Why are you crying!”

A watery laugh, quickly wiping his face on the back of his hand while Mahiru crowded closer to fuss. “I’m just glad you’re all here is all…!”

Ah. How embarrassing.

~~~

As it turned out, they didn’t need that second, store bought cake at all. The one Mahiru had brought with him, had made himself from scratch, was more than enough. There were even leftovers, sitting happily in Yumikage’s fridge and waiting to be devoured the next day.

And, of course, after cake came presents.

Jun’s parents had given him a new set of chopsticks, glossy black ones patterned with colorful paper cranes, and a matching paper crane shaped ceramic rest to go with them. From Gil and Ray, he’d received a new wallet, smelling of leather and, frankly, making him too nervous to ask if it was genuine or not. Such an expensive gift was… Not something he deserved, he felt, but he’d accept it gratefully nonetheless. From Takuto, he’d gotten the most adorable little wolf themed coin purse, as well as a handmade card. Jun gave him a new to go mug. Yumikage had grinned, sliding him a little box containing earrings that sparkled and showe and Tsurugi very nearly leapt at him if it weren’t for his idiot friend clarifying “They’re fake, dumbass. You like sparkly stuff though, right?”

“Don’t scare me like that!” he had complained, swatting Yumikage on the chest while the other man had snickered to himself. Really, he should have known better.

And now, he is here, with Iduna thrusting a misshapen gift into his arms with the biggest, most excited grin.

… He hopes it doesn’t blow up.

Tearing the bright, shiny paper away reveals a pillow shaped like a strawberry, red fading into pink and green leaves at the top. The smell immediately slaps him in the face and he wastes no time burying himself in it, a reverent, “It’s so soft…!” on his lips that make the people around him giggle. “Jun-chan, feel how soft it is!”

“I modified a pillow I bought for you!” Iduna gushes, and Tsurugi’s attention snaps to her, her cheeks just as rosy as his no doubt are with elation. “Freya helped me add a little pocket with velcro so I could put a scent pack inside! Also it’s made with memory foam so you can squish it as much as you want and it’ll always go back to it’s proper shape! Oh, and, here’s the remote, cuz I added a temperature change feature, too, so it’s never too hot or too cold and…” A hand on her shoulder has her chattering trailing off and she peeks at Ray, who seems to be holding back laughter. “Ah, oops! Sorry...” A sheepish chuckle, the girl wilting ever so slightly. “I just got so excited from your reaction…”

“I love it,” Tsurugi assures her, squeezing the gift tight. “Iduna-chan’s so smart! I’d be excited to give this to somebody, too!”

Iduna perks up once more, back to her beaming smile, and Freya… Nudges her present forward. For some reason, she looks nervous, and Tsurugi reaches for it curiously.

“Lately, I’ve been… Looking into making jewelry,” she explains, arms folded across her chest and black gloved fingers digging into her skin, awaiting Tsurugi’s response as he slides back the cover on the box. “Iduna showed me how to work with some of her tools, like things for cutting metal…”

“Freya…” Tsurugi breathes, cutting what he now realizes are anxious ramblings over having an overlapping gift short, “You made these?” In that little aqua colored box, with its white ribbon and bow so cutely done on top, are a set of earrings. Where Yumikage’s had been studs, these would dangle, little seashells carefully connected to ribbon by a simple loop of gold and a single bead, the same yellow as his eyes. Picking one up, the deep, navy colored ribbons, satin finish, flutter delicately. “They’re beautiful…”

He glances away from his gift just in time to see Freya start to turn pink. He swallows, wets his lips, and carefully, carefully, brings the box closer to his chest. “I can really have this? Like, really really?”

“Of course you can,” Freya answers, relaxing ever so slightly. “I made them for you.”

Right. That’s right. These were… Made especially for him. Him, Kamiya Tsurugi, twenty seven years old today. This gift… Is his. It’s his alone.

… Oh. That’s right. Back then… Freya had asked for…

I don’t have anything I can give to you…

You have two of these. Maybe you can give me one.

We… Except this body… Have nothing else to call our own. Aside from that… There is nothing I can offer.

In this world… Exists things that you should share and bear the burden of with other people, as well as things you yourself must treasure. You must… Understand which is which.

A… Are you angry...?

I am.

Back then, he had told her… That he had given up. Back then, what she had wanted… Was for him to take her hand. In the end... He hadn't. But they were happy.

“... Freya. Are you proud of me? I finally… Grew up!” I finally got angry. I finally fought back.

“... I am. Very, very, proud.”

[oftenderweapons]

Mold Me New (1) – Taehyung

A Small Town Swoons story

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Wordcount: 3.2k

Genre: ceramic artist!Taehyung, divorced!reader, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Slice of Life

Rating: 18+ (for future smut and explicit thoughts)

Hello to my readers!!!  Welcome to the Small Town Swoons Universe! 🥰✨

In this episode: Introducing the reader’s backstory, exploring her life as a wife and then as a single woman who is slowly getting to know herself as an individual person.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: There are mild curse words, a bit of a sad vibe regarding falling out of love and getting a divorce, description of several bad dates and good ones that end badly, mention of getting drunk, mention of sex toys, mention of one night stand.

In case you like my writing, here is my directory for idol!AUs, scenarios and imagines, and in case you need it, here’s the Spotify music companion.

I forgot to mention, bc I’m dumb and bc we’re becoming one body with two souls, but this chapter (as most of the decent, edited things I post) was beta read by the magical @joheunsaram​ (she’s recently lost her previous blog and she’s rebuilding it, please go say something nice and YOU SHOULD FOLLOW HER SHE’S A QUEEN ,,,,, my queen 🥺✨)

Enjoy 💜✨

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7 

When you fall in love with someone, the feeling is like entering a chocolaterie. The scent engulfs you, full and rich and sultry, igniting your senses, the heat making your skin glisten in a light sheen of perspiration, making you exceedingly vulnerable to pointless stuff, like the way your lover exhales. Or their hands skimming your arms.

At least, that was what your best friend had told you.

You had none of that. To you love was a daisy being twirled under your nose, sharing cotton candy, the smell of crisp apples, flannel sheets, the sound of dead leaves crackling under matching footsteps, a sturdy but shiny steel band around your finger suddenly substituted by a golden one.

That had been the beginning of the end. When practicality and simplicity had turned into conventionality and disinterest.

When gifts stopped being things you loved and became things he thought you loved. And then things everyone loved.

When love became a chore, that's when everything crumbled. When kisses became just a good morning and a welcome back, when there were no more laughs echoing in the kitchen, when leaves kept falling but it was your footsteps alone making them crackle, when flannel sheets kept feeling warm but still something was missing — because someone was missing — when suddenly there was no more time for fairs and cotton candy, when daisies became roses, Love stopped making sense. It stopped having a meaning for you.

You were no longer sure of the life you had built with the man of your dreams, the boy you had fallen in love with when you were eight, the guy who had walked with you across the corridors of your high school, who had made you twirl under the lame disco ball of your prom, who had gone through college finals with you, who had spent three summers making your hangout spot into a home, turning the small old shack into a proper place for you to build a new life together. He was your first kiss, your first valentine, your first time. He was the man at the end of the aisle, the man who would walk with you until the last of your days.

But one day he started running and you still walked.

Or maybe you were both running in different directions, no longer on the path to the same destination, your priorities somehow switched.

Of course, it wasn't his fault.

It wasn't yours either.

You had both participated in this small unraveling, and you had both expressed the intention of changing, of finding compromise, an in-between, without either of you actually making the effort of fixing your trajectory, small habits and old pet peeves pulling you even farther apart.

The attempts — multiple ones — were painstakingly embarrassing. There were tears on both sides as you wondered what had caused this sudden rift that separated you — except it wasn't sudden, only your realisation was; the crevasse had been there for way longer. Maybe it had started as a small chipping the very day you met him, and it wasn't until now that you realised how the small sign had turned into an ominous presence, and then into unfathomable, inevitable doom.

And then the divorce.

It had been disgustingly easy, both parties agreeing on the procedures.

You didn't want the house. And you didn't need it. He didn't either.

Selling it had been exceedingly painless, you had shared the money, since he wanted to offer you stability. He already knew you would both suffer and he didn't want you worrying about rent. He was still your friend, after all.

Going back to being alone scared you at the beginning, until you realised that few things were truly bothering you. At least there wasn't this ghost of a human making you doubt all of your plans. You could plan dinner five days ahead or improvise. You could go to the restaurant as a last minute deal. You could go on long walks without the 'I'm sorry baby, emergency' making you rush back to town.

It felt like a bit of a liberation.

And your family's bookshop was doing well enough, since it was situated near the college and it also offered printing service.

Of course there were bad days. Sometimes you woke up searching for a body beside yours, however that feeling had significantly subdued after you had gotten used to the new bed. You missed human contact, being close, intimate with someone, having someone who knows you that deeply.

And then the true nightmare.

Finding someone new.

You were genuinely uninterested in dating. You had given it a go and it had sufficed.

It wasn't your world.

How could it possibly be?

You had never dated. You had basically offered your heart to the person that has always owned it. It's not like you had any experience in that labyrinth that is dating. All those unspoken social norms and the pining and tension. You only knew the comfort of a warm hug, the beauty of a kiss sparking from innocence and affection and slowly turning into steady, warm passion. You didn't like infernos, you liked candles. You liked the domestic hearth. You liked moderation.

And dating was all about extremes, from strangers to 'I'm inspecting your throat' on date one. And then suddenly it's date three and the same guy who brought you to a pizza place and a diner is suddenly going out of his way to bring you to a pretentious, expensive restaurant as a way to propitiate the possibility of you dropping your panties.

You had allowed this foolery only three times. Apparently all the suitable suitors were either really prone to pushing the pedal or had a passion for tongue gastroscopies.

The first one, Albert, had been quite the gentleman on date one. On date two he started making inappropriate jokes with a heavy body shaming undertone — a bit cliché for the stereotypical gym rat. And on date three he had dropped all pretenses at politeness and had outright palmed your ass in public, which made you rightfully uncomfortable. As you pointed that out, he proceeded saying that after all it was your third date and it was time to loosen up a little.

You didn’t even bother staying for dinner, left a bill on the table and left.

No matter the first disappointment, you decided not to let that disrespectful fool slow you down. And since your best friend knew everything about rat headed number one, you allowed her to set you up with one of her colleagues after she reassured you he was nothing like the one before.

Except somehow he was. The first date was at the local pub, and you somehow found yourself getting along well, his jokes were funny and he had good timing, he was relaxed, confident but still a bit clumsy and shy. He could be a good candidate.

But that was before he pushed his tongue to your tonsils as he kissed goodbye.

You gagged.

On date two he admitted you weren’t exactly his type. You were glad to reciprocate the statement after he told you his dream was having four children and a farm, alluding to the fact that his bride needed to be the perfect housewife.

You were pretty adamant that was not the kind of future you wanted for yourself.

Candidate number three was a guy you had met while grocery shopping, and somehow he had impressed you in an absolutely positive way on date one and two. Everything had been perfect, he was kind, considerate and well-mannered. Date three had been innocent, simple, down-to-earth. And then date four. Perfect dinner at his place. He had made you swoon and he had a very pretty cat he was very affectionate with.

He was the first man you had felt desire for in a very long time — almost eight months after your divorce.

The sex had been decent for being a first time.

And then he had entirely disappeared and never texted or called you back, which didn’t sit entirely wrong with you. You wished him all the best but you were actually glad. You liked being you and doing your own thing: having someone too much down your neck, getting in a relationship, having to check in with another person again felt more like a burden than a win.

Maybe it was just a coping mechanism to avoid facing the fact that he had been someone you could have liked, someone you could have built something with.

You were a happy woman, and it’s not like you really felt lacking or incomplete, like some of your single friends felt. And you had no intention of starting a family anytime soon, no matter if your old high school classmates had begun popping out kids left and right. You were more than happy to live the teen and early-twenty years you had spent in a relationship.

You were getting to know yourself in a way most of your friends didn’t have time to — you could already see them going through a midlife crisis after their kids became old enough to navigate life by themselves, which meant no more need for overprotective, and sometimes borderline suffocating, mothers, who suddenly found themselves with too much free time and too little tasks to complete.

Knowing your needs made you a stronger, better woman, and solitude had gifted you a level of introspection and balance that you doubted they could ever reach; maybe that was an arrogant consideration, but you knew there was no way knowing and loving yourself would ever bring you to crying over disrespectful, ungrateful youth whose only fault was that of growing up out of their mothers’ plans.

Unfortunately, there was no way your family — especially your grandmother — could ever tolerate the idea of you not needing a man and a family to be happy.

“Oh, come on, isn’t it time for you to bring a nice fellow back home?”

You shook your head as you and your grandma took a walk along the river, the sunny March afternoon feeling way too nice to stay at home. “Granny. There’s no people like Grandad anymore.”

“Oh, darling. You’re starting with the wrong role model. Not even back in my days we had men like him. He was the exception.” She nodded to herself with a sweet smile, remembering the husband she had lost a few years back.

“It’s so frustrating. And after all that happened… You know how it was. We were together for years. He was the only one I had. I don’t even know how to do these things. And books cannot teach you stuff like that. The more you read, the more you realise that most of these men had never even seen a rom com.”

“Oh, come on, but you have the internet these days! Can’t you find him in there? You have all these phones and computers and everyone has them, there must be a good one in the internet.”

She always said that “in the internet”. Like it was a physical place.

“I don’t even want to look in there, Granny. There are so many dangers in there.” You shuddered as you thought at the funny instagram pages where the people posted screenshots of the worst descriptions. All the embarrassing playboys and the fishermen and the lame wanna-be poets.

“Right… How can you know he is really is a person?” She considered, patting your back proudly. “You’re pretty. And you’ve always had the most perfect bum of all your cousins. Just like mine!” She grinned cockily, giving a playful smack to your ass, making you laugh loudly.

“It won’t last long.” You said, looking down. Solitude scared you sometimes. Being old and alone could be hard on the spirit and you had a feeling that old hag you would curse your dumb arrogance and inconsideration. However, for now you were still somehow making it through. Your divorce was finalised almost ten months ago. You could still consider yourself just fresh out of it.

“You’re smart. And I’m sure you have a lot to offer. You’re a good woman, and you’re far from being too old. There’s never a thing such as too old. Don’t let yourself be fooled. Look at me.” She said. “I’m still living a good life. Herbert has left me but I’m still here. Walking. Cooking. Drizzle keeps me good company.” She smiled sweetly at the mention of her dog, a lovely large poodle elegantly strolling at her side, its light grey fur finely trimmed by your grandmother’s expert hands. She had been a hairdresser for decades: learning how to keep Drizzle’s coat had been a cup of tea for her and he’d kept her distracted from grief after your grandpa passed away.

Her face formed a meditative pout. “Maybe you should just get a dog. Or even better, a cat. You’ve always looked like a cat child to me. So quiet and focused, like you knew some secret that nature would speak to you alone. You were always so attentive as a child!”

You smiled and looked at the path under your feet. Drizzle stayed unbothered as a loud, angry dachshund walked towards him, barking annoyingly. You had never felt sympathy for that small evil breed.

“I think I could get a kitten one of these days. Or a cat, from the shelter.”

“I’m sure you’ll find it in the internet!”

“So we’re really doing the party thing?”

“Listen, baby. It’s gonna be your first party as a free woman. Real mind blowing birthday sex.”

“I’m not a virgin, you know?” You stared at your face in the mirror, spreading some moisturiser over your forehead, inspecting the small lines there. You shrugged and let them be.

Maybe you would spend your best years single and find a sugar baby in ten or twenty years. Wait, weren’t those called toy boys?

Who cares.

Maybe it was time to get the post-grad you had always dreamed of. You would need to check your bank account before making that decision — maybe finally telling yourself yes could be the real birthday gift. That is, beside the huge dildo waiting in your drawer. Not being attracted to men or women didn’t mean you didn’t like sex.

You just found it difficult to imagine being with someone.

“Darling I’d bet an arm and a leg he never gave it to your right. You just need a bit more experience.”

All you needed was a hot bath, some candles and a good book. No man, no one night stand, no birthday sex could possibly make you as happy as decent jazz, wine and a novel.

“Why aren’t we doing that wine tasting at the winery out of town?”

“Because I want you choking on cheap alcohol, having all the fun you didn’t have on your twenty-first birthday because you were planning your own wedding. And I bet you’re the only one who wasn’t fucked in the bathroom of the Wickhead.”

Terry could be incredibly crude, but you loved her nonetheless. You loved her even more for it. She had never hidden anything from you, she had told you even the most embarrassing details of her own life. And she had always been the kindest, most faithful friend: she had driven you way out of town when you were eighteen and your period was late and you needed to buy a pregnancy test without all everyone and their dog knowing; she had chosen your wedding dress for you, spotting it and telling you it was going to be the one before you could even see it. When your marriage had started crumbling, she had spent countless nights with you, keeping you company when your husband was busy with his business trips. Though Terry had insinuated cheating, you knew he would never break your trust like that, and she had decided to trust your better judgement.

You had simply fallen out of love with each other.

And when you had moved into your new apartment, Terry had helped you repaint the walls and build the extra bookcases and install the shelves and fill your wine stand. Before leaving she had grabbed an unfamiliar box from her car, placing it on top of your bed, opening it and spreading out a set of “single necessaire”, as she called it. A couple toys, lube, condoms. To celebrate your re-found sexual promiscuity, she had said, though you objected, it was hard rediscovering something you had never had.

She had shaken her head and left you to “familiarise” yourself with everything.

“You know I’m not exactly a party person, Terry. This will end badly.” You said, sitting on your bed with your back against the headboard, your legs stretched out before you.

“You can allow yourself some fun once in a decade, you know?” You could hear her scoff on the phone.

“But I do have fun. Book. Wine. Bingo!” You explained, rolling your eyes as the booed.

“Come on, do it for me. Do it for your single friend who wants to get drunk and possibly sixty-nine? Please?” The other thing wrong with Terry is that if you ever met her in person, you would face the sweetest five foot three and a half — she insisted on the half — human being you could ever meet, with pretty wavy blonde hair and wide, sweet green eyes, the most boopable button nose and a sprinkle of freckles on her golden skin. She literally glowed in sunlight and her flowy gowns always made her look like a goddess: you could see men fighting for her, dying for her and going to war for just one of her gentle smiles.

“Don’t you have a FWB for that sixty-nine thingie?” You asked with an exceedingly inquisitive tone. It had been a while since she last updated you.

“Dumped him.” She replied curtly.

You tutted before exhaling. Emotionally constipated people — what’s wrong with them?

“He’s dating someone since he was ready for a relationship.” Terry sounded a bit colder than usual.

“And you weren’t?” You asked. You felt your tone hesitate with slight concern. You knew she would just put up a wall and ignore your question.

Fortunately, she didn’t. “I’m not ready to talk about that. It’s complicated, Frog.”

She was hurt and wanted a distraction.

“Okay, Terry. We’re going to get rip roaring drunk this Saturday.”

The line went silent.

“You know I love you right?”

“I love you too, sweetie. Now go to sleep, you have an early shift tomorrow.”

The line went silent after you bid each other goodnight, your body settling underneath the sheets once you realised your eyes were fluttering shut  as you tried to read a few pages to put yourself to sleep.

Placing down the book, you hugged the extra pillow, settling your face in the corner between your sleeping pillow and your spare one, the heavy woolen comforter acting like a weighted blanket. You placed another pillow behind your back, making a soft cocoon all around you.

Yes, sometimes you still missed being hugged to sleep.

The taglist is open!

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

[littlemisslipbalm]

“You get me” Pt. 2 -- aka “I got you” (famous!y/n x harry)

Harry x famous!y/n - FLUFF pretty much 

ahh you all are so kind and literally you all mean so much for liking, reblogging, and commenting! Means the world to me! NOT PROOFREAD

also if anyone wants to let me know how to properly do a tag list ?? as of now I have a couple people on the tag list so yah but if it grows i might need some tips 

 Taglist: @marauderswhisperer​, @morgannope​, @daddystevee​

Now for Pt. 2 - feedback super welcome, maybe we’ll have a part 3 and please no stealing of the work :)

Dedicated to all the peeps out there who find themselves constantly in line with Harry and his vibes but feel weird agreeing with him constantly because people think you’re only that way because you’re in love with him

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: kissin’ and stuff, nothing graphic

Pt. 1

-

“Am I right? I- I could be wrong” you rushed.

“No, no, I got you, don’t worry...I got you” his eyes outshown his smiling lips but nonetheless he reassured you.

--

It’s seldom that one person meets someone so perfectly matched to themselves. So similar yet not annoyingly so. Two pieces of clothing from the same custom collection, perhaps. You couldn’t believe you’d spent almost seven hours just talking with Harry. Your conversations ranged from silly situations to music inspiration to any dreams you had unfulfilled. Your answers always lined up - not the same, but exceptionally similar and the other was always quick to say “wait, me too” and jump into their own story.

It was the next morning after hanging out at Harry’s and you’d had trouble sleeping, worrying about not having your phone with you. Luckily, that meant your body was quick to wake you up in the morning even without your usual alarm. When you woke up, you quickly dressed in sweats and a tank top, shuffled some shoes on, and freshened yourself up with some quick hygiene care - teethbrushing, facewashing, and the likes. Then, you jogged to your car, anxious to reunite with your phone and the prospect of seeing Harry again so soon moved your legs far quicker than normal. You had figured you wouldn’t see him very often, despite the amazing friendship the two of you had already cultivated, he lived in England mainly and you lived in the United States - California specifically, the furthest you could get from the Harry within the continental United States, sadly. This mistake gave you the chance to see him much sooner than expected and you were very grateful for it.

As you drove out to Malibu, you kept the windows down and your sun roof open. It was a lovely day and you could never get enough of the warm wind whipping around you as you belted out the lyrics to the old rock radio songs. When you sensed you were getting closer to Harry’s you felt yourself begin to tingle, your nerves were gone this time, only excitement filled you as you took in the now familiar surroundings. Harry’s home was set further back from the street so that random pedestrians and street noises never reached the house. You noticed more and appreciated the total beauty of the grounds while you walked up to the house this time, the daytime sun and the lack of nerves both allowing you to soak it all it.

Your actions mirrored those of the previous night, just in a slight fast forward - everything moving faster. You had began to worry slightly though, ‘what if he is upset that I woke him up, what if he is out and I can’t get my phone, what if he has early morning company?’. Still you proceeded to knock and hoped to hear Harry’s footsteps any moment. Thankfully, your ears were greeted with the sound of rustling and soft, slow steps behind the door. You then heard the deadbolt turn and again Harry was before you. His hair fell into his sleepy spectacle-clad eyes, barely open, but he had raised a hand to rub out the sleep from one of them as he opened the door, skewing his glasses. You took in his disheveled appearance, you had obviously woken him, his sweatpants hung low on his hips and he had a hoodie on that was askew, showing a hint of his tanned olive skin - a corner of one of his laurels if you were being honest but you forced yourself to believe it was just a shadow. His feet were bare and you noticed his toenails were painted electric purple and a deep green.

“Hi,” you squeaked, biting your lip. Harry blinked hard and opened his eyes and raised his brows, just trying to wake himself up, but also slightly confused to see you at his doorstep. He had texted you last night, asking if you’d made it home safely, but had never heard back. He hadn’t worried, just assumed you weren’t always on your phone. His was a light sleeper and had heard the knock on the door echo through the house, so he slipped on a hoodie and went to see who it was, when it was you it was definitely surprising. Your presence was shining through his stupor, a small smile graced your face, but it radiated light as strong as the sun.

“Y/N... s’lovely t’see you again, but why’re you ‘ere, love?” He almost whispered your name, his voice catching in his throat due to the lack of use during his slumber. He quickly cleared his throat to get rid of the rasp and groggy sound he heard emit from his own voice. Your smile grew at the sound of his melodic voice, how he pronounced your name - like it was something fragile and needed great care, how it was rough from sleep, but it mostly grew from his use of love, so common for him, yet it felt so special for you. “I left my phone here last night, actually. Sorry for barging in, and, uh, waking you up, I’m assuming,” you said as you took in his appearance once again. He nodded and mustered enough strength to chuckle.

“When’d you realize you’d left it?” Harry asked as he let you in, as he swung the door open, he hung onto it, to keep him upright. “Oh! Right when I got home, of course!” you started as you began to talk with your hands again. You walked ahead of the slower Harry, through the house, back to the sitting room where the two of you had entertained yourselves last night with each other’s company. “Barely could sleep at all, was so worried you’d have jetted off again already and I’d have to figure out how to break in and heist it out of here.” More laughter. Being around you like this was like a shot of espresso straight to Harry’s veins. He perked up at the sound of your sweet voice and your accompanying hands. He noticed they were void of your rings this morning, he guessed you took them off to sleep and forgotten them this morning, due to the rush.

He pushed his hair out of his face with both hands and huffed out a breath as you looked around the room. “Where could it be?” you asked slightly desperate, more to yourself than to Harry. He suggested the couch, walked over, and began to take the leather cushions off. You sighed and began to help Harry with his search of the couch. The last cushion to be removed from the couch uncovered your abandoned phone. “Finally!” you both exclaimed. Then, you looked around, “We made a mess...shit, I’m so sorry, Harry.” “Don’t, don’t be silly, its an easy fix, and y’needed your phone, c’mon Y/N.” He was quick to discourage your apology, despite your surroundings looking like someone had ransacked his room. All the cushions were discarded haphazardly, some blankets had fallen to the ground, and magazines were strewn across the coffee table and the floor.

“Well I’m not leaving you here to clean up a mess I caused,” you stated matter of factly, quickly beginning to repiece the room. Harry threw on a couple of the cushions then said, “S’alright, really, but if y’insist...I’ll start a pot of coffee. Do you?..” he trailed off, but you understood his question. It was kind of him to offer, but you assumed it was more for himself than you. “Nah, I don’t love coffee, sorry, now tea, that’s another story, but I’m fine really.” Harry glanced over to you and there was that smile again. It’s like it lived full time on your face, Harry thought, no wonder you’d already seen such success, not only were you technically a good musician, you were also a good person. He quickly nodded with a breathy laugh. You two went about your self-given tasks, cleaning and “cooking”. Neither of you spoke much as you worked, but you glanced up when you heard Harry begin to play some song from his phone after he had set up the coffee pot. The moment was domestic and tranquil, like the two of you tidy the house and make coffee every morning together.

A whistling sound cut through the soft moment just as you were grabbing the final magazines from the ground. “I thought you said--” Harry cut you off before you could finish, “I made both, love. Any preference for your tea?” You moved into the kitchen and leaned against the bar top, amazed by the man before you. He’d gotten down two mugs, gotten out an assortment of tea, put on the kettle and the coffee pot, making you what you preferred despite your claim to be fine with nothing. He held the two mugs out to you, “Which?” he questioned moving them back and forth from his chest encouraging you to choose, raising his brows for added effect. One was a wide and short ceramic speckled mug with a line painted fish. The other was a taller cream ceramic mug with a shiny red interior with a colorful scene of a town around the outside, the sun was shining in the little town. You crossed the kitchen to him and placed both hands on the red town mug, encircling the little people and houses smiling up at the two of you.

“Good choice, very treat people with kindness of you.” Harry smiled down at you. Whenever you were in closer proximity to him, his body so obviously towered compared to yours. It would seem intimidating, but really just felt comforting, safe. This moment far tenser than any previous moments that morning. He stared into your eyes and you returned the gaze. His hands still holding the mug you had chosen, you felt the heat radiating off of him and warming up your cheeks. There and then it was gone,  you turned from him and went to the stove where the kettle sat. You filled your mug with the boiling water and fished a packet of some pink floral Parisian tea you saw and dropped it in the mug. Again you turned and leaned on the counter. Harry had poured his coffee and was opposite you, leant against the counter as well. Like a silent conversation had gone on between the two of you, Harry said, “Creamer’s in the fridge.” You nodded and went and grabbed it. You scurried back to your place against the counter. Harry set his mug down and crossed the short distance between you. His movement was so sudden and disturbed the peacefulness occurring in the kitchen, the synchronous movements between you two. You tensed and your heart began to race when he didn’t stop moving closer. His body was almost against yours when his left arm reached above and past your shoulder, opening th cupboard, and taking out a box of brown sugar cubes. Slowly, he moved the package between the two of you, either side resting on parts of both of your bodies. His warm coffee saturated breath fanned your face.The smell was warm and all consuming when it mixed with the scent of just Harry, probably a combination of shampoo, laundry detergent, and sweat. “Sugar’s right ‘ere,” he spoke just for you, lingering in the bubble your proximity had created. He couldn’t pull away and neither could you. But you had to. You nodded and took the box of sugar cubes, plopping a few in your tea. With that, Harry huffed an inaudible sigh and grabbed his coffee.

Happy witht the taste of your drink, Harry and you journeyed back to the couch where you been last night. Careful to set your phone in eyeline, you got comfortable, tucking your legs under you on the couch, leaning back and gazing at Harry. Comfortable silence fell between you, but again it was like the two of you were communicating in someway that didn’t require words. You noticed you were situated closer to Harry on the couch than you had been last night. Maybe you were less careful or maybe Harry had chosen to scoot closer to you as well. “So, I’ve been thinking, I know we like literally just met, but I’m just so in awe of how well we get along, Harry. Honestly, when I was little I was a huge fan and when you said you wanted to meet to discuss my work I was on a new level of existence, seriously,” you stated, “Hey! Don’t laugh, I’m being for real,” you feigned hurt when Harry giggled from your word choice. “Anyways,” you emphasized and playfully gave a pointed look towards Harry’s shaking body.  “You’re like image in my head that I never thought was attainable and now...feels like we’ve been friends for ages,” you finish softly. You weren’t exactly sure why you were sharing this thought with Harry, but the moment in the kitchen had set your heart beating. You had to say something to try and explain how you were feeling. Harry had grown silent again as you had pressed forward. His brows had slightly furrowed as he had watched you speak. You sensed you’d messed everything up, you believed the silence was a sign of your overstep. You both seemed always to be on the same page and now you’d jumped chapters and Harry was still behind. Learning a spoiler can always be upsetting, sometimes even ruinous.

Shit, you thought. “Am I right? I- I could be wrong” you rushed to add, hoping to salvage any work relationship possible after crashing and burning so hard with this presumptuous statement. “No, no, I got you, don’t worry...I got you” his eyes outshown his smiling lips, but, nonetheless, he reassured you. He reached out and cradled your exposed shoulder, his thumb brushing up and down. “I feel it too…s’a bit weird, innit?” Harry kept smiling and you had to smile too. His lips were perfect, you noticed, shape and color. Every feature of him was like that, perfect shape, perfect composition. In your heart, you felt the words of a song beginning to piece itself together just from his face. You wanted to explore its every nook and cranny, the slope of his nose, the peaks of his cheeks, the sleek lines of his jaw, the depressions under his eyes, all of it. You didn’t want to leave a single piece of flesh untouched. It stayed silent and you noticed Harry had leaned in to hold your shoulder and you shifted comfortably towards him in return. And you were about to reach out and touch want you wanted so badly, your faces closer than ever before, when a doorbell rang throughout the home.

Harry twitched his hand away from your shoulder and pulled back from your face exploration activity, throwing his head back on his neck in some sort of disappointment. You were in disbelief, pulled from the trance that was Harry’s beautiful skin, ‘I didn’t know there was even a fucking doorbell here’. “‘S one momen’,” Harry grumbled, running through the house to the front door. You took a deep breath, trying to cool yourself off from what you were pretty sure was just about to happen. You grabbed your mug and took a sip. You strained your ear to hear anything at the front door, but it was all completely muffled, but the conversation seemed to be coming to an end after a couple minutes. You looked inquisitively at Harry when he returned, he waved you off. “Unimportant...what were we doing?” Harry said as he regained his position beside you. “You were about to kiss me,” you replied, taking the arm underneath your resting head and grabbing at his hand. You intertwined your hands as you had last night, when you first noticed that Harry was being vulnerable with you and getting to actually know you. Harry was caught off guard at your forwardness in the moment, but melted at the sight of this confident and caring woman in front of him. You had been so true to yourself on your album he realized after your first conversation last night. You were beautiful inside and out. He looked down at your hand in his, “No rings today…” “I forgot them...had to get over here.” “Were you excited t’see me again?” Harry questioned somewhat out of the blue. “Of course. What about when I showed up at your doorstep?” It was fine Harry hadn’t really addressed your kiss comment, you were so comfortable with him, it didn’t bother you. “I’d ‘ave thrown anyone else out after they’d found their phone if they’d been the one t’wake me up this morning.” He raised his free hand up to your hair now and ran it through until he cupped your ear, then he ran his hand down your jaw and up onto your cheek, his hand cradling your delicate face. “Can I?” He looked into your eyes intently.You bit your lip and leaned forward into Harry. Your lips connected and the kiss was so tender and filled with mutual respect and care, passion just below that surface of soft kindheartedness. Your plush lips pushed against Harry’s and the two of you moved in unison. Soft touches and faint whispers.

The chaste kiss began to turn when you pushed Harry further into the couch and crawled into his lap, your legs seated on either side of his sweatpant clad leg. One of your hands held his jaw in a strong yet loving grasp, while the other was tangled in his hair massaging his scalp. You arched your back as Harry ran his fingers down the back of your spine to land on the side of your hip, his other hand on your neck. His tongue pushed into your open mouth and you made a noise of appreciation and your tongues danced in each other’s mouths. His touch was liquid fire on your skin, seemingly harmless yet burning you everywhere he felt. His hands traveled to the bottom of your ass, slowly sliding over its entirety and squeezing at the bottom. You squealed and Harry grinned, “Easy.” You couldn’t help it, your clothed core was pressed against his toned thigh, his hands were on your ass pushing you down and to top it all off, he was an amazing kisser. He kissed your lips one more time before moving to the corner of them, then your jaw, and finally your neck. He left open mouth kisses on your neck, soft and tender. He was slowing down, taking more time to run his tongue over your neck, massaging it in a way. This was just as amazing as the rougher makeout session that had just occurred. You resumed massaging his scalp and brushing through his curls. Then, you ran your hands down to his broad shoulds beneath his sweatshirt. You drew patterns over his skin and he hummed. “Mm I’like tha,” he whispered into your skin and looked up at you.

You both wore matching smiles, basking in the warmth the two of you had just created. You dropped your head into the crook of Harry’s collarbone beneath his neck, “We should do that again.” “We should definitely do that again, Y/N,” Harry responded emphatically, giving your bum a final squeeze before moving his hands to encircle your waist. You two sat there silently for awhile and then changed to a better cuddling position where you could both still drink from your mugs. You discussed your upcoming schedule, press, time off, and upcoming tour dates. Harry would be in town for a couple more weeks, but was going back to London afterwards. “You should come visit me when you’re on break before tour. We can go out and do somethin’. Tha’d be fun.” You agreed that it sounded fun and that you two should schedule something when it was closer. Harry was largely free during the time that you were on tour. “I dont wan’t to be presumptuous, but… if you wanted, you could come visit me while I’m on tour, we could explore when I’m on my Europe leg?” you said hesitantly. It was Harry’s turn to agree, “Sounds like a great idea, love,” he ran his fingertips up and down your arm idly. You continued to plan the future, nothing had to be defined, it was clear the two of you loved to spend time together, everything just seemed to flow when you were together. Everyone and everything else could fade into the background, as long as you had each other, you were pretty sure you’d be alright.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, breaking some silence that had settled over your cuddled figures. “What for?” Harry looked down at you in his arms. “For getting me,” you smiled for the thousandth time that day. You were sure you’d grow extra smile lines if you continued seeing Harry so constantly like this. Harry returned it and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, “I got you.”

-

Pt.3 🥺

[fragileizywriting]

bad day blues

pairing: Luka / Marinette (Viperion / Multimouse) word count: 10,418 chapter: 1/1 rating: E summary: “How is it that I can sling myself across rooftops for years, day and night, but I can’t even walk in a straight line once I’m out of my suit and end up spraining an ankle?” “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mousey. That’s not good for you.” “I wish I wasn’t such a klutz.” “You’re not.” Luka kisses the top of her head as a punctuation to his words. “You just had a bad day, that’s all.” “One of the worsts in a while,” Marinette nods into his shirt. “Luka? Could you make it better for me?” He laughs. “And you call me the insatiable one, little mouse.” Her eyes sparkle. “Who was the one that jumped me when I was going to go shower after my pool trip with my friends? One look at me in a towel and suddenly my boyfriend’s hands are all on me— sounds pretty insatiable, if you ask me.” AO3 | Start Here To Read The Whole 'Out of The Closet' Series! | Previous Fic in Series | Next Fic in Series

Here's some more Lukanette! Don't worry, there's plenty more incoming, too. This series is so wonderful to write, I'm having so much fun!!! Especially since Luka is my favorite character 🥺

Enjoy <3

She’s having a bad day.

Like, a really bad day.

There is that whole cake ordering business that her parents live off of, that she helps out with. She’s rolled so much fondant out that her arms hurt, and they’re barely attached to her body when she’s rushing out of the door to get to her class when the second bad part of the day happens.

She spills coffee all over herself.

Well, it isn’t her coffee. Her dad’s been getting into the habit of walking around the bakery and the pantry with his mug she got for him for his birthday, a delicate piece of ceramic that is absolutely dwarfed by her father’s large hands. She’d knocked into him while scarfing down some breakfast of her own, where she’d tried to get bits and pieces of it into her mouth while rolling out fondant for that particular eight-tiered cake that is surely going to be the death of her that she still has to pipe and decorate when she gets back from class.

Her blouse is stained, and it’s warm. It doesn’t seep far into her shirt, because her dad presses his apron right on the stain to soak up as much moisture as possible, but she yelps anyway out of sheer instinct.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine! I’m so sorry for making you spill your coffee, baba. Are you okay?” She waves him off with a little smile. These things happen, it’s okay. Besides, smelling like coffee isn’t the end of the world. It isn’t the smell of a particularly expensive perfume, but she can hardly say no to smelling like coffee when she’s lived at a bakery for the entirety of her life.

“I ran into you, sweetheart, not the other way around,” Her dad shakes his head. “Go change your shirt while I get you some packed food to take with you to school for you and Mullo.”

“Thank you! I’ll be right back.” She kisses him on the cheek, making sure to stay clear away from his mug. She rushes up the stairs, trying her best not to accidentally tear her skirt, but isn’t as delicate to her blouse as she could be. The side rips open. She squeaks while getting it off. “Oh, no! I just bought this!”

“Oh! Is everything okay?” Mullo peeks out from the little cubby Marinette’s made into her own little room.

“Yeah— I’m okay! These things happen, don’t worry. I’m just going to change my shirt into something better and then we can head out, okay?” She snaps open a drawer, tossing her soiled top into the laundry bin near her desk. She’s not opposed to wearing other shirts with this particular skirt, but… she really likes wearing that peter pan collar. This is fine. A normal button-up will go fine with the skirt, even though now she looks a lot more formal than she wants to be.

It’s a good thing her bra is nude-colored. She’s already in a rush as it is.

She hasn’t learned a single thing since school was at a walking distance, clearly, because she’s rushing to get to the metro, running back down the stairs, tugging her backpack over her shoulder with Mullo zipping into the pocket of her skirt, and kissing her dad goodbye and thanking him for the food— all the while trying her best to go over the list of things she needed to do before heading off to class.

Feed Mullo, though the little mouse can definitely go scavenging for blueberries whenever she wants. And yet… Mullo starts to whisper that she’s hungry the moment Marinette makes it down the stairs of the metro and goes pawing for her metrocard. She’s grateful that she’s placed a small container of fresh blueberries inside her backpack, with even a portion of small chocolate chips in the screw-top compartment of the container, just for the little mouse— and the small kwami is giggling and back to being happy before Marinette can even blink.

She looks for her metrocard. It’s on the inside of her phone case, which is good, so she’s able to go through the ticket booth with no problem— thank goodness. She doesn’t need another stressor for the day— but she needs to make sure she repays the bill for her monthly pass before the next month arrives so that she isn’t late trying to pay for it the day of, and hopefully she can remember this thought for long enough to write it into her agenda so she doesn’t forget during the week.

Oh, gooseberries. Hopefully she’s not late.

She checks the time on her phone once she’s safely situated inside a subway car, only to look at the turned-off screen with a confused noise. She tries turning on her phone but blinks with so much confusion when the black screen refuses to light.

Wasn’t one of the things on her list to make sure that her phone was charged last night?

What in the world happened to her phone battery?

She tries to think about it, pinning down that the only real reason it would be out of battery would be if Mullo wanted to use it to watch videos or listen to music while Marinette was asleep.

She makes sure to unzip her bag, peering down at the little mouse kwami with inquisitive eyes, trying to understand why her only communication device isn’t charged, speaking in a hushed voice to not alert anyone in the subway car with her. “Lolo, did you watch videos last night?”

Mullo is asleep. At least she remembered to put the lid back onto the container, which is some good news. Marinette can’t feel too upset, looking at the little creature. It’s a good thing she packed her bag and made sure to grab her portable charger— it’s not often that Mullo gets in the habit of overusing Marinette’s phone— but she’s always prepared, just in case. Mullo likes texting Sass, too, though all their texts look like gibberish to her and Luka whenever they try to reread it.

She opens the front pocket zipper with the cute little mouse charm attached to the handle and freezes.

This isn’t her school backpack.

She’s not sure how it didn’t dawn on her before, but this isn’t the right backpack at all.

The only thing it has is a plastic bag with her swimsuit she’d used during the weekend— it’s not exactly dry, given that it’s been in the baggy for at least four days since she’d come back from the pool with her friends. That’s strange— she’s not one to just drop her bag off to the side and not put away her stuff— so, what gives? She chews on her nail while she thinks about what could’ve possibly distracted her from hanging up her swimsuit and letting it dry, and stopped her from putting away this particular backpack, and squeaks to herself when she remembers.

Oh. Right. That’s right.

Viperion had shown up in her room just as she was going to go take a shower— having completed patrol on his own because he wanted her to have fun with friends and go swimming— and since her boyfriend is somehow allergic to learning how to swim, he’d happily shoved her out of the house with the pretense of keeping Paris safe while she relaxes for once in her life— no wonder she’d been so distracted and completely forgot about the backpack.

He’s so insatiable, nowadays, wanting to spend so much time with her that it’s completely pointless to try to keep clothes on around him. He’d taken one good look at her while she was making her way to her bathroom tucked into her towel and had decided to wash her himself— joining her in the shower without even taking his suit off.

She knows that their hexleather is water-resistant— but she didn’t know that it’s enough to keep water from completely entering his suit.

He’d cleaned her inside and out— pressed her up against the bathroom tiles, hopeful that she would keep quiet, as Viperion slicked two fingers inside of her.

The hexagonal grooves on their suits had never been something she’d even considered until now— it was obsession at first touch, in all honesty.

Her back is filled with love bites and possessive teeth marks that make her toes curl in her shoes when she thinks about it more, or remembers it whenever she brushes up against her shoulders. Not to mention she feels a comfortable full-body ache when he finally slips away to go home— she’d spent the rest of that afternoon in bed, curled up, dreaming of the day the two of them can always wake up next to each other.

She shifts in her seat, feeling damp and uncomfortable. She misses him already.

But all of that means… her school backpack is still at home. And she’s carrying nothing except her wet swimsuit, instead of her agenda and planner and notebooks and sketchbooks and pens.

Oh, sugarcubes.

It’s fine, though. These things happen. Sometimes no matter how much she plans and prepares, the universe sometimes throws her for a loop, and that’s okay. A good planner knows how to plan for things going wrong— even if she doesn’t want it to happen in the first place.

In all honesty, this is probably not what Luka meant when he said to let things flow and don’t let things bother her, but it is kind of hard to stop her tendencies to want to plan for the worse.

Okay, so how does she fix this?

She has a lecture that starts in about twenty minutes that she can technically skip out on and go back home to grab her things, assuming she switches subways at the next stop. Since she’ll be late, she might as well change out of her clothes, too, into something much more suited for her. She doesn’t like wearing button-downs— especially since, oh, gooseberries, it looks like she’s missed out on about three buttons and gotten her neckline skewed. There’s no point in even fixing it, as long as she’s able to tuck her miraculous back underneath her shirt without someone seeing it.

What else does she need to do?

Well, she definitely needs to make sure she gets the right backpack the next time she slips through the door. Make sure to bring another container of blueberries, too— she never knows when there’ll be another Akuma, and of all things to not be worried about, this is something she’ll never stop.

Everything will be okay. No worries. The lecture wasn’t that important, she’s sure of it.

The moment she makes that same thought, the subway car slows to a crawl. The lights in the car flicker, and she looks around to the other passengers, hopeful to see anyone who has any idea of what’s going on.

Everyone looks nonchalant. They probably assume it’s an Akuma, at this point.

“We are having technical difficulties,” The subway car emits a tinny, metallic little noise from the speakers near the doors. “Please stay calm and wait while we fix it.”

Marinette groans. Okay, maybe she’ll be late for a lot more than just her first class. This is fine. Things happen. Things like this just happen— she just needs to relax about it. At least it’s not an Akuma— and it’s not like she can be blamed for the subway being stuck.

There’s just nothing to entertain her, though. No pencil, no pen, no paper to doodle and keep her occupied. No phone to listen to music or keep her busy. Just her, the plastic bag with her swimsuit in it, a sleeping kwami, her breakfast, and half a container of chocolate chips. She might as well start eating now, since there’s nothing else to do— eat and think about her boyfriend’s pretty blue eyes.

-*-

She has— well, had— a pop quiz in her missed lecture.

Worth twenty percent of her grade.

She stumbles into the classroom after everyone’s starting to clear out, looking for the professor and her continuously bored glare she gives to the class on the regular. “Uhm, excuse me— sorry, I didn’t attend class today because of the metro—”

“You can’t make it up.” Her professor says, collecting a thick stack of paper into her briefcase. The only professor she’s ever met to actually use a genuine briefcase— it makes her look more like a lawyer and less like an introduction to fashion history professor.

“Make it up?” Marinette blinks, confused. “Make up— make up what, exactly? I wasn’t in class.”

“The quiz. Twenty percent of the grade, of course, because no one in class was answering my questions today for some reason.” Because Marinette’s the one who usually answers for everyone, of course. No one stepped in, probably, because they were most likely too comfortable with her answers to actually come up with one of their own. “You missed out on the quiz. You can’t make it up.”

“Oh.” That’s fine. Things happen. Sometimes the universe just throws curveballs— her grade in this class won’t suffer. “Uhm. Is— is that all I missed?”

Her professor gives her a good look. There’s something in her dull, tired eyes, like she registers who Marinette is in the class— and what she brings to the lecture hall. “I’m going to give you the homework, even though I technically shouldn’t. You’re a good student— you’ve never been late to class— and definitely never missed an entire lecture. And today, without your questions, it was completely and totally quiet.”

“Oh.” She repeats. “Th— uhm. Thank you.”

She pulls out another stack of papers, handing her a stapled group of paper from the top. It looks ridiculously thick— as in— maliciously thick. Maybe at least thirty pages. “Here’s the homework. Make sure to finish it by next class.”

One week to finish the assignment. No problem. She can do that.

“Of course,” Marinette breathes, slightly overwhelmed, looking over the title of the assignment. She has no idea where to begin— the lecture today must’ve been all about it. Maybe she can find one of her classmates and ask about it? Although, she’s never really made a friend here before… “Thank you very much.”

“Don’t make it a habit to skip,” The professor calls out to her as she leaves through the door.

“Understood,” Marinette mutters under her breath. The strap of her kitten heels breaks when she runs her foot too close along the doorframe as she leaves behind her. She trips, falling into her second person with a coffee today, spilling all over her shirt again. This time, it’s cold— it’s an iced latte, of course, and ice cubes fall down her collar and into her shirt, and pain blistering up her ankle.

She tries to walk it off, she really does, but it ultimately just collapses back onto the floor the moment she tries to put pressure on it. Mullo comes out of hiding when she makes sure that there’s no one around, asking if Marinette’s okay— and all she can do is just smile at the little kwami, trying her best not to wince.

Today just isn’t her day, is it?

-*-

By the time an Akuma actually comes around, and tries to do damage in the city of Paris, Multimouse is running on fumes from how close she is to breaking down.

She’s weaved and dodged most of the attacks, relying on her rope to get out of the way. Her ankle doesn’t hurt as much when in the suit, of course, because the magical properties of the miraculous make it so that they focus on the fight first than anything else. She can put her weight on it, which is the good news— and that’s enough for her to walk and run and jump rope when she needs to.

Seeing Viperion is such a blessing. She hasn’t been able to text him much all day, aside from the vague ‘good morning’ text she sent when she finally managed to get her phone to turn on— she’s been too busy to respond to all of the texts he’s sent throughout the day.

Hopefully, she can talk to him after the fight is over. She needs a little bit of downtime.

But she can’t exactly focus on how thankful she is to see him when she’s in the middle of weaseling out of the Akumas grabby hands. She tucks and weaves, snaps her rope out like a whip when she needs to, and does her best to roll out of the way of the Akuma that falls into their trap using the Liberty that sends him spiraling across the city with it. Viperion is nearly on the other side of the city taking care of the sentimonster when she feels her ankle start to blister in pain again, indicating that she’s putting far too much stress on the ankle for even magic to make it stop hurting.

By the time they’ve got the Akuma purified, the sentimonster dealt with, and the victim is in safe care with the social worker from the workforce that’s been assigned to assist people who have just been Akumatized— Multimouse can barely stand up. She chooses, instead, to keep sitting down on the lip of the sidewalk between a couple of parked cars, her legs spread out in front of her, trying her best to seem like she’s just out of breath. She keeps her right boot completely straight, hopeful to not put any more strain on her ankle, but lets her left boot sag against the asphalted road, and tries her hardest not to hide her face in her hands.

Viperion makes his way back to her after he’s done talking to the social worker.

“Mousey?”

“Hi, Vai,” She speaks into her gloves. Some battles are just too difficult for her to focus on, and trying to keep herself from doing something just isn’t worth the effort anymore. “That was a tough one, huh?”

He sits down next to her, shoulder to shoulder. There’s probably not enough space for him in between the cars, since his shoulders are wide, but he makes the effort anyway. Besides, if it’s truly that bothersome, all he has to do is give a gentle push to the car next to him— the miraculous suits give them extra strength, after all— but even without the suit, he’d probably be able to push it forward. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” She leans into him. “I missed you so much.”

“You didn’t text me today like you usually do,” He murmurs into her hair. He’s a thick wall of heat right next to her, and she’s so thankful for him like usual. “Everything okay?”

“Everything is— it’s fine— I’m sorry. I forgot to charge my phone last night, and Mullo was watching videos while I slept, so my phone just went kaput.” She smiles in her hands when he makes a noise meaning that he understands exactly what she means. “I only got to text you when my phone was back on. I’m just tired, really. I’m not having a good day.”

The road is going to be populated soon with whatever foot traffic it usually has, now that the Akuma’s been taken care of. They need to probably get up to higher ground before the people of Paris come out to ask for autographs or selfies— and, okay.

She wants to give everyone the best treatment possible, of course, but she’s in absolutely no condition to do that like this. Definitely not like this.

It’ll be better for everyone’s comfort if she doesn’t stay around to listen to what people have to say about the fight— she’s Paris’s sweetheart, she knows, but if anyone says anything remotely negative in her direction, she’s pretty sure she’ll start crying.

Not to mention that if she hears anything bad about Viperion, she’ll start crying while beating civilians off with a ten-foot pole. She’s not in the mood at all to continue behaving like the sweet little Parisian Princess today— she can’t do it.

“Are you stressed out?”

“Yes. Very much. Ironically, the Akuma was my break from stress. Imagine that?”

He laughs. It’s a loving noise, usually, but there seems to be an edge to it this time. “Do you want me to help you with that? I think I saw an alley over there. Let me help you relax.”

She steams red behind her gloves. Oh, she knows exactly what he means— and, well, the answer is always yes. “Yes— but maybe not here. People are going to show up, soon, and I’m already in pain as it is—”

Viperion looks at her. She can tell because her face starts to prickle underneath her gloves. “Pain?”

She takes a deep breath, looking up at him. His hair is starting to curl around his neck, it’s so lovingly him that she can’t help but comb her fingers into his hair and smooth it back. The confusion on his face morphs into contentment as she takes her time brushing his bangs back, getting a good look at what the top of his domino mask looks like. “Nothing’s wrong— things are fine. Everything is fine. Sometimes things happen, and we can’t control all of it.”

Liquid golden eyes look back at her when she’s done petting through his hair and, he— he smiles at her. Really smiles at her— he knows that she’s trying to repeat the quotes and virtues that he usually says to himself. His smile makes his domino mask crinkle, the scales on his hexleather shimmering turquoise and green, and it’s not exactly a front when she smiles back at him. “That’s true. Sometimes things happen that we can’t control, even if we really try, but sometimes we can fix whatever is hurting us. So what really happened, Mousey?”

“Just a bad day,” She uses her left foot to brush against his, taking her hands back from his hair to follow the scale pattern on his chest. The muscles underneath are no illusion— he’s truly that filled out. She likes physical contact with him, just as much as he loves physical contact with her— and she finds a certain kind of sweetness in the way he leans just slightly into her touch as she traces his collarbone. “I’m not kidding— I’ve been having a really bad day.”

“The Akuma didn’t help all that much, huh?”

She cups his cheeks with her palms. She can’t feel him, because her fingers are covered in protective hexleather, but it means all the same to her when she presses their foreheads together, smooshing their bangs against one another. “I don’t know about that. I’m getting to see you, after all— I love being able to see you, Vai.”

His eyes twinkle as he laughs, giving her a kiss. “Stand up for me? I want to check if you’re missing any body parts.”

“What? I’m not missing anything.” She finds herself laughing at the strange request. “See? Look: I have my two arms, my two legs. Tail is still here, and so is my miraculous.”

“I don’t know about that,” His face is oddly serious, even as she continues to giggle. “Wiggle your fingers for me so I know they’re still there.”

“Vai,” She makes a face as she laughs. When he implores her, she rolls her eyes, twiddling her fingers in the air. “Told you.”

“All ten fingers?”

“I think so,” She breaks into a grin. What is this man on about?

“Let’s see.” He takes her hands in his, bringing every single finger up to his mouth so he can count them with a kiss. “One. Two.”

“Oh my gooseberries. Vai,” She giggles hard enough for her shoulders to shake.

“Don’t make me lose count, Mousey, this is important. Three, four—”

“How did I get so lucky to have you?”

“I think it’s the other way around, honestly. Five, six— how did I get so lucky to have you?”

“By treating me like this,” She can’t help but bite her lip when he makes it past seven and eight. “By treating me so sweetly.”

“Sue me, little mouse. I like treating my girlfriend well. Nine, and ten.” At the tenth finger, he kisses where her fingernail would be, then her knuckle, then the back of her hand. He kisses up her arm, too, all the way up to her shoulder as she snorts and giggles, until he tilts his head and kisses her against the jaw, finally completing his quest and kisses her softly on the lips— she melts. He keeps the kiss soft, though— and if her ankle wasn’t rolled, she’d honestly climb into his lap for more than just something so chaste. She deserves it, after this horrible day— and he always makes her feel loved and comforted. “I think your hands are okay.”

“You think so?” She feels a little dopey from the kiss.

“Move your feet, too, so I can figure out if your legs are still attached.”

She moves her left foot only, letting her right boot rest. Instead, she pulls up her right leg, hoping to look like she’s just switching up her sitting position, but that’s enough for Viperion to break eye contact with her and look at her knee. “See?”

But he’s smarter than that. “Ah, there it is. So you did injure yourself during the fight?”

“No. I— uhm— no. Not during the fight.” She’s not lying, but her smile dies down as a quiet contemplation morphs on his face. “It’s— I’m fine, Vai, honestly, I’m okay. My ankle will be fine after some ice, I’m sure—”

“Oh, Mousey.” He looks hurt for her, immediately swiveling in his seat to look her over. He grabs gently for both of her legs, lifting them up to place in his lap, and gently starts to move her foot at the ankle back and forth.

The first leg is the good one, so she barely even reacts— let alone blinks— to him swiveling her ankle around and testing the elasticity. But her bad ankle— oh— it’s enough to make her start to squirm.

His eyebrows pinch when she continuously flinches, her half-sentient tail batting against the asphalt behind her as she tries her hardest not to cry out in pain. He supports the back of her ankle with his palm, and doesn’t let her foot rotate when he puts her leg back in his lap. “When did this happen, baby girl?”

“It happened at school,” She hides her face back into her gloves. “Just the cherry on top, honestly. I fell and twisted my foot. I thought I was okay, but— I can’t walk in my civilian form.”

“School? And you fought the Akuma while injured? Oh, Mousey— I’m so sorry, I wouldn’t have let you stay alone with the Akuma if I had known. What else happened? Tell me what’s wrong.” She feels the gentle pressure of his thumb against her calf, even through the hexleather. “Maybe I can help you. I sure want to try, at least.”

Why is he so gentle with her? Why is Viperion always so sweet and soft to her— kind and loyal?

She knows why— there is the whole ‘they’re dating’ part of the answer— but honestly, how did it get this way? When did Viperion become the boy she fights crime with, day or night, live or die— to the man who snags her just before her showers, who makes it a habit to make her toes curl every time he sees her, who is happiest when she cuddles and routinely hides in his bed with? How in the world has she gotten this lucky?

How? How did she get so lucky to have a man so conditioned to care about her?

Why did he ever fall in love with someone like her— someone who needs everything to be in its place or else she has a nervous breakdown? Someone that loses her demeanor when there’s even a slightest mistake, because everything needs to be perfect or it’s not worth doing at all and— and— why would he even stay with someone like her like this? Why? She’s completely the opposite of him— so— why does he stay and deal with someone so completely different than him in every single aspect?

The thought is enough to make her cry— and— oh— that’s it, really. That’s what makes her push over the edge and start hiccuping into her hands, tears falling down her cheeks. “Oh—”

“Mousey, it’s okay. Shh. Your ankle will get fixed up in no time, okay? We can fix this.”

“I’m sorry,” She says, more to herself than anything else, gesturing to her leg before hiding back in her hands. She sags against him so easily when he pulls her onto his lap. “I’m sorry— I’m so sorry, Vai. It’s not just— just the ankle— I’m just—”

“I know.”

“And— such a bad day—”

“Breathe, Mousey,” He traces circles against her back.

She gasps for breaths between sobs. “And I just— I really did try to not let it get to me— I really tried—”

“You did very good. You are doing very good.”

“It really hurts, Vai, I’ve never rolled my foot before, it’s so painful— and I know I’m going to be in more pain when I’m out of the suit. I’m so exhausted, Vai— today has been so difficult.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Where does she begin? “So much coffee on my shirt, I smell like an espresso machine—”

He listens to her ramblings, even if they don’t make any sense without the full context. He’s gentle when he shifts her even closer, making sure that her foot doesn’t hit up against the car next to them, tucking her in next to his collarbone and letting her cry it all out. His chest is so warm against her. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“And then the subway— and I don’t have more blueberries for Lolo right now because she ate them all already, even after I went back home and refilled her cup—”

“We can get more in my house, it’s okay. All the blueberries Mullo could want.”

“And I was also stuck in the subway for two full hours with just a swimsuit—”

“You went on the subway with only a swimsuit on?” He makes a face. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“In my bag,” She explains, even if it doesn’t make much sense, sniffling around her gloves. “I mean— I picked up the wrong backpack— the wrong bag— before leaving the house and it was just my swimsuit in there— the subway got stuck and I thought it was because of an Akuma so I was just—”

“Take a breath, Mousey.”

She sucks in a breath, trying to fill her lungs in all the way, before the inevitable fresh wave of tears that she continues to border on. “And I— I couldn’t— even text you. I couldn’t, because my battery was out— and I was underground— and— oh, sugarcubes, I was so bored— I just kept coming up with more and more ways to sneak off the train without being seen because there was nothing else to do and I ended up overthinking everything.”

Everything. All of it. Every single thing. If she’s doing well in school— if what she’s trying to get a degree in is even worth it— if she’s wasting her time not focusing on defeating Hawkmoth— if Viperion even finds her necessary in fights. After all, most of what she does is just a distraction for him to get close and defeat the Akuma— but there’s not really a genuine need for her since all he has to do is move his ouroboros miraculous over to the side and turn back time and do whatever needs to be done, right?

“I thought about how you’re so much better without me during Akuma battles— I thought how much of a klutz I am— I thought about how I always have these nervous breaks whenever something goes wrong and you always just deal with them and I wish I could just stop worrying about every little thing without making it into a thing— and— and—”

Gentle hands make it to her wrist, and she looks up, sniffling and biting her lip. Viperion’s smile looks soft on his face as he wipes away her tears— golden eyes looking at her like she’s the most important thing in the world. He kisses her forehead, her cheeks— her nose, too— all in favor of getting a smile back onto her face. “None of that is true, okay? There’s no need to overthink about any of it anymore. You’re okay, you’re here— exactly where I need you to be. You are the entire reason why Paris is safe every day— I’m just here to keep you company, in all honesty. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known, little mouse, and I absolutely cannot do any of this without you.”

Amazing woman? Has he met his own mother before? “But— what about your family—”

“I’m aware of what I’ve said,” He smiles. “I don’t deal with your problems, we deal with our problems. You getting worked up about something is something we both work on together— I’m not going to let you suffer alone when you’re nervous about something.”

She blinks slowly at him, her lashes damp and full of tears, only being able to offer him a watery and a heartful: “Oh.”

He nods, encouraging her to smile back. “Everything’s going to be fine, just like it always is, okay?  You’re not a klutz. You’re doing great. Everything is going to be fine.”

“But—”

“Breathe, Mousey. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She looks at him in the eyes, her breath slowing down, looking around them to see just how empty the street is. It’s an unpopulated street to begin with, so there are only a couple of shops at the corners, nowhere near them where they sit in between the cars, catching their breath from the battle. “I’m— I’m going to be okay. I am okay.”

“You’re okay.” He nods, smiling gently, taking her hands in his.

“I’m— I’m fine.” She takes another breath. She still feels watery, still feels like a wet sponge, but it’s a little easier to breathe. “Sometimes days just don’t go my way, no matter how much I plan for it.”

“Good, good— but you’re forgetting the second half of that.”

“The second half?”

“For every day that it happens, whenever your days don’t go right, I’ll be right here for you to cry on because you and I have always been a team.” He kisses her bangs, smoothing his gloves at the back of her head, behind the buns in her hair. “As much as I don’t like seeing you cry, baby girl, I know that I’d rather see that, than have you bottle it up inside.”

She sniffles, giving him a little smile when he pulls away to gauge her reaction. “Thank you, Vai.”

“I love you.” He kisses her on the lips again.

“I love you, too.” She ducks her head as a blush stains her cheeks underneath her domino mask. “Oh, I’m— I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For crying on you and turning this into a mess.”

“My girlfriend seeking out comfort from me— what a scandal, little mouse,” He teases with a flash of his fangs. “How dare my Mousey want reassurance from me.”

She has the reflex to giggle, even though there’s a bit of tears still trying to make its way down her face. “It’s probably not what you had in mind for today, huh?”

“All I had was work today,” He wipes at her cheek again. “The Akuma is always unpredictable, but it’s not like your parents don’t know why I have to leave the register when our phones start to ding with the Akuma notification, right? And I’m always thinking of you, so, in a way this is sort of what I had in mind.”

She kisses him. It’s not as quick as it should be— it definitely isn’t as innocent as it has to be, given that they’re in public and they haven’t technically told the public yet that Viperion and Multimouse are more than just a duo, not to even mention that they’re a lot, lot more than a duo now, if her wandering hands are any indication— but she breaks away just before she has the urge to shift her position on him, laughing softly when he narrows his eyes at her. “We should— uhm— probably go back, right? Your mom is probably calling your phone right now, asking why in heaven’s name you picked the Liberty for the trap location— Alya will be here any moment now to ask things for the Ladyblog.”

“Hmm? What did you say? I was too busy living in the moment of hearing you laugh again. Such a sweet melody.” He looks back up to her from looking at her ankle. She has no idea what’s going on in that head of his— and it bothers her, because she so desperately wants to know, even as he gives her a wink and a smile.

She’s so thankful for this man. So ridiculously thankful.

She bites her lip to stop herself from smiling harder. “We need to go. Out of here. And I need a favor.”

“I’ll do whatever you need, Mousey. What is it?”

“I need you to marry me.”

His eyes widen, completely caught off guard. “What?”

“I mean— I mean carry—” She gasps, hiding her hands behind her mouth. “Oh gooseberries— I’m so sorry. Sorry! I meant carry, I promise! Slip of the tongue, oh sugarcubes— I’m so sorry— that’s not what I meant at all.”

“Breathe, Mousey, come on.” He snorts so hard that he has to hide his face behind his hands, shoulders shaking in mirth. “Obviously I’ll carry you. That’s without question— I’m not letting you walk like that. Come on, let’s get you back home.”

-*-

Marinette’s finally sleeping by the time he’s back into her room.

They’ve wrapped and bandaged her foot, kept it elevated and out of the way for her. She sleeps soundly, even as he struggles with her trap door to not make any noise. He’s not good at being quiet when he really tries— the universe is always out to get him whenever he tries to do something quietly. Or maybe he just gets too self-aware of himself.

“How’s she doing, Sass?”

“She’s been sleeping for the whole time since you brought her home,” The little kwami answers just as softly. There’s a couple of doll-sized lounge chairs on her nightstand, as well as a small little dining table with a couple of cushioned seats— it looks like a playset, in all honesty, but they’re the perfect size for the two kwamis to sit and eat away at their food.

Sass looks like he’s finished with his eggs, which is good to see. Mullo is still working on her blueberries, chewing through each one almost anxiously as the two kwamis watch Marinette rest. He’s never known just how many blueberries is enough for Mullo, so he’d grabbed a heavy container full of it and put it in a small basket to keep her entertained.

“Is her foot going to be okay?” Mullo squeaks out.

“She’ll be fine,” Luka sits on the floor to be at eye level with the kwamis. He takes a couple of berries in his hands to snack on in order to have something to do. “She’s never hurt her ankle before, so it’ll heal up fast. Master Fu wrapped it up for her, after all— her uncle wouldn’t lie, would he?”

Both kwamis nod in agreement.

“I feel like this is all my fault,” The little mouse makes a face. “I should’ve helped her today, I shouldn’t have been quiet the entire time. Maybe things wouldn’t have gotten this bad. Maybe I could’ve told her she was taking the wrong bag— or maybe I could’ve remembered to plug in her phone. I fell asleep watching videos on mermaid history, I’m pretty sure— I don’t think the videos were worth her twisting her foot.”

Sometimes kwami and holder are really alike, huh? Even the face that Mullo makes is so reminiscent of Marinette, it’s incredible— he tries his best not to smile lovingly but can’t help himself. “It isn’t your fault at all, Mullo. There’s no point in thinking about what you should’ve done— all of it has already happened. It’s okay.”

“She’s never gotten injured like this before for as long as I’ve known her— and you said earlier that she hasn’t torn any muscles since I was given to Luka. Her ankle will heal before you know it.” Sass is quick to pet his friend’s arm. “But until then, she definitely won’t be able to act should an Akuma arrive.”

The room goes silent again as the three of them settle back into what they were doing. Sass is curled up, of course, enjoying the luxury of the little doll chair that is stuffed to the brim with cotton and sewn expertly shut. The dollhouse furniture looks well-loved, though— he’s under the assumption that Marinette most likely bought second-hand miniature sets for Mullo to play house in when she had first been given the mouse miraculous. There’s no dollhouse in sight around anymore, but the bookcase near Marinette’s bed still has two cubbies empty in favor of a little curtain pulled open to reveal two fake little rooms.

There’s a little closet rack full of little clothes. There are hats lined up against the bookshelf wall with two slits on the sides to make space for Mullo’s ears. There’s a doll bed with a blanket and a cushion— there’s a couch and potted plants all made out of felted material in order to decorate the space. A rug, too, underneath all the furniture.

All of these little trinkets and toys, so loved and cared for by a young girl and the love she has for her mouse— now something cherished by a young woman. “You know, I’ve always wanted to ask— how long have you two known her?”

“The Cheng family has always kept the miraculouses safe,” Mullo bites into another blueberry. “We’ve been passed down for generations.”

“Well, usually. Master Fu is the guardian right now, but he’s making sure that Marinette is the next guardian.”

“I know that, yes— but I meant Marinette specifically. How long have you two known Marinette?” He turns to her, wondering if she’s in any pain. The inflammatories must be working well in her system because there’s nothing on her face that indicates that her foot’s been wrapped and bandaged to stay still.

“We’ve known her ever since she was little. About eight years old, maybe? All of the kwamis loved playing house with her— the little princess was always so sweet and lovable. Growing up an only child was really lonely for her, so we played with her whenever we could.” The dollhouse furniture makes a lot more sense now. “You name it, we played it. Hide and seek, dollhouse, tea time, dress up— princess and the knight, too.”

Of course Marinette would’ve made them little clothes, how could she have resisted? The idea is adorable.

“Kaalki would frequently run away from Master Fu’s place in order to come play with her. Who could blame him? I for one loved it when it was tea time. Princess always made deviled eggs, just for me.” Sass slips his eyes shut to sleep. He always gets tired after eating his share of eggs following an Akuma attack— Luka’s thankful he works at a bakery, where eggs are plenty.

Sass is out like a light.

Mullo giggles to herself, holding a giant blueberry between her two paws, turning to him in her little chair, speaking as quietly as possible. Marinette may be asleep for longer, but Sass’s hearing is always so sensitive— they don’t want to wake either of them up. “I just ended up being the lucky one that got to stay with her. All of the other kwamis were really upset when they heard that I was her permanent friend— especially Kaalki. They all loved playing with her. We’re sure that Plagg and Tikki will love her, once we find them again.”

So much history between Marinette and the kwamis. No wonder Sass was so happy when they’d finally revealed their identities to one another. “Hey, Mullo— how come she didn’t tell me about her ankle?”

“She didn’t want to worry you.” Mullo replies in her soft, tiny voice. “You both needed to focus on the Akuma first.”

But in the end, she’d hurt herself. What he wouldn’t give to second-chance her ankle back to normal— but it’s been hours, not minutes, since it happened.

He takes his time eating the handful he’s picked from Mullo’s basket. The blueberry is sweet in his mouth, and tasteful, and something quiet to do while he looks at Marinette’s sleeping form. She’s working herself too hard, isn’t she? Trying to keep up with all the things at university— and trying to keep up with everything at home— and definitely trying to keep up with Akumas on top of it all. They haven’t technically even been on dates together, if that’s something she even wants, because her life is so full. It’s commendable, but watching the girl of his dreams get pulled in all different directions makes him understand entirely why a multitasking miraculous is the perfect one for her.

“You should rest, Luka. It’s getting really late.”

“I don’t know if I should— I don’t want to accidentally wake her up.”

“She’ll be more upset if she wakes up and you’re not in bed with her,” Mullo argues. He smiles, because he can’t help the humor at the sincerity of her words. “You should join her.”

He’d have to take off his jeans, and go pawing for one of his shirts she’s stolen from his room in order to not get flour all over her bed, but it’s doable. Her parents already know he’s up here, after all— he’s said he was going to check up on her once his shift ended. Her parents had let him go without barely any warning gaze— in fact, Mrs. Cheng had implored him to spend the night and make sure Marinette didn’t attempt to run off, in case another Akuma were to pop up.

They trust that he’s a good person and will actually stop her from leaving the house. And he doesn’t want to disappoint.

The last thing he wants to do is go back home and listen to the absolute earful he’ll be getting from his mom about using the Liberty as bait, so he’s going to camp out in Marinette’s room after sending about a billion and one heart emojis to Juleka, hoping she’ll try to keep their mom out of trouble.

Maybe it’d been a bad idea to tell his family about his identity— just his family in general. It’s safer this way, now that his family knows, so there won’t be any nasty revelations down the line and his family won’t turn into Akumas (and if he has to fight Reflekta or Captain Hardrock any more times in his life, he’s going to quit) but now there’s the added bonus of his mom knows why he disappears all the time.

So.

Heart emojis sent to Juleka it is.

“And what about you? Won’t you be going to bed?”

“I’m still hungry, so I need to dip downstairs and get some more food, if that’s okay. Or, better yet— do you want me to take Sass downstairs with me when I go?”

He raises a brow. Surely she doesn’t mean to imply… “She’s— Marinette— come on, Mullo. She’s injured.”

“I’m not sure she needs her ankle for that!”

This doesn’t top the weirdest conversation he’s ever had, but this is definitely up there. “And she’s asleep— I’m not comfortable with the idea.”

“She’ll wake up soon. You should ask her then, obviously.”

“Mullo.”

“You’re two aren’t our first holders, you know, we’ve done this so many times before.” Mullo giggles behind a paw. “So, do you want privacy? If you don’t, I’ll stay right here. Mari likes to tell us that we’re as scary as actual dolls, sometimes, with our beady little eyes.”

No one has to tell him that. He learned the hard way when he’d woken up the first time with Sass looking straight at him. Beady little eyes indeed— it’d scared him shitless and almost caused him to scream at a bleary five in the morning. Sass is a terrifying little creature when he wants to be.

“Maybe it’s a good idea to give us a bit of time.” He tries not to blush when Mullo tilts her head in acknowledgment. “I don’t think she wants anything except sleep, but, who knows.”

“We’ll give you all the time you two need,” The little mouse nods. She grabs Sass’s sleeping form by a paw, taking one last bite out of the remaining blueberry, before the two of them phase through the floorboards down below. Sometimes kwamis are weird little creatures with all of their powers, honestly— he’s gotten used to Sass appearing out of thin air in his attempts to scare him, but it’s always so concerning to see it happen without that context.

He lifts himself up from the floor, peeling open some of her drawers in search of one of his shirts. She’d taken his pleading to heart, and now has a steady collection of his clothes starting to grow and multiply in her closet— he’s running out of his own clothes, honestly, but he can’t say no when she smiles at him like she always does before squirreling away a new shirt into her bag when she wants to keep a piece of him with her.

He should probably take some of these shirts home with him, though. If the point was for her to smell like him, well, he should probably make it happen.

He folds his shirt and jeans. Marinette doesn’t have piles of clothes everywhere unlike him, so he makes the executive decision to stack his clothes on her desk chair. By the time he’s going back up the ladder over to her bed, Marinette’s shifted onto her side, facing him— she wakes up the moment he tries to shimmy his way under the covers with her.

“Oh. Hi.”

“Hi.” She has pieces of her hair catching in her eyelashes— he brushes it away, shifting closer to her. Her entire bed smells of faint traces of lavender, what a nice scent. “How are you feeling, Mousey?”

“A lot better,” She’s quick to smile, even as she’s groggy from sleep. Adorable. “Probably because of the amount of pain killers I’m on right now, though.”

He laughs. “Master Fu told me you don’t usually take painkillers. You must just completely relax under it, then, since your body isn’t used to it.”

“I don’t think I tore anything, did I?”

“No, I don’t think so. Your uncle said you’re fine, after all, but you should just stay out of commission for this week until you can put weight on that foot again.”

She looks so disappointed. “Where’s Lolo?”

“Downstairs. She’s probably eating through your entire pantry at the moment.”

“And Sass?”

“Went with her. Mullo took him to give us privacy. Are you okay?”

He should’ve known better than to relax his guard around her. The moment he’s completely at ease in bed, she grabs for him, pulling him so close to her that they’re perfect puzzle pieces. “How is it that I can sling myself across rooftops for years, day and night, but I can’t even walk in a straight line once I’m out of my suit?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mousey. That’s not good for you.”

“I wish I wasn’t such a klutz.”

“You’re not.” He kisses the top of her head as a punctuation of his words. “You just had a bad day, that’s all.”

“One of the worsts in a while,” She nods into his— hers?— shirt. “Luka? Could you make it better for me?”

He laughs. “And you call me the insatiable one, little mouse.”

Her eyes sparkle. “Who was the one that jumped me when I was going to go shower after my pool trip with my friends? One look at me in a towel and suddenly my boyfriend’s hands are all on me— sounds pretty insatiable, if you ask me.”

How can she blame him? She has such soft and delicate skin. Everywhere.

He loves touching and feeling her up whenever she lets him and asks him to. Not to even mention her ass— god— he could write so many songs just about it— he likes biting her everywhere he can, and he’s sure he’d done exactly that while sneaking his way into her shower box. Marinette always takes to bruising really well when it comes to him teething at her, she blossoms into hickies whenever he has his mouth on her. Not to even mention just how excited and turned on she was when he’d finally fingered her to completion.

“I don’t believe you were complaining, were you? Besides, I was just giving my girlfriend what she likes the most.”

She snorts and giggles. “And what is that?”

“Word is around here that she really likes Viperion. Has lots of fantasies about him— and, hey, I’m a pretty understanding guy. If my girlfriend wants to call out his name instead of mine, I get it.” He loves it when she laughs this hard— it’s always so much better to hear her laugh than it is to hear her stay quiet and in her thoughts. “It’s a good thing he likes helping out, too. The guy’s taken a real liking to my girlfriend, even though I’ve heard that him and Multimouse are a thing.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She smiles against his mouth. She’s feeling a lot better now, he can tell, because her hands disappear under his— seriously, hers?— shirt, teasing all of the skin available to her. Her fingers are ticklish against his chest and abs— she’s just as handsy as he is, most of the time.

“Insatiable,” He kisses her before pulling down the covers.

Her sleepshirt is soft and stretchy in his hands, and it’s easy to pull it up enough so he can kiss her stomach and hip at the waistband of her panties. He’s careful with her leg, of course— he doesn’t want to move it, just to make sure the wraps on her ankle don’t come undone by accident. He helps her out of her underwear slowly and gently, pulling the cute panties off so he can get her completely bare.

Such cute underwear. But then again, he’s always a little biased to anything green or blue— and the mint green color is adorable on her pale skin. The cut is cute, too— he doesn’t know enough about women’s underwear styles, but these are a lot cuter on her than he’d imagined. They rest just at her hip, with a pretty little scalloped edge that is just a smidge too Marinette for him to reasonably handle.

But he likes her better naked, of course.

“You’re already this wet?”

“Don’t tease, Luka.” Her hands disappear under her shirt. He doesn’t get to exactly see what she does underneath with her fingers, but it doesn’t take much brainpower to recognize the arching of her back like she always gets whenever he’s pinching at her nipples.

He follows the line she’s made with her body with an appreciating gaze, kissing up and down her thigh so slowly that she makes a frustrated noise. “Awh, don’t be like that, Mousey. Tell me why you’ve soaked through your underwear, I’m curious.”

She groans. “I thought of you the entire time I was in that stupid subway.”

Oh, did she? “No wonder you’ve been so tense today.”

She makes eye contact with him after a little flinch and a little exhale— she must’ve pinched herself just enough to make it count. “I was thinking about what you did to me in the shower. You’re such a glutton, Vai.”

He grins at her. Oh, he loves it when she calls him that. “I’m not so sure about that.”

And gives her what she needs.

He takes his time licking between her legs, even though she’s wet enough that it wouldn’t take much effort at all to slip his fingers into her. He likes this part, personally, even to the point where he shifts his hips down into the mattress to alleviate some of the pressure building at the base of his spine, starting to get desperate himself. It’s always so satisfying to go down on her— the noises she makes are always so attractive, and he loves making her come without much regard to himself. Marinette isn’t loud when she vocalizes her likes and dislikes, but not because she doesn’t want to be— she always hides her mouth behind her hands— and it always feels like a contest.

Today is no exception.

Her ribs heave under her shirt as he licks and licks, swirling his tongue at the place she loves the most. Her sighs are soft and sweet, even as he pulls her good leg up and over his shoulder, burying his face into her cunt as she makes a noise halfway between an exhale and a laugh.

“Who’s the glutton now?”

He makes a humming noise, not exactly interested in answering her question— he’s more in favor of showing. He’s glad to help, after all— pulling noise after noise from her when he licks his way into her, digging his tongue in as far as he can possibly reach. Her hips lift, using his shoulder as an anchor, and she moans— but still, again, it’s so soft and nearly quiet like she doesn’t want anyone to know what they’re up to. Always so considerate of others.

Cute.

By the time he’s got two fingers dipping into her, she’s wound up tight already. He can tell by the way she twitches, how she bites the fleshy part of her thumb— and how she bites harder when he uses his free hand to cup her ass and give her a squeeze. Soft. Soft soft soft.

God, so deliciously soft.

“Luka,” She whispers, trying her absolute hardest to stay quiet as he curls his fingers into her. Her free hand makes it to his hair, brushing it back so sweetly— she’s more cuddly this way, than an actual sexual deviant, like she’s desperate for reassurance. “Please please please?”

He loves it when she starts to beg for more and asks for more physical touch whenever he makes a home between her legs.

“Easy, Mousinette. Take a breath,” He kisses her thighs, liking the way how her thighs get sticky and messy with it. She sucks in a breath at his suggestion, looking at him with her hazy, pretty eyes. “You’re almost there, aren’t you?”

“Yes—” She cuts herself off with a particular sigh that makes him piston his fingers more into her. She reaches down with the hand that was in his hair, gesturing for his hand underneath her to join her. “Could you— oh— please—”

“There you go. That’s it. Come whenever you want, baby girl.” He intertwines his fingers and clasps hands with hers, giving her one last swirl and flattening of his tongue, before he feels her start to come on his fingers.

“Luka—” He doesn’t let up once he recognizes the exhale, or the squirming— especially not when he feels the attractive fluttering of her walls. She squeezes and squeezes, milking his fingers desperately.

He can deal with his erection later. For now, he slowly eases his fingers out of her, and kisses her thigh again when she complains about the loss of his hand between her legs. “How are you feeling, Mousey? Better?”

“Always am when I’m with you. Sex or no sex.” And— oh— if he wasn’t so desperately hard in his boxers, he’d fall in love with her on the spot all over again. She’s always so honest with him— it’s always such a shock, even when he knows that’s just how her personality is. He watches her eyelids struggle to keep open, even as she raises her hands up in an attempt to coerce him to bed— barely clothed, with a sleep shirt that covers nothing except her chest and her shoulders at this point. “Come cuddle? ‘M tired. I want my boyfriend.”

“Probably not a good idea. I’m going to end up dry humping you— I’m so fucking horny.”

“Vai…” It’s so heartbreakingly cute that she tries to be stern even while falling asleep. “Cursing.”

“Sorry,” He laughs, gesturing to himself even though she’s not really looking at him. “I’ll be right back. I should probably go take care of my di— uhm, I mean, this— in your bathroom, and wash my hands too.”

Her face unpinches. “But what about cuddling?”

“I will after I clean you up,” He kisses the lines of her abs— pulling her shirt down enough to get comfortable. “If you fall asleep can I still towel you off? You know I don’t like it when you’re left messy.”

“Always take good care of me.” She mumbles, completely oblivious to the way he hides his steaming face behind his hands. She nods a confirmation, patting the spot next to her. “And then after cleaning come cuddle. Please.”

By the time he’s made himself orgasm while thinking of her, and washed his hands clean of her, and made sure that she’s no longer sticky between the legs— Marinette is still bravely putting up a fight with sleep. He helps her put on some new underwear, making sure that she doesn’t move her ankle as much when he does it— but he’s completely caught by surprise when she pulls him in for a hug— and, honestly— he should know better by now.

He loves it, though.

So much.

AO3 | Start Here To Read The Whole 'Out of The Closet' Series! | Previous Fic in Series | Next Fic in Series

[suituuup]

pieces - chapter eight

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca didn’t expect to see her again dancing in a strip club, out of all places.

rated: E (drug use and emotional abuse in early chapters)

ao3 link

*

Chapter seven was published yesterday, in case you missed it! I was too lazy to make a tumblr post.

*

The term rollercoaster didn’t seem strong enough to describe the last six weeks of Chloe’s life. 

Seeing Beca again. Leaving Marco. Getting clean. Finding out she was pregnant. 

She felt like she needed to stop and take a minute to remind herself to breathe, but the weight pressing on her chest prevented her from sucking enough oxygen into her lungs.

“You’re…” Beca blinked twice in slow succession. “...pregnant. With a baby.” She grimaced in the next beat, releasing a breath. “Sorry, I-- I wasn’t expecting that.” 

Chloe couldn't blame her for being shocked. She swallowed thickly and cleared the lump from her throat. “I made an appointment for an abortion. Tomorrow.”

Tears sprang up into her eyes before she could stop them, and she lifted a hand to her mouth to muffle the sob itching to come out. 

“I’m sorry,” she croaked out, shaking her head. 

“Chlo…” Beca murmured, setting a hand over Chloe’s back and the other one on Chloe’s. “You don’t need to apologize. What you’re going through is incredibly hard, and… if an abortion is what you feel is the best option, then that’s what you should do.” 

Chloe had always wanted to have kids one day, but this was the worst possible timing. She didn’t have a place to raise that baby, or a job, not to mention that she was a recovering addict. 

She nodded along to Beca’s words, as though attempting to convince herself further. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Beca asked. “To the appointment?” 

Chloe hesitated. “I don’t want you to miss work because of me.” 

“You’re more important than work,” Beca argued softly as her thumb stroked Chloe’s knuckles back and forth. “And I don’t think you should be doing this on your own, you know? But I don’t want to overstep either, so it’s completely up to you.” 

Chloe sniffled, reaching up to wipe her tears away. “I… I think I’d like it if you could be there.” 

“Done,” Beca instantly said, nodding firmly. She cleared her throat following a few beats of silence. “So um, is there anything you should do for your recovery? Now that you’re out of rehab, I mean.” 

“The therapist there recommended one in the city, I need to call and book an appointment. I’m going to my first NA meeting in two days. Otherwise, I’ve been told having a routine could really help? Like go for a morning walk, do some yoga, cook, clean… that sort of stuff. But all I want to do right now is crash for a few hours.” 

Beca nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Let me know if I can do anything to make things easier on you, okay?” 

Chloe managed a small smile despite how heavy her heart felt. “I’m already so grateful for what you’re doing for me, Bec.” 

“It’s what friends do. Help each other out.” 

Chloe ended up sleeping for four hours straight. She had never felt so exhausted in her life, and she guessed it was a mix of the physical and emotional toll of pregnancy and rehab finally hitting her. She didn’t eat much for dinner and mostly pushed her food around in her plate, knowing most of it would come back up as it had for the last few days. 

She and Beca got to the clinic ten minutes before Chloe’s appointment that next morning, and after filling out the paperwork, they were led into an exam room, where Chloe was asked to change into a paper gown. She sat down on the edge of the bed once she was changed, her eyes sweeping over the many baby pictures lining the wall. 

Her attention shifted to the door when it opened, a middle-aged woman stepping inside. 

“Hello, Chloe,” she greeted with a soft, reassuring smile. “I’m Dr. Harris.” 

“Hi,” Chloe returned quietly. “This is my friend Beca.” 

“Nice to meet you both,” Dr. Harris said as she approached. “I was told you’re here to terminate your pregnancy?”

“I-- yes.” 

“Okay. As one of the nurses probably told you over the phone, I need to check how far along you are first so we can figure out if a procedure is required,” she explained, setting her chart down and snapping on a pair of gloves. “When was your last period?” 

“I-- I’m not sure.”

She used to take the pill. But when you’re fortunate if you remember to eat one meal a day, it’s also easy to forget to renew your birth control prescription. That was just another detail among the many in her life that seemingly had ceased to have consequences or meaning the further she slipped down that rabbit hole. 

“Okay, that’s alright. Can you lie down please, and put your feet in the stirrups? I need to do a vaginal ultrasound so we can see better.” 

Chloe nodded, scooting back and lifting her feet. She reached for Beca’s hand as nerves sprouted in her belly, immensely grateful for her presence. 

“This might not be the most comfortable feeling, but I’ll try to be as gentle as possible,” Dr. Harris said as she placed a condom over the wand before slowly inserting it. She tapped a few keys on the ultrasound machine, gently moving the wand around until a clear image popped up on the screen. It was another minute before she spoke again. “Okay… given the size of the embryo, you’re about seven weeks along, Chloe.” 

Chloe puffed out a breath as a kaleidoscope of emotions swept through her. This was her baby, up there on the screen, and the sight of it suddenly made her question everything and ask something that she would regret shortly after. “Can I-- can I listen to the heartbeat?”

The doctor glanced at her. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah,” Chloe confirmed. “I’m sure.” 

Nodding, Dr. Harris pushed another key, and the most beautiful sound filled the room a second later. A steady, strong woosh woosh. Tears sprang to Chloe’s eyes, and she felt a squeeze to her hand as she attempted not to let them fall. Her own heart constricted in her chest, so hard it was nearly painful. 

“Turn if off, please,” she croaked out, shaking her head as her lids slammed shut, those tears sliding down her cheeks and curling around her chin. 

The doctor shut off the machine and withdrew the wand a few seconds later. “You can put your legs down, Chloe.” 

Chloe nodded and straightened, taking the tissue Beca offered her and blowing her nose with it. 

Dr. Harris watched on, her eyes soft. “You still have some time before making a decision.”

“Did it look healthy?” She found herself asking, then figured she should explain. “I just got out of rehab. I did cocaine and drank a fair amount of alcohol on a daily basis up until four weeks ago. And I was given um...” Chloe scratched her forehead as she raked her brain for the medication name. “Gabapentin for the first two weeks of rehab to help with withdrawal.” 

Dr. Harris’ features remained professional as she nodded slowly. “The heartbeat is strong, and I didn’t catch anything abnormal. The risk of miscarriage is more present than for other pregnancies as the drugs crossed through the placenta when you were still using, and that up to twelve weeks. Problems could occur during and after the pregnancy. But the baby could also be perfectly healthy, since you stopped in the early stages of pregnancy. It’s hard to tell.” 

Chloe’s mind swam with all these possible scenarios, and she didn’t know whether to listen to her brain or her gut feeling. “How-- how much time do I have to decide?” 

Dr. Harris slipped her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “Abortion is legal up to 25 weeks in New York state. Up to ten weeks, you can take a pill, past that a surgical procedure is needed.” 

Chloe sniffled, swiping the back of her hand under her runny nose. “Okay. Thank you.” 

Dr. Harris cast them both a tight-lipped smile. “Of course. I’ll leave informational pamphlets at the desk for you to read, as well as my phone number should you have any questions.” 

“Thanks,” Beca said as the doctor walked out, then focused back on Chloe, reaching out to brush her hair back behind her ear. “I’ll give you a few minutes to get dressed? I can go get those pamphlets in the meantime.” 

Chloe nodded, her insides caving in as soon as the door clicked shut behind Beca. She gripped the edges of the exam cot hard, her nails digging into the leather and her breathing turning chopped as a mix of panic and sadness unleashed within her. 

It all seemed unfair, but she knew her own recklessness was the root of the situation she found herself in. 

She eventually managed to calm herself down enough to get dressed, meeting Beca by the desk ten minutes later. The walk home was silent, and Chloe was grateful Beca didn’t push her to talk. She didn’t even know how to process her own thoughts, let alone speaking them aloud. 

A few days passed. Chloe slept a lot, and tried to keep herself busy the rest of the time. One hour each morning consisted of hugging the toilet while she puked her guts out, and the rest of her day was spent craving that warm embrace of the rush cocaine once brought her. 

The temptation was there. She knew there was a store on the corner of Beca’s street that sold booze, and she knew there was enough change in the bowl by the front door to afford at least a couple beers. 

Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to. Not after seeing that tiny blob on that screen and listening to its heartbeat, because the biggest part of her wanted this. She knew it deep down, but she couldn’t silence those same voices that had been making her life hell for the past four years, telling her that she was bound to fail at this like she did with everything else. 

Chloe woke up that Saturday morning to a churning stomach. Scrambling out of bed, she stumbled to the bathroom across the hall and made it just in time to empty the contents of her stomach into the ceramic bowl.

She slumped back against the wall afterwards, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she reached out to flush the toilet with the other. Chloe glanced up when Beca appeared around the corner, a sympathetic smile curving her lips as she stepped closer and handed Chloe a steaming mug. 

“Ginger tea. I read it helps with morning sickness.”

Chloe accepted it with a quiet thank you. She cradled the mug between her palms, her head tilting back against the tile behind her as she exhaled. “You can sit, if you want.”

Beca nodded and lowered herself next to her in the tight space, their thighs and shoulders touching. “Do you… want to talk?”

Chloe sucked in a sharp breath. “I feel… lost,” she croaked out, her head rolling to the side to look at Beca. “Before the appointment, I was so sure terminating the pregnancy was the wise option, but then I saw it on that screen and heard its heartbeat and…”

“You realized the wise decision is maybe not what you want?” Beca supplied when Chloe trailed off. 

“I’ve always wanted to be a mom,” Chloe whispered before she broke eye-contact, focusing on the mug she held in her hands as she blinked away the tears filling her eyes. “But it’s crazy to even consider it, right? I don’t have a job, I don’t have my own place, and I’m still battling with my own mind because I crave something. All day, every day since my last hit.”

“But you didn’t cave,” Beca pointed out softly. “I know it’s only been four days since you got out of rehab, but you didn’t cave, and that’s already an accomplishment of its own.” 

“I just… I don’t want to harm this baby more than I’ve possibly already done,” Chloe admitted quietly. 

Beca nodded, and reached out to take one of Chloe’s hands, tugging it into her lap gently. “If keeping this baby is what you want to do, those things you’re worried about have solutions. You may not have a place of your own, but I’m not kicking you out. Even with a baby. This is home for you as long as you want or need it. A job shouldn’t be too difficult to find. Maybe it won’t be the greatest one on earth to start with, but it will be something to get your head back in the game,” she paused, tilting her head to the side and seeking Chloe’s gaze. “And what you just said? About not caving because of the baby? I can’t think of a better proof of your ability to be a great mom. You’re already putting that baby before your own needs, and I can’t even fathom how great and out of control those can become, and I think that’s admirable. And for what it’s worth, I think you should trust what your gut tells you. I listened to my brain instead of my heart once, and ended up making one of the biggest mistakes of my life.” 

Chloe let Beca’s words resonate within her, basking in the temporary peace they brought her. There was no doubt about where her gut feeling lay on this.

“I feel like I’m turning your life upside down,” she whispered after a while, sniffling. “You’ve done so much for me already, I don’t want to keep abusing from your generosity, or jeopardize your relationship with Sarah.” 

“You’re not abusing anything, Chlo. I promise,” Beca murmured with a squeeze to her hand. A stretch of silence settled between them, until Beca spoke again. “You still have time to think about it. Just know that whatever you decide to do, I’ll support it.” 

Over the next week, Chloe found herself picturing what it would be like, caring and nurturing for that baby and raising them. For the first time in five years, cocaine wasn’t the first thing she thought about when she woke up, or the last thing on her mind before going to sleep. 

For the first time in five years, it felt like she had purpose, in trying her best to be the mom her child deserved. That meant staying clean, leaving those demons behind where they belonged, and getting her life back together one day at a time, for that innocent being that came to light in the darkest time of her life. 

She woke up earlier than usual that morning, and headed to the bathroom to pee, pausing as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. A soft gasp escaped as she lifted her shirt and ran her palm over the barely perceptible swell in her lower belly. It wasn’t there yesterday, and Chloe felt tears pool in her eyes. 

Happy ones. 

“Hey there, little one,” she croaked out, her heart swelling against her ribcage as she rubbed slow circles over her skin. “We’ll be okay, won’t we?” 

She puffed out a long breath, a watery smile breaking through. 

One day at a time. 

[kaetastic]

Mafia Aside

pairing: Luca Changretta x Reader

summary: Despite being part of the criminalizing life in the mafia, Luca Changretta needs the surprise birthday for his girl to be perfect. Needs- all letters capitalized. [requested: @imaginesbymk]

word count: 3.2k

warning: halted smut, fluff, slight angst? angory luca

note: thank you so much @imaginesbymk for this request!! I hope this is alright! I felt like Luca was OOC though 🥺🥺

Luca’s eyes fluttered open from the rather merciless jab of the morning light. It was an unfair battle of swerving swords as he had just charged up his engine. A sigh brushed his lips when his back muscles sprinkled happiness at the finally fulfilling sleep which he had been promised at the end of the week. Six days of enduring work when you don’t want to; six days of sleep, if all hours of slumbering had been added up, would be equal to a day of working. To summarize it all up, Luca had been the dangling bait teasing himself over the warmth of his bed.

Now that it was finally the weekend he had been longing for for far too long, he couldn’t help but smear the aching muscles with the good news. The good realization which almost sounded fake. Almost as if it was a too-good-to-be-true sort of dream. However, with a pile of evidence and the remembrance of the promised day, every single tendon in his body melted into the warm bed. The warm bed he had his overnight breath plastered all over.

“Mhm.” The woman who had been hogging his body into hers hummed, annoyed at his excessive movements. She knew he was beginning to stir up; she hated it. Time was sure to be purchased for them to rest in bed. Y/N wasn’t surprised he had woken up at such an early hour in the weekend, it had been the same time he would get up of bed for work. The torturous hours of work had implemented the time to wake up in his head.

Luca groaned, his left side sore and numb, sleeping from the weight that had rested on his arm overnight. Pulling his arm away to feel shivers crawl up his skin from the lack of response, his numbness was overlapped by Y/N’s irritated sigh. With a huff she flipped to her other side, her back facing him, “Go back to sleep.”

The words fell off her lips in an exhausting trail, a string as evidence of spending a whole day at her future mother-in-law’s home to learn Luca’s favourite meals. While Luca busied himself with work, there was barely anything to do at home when he was away. Sure, Y/N could sweep some dust that reverts to its original home despite her relentless wiping; don’t even mention the number of times she had organized and reorganized the fridge. Her daily routine was so monotonous. It was dull and grey when she’s stuck in the walls of the home alone. That was until Luca would come back.

“I’m wide awake now.” He chided, pushing his body up to the headboard of the bed, eyes never leaving her resting body. Y/N groaned. It should’ve been a day of resting and possibly, a lot of cuddling in bed. His warmth was always there for her when her eyes were shut tight. Lately, work had been the blade grazing his back. In other words, it had been a pain in the ass. The corners of his lips crept up as she now faced him, eyes still glued shut. 

“Just close your eyes.” Although her lips were mumbling the words, each syllable lingered in the air for less than second, Luca managed to make of what she said. The Italian chuckled, his fingers brushing her hair. 

“How can I? It’s morning.” Finally snapping her eyes open, she beamed at the man who wore his signature smirk. The infamous quirk of his lips. Rolling her eyes at the obvious observation, she shifted closer to the radiating heat of his bare chest. As her nose caressed his pillow, the scent of him warming up her lungs, she snuggled into the smell. The smell that would only plaster against the side of his bed with a diluted tone after he had left to do work.

“Thank you for informing me, Mr Changretta for I would be lost without your great insights.” He chuckled, head shaking as his fingers hovered over the jar of matchsticks on his bedside table (something Y/N had pestered over years). With the wooden stick pressed against his bottom lip, he nudged it with his tongue. The redhead of the match rolled from left to right.

“What do you want for breakfast? I’ll cook.” 

Y/N quirked her eyebrows, “Oh, are you the chef for today, Mr Changretta?” Luca said nothing, the curled corners of his lips speaking for him. “Quit talking ‘bout breakfast. From now on, everything that requires going out of bed and is related to morning activities, are banned. We are cuddling.” 

His string of laughter quivered through her draped arm that rested on his bare chest, sparking tingles of his husky voice. The woman didn’t bother to meet his eyes as her lungs were warmed of the addicting scent of him, “Cuddling is part of our morning activities.”

The Italian’s eyes didn’t quiver from her intense gaze as she pushed herself up to straddle his hips, her knees pooled into the mattress of their bed, “We haven’t cuddled this whole week,” Luca had to ponder for a second if what she stated was true. Despite his squeaking gears on replaying every day of the previous week, he was curious to how she could remember so. “There are other stuff we can do that remains in our... regulations.”

“Your regulations,” Luca chided, his matchstick pointed at her direction. “What do you have in mind?”

There was a glint in his eyes. The glint that Y/N had been so familiar with. The glint she had missed ever since Luca had wrapped his body around sheets of work. Tilting her head in lost of thoughts, she hummed while his hands were splayed against her thighs, “Not sure, it might take up the whole day...”

Every muscle in Luca’s body was pulled taut, dipped in frozen ice. Y/N didn’t notice. She didn’t pick up the way his chest went rigid, his chest barely moving a centimetre to respire, her focus heavily placed onto his reaction. As her fingers danced on his bare chest, thumb grazing over his recovering scars, Luca’s head stung of rapid thoughts. And that was when her body went flying back to her side of the bed. Scrambling to stand in the middle of the room, chest out in the open with a loose trouser around his hips, the Italian’s mouth parted. Mouth left wide open, she watched as he scurried to find the right words, “I have some... work to do.” 

Luca nodded at his own words as if he was convincing himself to the new plan, liking the idea. Leaving Y/N all alone in their bed.

“What the fucking shit is this?” The Italian spat out. Well, the words and the saliva-covered crumbs of the cake that left an unpleasant aftertaste. The ceramic plate slammed into the wooden table, singing an echoing song before it was met with a splat from the fallen sample of the cake that was to be the birthday cake for his girl. How could such a shitty flavour be the cake for his girl? Everybody would choke and die if he was to accept the third sample he had tried for the day. The third sample. What a joke. 

The first two was no different. It would just take a caress of his tongue against the crevices of his teeth to find the remaining residues of the previous samples. A man whose familiar with the taste of lingering iron would have a loaded gun in his hand. There was no way Luca would bring a cake that tasted like iron for a birthday party. A surprise birthday party at that one. The Italian hoped it remained unknown for he knew how some of his sisters could get a bit... mouthy. 

The man who owned the bakery quivered in fear, hoping the warmness that streamed in his pants was not what he thought it was. Although his sister, Rosa, had assured him that the bakery had made countless unforgettable cakes for her and her love for throwing parties, Luca could not find a sole point that would match to his sister’s descriptions and her high set experience with the bakery. Or, maybe it was due to the fact that Luca had only wanted the best of the best. Usually, it wouldn’t be that hard to find the best firearm that suited him. But cakes? He had to pour a gallon of patience to hold himself back from storming out. Should’ve just asked mamma to make the cake.

“It’s pineapple cake, straight from Hawaii, sir-” Luca grunted out, shutting up the stuttering man. Fingers pressed into his temples, the Italian attempted at the silly advice of counting down, given by his youngest sister who had claimed Luca had wavering moments of temper. It worked. 

“You know what? I’m not spending another hour shoving your cakes down my throat. I’ll take the chocolate, two layers, and put some fucking decorations on it, like sprinkles or some shit. Looks bland, whose funeral are we going to?” No one spoke up. Who would? This was the man who had strutted up and down the streets with his infamous patted suits. 

“Luca,” Matteo called out, scurrying after his boss who had just splat a wad of cash. Why does it sometimes feel like he’s always chasing after a little boy who had just thrown a tantrum? “Where are we going now?”

“The party hall.”

“What does it take for you people to fucking get my words through your heads?” The running veins along his neck bulged, grazing to the surface of the air in pulses. Today must be a joke. Everything had tested him. It was as if someone was playing a game to see how short of a temper he has. Occasionally, he would be composed; he wasn’t one to spring to the bullet, head-first. Planning events was not rolling of dices. 

Bodies quivered, shivering at his scolding as if a flock of wind had engulfed the warmth they once sheltered in. Luca had been mistaken as a cold man multiple times. It wasn’t hard for a stranger to take a glance at his posture and his gait, to not portray him as the wolf stalking through their buildings. That was what he was. If only they had done it right, they wouldn’t have to face the consequences. The line of men who had been assigned to the arrangement of the tables were abruptly yanked to stop their last-minute adjustments. To only be scolded as if children. Despite the growing orb of seething anger they had for being the stock of embarrassment in the room, they couldn’t do anything. So, they directed to a more acceptable choice, swallowing the fury down into an abyss, a void. Because who was mental enough to oppose what the powerful man said?

“Put that fucking table there, and move those three back.” With his fingers as the direction informant, the string of men dispersed without any mumbling. Not even one had slipped under their breath as the risk had been too high. The room had fallen into a defeaned silence, present eyes were stuck on those who had been responsible for the arrangement of the tables. However, with a quick glance from even his known bodyguard, Matteo, there were no longer on-lookers for they had resumed with their work. 

Just four more days before it was the big day. A sigh of relief, mixed in with gratitude and joy fell from his lips, “Finally. See? It is better now.”

The intense whirlwind that had descended down from the ceiling had evaporated, vanishing into thin air. The heavyweight sitting on their shoulders were no more as sunshine glittered through the windows which had been protected with velvet curtains on the sides. They could even hear birds singing a song. A victory of a battle song. Except, the smiles on their faces had been wiped off when the man demanded, “Pass me the liquours we’re serving.” 

Oh lord. Matteo felt as if his job was no different to clinging onto the clanking chains of a wild dog. The splatter of the whiskey he had allowed to smear a small area of his tongue was gushed back into the cup. His bewildered eyes and his furrowed eyebrows had been enough to scare the man who brought a sample of the whiskey, “Did you scoop up sewer water?” The terrified man shook his head, lips shut tight. “We fucking distribute alcohols and you got yourself the shittiest one.”

With a quirk of his eyebrows, the man scurried to the kitchen for another bottle. It was indeed going to be a long day. 

“Did none of you write down what I said?” Luca’s eyes blared onto his accompanying men. All they could do was swing their jaw, eyes never meeting the man who had directed his anger towards them. Except for Matteo and Frederico. It seemed it was always them who had the courage to do so. Maybe it was because they had been used to the Italian, and his... personality. “Carlo, is there something missing?”

The brunette who held his fedora to his chest craned up his neck, young eyes landing dead-centre of Luca’s electrifying gaze, “The balloons and flowers?” 

“Good, and where are they?”

“Luca, we still have four days.” Matteo spoke up when he noticed the man who was about to be Luca’s punching bag could not find the answer in his head.

Hair prickling like a dagger, it grazed Luca’s forehead as he reverted his focus towards his henchman, “I’ve been planning this shit for months. We have four days left? Everything should’ve been ready by now.” Fingers digging into the lapels of Matteo’s suit, Luca stared down, his figure towering prominently. There was a glint that sparked a bonfire in his eyes. 

“Antonio, go with Carlo to check up on the balloons. Make sure there are two and a half dozen. You better fucking count each and every one.”

Antonio, followed by Carlo scurried out. The roaring noise of an engine faded into the distance. Luca cleared his throat, “Great. Let’s check up on the flowers.”

“Luca! Could you just shut up? Your presence is not needed.” Elena huffed out, the muscles in her arm urging for her to grab the nearest sharpest tool to remind her oldest brother he was as annoying as a screeching seagull. Her gaze craned down from his shadowy figure to the flowers in her hands. The task of flowers was given to Elena, the middle child of five, just three years younger than Angel. Luca glared at the bundle of mess.

“It clearly is. What are you doing with pink and blue?” Defeated, she leaned her back into her chair, her lazy eyes (not from her hard-working efforts but from the fact that her brother had ruined her mood) followed his fingers as he brought a pink and peach coloured flowers into a pairing. “See? So much appealing to my eyes.

Knowing her brother with his stubborn character trait, she could only roll her eyes and followed the man’s instruction. Luca stalked towards the balcony, the purple sky caressing his skin. Everything was going to plan.

“Where are we heading off to?” It might’ve been the hundredth time she had asked the driver, but it didn’t hurt to inquire. Maybe it had been for Matteo’s ears which had been throbbing with agonizing pain from the clueless passenger. Questions floated in his head: why had he been the one to be assigned to driving her to the party- surprise party? “Are we getting closer?”

His grip around the driver’s wheel tightened, the uncut nails dug deep into the polished wood. Matteo snapped his neck, a deathly noise popped into the air. It answered Y/N’s question. Even though all he wanted to do was scream for her to remain quiet, he had to remind himself that this was Luca’s girl. He would not come out alive at the end of the day if the Italian finds out about the mistreatment. The echoing voice in his head that called out the nearing to the party hall, Matteo wanted nothing but to halt the car. He feared he would swerve into a tree that would end the torturous journey. Just round this corner.

Matteo had been slightly difficult to get closer to, despite the counting years of Luca’s and Y/N’s relationship. Befriending Frederico was simple, sure, the man had been collected and quiet, but it was more tolerable than the hot-headed Matteo.

Y/N’s lips parted open to let out another question, but the screeching of the tires cut her short, “Here we are.” The driver didn’t even bother to crane his neck as she got out of the vehicle.

Y/N knew that she and Matteo had not exactly passed acquaintance. But, she did not expect him to zoom down the street, leaving her alone. She watched as the vehicle fade into a faint fog, her eyes blinking at what had just happened. Averting her gaze to the building he had dropped her off at, she couldn’t help but gulp. Associating herself with the mafia had meant a whole list of issues that could place a potential problem. Some normal things she could’ve done as a normal citizen were cut off, all for her safety. Well, that’s what Luca would say. 

The corners of her lips curled down at the mention of the Italian. Even though he had promised her, assured every second he could- saying that he had planned something for her birthday, the distance between the two on the special day had only allowed her head to gush of overreacting thoughts. Y/N had tried her best to convince herself that Luca might’ve just been busy with work, while she had stumbled upon his other men enjoying their times in pubs. No matter her efforts in opposing the consuming thought, there was just evidence that something might’ve happened between the couple. She had even run her mind whenever she had occupied herself with work to think of what she could’ve possibly done to push him away. Did I do something wrong? Did I say something wrong? But, nothing. 

When she had returned home from a leisure walk in the park, although, it was quite stressful for Y/N as she knew she had been sauntering on the green path with at least (to what she could see) three familiar men- Luca’s men, she laid her eyes on the box with a silk ribbon tying it, a note encased under the small bow. Wear this. Matteo will honk at seven. 

Shoving down the idea of a trap, Y/N managed to grab all her courage and barge through the doors, “Surprise!” Frozen in time, all sorts of colours blinded her eyes; names of faces she could only recall if she walked slowly in deep contemplation.

“Buon compleanno, amore mio,” (happy birthday my love) The too familiar voice of a husky Italian whispered against the shell of her ears, the warm puffs from his lips grazing across her skin in shivers of coldness. “You thought I forgot? Never.”

[moonflower-31]

I Won’t Forget You - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist 

Part 26  

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader 

A/N: Sorry it’s late. Again. Technical difficulties :/ 

Warnings: None 

Tags: @dra-reid, @eevee0722, @ceeellewrites, @anotherr-fine-mess, @ssahoodrathotchner, @egg-boy03, @helena-way07, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @serendipity-imagines, @kaelyn-lobrutto24, @thatsonezesty13, @bihoeofmanyfandoms 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity - Edgar Allan Poe 

Spencer raised an eyebrow as Garcia came into the room with her open laptop in her hands. She immediately placed the grey slab on the desk and began typing rapidly. 

"W-what do you mean? What do you have?" Spencer asked, rushing over towards Garcia's side to see what she intended to show him. 

"I've been keeping track of all the surveillance cameras in the surrounding tri-state area. And get this; just an hour ago, I got this glimpse of a very Peter-y looking guy up in Baltimore on one of their traffic cams. He got out of the city but he's headed back here. His license plate wasn't in his name, but he was driving a black chevy truck. I've put it out on the APB so the police can bring him in if they find that car." Garcia shows, turning the laptop towards Spencer to show him the footage. 

On the screen, sure enough Peter was there in what was a chevy truck and with a baseball cap and a dirty flannel. He seemed to be on the phone. Whoever he was on the phone with obviously got on Peter’s nerves, as over the ten seconds of video where he was in the view of the camera, he yelled into it before tossing it out his window. 

Spencer widened his eyes and began to stumble over his words. "D-do we know if that was a-a disposable?" He asks. Garcia looks up at him and shakes her head. 

"I don't know his true personal number so I can't track and see if it's called any numbers repeatedly." She apologizes. Spencer curses under his breath and rubs his face tiredly. 

"I… I guess I'll have to ask (Y/N) when we get back if her phone records still exist from before she abandoned her old life. Maybe we can check the numbers he used to stalk her with. If any of them have any recent repeated calls we need to bring them in for questioning." Spencer insists, pacing through the room instead of getting anywhere on the geographical profile. 

Garcia nodded. "I'll do the best I can for now Jr. G Man." She says, closing her computer and then clicking her heels as she left the room to get back to her temporary office. Spencer sighed tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took an exhausted sip of the coffee JJ had given him. He watched Garcia go, nothing but sleep weighing on his eyelids.

All he could think of was you. But unfortunately, they had a case. And the case came first. 

But that didn't mean Spencer wouldn't be willing to drop everything he was doing to drop kick Peter onto his ass multiple times if he decided to show himself. 

Spencer grabbed the small box he had of pins and got back to work, hoping sincerely that you were okay back at home. 

It wasn't long after he finished that JJ and Emily came back from investigating the main dump site, and came back to inform him of the new findings. 

"Another body? Where?" He asked, turning his head towards Emily as he picked up another obnoxiously red pin. 

"9 miles from here. It fits the distance, except it was 3 miles more than the normal 6-7. What made him change?" She asked. 

"Maybe someone saw him abduct this girl and he drove farther to prevent this murder being tied to the others?" JJ asked. 

The two women continued talking while Spencer added the pin and began to look over the map. He wasn't really listening. Why was he so distracted? He never usually had this much trouble, especially when you were here. 

His mind was going blank as he looked over the blending blurs of the map. He was developing one of those headaches again. The colors on the map all began to blur together and he couldn't make any of them out. He grunted in frustration and gripped the side of his head from the sudden onslaught of pain. 

"Dammit…" he exhaled as he narrowly placed the box of pins yet again in the marker tray of the map. 

"Hey… you okay there Reid?" Emily asked, her voice changing to express her concern. JJ wasn't too far behind her, her voice soft and motherly. 

"Yeah, you've been kind of out of it since we left." 

Spencer shook his head. "I'm fine, alright? Just… another one of my headaches. Garcia's news didn't really help anything." He grumbled. 

"News? About what?" Emily spoke up, putting her pen against her hand. She adjusted in her seat, as if preparing herself for whatever news Garcia had given him. 

Spencer groaned and rubbed the front of his head, his fingers digging into his scalp. "She said she found traffic surveillance footage of Peter in South Baltimore. He wore a… pretty pathetic disguise? Like… a Yankees cap and a stained flannel hiding some sort of beer company t-shirt. The only letters I could come up with from the exposed fabric were C, D, and B. The B ended up standing for beer when he moved and exposed more of the shirt-" he was pacing now without realizing, and stopped himself once he noticed. 

JJ looked towards Emily for a moment, then back at Spencer waringly. "Do we know for sure where he is?" She asked. "He could be in Quantico by now if this footage isn't too old." JJ warned. 

Spencer’s eyes widened. "No… no, no, no… He… Morgan’s at home. He doesn't know my apartment… she's safe…" he began to rant, more to himself than to the women. 

Emily sighed and stood up. "Reid, I think you need to take a break." 

Spencer looked up from the sudden change, his eyes and pupils as wide as saucers. "What?" He breathed. 

"A break. You know, take a walk. Read a book or 16. Call her maybe." Emily suggested, her shoulders rising with her last one.  

Spencer looked back down to the ground for a moment, finally his nerves deciding to take a break from causing him so much distress. "Maybe… maybe I will…" 

Emily smiles down at him, but unfortunately was a little too soon. 

"But only after we find this unsub. Hotch wouldn't want any of us to slack off. Especially with two of our team members on leave." Spencer insisted. Emily sighed and looked to JJ for help. The blond just shrugged and gave her a smile. One that most definitely said 'Well, we tried.' 

"Well… Good luck then Reid. Don't overwork yourself though, okay? If you do I'm telling (Y/N) myself." Emily teasingly threatens. 

Spencer chuckled. "You wouldn't. She hasn't told me anything regarding overworking myself before." 

JJ grinned. "Doesn't mean she won't." 

○●♡●○ 

A few hours passed and Arthur had to leave. Your mother would be tracking him by cell phone before he knew it, and he didn't want to risk giving your mother anymore 'product' to sell to Peter. You understood, and wished him well as he went off, of course not without Morgan giving him a talk about trying to use a disposable from now on. 

But for now, you were doing the dishes as you listened to Beethoven and tried to distract yourself from Derek's obnoxious snoring. Yes, he had decided to catch up on sleep while he was with you. But you didn't blame him. There wasn't much to do. So you settled on chores while Spencer’s favorite composer played over the speakers of your cracked I-phone (Or Samsung). 

You hummed along with the familiar tune and scrubbed at the ceramic plates Spencer had in the sink. It was a miracle they were even used at all, given the amount of paper plates you had found and had thrown away when you first actually got to sleep in the apartment. It seemed so long ago since he first brought you here. He hardly ever used his flatware and relied on the 'Great value' brand to supply him with things in which to put food on to eat. But thankfully, you had been slowly getting him brought back to the light side of the force. But it was an uphill battle for sure. 

"Why do I have to use them? They're easily breakable, (Y/N). The plates I buy are biodegradable." Spencer had grumbled as you insisted on putting the food you had made on one of his ceramic plates. 

You had playfully rolled your eyes. "Because! You wouldn't have to buy the 'biodegradable stuff' if you used plates you could wash instead. Problem solved." 

Spencer had then replied with a very childish and frustrated stuck out tongue and an annoyed huff that had sent you and your aching insides into a fit of laughter. 

The memory brought a smile to your face, causing you to put the plate down so as to not drop it into the sink from how far you had it held in the air. (If you dropped it, he'd really get after you about the paper plates) 

As you continued to wash the dishes, your mind began to travel back to Spencer. You wondered what he was up to. What he was thinking about. Did he think of you? If he did, did he think of you the way you did him? 

A sigh released itself from your lungs, letting your chest fall. The dance you had invited Spencer to was still in four months. Maybe then would be your next chance to tell him how you felt. But with that long of a wait, you didn't think you could do it. You wanted him to know. Even if you ended up being hurt in the end, you wanted desperately to tell him. Unfortunately, cookies and killers were successful at pushing your opportunities away. 

You finished the last dish; Spencer didn't have any more than 6 dishes in his sink due to it only being the two of you. Derek always washed his dish when it was cleared. You turned the sink off and quickly dried your hands with the dish towel on the oven handle. Once the dishes were all in the dishwasher, you began to wander back into the living room. 

You had done what laundry there was to do and Derek wasn't due to wake up for another 2 hours. He had specifically asked you to wake him up when it was 6:30 pm. So you decided that since you had virtually nothing else to do, you'd take a nap. You'd wake up at the same time you were set to wake up Morgan, and then you'd both be rested. 

You turned off all the lights and closed the curtains for a dimmer light. You then grabbed the blanket Spencer had recently been keeping on the back of the couch and curled up in it. You didn't want to head into Spencer’s room and bother Derek just to borrow one of Spencer’s hoodies. No matter how much you really did want to steal one. 

You settled in on the couch, and closed your eyes, letting your body begin to rest more and more with each inspiration and expiration. 

When 6:30 hit, and Derek had somehow managed to wake himself up without your assistance, he groggily got up to go check on you. 

"Hey, Pretty Girl, what happened with you waking me up, huh?" He asks you, rubbing his eyes with his hand. He expected an answer, but instead heard the sudden movement of fabric and the thud of something hitting the coffee table. He narrowed his eyes and looked down at you, and found you asleep. However, it was not peaceful. 

Your leg kept trembling, almost kicking the coffee table as the rest of you shook in terror. You mumbled incoherent pleas under your breath, causing Morgan to panic. He was afraid this would happen. 

"H-hey, kid," he started, gently putting a hand on your shoulder to slowly get you awake without alarming you. He gently shook you, but you proved to be unwakeable. So he took in a deep breath before he shook you a bit harder, calling your name a little louder. "(Y/N), hey, come on kid it's just a nightmare-" 

You finally woke, heavy breathing and a jolt forward followed by a violent shaking came afterwards. You hated this. Even after having just woke up. You felt terrified. Fear was coursing through you and you had no way out of it. 

You whimpered and curled up in the corner of the couch, unable to calm your racing heart or your uncontrollable breathing that came in harsh sobs. 

Derek felt his eyebrows tilt as he looked at you. "Kid I… " he sighed, looking at you pitifully. You and him both were in the same boat. He had been sleeping more often to escape the look in Peter’s eyes he was reminded of whenever he saw you. But he knew you needed him, that was why he had been cutting back on his sleeping. It wasn't healthy anyways. 

"C-call Spencer…" you whispered softly, hugging your knees. 

Derek raised a confused eyebrow and got a little closer to your reserved form. "What'd you say?" He asked, unsure of what you actually said. 

"P-please…" you spoke up a little louder, taking a deep breath as you began your request. "C-call Reid…" 

Derek didn't know how Spencer was supposed to help, but he didn't want to sit by when you clearly needed the genius. 

He nodded and grabbed his phone from his pocket, dialing Reid's number. He pressed the phone to his ear, whispering pleas for Spencer to pick up the phone. He reached over and gave you the option of holding his hand, to which you thankfully accepted. You squeezed his hand for dear life, just wanting to hear Spencer’s voice and hear him recall one of the many poems he'd read to calm your mind. 

Meanwhile, Spencer was currently standing beside JJ, feeling his phone buzz as Hotch tried to deliver the profile. Spencer had given his expertise already, and just wanted to see who was calling him. He'd already been on high alert in case it was you. And no amount of convincing himself to focus on work was helping. 

"Please have all of your available officers out looking for this unsub, and warn women of his type around the neighborhood and in the kill zone." Hotch began to warn. Spencer’s phone continued to buzz, causing the room to turn their eyes towards him. He blushed softly and flashed Hotch a desperate look. He sighed, but nodded. 

Spencer nodded back in rushed thanks before muttering his apologies and leaving the main room to answer his phone. 

Once outside, he picked up his phone and answered.  

"Sorry, we're in the middle of delivering the profile, so I was a little caught up. How is she?" Spencer asked. 

"Reid, she's… I don't know…" Derek replied, wishing he could hug you and soak up all your pain. He took the phone away from his ear and put it on speaker. "She just woke up from another nightmare. She told me to call you." 

You look towards Morgan, gesturing to see if you could take the phone. He nodded, still never letting go of your hand. 

"S-spence?" You whispered into the phone. 

"Hey…" he replied calmly. "Are you okay?"  

Instant relief washed over you. Not completely instant and overwhelming, but you suddenly felt a rush feeling of being protected and loved. Even if Spencer didn't know it yet. 

You sniffled. "H-honestly? No. I'm the furthest from okay." You wiped your eyes of incoming tears, exhaling sharply so as to not encourage more sobbing. 

Spencer felt his heart ache from hearing you cry. He wished he were home with you. So it wasn't just you and Derek. Strangely, after that thought, a misplaced thought of jealousy panged his heart. Seriously? This wasn't the time to be jealous of his best friend for getting to spend extra time with the girl he loved who he hadn't gotten enough courage to confess to yet. He supposed he was just worried that when he'd be ready to tell you, you wouldn't feel the same anymore. 

"Is there anything I can do to help? I still have all of Edgar Allan Poe's works memorized if you need me to recite one." He offers. The idea brings a slight, and small smile to your face. 

Derek's face lit up at the arrival of said smile, showing off his own signature one. 

"Please? S-spence I don't want to i-intrude on the c-case but-" you began to ramble and try to explain. 

"Hey, it's okay. Hotch cleared me to come take this call. You're my top priority right now. Not the case, not the profile, you." Spencer assured, smiling genuinely as he even was able to hear your voice. 

You sighed gently, and let your mind relax for a moment. "O-okay… but y-you pick this time." You replied. Spencer replied in kind. 

"Sure, (Y/N/N). He answered. "How about The Raven this time? It's one of his most well known works, and it surprises me you haven't asked me to read it yet." 

You can feel your nerves slowing down and relaxing as you let out a soft giggle. "S-sure. But you know that's because you prefer the obscure ones." 

Spencer rolled his eyes teasingly, as if you could see them. Derek gave you a reassuring look, and you nodded, letting him sit back for a moment as Spencer Reid began to read yet again another poem to you to calm the raging storm of emotions stirred from your nightmares. 

Spencer cleared his throat teasingly before he began, pulling a slight laugh from you. "Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping…" 

Just as it was each and every time he did this for you, it calmed every part of you to hear his voice alter somewhat to fix the tone of the poem. To hear the way the words rolled off his tongue even without the poem in his hands. 

You were asleep before he could even finish the poem. But that didn't matter to him. He just finished the poem and sighed to himself. 

"Is she asleep?" Spencer asked softly.  

"Yep. Out like a light." Morgan says, readjusting the blanket over you. 

"Good. Just… call me if she needs anything else. I should be able to answer. If not text Hotch for me." Spencer expressed. 

If only he could be there to see your beautiful face asleep on his couch. Maybe even with your head on his chest. To hold you close. To hear your gentle breathing in and out. 

Derek got to do that. 

Spencer couldn't help the jealousy he felt in his heart. Derek could get any girl he wanted. Even you. But Spencer's heart couldn't help protesting that you were supposed to be his. He wanted you to be his. His life. His love. His Darling. Well...

Only time will tell if that will ever change. 

[ccsthemovie2]

OK, scratch that other and let me replace with Kero & Yue and an abandoned or empty place!

Kero + Yue + V

"Knewww you'd be here!" Kero shakes himself out till he's a more comfortable size.

"Keroberos. We're outside."

"Like you blend in."

Yue looks away, and the win goes to Kero. It's true, he's following Sakura's rules with his mouth, but acting like it's much longer ago. Clow didn't care. Lie around, wings out, in full view of the neighbors, whatever. Anyone could call him a witch, and he'd agree wholeheartedly. So straightforward, right? A bit of an oddball, but honest.

Or something.

Kero makes no attempt to go into the house.

"Anyway," he stalls, "Do I know you or what? The second they move out, bam, there you are-"

"I was invited."

"Wait, what?"

Yue glides past him through the doorway. Kero hangs back as much as he can.

"When was this, I never got a call!"

"Earlier. He said to let everyone know to take what they want now, because all the furniture's being shipped over to him in a few days. And then..."

"And then?"

"And then the house is being torn down."

Kero whistles.

"Man. I can't believe it. Are Sakura and the cards already here?"

Yue pauses in his tracks, looks over his shoulder guiltily.

"She's in school right now. I'm going to let her know as soon as that's over."

"Ahh, I see. Safety-checking first. Smart."

Yue raises an eyebrow.

"What's there to safety-check?"

Kero gives him a look that says What, are you stupid?

"Uhhhh, because it's been a while? We knew what not to touch when we were used to it but, A, we super aren't anymore, and B, our good friend Eriol may have inherited the tendency to leave a surprise behind him?"

"He said it would be safe," Yue says, like that confirms everything, and Kero only lets it go because it means he asked.

The house, inside, is new and old and old and new and undeniably heavy on their heads. The longer they spend in the house the less of his cheerful self Kero is. His shoulders grow hunched, his tail tense, pointing sharply outward, keeping his balance, his ears flattened.

He stalks around the empty kitchen, paws through cabinets, commenting- "Oh, Sakura would love these little plates." "Score, he left like, a full cabinet of spices!" "Eeeeyuck, aughhh, that's not ketchup, that's a potion."

"I thought you were the one worried about safety?" Yue says. He nearly smiles.

"Exactly! And now Sakura won't make my mistakes." Kero crosses his eyes, sticks out his tongue- it's changing colors rapidly. Nearly laughs, nearly relaxes his posture, then thinks better of it. Yue actually giggles. God, everything goes topsy turvy in this place.

"Hey, Yue," Kero says, a bit unkindly, "You want your old mug back?"

"He kept it?" Yue asks, breathless. It's an old joke. Little more than a handle on a ceramic crescent moon.

"Sure did. Kept most of his old stuff, from the look of it-" (suddenly Yue has gone from picking at the corner of a tablecloth to directly over Kero's shoulder) "-and added a lotta things, too. Oooh, butterfly cookie cutters!"

Yue, elbow deep in a cutlery drawer (Yukito might want this ladle), loses interest as soon as he sees how much is unfamiliar.

This place changes him too, not just Kero. Feet on the ground and the house feels even larger for doing so, or he feels smaller, doesn't matter. He holds a new pan over an old stove, mimics flipping something as if to try and understand the last person who did so, looking somewhere between awe and joy and misery.

Kero decides, and this is how you know he's really shaken, that he's had enough of poking around the kitchen. He pads into the living room.

"Hey, he took the chair!"

That gets Yue's attention.

"So he did."

"He took the chair with him immediately. Didn't wanna risk any of us taking his bad vibes chair. The guy's a hoot."

There isn't a single photo of the old crowd, Kero notices. Lots of art, most new, and a few pictures of Spinel and Ruby in old frames. He doesn't say anything about that.

"I'm glad we're doing this together," he says instead. "Nobody should be in this house alone. Even Eriol knew that, bet that's why he made those two. Probably why it'll get torn down now."

"I can't believe it..." Yue says. "Torn down." He realizes fully what will happen and grows mournful, like the house is about to be executed. "He's never done this before."

This is true. Clow and his- household? Creations? Disciples? Kiddos? Roommates? Clow and his roommates have moved many times, but the empty houses generally got taken over by some relative or other, or occasionally preserved for a later return. There's one, at least, that's a proper haunted house now, and these days it sells tickets every October. Clow always, always, built things with eternity in mind. This is a first. When Kero reaches the end of that thought, he understands.

"To distinguish himself, I guess. But in a way I actually agree with him there. Maybe I'm just biased..." he thinks about hopping up in his old window seat- in Spinel's old window seat. He doesn't. "But I'll be glad to see it go."

"Why?" Yue whispers. He's daring Kero to say something he'll disagree with. Kero knows it, takes the bait anyway- is it bait if you know good and well what you're doing?

"It's a bad place, Yue. Bad things happened here. It's full of that feeling."

"Don't say that," Yue says, near begging, "about one of our homes."

"It stopped being my home when it was taken from me," Kero says sharply.

"It was given back."

Kero hisses.

"Oh, I'm so glad-" he starts, full of fire and poison, and then cuts himself off. He looks away from Yue, takes a deep breath. Yue hasn't seen him do that in a long, long time. Sometimes, when it's obvious to even someone oblivious and hotheaded as Keroberos....

"All right." he agrees, flatly, defeated. It's worse to be given up on entirely than to be argued with. "It was given back to us."

"Tell me when you want to go upstairs," Yue says, staring deep into the empty fireplace, basking in the warmth of the fire that was here decades ago, avoiding the burn of the one that was there a few months before. "I'll go with you."

"Do you want to?" Kero's voice is low, quiet. He bumps Yue's leg with his cheek. "You could stay at the foot of the stairs."

"Mmm... yes. I'll go."

"Cry it out before the others get here too. Smart."

"I'm not going to cry."

"You'd better, or Yukito'll be bawling on your behalf."

[lailyn]

The Way We Were

The knock on the door came late evening, so faint and hesitant Loki almost brushed it off as a product of his overactive imagination. On days like this, when the sun was low and the birds had settled to roost, Loki’s melancholy often paid him a visit. Hearing things was not unheard of. 

There was the knock again. It sounded more resolute this time. 

The banging and clanging from the kitchen ceased momentarily and Tony’s head bobbed up from behind the island counter. “Do you mind getting the door, babe? I kinda have my hands full at the moment.”

Loki rolled his eyes. He waved away their daughter’s toys and righted the cushions on the couch before trudging grudgingly to greet whoever was at the door. For some reason, the journey from the living room to the front door felt long and never-ending, his feet heavy and his heart heavier. 

His wards were holding, but he felt far from safe. He held onto the small frame tighter and closer to him. 

“Stephen.” 

“Loki.” 

“I...wasn’t expecting you.” Loki's grip around his daughter tightened. 

"Mama, is he a bad man?" He heard her whisper in his ear, and just like that, the tension drained out of Loki like water.

"No." Loki loosened his grip around her. "No, baby, he's not."

“Stephen, my man! You made it!” Out of nowhere, Tony appeared, and the trance broke instantly; Loki took an abrupt step back as his husband reached over to give their guest a hug. 

“Tony.” Stephen’s smile was warm and genuine, as was the affectionate squeeze he gave Tony’s shoulder. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes, we’ve really moved out of your jurisdiction,” Tony said with a roll of his eyes. “Wellness checks probably aren't warranted as much.”

“Not when you’ve moved upstate, no, not so much,” Stephen said serenely. 

Upon realising that none of them had moved in the last thirty seconds since Loki answered the door, Tony balked, “Are we just going to stand here like a bunch of idiots? Get your ass inside!” 

“Husband,” Loki admonished him, doing his best to cover both their daughter’s ears with one hand.

“Oops.” Tony shooed them all in. He could no more bear the awkwardness than Loki could pretend that they were nothing but old friends. 

He closed the heavy mahogany doors behind them. “I’d offer to take your coat, but…” 

Much to everyone's amusement, the Cloak of Levitation had flown across the threshold to make itself at home, pretending to socialise with the other outer garments on the rack behind the door. 

The toddler in Loki's arms squealed in delight.

Stephen admired the cabin, casting an appreciative eye at the high, lofty ceiling with its great timber beams, and the great roaring fireplace. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

“I didn’t think the neoclassic, minimalist luxe look was going to work but you know our dearest Loki. He always knows what he wants.” The look of pure adoration on Tony's face was something to behold. 

A soft blush coloured Loki’s cheeks, his “Stop it,” half-hearted and weak. 

Stephen's fingers hovered over the lone Japanese ceramic tea bowl on a display table. "Edo period?"

Loki’s eyes were unreadable. "I imagine so."

Stephen would recognise the rough, rustic finish anywhere; the crack that went down all the way from its rim to its bottom was unmistakable. He remembered the hours Loki had spent studying the gold lacquer with which the crack was filled, and he remembered keeping him company. 

"Wabi-sabi." Stephen nodded in approval. "The art of seeking beauty in imperfection."

Loki's stoic face gave an imperceptible spasm.

“Espérance, darling, be a dear and go upstairs for a short nap, okay?” Loki pressed a kiss to the little girl's cheek. "Daddy and I are going to talk to Uncle Stephen for a while. We'll call you once dinner's ready."

"I'll take her," Tony offered. "Why don't you take Stephen outside, babe? I've put out some hors d'oeuvre on the patio."

"She's grown so big." Stephen marvelled at the sight of his friends' eldest daughter as she climbed up the stairs one step at a time, clutching the rail in one hand, her father's hand in the other.

"That's one way of telling time." Loki said coolly. "Watching children grow."

Without another word, Loki turned and led Stephen onto the patio, where several chairs had been laid out on the deck overlooking the picturesque lake below. 

Loki had no sooner sat on the chair that offered the best view of the mountains on the other side of the house than the first hum of a familiar tune began to play from the various speakers hidden in the trees around the property. 

Tony must have tinkered with the controls inside the house, and Loki heaved a sigh, forlorn and pensive. 

He did not blame his husband for the poor choice. It had nothing to do with Barbra Streisand’s metier as a singer, as legendary as it was. 

"I could listen to this song over and over if not for the memories."

Stephen took a seat on the other side of the coffee table. It was a comfortable, yet companionable distance. "It's always been your favourite."

"The song or the film?"

Now that Stephen really thought about it, he had no idea. "You never told me."

Loki allowed himself a wistful smile. "You hated it. The ending."

"I don't understand why they couldn't be together."

"They were too different."

"They were their own person, sure. But they loved each other. They should have been able to make it work."

"Are we still talking about Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford?" Loki eyed the man sitting next to him. "Or are you talking about us?"

Stephen felt like kicking himself. This was not why he came. He was not going to ruin what was left of this fragile friendship lamenting lost loves and what-ifs. He did not have many friends left, in this world or off it. 

"We were too similar," he managed. 

Loki snorted. "Polarity has nothing to do with compatibility. What repels does not always repel. What attracts does not always last."

"That is true," Stephen agreed reluctantly.

"You Midgardians look to the stars for guidance, do you not? The alignment and such, to see if one is right for another?”

“Certain cultures do, yeah.”

“I was not born under these stars, Doctor." Loki raised his head to the heavens. "So your theory is flawed."

Stephen knew better than to challenge an idea when there was no point in winning. He had lost so much already. A wiser man would argue that losing was not the same as sacrificing; if done for the greater good, it was noble and worthwhile and who cared if he was alone? If his bed was cold every night?

As long as Loki was safe, warm and loved, Stephen cared not one damn bit. 

"It's pretty cold tonight, huh. How about a drink?"

Two steaming cups suddenly appeared on the coffee table.

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Pumpkin spice latte? You hate this stuff."

Stephen flashed him a smile, boyish and familiar. He offered no explanation for why it looked so sad. Perhaps he did not realise he was wearing it. "Not anymore."

A sudden splashing sound and a whiff of bourbon had Loki shooting out a hand to cover the rim of his cup before Stephen could offer to do the same to his drink. "I'm alright, thank you."

In his shock, Stephen nearly dropped the bottle with a fumbling gasp, and his host turned to give him a sharp look.

In profile, Loki’s looks had appeared untouched by age. But now, Stephen could see the passage of time in the seaglass eyes, how their piercing brilliance cast a sallow hue over a complexion so pale he could see the veins in Loki’s temples. 

"Does Tony know?"

Loki's forehead furrowed as though the question puzzled him, but it smoothened as he looked down at the hand he did not realise he was holding to his stomach. 

"I was planning to tell him the good news tonight."

Stephen closed his eyes. Finally he knew why he had come, and why he must now leave.

He recapped the bottle of liquor slowly. He banished it to his secret pocket dimension in exchange for another object, one he had coveted for his own but now only knew was only given to him for safekeeping. 

Slowly he stood. As if answering his silent call, the Cloak of Levitation flew through one of the open windows upstairs to settle around his shoulders. 

Loki tore his eyes away. He could not look at Stephen's majestic silhouette for too long.

"Must you leave so soon?" He asked lightly. "You'll break Tony's heart."

The foliage of red and gold here was as beautiful as the one Stephen and Loki once shared a long, long time ago. 

He pressed in Loki's hand a memento of that time, a souvenir from one of the many Shinto shrines Loki had dragged him to up and down the ancient town of Kyoto. 

"Fall has seen its share of broken hearts." 

With the return of the sad smile and a small shrug, Stephen then asked the cruelest yet kindest question of all. "What is one more?"

_____________

Loki watched the last of the autumn leaves fall one by one onto the cold, hard ground. He had never told anyone but his eyesight had become better with age, especially in the dark. Be it his Jotunn blood or his ever-growing proficiency in the practice of magic, he found it both a blessing and a curse.

Winter was coming. 

And something was burning. 

The smoke detector blared but the alarm sounded distant, unimportant. A white noise of modern living. 

There was a time when Loki would have let the world around him burn, just for one moment of peace...until he learned that solace was not a place. Tony taught him that.

The patio door slid open behind him and before his husband could speak,

"Do you need a hand, darling?" Loki said without turning his head.

"I think I burnt the turkey!" Tony said, sounding awfully stressed over an overdone poultry no one was going to eat anyway. "I need some time-turning magic! Stephen, you need to timey-wimey the turkey back to edib - "

He frowned. "Where did Strange go?"

"He had to leave."

"What? Why?"

"He didn't say."

"It's not Thanksgiving without turkey."

"I'm sure we'll manage," Loki said mildly. 

He waved a hand and the smell of smoke disappeared, the smoke detector alarm dwindling into the first chimes of the cicadas' night song.

"Think it was some kind of Sorcerer Supreme business? He left without saying goodbye."

"Must be."

Tony sank slowly into the chair Stephen had so hastily vacated. "Well, I guess protecting our reality comes first.” 

“Yeah,” Loki said softly. “I guess.”

"Are you alright?" Tony asked carefully.

“You didn’t tell me he was coming.”

“I didn’t know he was. He has never RVSP-ed before, no matter how many times we invited him over.”

“Why now? Why this year?”

“Maybe he just misses you.”

“Anthony…”

"How long has it been? Seven, eight years since you last saw each other?"

Loki had meant to leave Tony's rhetorical question unanswered but nostalgia had other ideas. "Ten."

Tony whistled. A decade, huh. "That must be why."

“Tony, don’t.”

“Look, Lokes,” Tony said haltingly as he ran a rakish hand through his hair. "Everybody has a history. You know mine. I'm lucky if I could learn half of yours before I die but what I do know of it, I'm cool with it. You're with me now and that's all that matters."

Loki said nothing.

"Am I wrong?" Tony pleaded when the silence went on for far too long. 

Loki rolled his eyes. "There's a little girl upstairs who has your face and your name, what do you think?"

"Seeing as she is our daughter, she's mine, sure." Tony's eyes were asking a different question altogether, Are you? 

Loki sighed, feeling sick to his stomach. The one sip of the sickly sweet drink he took sat heavy and sour, heralding the onset of nausea that would take hours to calm.

His hand slipped inside his pocket and grasped the palm-sized object, not knowing what to expect - 

The tiniest gust of wind blew against his cheek, and Loki let out a startled cry. He had not felt Stephen's magic in a long, long time.

"Loki?" he heard Tony call out, the abject concern in his husband's voice.

He picked up the pouch that had fallen out of his pocket and fisted it tightly, noticing how his nausea had completely vanished.  

"It's an Omamori charm," he said faintly. "The Japanese would gift these to expectant mothers as a good luck charm for safety in pregnancy and childbirth."

"Why would he - " Tony's eyes bulged as he gaped, "You're pregnant?"

"Yes," Loki said, painfully aware of how feathery and weak his voice sounded.

"And you told him?" Tony asked, his voice rising in pitch. "Before me?"

Loki ignored the jealousy in Tony's voice and the hurt in his husband's eyes. Not only was it unfounded, Loki was barely holding it together himself. 

He shook his head more forcefully than he intended and a few tears landed on the weather-beaten deck, darkening it in places. 

"Stephen just knew." Loki wiped his face surreptitiously. "He knows these things."

"I bet he does," Tony muttered darkly. 

Loki turned to look at his husband furiously. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"Baby, I didn't mean it like that." Tony hurriedly tried to gather Loki in his arms but his unyielding husband refused to budge so Tony slid onto the floor and surrendered himself to the mercy of Loki's lap. "I say the stupidest shit sometimes, stuff I don't even mean." 

But Loki was nothing if not persistent. "Then what did you mean?"

Tony was quiet for a time. "Bambi, I'm the coolest guy I know. I look good for my age. Did I tell you my skin age dropped from fifty to thirty after I went on that cleansing diet Bruce recommended on his podcast?"

If Loki waited long enough, Tony almost always got to the point. Eventually. 

"Hey, Fury told me that the last Sorcerer Supreme lived for hundreds of years. How crazy is that?"

“Where are you going with this?”

“Nowhere,” Tony said all too quickly. 

"You are talking to the God of Lies, Tony, or did you forget?" Loki's eyes glinted dangerously. "Try again."

“Someday...one day when I’m no longer around and if you decide that - ” Tony hesitated. His gaze shifted to the floor. “I just want you to know that I’m okay with it. I’m okay with the idea of...you. And him.”

“You would say that to me when I have given up everything to be with you. To take you as my husband." Loki's eyes welled. "To bear our children.”

His breath hitched, his chest felt tight. "After all these years, you still - "

"No, Loki. Please, don't." 

Tony could never stand to see him cry, but Loki could not help the tears streaming down his face of their own volition.

"Please don't cry…" 

Rough, calloused hands pawed at the hollow of his cheeks. 

"I just wish I could make you happy."

But Loki was not having it. "The man can see into the future, Stark. Do you honestly believe he would have let you have me if you couldn't?" 

Tony was stunned into silence.

"What ever gave you the impression that I was not happy with you?" Loki asked bitterly, his entire frame trembling under the weight of anger and some other emotion he dared not name. "You are not some charity case I picked up because you had the shorter life to live."

The silence stretched into long minutes of heartache and morose reflection.

“Are you mad at me?” Tony asked quietly.

"No." Loki shook his head. “I am thankful for you. You gave me a chance. No one else did.”

“Hey, hey. It wasn’t all me. It was mostly you. It was all you.” 

Tony grabbed Loki's hand and pressed an exceptionally fierce kiss on the bone-cold knuckles. “You gave us a chance. I just wanted someone I couldn’t have.”

“Someone you thought you couldn’t have," Loki corrected. 

Tony gazed into the icy depth of Loki's eyes, looking for an affirmation only Loki could give.

“Stephen may have come first but you are not second, Tony." 

Loki touched his fingertips to the sides of his husband's dear, sweet face. "You were never second.”

"I love you, Games."

"And I, you," Loki reassured him, stilling the quiver of Tony's lips with a brush of a thumb. "Even if you don't always believe me."

"I do." In a throwback to his overexcitement on their wedding day, Tony showered Loki's face all over with kisses, each more desperate than the one before. "I do, I do, I do!" 

"I never doubted you, Loki. I was just being an idiot. An insecure, self-centered idiot." Tony reached out a hand to touch Loki's stomach. "Are you okay?" 

"I am more than okay." Loki laced his fingers through Tony's. "Are you?"

"Are you kidding? Do you see this?" Tony gestured at the giant grin he was wearing. It was so huge he felt as if his cheeks would snap. "This is my happy face. I am super happy." Then his face contorted. "When did we -?"

"Make her?" Loki bit down on his lip. "By my calculation, probably last month on our trip to Italy."

Tony's already big eyes widened. Her? He mouthed. 

Loki thought of the pouch charm with its exquisite pink brocade and gold silk lining. 

The Sorcerer Supreme was never wrong.

"Yes, we are having another girl," Loki  said giddily. Tears of happiness did not sting as much so this time he did not bother blinking them away.

Tony's eyes danced. "Can I tweet this yet?"

"No."

"But my followers come up with the most amazing baby names!"

"No!"

Tony pouted. "Fine. But we're giving her an Italian name."

"Tony, we don't really have to name every kid we have after the place where they were conceived, you know."

"Espérance grew into hers," Tony argued. After a few seconds of heavy thinking, "I quite like Isabella."

Loki wrinkled his nose beatifically. "Too common."

"Ludovica? You thought the sculpture was beautiful."

"I am not naming our daughter after a tomb effigy!" Loki said indignantly. "Although I did meet Bernini once. Give him a slab of marble and he could breathe it to life." 

The reminiscent smile on Loki's face took on a life of its own. "You would have liked him. He was quite flashy, like you."

"God you're sexy when you name-drop famous dead people," Tony sighed.

Loki began to laugh; it started off slow, before escalating into a full, heartfelt laughter that had him grabbing Tony's face in both hands. 

Stephen chose to serve the world. Maybe in another life, he would choose Loki. 

But for now, and forever…

There was no other man for him. 

He bent down to kiss Tony on the lips, gently, deeply and fully. 

"Anthony Stark, you have my heart." For Loki too remembered his wedding vows. "Whole, healed and eternal."

And eternal indeed was their love, the former Iron Man and his Ice Prince, and healed were their hearts, conjoined as one, for as long as they both shall live.

[doodleimprovement]

Bits and Pieces (Ghost!Nell - Pre-Canon Snippets)

4 looks into an odd relationship between the Queen of Subcon and the Apothecary. 

A thanks to @ahatintimepieces​ and @bittybattybunny​ for listening to me ramble endlessly about Nell and help me come up with this stuff <3 

Enjoy the Ficlets below! 

She was a little thing, all fidgeting hands, rosy cheeks, and trembling sniffles. 

Were she not the Princess, Nell might not have felt so nervous about treating the child. 

But the Apothecary himself was ill, and he claimed that the apprentice was ready… They just had to prove it. 

The Queen was a level of overbearing that Nell nearly cracked under, asking the same questions roughly 4 times every few minutes, and insisting that the apprentice’s master’s “potions” were more effective than theirs. God bless the King, who graciously managed to find a way to get the Queen out of the room so that Nell could finish administering some of the lighter medications to mitigate the bedridden child’s symptoms. 

Cattermint for the fever, Peterpoppy for nausea, and a bit of Mauvender to help relax the girl, who seemed far more tense than a 9 year old should be when ill. 

“‘M I gonna get better?” The girl asked 

“Well, I’m using the same medicines that Mister Wellius uses, and it’s worked for you and all the other’s before. I think it’ll be more than enough, yes?” Nell gave her a gentle smile, and she smiled back with a yawn. 

“Will you come back if I’m sick again?” She asked, head tilting into her pillow

“Of course, your highness” They assured 

o0o0o0o

Nell wasn’t sure what to think when the Princess was standing outside their front door in the middle of the night, the full moon being the only light on the cobblestone streets. She was sporting a bruise on her face, sniffling 

“I… I hit my head trying to get to the kitchen” She admitted “Mom… She’s gonna be so mad when she…Since Dad died…. Uh..  do you have that.. paste?” 

“You mean the Emericia?” the newly minted Town Apothecary pulled the door open further, so the preteen could come in “How did you find me?” 

“The sign” she pointed to the hanging wood above the door “… You said you lived near the clock tower…” and she pointed further to the stone building that housed the clock before cautiously walking in.

By candlelight, Nell searched their cabinets, finding a small case with the Emericia paste, and turned back around, freezing for a moment at the fact that the child sitting by her table was in tears. The Apothecary walked over to her, getting on their knees, and taking the girls’ hand, and putting the case in her palm. They took a quiet moment to rub their thumb over the back of the child’s hand, hoping that she found it comforting. 

“Wash your face when you get home, and then put the paste on. It’ll bring down the bruising and swelling by daybreak” Nell nodded “That should be enough, hm?” 

Vanessa’s glassy eyes looked back at her. 

“But.. if it’s not better, can I come back?” She asked, gripping the small, ceramic jar.

“...Of course, your highness” 

o0o0o0o

Vanessa was such a lanky, awkward teenager, given her upbringing. Nell had watched as she grew, and matured, and turned 14. At that age, she was introduced to the prince of Iberillia, a kindly boy named Neth with an even shy-er smile than Vanessa. The poor girl was absolutely taken by his earnestly kind eyes, and Nell watched mostly with amusement as she would gush about her “Prince” 

Nell had been called to the castle to assist with a rather nasty burn that the Princess had gotten when she was trying to bake - it seems she’d run out of the previous burn remedy they’d given

Vern oil and Alielie pollen would heal that right up. 

“I was trying to make raisin bread. He says it’s his favorite and-” 

Nell chuckled “I understand, dear. Wanting to assure you’re in his good graces” 

“But now I just hurt myself.” She lamented “He’ll hate me!” 

Nell couldn’t hold back a snort 

“Would you like to know a secret, dear?” 

Vanessa tilted her head

“When I was passing the tailor’s today, Prince Neth was there, and he was speaking to the man and telling him that he wanted to make himself a new cape to impress you. If he doesn’t like you, I don’t think he’d be doing that, hm? That should be enough proof” 

Vanessa blinked, her face heating up with a grin 

“And you’re telling the truth?” The teenage princess teased, and Nell finally laughed. 

“Of course, your highness.” 

o0o0o0o0o

The Queen's death had been sudden, uncalled for and jarring, the news spreading so quickly that Nell almost thought it was a wild rumor the woman herself would squelch the next morning. That is, until a familiar member of the castle staff slammed open their door

“Vaness- The Prin-” the boy shook his head “...She’s asking for you” 

Nell dropped the Trealiliy they were attempting to extract pollen from, following behind the tailor’s apprentice as the storm clouds gathered above and they rushed to the royal manor, where they were let right in, and led to the … Queen?- Vanessa’s room. 

Nell motioned for their young friend to follow, but he just shook his head. 

“She asked for you” 

They sighed, and opened the door, not bothering to knock as they were greeted by a burst of chilled air. She was sitting at the end of her bed, and looked up suddenly when the door opened, her sclera’s were red, but she looked more.. angry then sad. 

“.. You asked for me?” Nell gently spoke, keeping their voice low. 

Vanessa sniffled, and looked back down. Nell pondered asking if she wanted some Mauvender for her stress. 

“I hated her” She started as Nell carefully approached “I hated her and she hated me but I… I’m still crying and - and -” She sobbed. Nell carefully sat down next to her, and pulled the young woman to their side. She was cold to the touch. 

“I know you hated her.. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t love her too. Love is not the opposite of hate...And usually, that love is enough.. At least, for their loss to hurt you” 

The young queen leaned into them, her expression unchanged. 

“... Can you stay?” 

Nell paused, surprised by the request, but simply squeezed, rubbing Vanessa’s arm. 

“Of course, Your Majesty”

[idreamofplaid]

Christmas Promise

Summary: Dean reached a point in his life where something has to change, and he finally makes a decision about his future. 

Characters: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2594

A/N: For the purposes of this series, pretend Cassie and Lisa didn’t exist. 

A/N 2: This is Part 4 of Dean’s Christmas Carol. I originally planned on this being the last part, but as I wrote the story a Part 5 materialized. Read Christmas Past, Christmas Present, and Christmas Future. 

Dean drove all night to get to her. He put down the windows and let the wind blow into the Impala. The music playing on the tape deck didn’t do much to calm his nerves. Everything reminded him of her. They had listened to these same songs together when he had taken her driving in Baby, which really meant they’d ended up in the backseat. She had loved his car, and he loved her even more for that. It was just one more reason he knew she was perfect for him.

It was the carefree memories he tried to keep in his mind. The vision of the future Charlie had shown him was too painful to think about. Y/N had always been so upbeat. She was optimistic and believed the best could actually happen. Dean couldn’t stand to think of her giving up and being alone, settling for hookups with some jerk who didn’t come close to being good enough to be anywhere near her.

The question was, did he deserve her? He was the one who had left her after spending the best months of his life with her. She had made his heart feel light in a way it never had. Monsters didn’t matter when he was with her, and she made him feel hope when he would have thought that was completely impossible. 

Zeppelin lyrics poured out of the speakers, and Dean tried to think of a way to tell her who he was, to explain to her why he’d gone when the only thing he’d wanted was to be with her always. If she slammed the door in his face, it would be understandable, but that wasn’t her way. 

She would listen to him. Dean knew that. He would at least have a chance to tell her what he wanted her to know, and once he did; it would be up to her. She would have the chance to decide for herself that he should have given her in the first place, but had he been wrong? That was a long time ago. He didn’t know the things then that he did now, and he sure as hell didn’t have the experience killing things that might intend her harm. 

He trusted himself and his ability to protect her more now. Back then, demons were the biggest challenge he’d faced; and they had only been low level demons in the grand scheme of things. If Dean could face God and Lucifer and come out on top, whatever else came his way, or hers, now; he could handle. That was, if she’d give him the chance; but he knew he at least had to try. He knew now that doing nothing was one regret he couldn’t live with.

When Baby turned onto the familiar street where Y/N’s coffee shop was located, Dean took a deep breath. What if she wasn’t there? What if she was? He pulled up by the curb in front and got out of the car. The morning was cold, and he blew his breath in his hands to warm them. He couldn’t see her inside. It was early still, maybe the shop wasn’t open yet. It had to be; this was where people got coffee. Of course it was open. Dean knew he was stalling. C’mon, just open the damn door. What’s the worst thing that can happen? She can hate me for what I did to her, and I can hurt her more than I already did.

Dean gathered his courage and pushed the door open. A bell jingled as he walked inside. So much for buying himself a few more seconds to get himself together. Y/N came walking out from a back area of the shop that Dean knew she used for storage, or at least she used to. There was a big smile on her face. “Come on in, get out of the cold and have…” 

She stopped and stood perfectly still when she saw him. Dean’s heart started beating faster, and he searched for the right words. What he said was, “Hey, Y/N.”

“W...What are you…? Dean?”  She put the bag of coffee she was holding down on the nearest table, and walked closer to him. Her hair was longer than it had been when Dean saw her last.  It was pulled back, but he caught a glimpse of the loose braid that fell halfway down her back. There was very little makeup on her face, just enough to allow her natural beauty to shine through. She was wearing jeans and a simple black t-shirt with a plaid shirt over it that looked like something she might have borrowed from him. No one would have described her as glamorous, but there was nothing she could have done that would have made her more attractive to Dean.

She still took his breath away. “I wanted to see you, Y/N.”

Y/N picked up the coffee again, walked behind the counter, and poured the beans into a grinder. The noise delayed her response for several seconds. She emptied the freshly ground coffee into one of the espresso machine and turned it on. This was her normal routine, and she answered Dean like he hadn’t disappeared from her life fifteen years ago. “Why did you want to see me?”

Dean walked up to the counter to be closer to her, but it was still between them. “There are things I never said to you, things I need to tell you because you deserve to hear the truth; and I can’t live with you not knowing anymore.” His words were falling out in a jumble. Dean hoped he was making some kind of sense to her.

Y/N didn’t leave her spot by the espresso machine. The aroma of a rich French Roast filled the air. Dean recognized the smell; he hadn’t forgotten what she taught him about coffee. “O...Okay, then why don’t you tell me whatever it is you came here to say.” 

“Is it alright if I sit down?”

Y/N waved her hand at a bar stool. “Sure. Go ahead.”

“The way I left things...that wasn’t...I didn’t…”  Dean shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t want to leave you, Y/N.”

Y/N’s eyes dropped to the counter. She didn’t respond. Instead, she turned to the espresso machine and filled a cup. Dean decided he was going to have to talk to her back in order to say the things he came here to say. Her braid swayed as she drank, and Dean focused on that while he spoke.

“There were things you never knew about me, Y/N. Things I thought it was better not to tell you. I was involved in some dangerous stuff, and I didn’t want it following me to you. The reason I left was to keep you safe. I thought it was the best thing, but now I know I should have told you everything and given you the chance to decide for yourself.” 

Dean paused and scrubbed his hand down his face. Tears had gathered in his eyes, and they were threatening to fall. “I came here because you deserve to know the truth if you still want to hear it.”

Y/N had put down her cup, and she was grasping the edge of the counter. She turned slowly now to face Dean. “Tell me. Tell me what you didn’t tell me then.”

Dean made a fist and tapped it against his mouth a couple of times and took a deep breath. “This is going to sound crazy. It is crazy, but it’s my life.” He looked directly into her eyes with the most serious and sincere expression he could muster. “I hunt monsters.”

Her eyes didn’t leave his, and she didn’t say anything. Dean couldn’t read her expression, so he went on. “Just about everything you can think of is real, and I kill it. Vampires, werewolves, banshees, ghouls.” 

“Monsters? You came here to tell me you hunt monsters?” She leaned back against the counter and looked him over. “Have you been drinking?”

“No, Y/N. I haven’t. I’m completely sober. I drove all night to get here. From Kansas. I live there now with my brother. He hunts monsters too. We have a headquarters there, a home base.” Dean ran his hand through his short hair not knowing which way he should go with this next. “I didn’t want any of the insane crap I deal with to affect you, to hurt you, so I left; but I promise I didn’t want to go. Nothing has ever hurt me so bad. Still hasn’t.”

He was all in now, so he was just going to go with it. “I think about you all the time, Y/N. I never stopped thinking about you.”

Y/N folded her arms across her chest. “You didn’t get married?”

“No, there’s never been anyone I’ve had the guts to say this to, never been anyone I wanted to come clean with. I never let anybody know who I really am, Y/N. I came the closest with you, and I want to tell you all of it. You’re the only person who ever made me think about the future, about the rest of my life, about spending the rest of my life with someone. I still think about it.”

Y/N walked around the bar and came closer to Dean. “I don’t know what to say. Is there something else you haven’t told me?” 

Dean weighed his options. Where did he start? Angels? Demons? The Apocalypse? Which one? Y/N walked closer and reached out to touch Dean’s face. “Doesn’t matter. I still think about you too.”

It happened fast, and it happened naturally like no time had passed at all. Dean put his hand on her waist, pulled her close, and kissed her. He felt her arms wrap around him. His tongue glided over the seam of her lips, and she opened her mouth to him. All the years melted away in that kiss. Dean was young again, young and in love. 

They kissed each other for a long time, and when they finally pulled away; Dean cupped her cheek in his hand and once again memorized her face. He could feel her breathing, and it was the happiest he had been since he last held her. She whispered to him, “Come upstairs with me?”

Silently, he nodded; and she put her hand over his. Y/N led him up the stairs to her apartment where they had first made love so long ago. The furnishings were different, but the place still had all the coziness that told Dean it was her home. Everything about it said it was hers from the braided rugs on the floor to the handmade ceramics. 

Dean took her to the four poster bed covered with what looked like a handmade quilt. She took his hand and pulled him down to the bed with her. They sat on the edge, and he watched her bring her braid over her shoulder. She pulled the hairband from the end of it and placed it on the nightstand. Then she took her hair in her hands and started to separate the strands she had woven together into the braid. When she was done, she spread her hair around her shoulders. 

Dean watched her every movement, entranced by being so close to her again, the intimacy of it. He lay her down on the bed and kissed along the line of her cheek and down her neck then moved his mouth back up to hers. She sat up and took off her plaid shirt along with the tank underneath.

Under it, she was wearing a plain white cotton bra, and it was the sexiest thing Dean had ever seen. He brushed his thumb lightly along the line of the cup; he inhaled sharply and closed his eyes at the feel of the soft skin on her breast. He kissed her cheek while he continued to touch her. “I missed you so much, Y/N.”

He was still wearing all his Winchester layers, and she pulled at his jacket trying to get it off. Dean kissed her cheek again. “I’ve got it, baby.” He treated her to a private striptease, taking off first the jacket and then the flannel he was wearing beneath it. When he lifted the hem of his t-shirt revealing his chest and stomach, it was her turn to suck in her breath. 

Dean reached behind her, unhooked her bra, and slipped the straps down her arms. “You are still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He kissed her softly, his tongue circling hers and exploring every part of her mouth. She sighed into his kiss, but then pulled away and buried her face in the side of his neck. 

Dean’s hand went instinctively to the back of her head. “What is it, sweetheart?” 

“I thought about this so many times. I imagined you coming back and saying you still wanted me. I can’t believe it’s happening.”

He cradled her head in his hand and kissed her temple. “It is, baby. I’m here, and this is real. It’s always been real.” He was so close now; it was hard for her to breathe. “Hey, it’s okay. We don’t have to do this.”

She abruptly lifted her head. “No. I want to. I need to. In case you….”

Dean put his finger under her chin and lifted her face up so she was looking into his eyes. “It’s not going to be like that. I’ll never leave you again. My heart broke when I left you. It’s been broken ever since...until now.”

“I trust you, Dean.” The sweet forgiveness in those words was more than Dean had dared to hope that she would give him. 

In return, he was going to give her everything he had in him to give. “I promise I won’t hurt you.” He unbuttoned her jeans and eased the zipper down. Dean flattened his hand against her stomach and pushed it down slowly until it slid beneath her panties. He brushed his fingers through her folds, and his eyes locked onto hers. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

His fingers found her clit, and he rubbed it until she arched beneath his hand. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.” She came on his hand with his name on her lips. Dean held her through the aftershocks until her breathing slowed then he finished undressing her and himself.

He wrapped one arm under her and supported his weight on it. With his other hand, he brushed her hair from her face. Dean kissed the corner of her mouth then looked into her eyes while he pushed himself inside her. He was still for a few seconds then he pushed in deeper and waited again, giving her time to adjust to him. 

Her body was tight around his shaft; he could feel her stretching to accept him. He threaded his fingers through hers and held her hand as he started to move. She let go for him, and he did the same for her. Dean breathed into her with his kisses while he moved inside her. When she climaxed, her walls tightened around him, and he came with her. 

Dean lay on top of her, panting for several seconds, before he rolled to his side and pulled her into his arms. She rested her hand on his chest and made little circles with her fingers. Her voice was a whisper. “I wish we could always be like this.” 

Dean ran his fingers through her hair. He would find a way to give her that. “We can always have this, Y/N.” Dean stopped combing his fingers through her hair and got very still. “There’s something else I haven’t told you, something I need for you to know.” He kissed her hair and inhaled the sweet smell of flowers that lingered on it. It calmed him and gave him the courage to tell her what he’d been holding inside for more than a decade. “I love you, Y/N.”

Everything Forever: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @ledzeppelinsbonzo @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @heycasbutt @jules-1999 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @mrs-meghan-winchester @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @becs-bunker @gh0stgurl @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @lonewolf471 @sea040561 @dawnie1988 @maddiepants @volleyballer519 @outcastedangel @iknowwheremytowelis @wendibird @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @daisymoder72 @sorenmarie87 @oldfreakything

Dean/Jensen Love: @deansyahtzee @flamencodiva @deanwinchesterswitch @waywardrose13 @feelmyroarrrr @winchesterxfamilybusiness​ @focusonspn​ @akshi8278​ @ladywinchester1967​ @sgarrett49​ @wingedcatninja​ @coffee-obsessed-writer​ @adoptdontshoppets​ @team-free-will-you-idjiot​ @ellewritesfix05​

Dean’s Christmas Carol: @moron225