#the last part where they just stand around waiting for the goo to swallow them

[helianthus21]

the only good thing was that we saw hazel and agnes again, idc for anything else

hold on that finale was such a fail in so many ways idek where to start

[wheredafandomat]

Friends with Benefits

Reader x Thor x Loki

⚠️18+, college au, shmuttt

Part 17

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It had been two weeks, two weeks of you trying to seduce Loki and getting absolutely no where. You took Buckys useless advice which mostly consisted of biting your lip more and twirling your hair in Lokis presence which left him either asking if you were in pain or if you needed a hair tie. On the plus side, you and Loki had been spending a lot more time together recently but it was all purely platonic. You wondered if it was in fact better this way, to remain just friends with him to not have a repeat of the whole Thor situation.

On most days, you were left feeling confused. Loki didn’t make any moves to suggest that he liked you romantically which was absolutely fine but then sometimes he’d randomly stop and look at you as you spoke and it felt as if the world around you stopped. He’d lean slightly forwards which left your heart racing. Sometimes he’d even dare to tuck some of your hair behind your ear which left you having to turn away feeling flustered. You were supposed to just be friends, why was this so difficult?

Often you wished that things would go back to how they were before, minus sleeping with Thor who you now no longer saw through rose tinted lenses. You wanted to go back to a time where you’d hang out at Thors flat not caring about your appearance and exchange no more a few words with Loki. At least then you didn’t have to be so close to him and yet so far away. Now you found yourself always trying to make an effort if you knew you were going to see Loki which was ridiculous considering he was used to seeing you underdressed with messy hair as opposed to exchanging joggers for skirts and simple hair ties for clips and colourful scrunchies. Despite all of your efforts, it was clear that Loki didn’t like you in that way or so you thought.

It had been three weeks now and so you decided you wouldn’t pursue Loki any longer. He didn’t like you and you’d learn not to like him. You assumed that it was simply a crush considering how kind to you he always was. A crush that you’d soon forget about. Tonight was the long anticipated fancy dress party hosted by the drama students that happened once a term on campus. You’d usually go with Thor but this term he insisted you go with Loki because he had apparently planned an outfit with a different girl. Shrugging off the offence, you decided that you would go with Loki. Together you planned a last minute outfit where you’d dress as some sort of folklore princess whilst he dressed as a prince.

“Guys goo I’ll meet you there.” You told Nat who was dressed as an assassin and Bucky who was dressed as a soldier. You had just gotten out of the shower and they were already ready and you didn’t want to keep them.

“You sure? We can wait.” Bucky offered.

“No, go I’ll see you guys soon.” You insisted.

They both left whilst you laid out your outfit on your bed. You were still in your bathrobe with a towel wrapped around your hair when the door knocked. Sighing to yourself, you assumed Natasha had forgotten something including her key so you made your way towards the front door.

“Natasha you forgetful—Loki!” You gasped, eyes meeting Lokis when you opened the door revealing him standing in his costume with his hair tied back with two trendells out shaping his face. You quickly grabbed the towel off of your head and threw it on the floor.

“Oh sorry I thought you were ready.” He spoke, smiling nervously as he tried to ignore the fact that you were practically standing naked in front of him. “For you.” He added, handing you the bouquet of flowers he had in his hand.

“You um—you brought me flowers.” You answered, swallowing thickly as you took them. Do friends buy friends flowers? Yes! This was a friendly gesture.

“Yeah I-I saw them in a florist window on my way here actually.” He smiled, running a hand over the back of his neck “they looked really pretty and reminded me of you.”

You smiled as you brought the flowers to your nose before realising that there isn’t a florist anywhere near campus. Did he go out of his way to buy these?

“Thank you Loki.” You grinned “they smell lovely.”

“I’m glad.” He answered before a silence settled over you both. You kept your eyes trained onto the flowers not wanting to look at him as he fought the urge to look at you. That’s what this stupid crush had done to you, turned you shy. You internally scolded yourself and reminded yourself that this was Loki, the same Loki, the Loki you’d have to spend the night with so there was no point getting nervy over.

“Silly me, come in.” You spoke, breaking the silence as you gestured him inside. “Sit anywhere I’ll be ready in a minute.”

“Thank you.” He nodded curtly, closing the door behind him before he sat on the couch. Meanwhile you made your way to the kitchen, putting the flowers in some water.

“These flowers really are beautiful.” You smiled widely, speaking loud enough for Loki to hear. “Thank you Loki.”

“Someone as prepossessing as yourself deserves something equally so.” He replied as you walked out of the kitchen and through the living room he was sat in.

“Prepossessing, haven’t got that one before.” You chuckled.

“Oh y/n, words cannot describe your beauty.” He mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” He answered, clearing his throat. “Take your time I don’t mind waiting.” He assured as you walked into your bedroom.

You quickly put your dress on before struggling to reach the back and zip it up as you stood in front of your full length mirror. Luckily Loki was present you thought before you called him into your room. His breath hitched at the sight of you. Running his eyes over your form, Loki knew what you wanted him to do as soon as his gaze settled on your bare back. Making his way towards you, he moved your hair to the side of your neck before slowly zipping up the dress, eyes focused on his movements as opposed to your face in the reflection. Like every time it was just you and Loki, time itself seized to exist. You could feel the back of his hand making contact with your skin causing goosebumps in its wake. The feeling of his breath lightly fanning the nape of your neck was sensual. Looking at him from the mirror, you could see his chest rising and falling with every breath as his gaze remained on his actions until he finished and looked up, eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

“You really do look gorgeous.” He uttered.

“Thank you.” You answered just above a whisper as you continued to look at one another. Was this still purely platonic? Is this how friends looked at one another? “On my dressing table there is a necklace.” You spoke before Loki turned around and retrieved it, knowing what you were asking of him. Standing behind you again, necklace in hand, he reached forwards, placing it over your chest before clasping it at the back of your neck.

Loki tried to fight off the urge to ravage you then and there. You didn’t like him like that, he knew that, he knew it but he couldn’t help himself from leaning down and placing a single kiss on the back of your neck. He knew he’d have to apologise after and potentially never speak to you again after ruining your friendship but he had to do it.

You felt his lips against your neck and you lost all composure, practically falling back against him as you closed your eyes. Surprised by your reaction, Loki done it again only this time his lips lingered for longer before kissing another spot causing you to hum in content. It felt so right. Lokis hands found your sides, running them over you as he continued to kiss your neck, incorporating his tongue causing a small moan to escape you. You found yourself lost, drowning in the sensation of Loki touching you. You could feel his growing erection nudging your back and that’s when you truly lost yourself. Reaching backwards, you ran your hand over it causing Loki to jolt as he began sucking on your neck. You continued your movements as Loki started to rut against you. His hands found your breasts before he started kneading them eliciting more moans from you. One of his hands found the zip of your dress again before he tugged it down. Spinning around, you stepped out of it as Loki undone his belt buckle as you helped him remove his trousers. Your lips crashed onto his as you kissed one another feverishly, you pushing Loki backwards against the bed before he pulled you on top of him. Straddling him, you undone his shirt buttons, ridding him of it before you ran your hands over his exposed chest. Leaning down, you placed kisses against it as you worked your way down.

“Y/n!” Loki gasped, sitting up as he felt your lips on his v line. The look on his face told you he was ticklish.

“Shh, I’ll be gentle” you grinned, pushing him back down before you pulled down his briefs, exposing his cock. Instantly you wrapped your hand around it before you began stroking him. Bringing it to your lips, you kissed the tip causing Loki to breathlessly call your name. Your tongue circled the head before you took him in your mouth, gagging as you took him all. You hollowed your cheeks as you began sucking, moving your head up and down.

“Oh fuck.” He cursed incoherently as one of his hands helped guide your movements. Feeling him beginning to buck his hips, you stopped.

“You’re not cumming yet.” You warned, lifting your head as you began straddling him again. You could feel yourself growing wetter and wetter as you glided over his cock, still in your underwear. Lokis hands found your hips as he helped your movements, chasing a release feeling your clothed core against him. Lifting your hips, you moved your underwear to the side before feeling his shaft against your clit as you continued to move above him.

“I don’t have any protection.” Loki reluctantly admitted, not wanting whatever was happening to stop but also not wanting any accidents.

“I spend way too much on birth control to not feel you inside me.” You giggled, lifting your hips again as Loki guided himself towards your entrance before you slowly sank down onto him. You both moaned as he entered you. Giving even yourself no time to adjust to his size, you began bouncing on top of him as he gripped your breasts.

“You feel heavenly.” Loki praised, holding you against him as he bucked his hips up into yours. You moaned his name as you felt him deeper inside of you. You could feel yourself reaching the desired precipice with every movement.

“I’m gonna cum.” You practically shrieked.

“Jussst a little longer.” Loki groaned, speeding his movements. “Open your eyes, I want you to look at me as you cum.” He instructed. You opened your eyes, cumming as you felt him still inside you, coating your walls as you clenched around him. Both of you were swimming in bliss as you rode out your highs before you came back to reality.

Loki explaining to y/n what just happened 🤣

Tags:

@eyesbluelikethetitanic

@chaotics17

@mischief2sarawr

@muade-mua-de

@wheres-the-lamb-sauce

@ddeadlystbbxx

@howdidurhammergrowchris

@accio-peach

[yeojaa]

feed me, fight me.

pairing.  boxer!jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  relationship issues, baby angst, comfort, unprotected sex (please be responsible!).  wc. 3.5k.  beta reader.  @hobi-gif​, always.  💖  author note.  i’m really into comfort fics rn so... 

What do you get when you mix a pissed off girlfriend with a neglectful boyfriend?  (Aside from trouble, that is.)

The answer is you - throwing punches far harder than you should be, completely disregarding the fact that you’re meant to be playing the part of perfect partner, meeting pads in the sequence he’s laid out.  It’s you throwing a hook when you should be swinging an uppercut.  It’s you, snapping your leg out with a satisfying thunk! of your shin when you should only be thip kicking.  It’s you, not giving a single damn as you take out all your frustrations on someone who’s growing increasingly more irritated by your childishness.  It’s you, blatantly disrespecting him in his ring - sending a reminder that there’s more to life than the four corners of this space. 

How can he blame you though, when he’s the reason?  When you’ve voiced your annoyance more than once - more than twice, more times than you care to count - and each time it’s met with a half-hearted apology (if you could even call it that)?  How can he hold it against you when you’ve asked, demanded, pleaded for more? 

“Cut it out,”  he seethes, quiet, under his breath, irritation igniting his expression, something hot and angry burning in the dark of his stare.  A withering wildfire in an empty field, smoldering coals flickering bright.  It presents itself in how his mouth curls, the hard line of his jaw as bone threatens to snap in half from the tension. 

“Cut what out?”  Your retort is punctuated by the smack of leather on leather, the worn edge of your boxing glove meeting the pad that Jungkook raises just in time to avoid a black eye. 

“What’s your problem?”  How he manages to snipe back - somehow sounding disgruntled by your behaviour - you’re not sure.  All you know is it boils your blood, searing heat within your veins when he effortlessly blocks your next jab.  He knows you well and knows the sport better, predicting each movement as if you’re telegraphing it all with a giant neon sign on your forehead. 

(You probably are.  You’ve never been good at hiding your emotions, pinning your heart on your sleeve, your sadness heavy in your mouth.  They wear you, rather than you it.  A weakness of yours.)

“You’re my problem.” 

“Shut up.”  It’s not the usual exasperated annoyance he levels you with, meaner and paired with a swat of your gloved hand.  He’s not supposed to be countering you, instead only blocking the punches you throw his way. 

(But then again - when did he ever listen to you?  When did he ever do what he was supposed to?)

(It’s not a fair assertion.  You’re just mad.  Livid beyond belief, standing atop this hill that you’ll happily die on.)

“Fuck you,”  you snap, offering the petulant comeback in the same instance you surge forward.  He blocks your jab - sees it coming from a mile away - and goes to block your hook. 

Except it never comes, your knee straightening out instead, hard edge of your shin slamming right into the side of his leg. 

He crumples more out of surprise than anything, eyes wide, all the anger swept away by something closer to astonishment.  It shines impossibly bright in his eyes, turning his entire expression upside down when his knee hits the ground.  By how he falls, you’re sure you’ve hit just the right spot, left his nerve endings buzzing uncomfortably as the feeling leaves the limb. 

“Are you serious?”  You know he’s genuinely baffled then, voice slipping, cracking in a way you’d normally find adorable.  (It goes to show how upset you are, the awkward split of his words doing nothing to soothe your temper.)  “What’s your issue?”  He’s still seated on the floor, rocking back on his heels, brow knit in consternation.  It’d take him seconds to jump up - to put you on your ass - but he chooses to remain where he is, staring up at you with that look on his face.

(That look you love.  That you hate.  That makes your insides turn to goo on his best days and misery on your worst.  That you’ve seen every single day for the last three years, as the first thing upon waking up and the last thing before passing out.  That makes you hesitate now, peering down into it.)

(Were you being unnecessary?  Unbearable?  Was this on you?)

“I’m going home.”  It’d be nice to tear your gloves off, throw them in his face and storm off in a huff.  It’d cause the scene you’re hoping for, push him to where you need.  (Because that’s the thing about Jungkook - he doesn’t react otherwise and you’re sick of it.)  Instead, you turn on your heel and slink away, silent as a mouse.  

You’re tired.  Too tired.  Why had you started something you couldn’t finish?

It shouldn’t surprise you that you’re home alone for hours that night, curled up in bed and half-asleep when light from the hallway spills into your bedroom.  It comes with hardly any noise, a tell-tale sign he’s trying not to wake you (or disturb you or get caught).  You almost let it slide when his figure appears in the doorway, broad frame swallowed up by the oversized sweater he wears.

He’s moving near silently, having already deposited his gym bag in the laundry room.  He doesn’t even switch the light on, moving around in the muted glow of the hallway, fumbling as he strips his clothes off and tosses them into the hamper against the wall. 

You expect him to head directly into the en suite, wash away whatever grime he’s accumulated throughout the day.  He’s always been this way, far too concerned with dragging in odour and dirt into your bed to do otherwise.

Except tonight, he doesn’t follow his usual routine.  Tonight, he makes a detour.

The bed dips before you realise what’s happening, grip on the pillow under your head tightening.  Words fit between your teeth, ready to spill out, lash out, tear out like a bullet deadset on landing a bullseye. 

“I’m sorry.”  Two words you’ve been waiting to hear, that startle you enough to throw your anger out the window, tossing them out with the wash.  “I don’t know why you’re upset but I’m sorry for whatever it is.”  He’s speaking into the quiet of your bedroom.  You can feel his hand settled on the bed, wrist somewhere over the line of your spine.  

Oh - he thinks you’re asleep.

“Things have been crazy.  I’ve been stressed.”  Here, under cover of night, he’s vulnerable, explanation tumbling forth uncertainly.  You can hear it in the way the words form, syllables slipping into each other - a sure sign of his exhaustion.  “I know that’s not an excuse, so I’ll be better.”  Though he readjusts, weight distributing differently over the bed, he isn’t touching you.  You can only imagine how he looks, the posture he’s taken on, arms leant over knees, hands twisting together in that way of his that begs a silent help me.  A version of him you’ve seen only a handful of times.  

(Jeon Jungkook does not let things get to him.  Never has, likely never will.  He’s immaculately put together, strung tight by years of growing up too fast, wanting too much and fearing it’ll slip away.  He goes and goes until he can’t any more and only then does he still, crashing headlong over a cliff of his own creation.)

It’s then that you realise while you’ve grown irritated with his preoccupation, coming second to the man you’ve only ever put first, he’s been suffering right alongside you.  Differently, certainly, but suffering nonetheless.  Holding his cards close as he’s always done, shouldering all the things on his own and hoping for the best.

Irritation flares first.  Anger at the fact that he hadn’t confided in you.  It burns bright, erodes everything else in its path.

And then it dims almost immediately, overshadowed by a tenderness that blooms in the small of your chest.  Rosebuds that fill the cavity and swath affection in broad strokes, colouring everything purple - a pretty mosaic made up of equal parts love and sadness.

“You should’ve said something.”  

Bambi-eyed baby is your nickname for your boyfriend - one he reluctantly wears, scowls at when you use it in public - and yet you’re still blown away by the glossiness of his stare, how wide it goes when you roll to face him, simultaneously flicking your bedside light on.  There’s embarrassment crowding his expression, lighting up every handsome facet of his features in technicolour.  He works to hide it almost immediately, moves back on the bed as if he might find himself a home in the shadows.

“I thought you were sleeping,”  he mumbles, not quite looking at you, stare focused on your pillow case, the white linen that you’d bought when you’d moved in together.  “Did I wake you up?”

Though his concern is real, you know it’s a distraction too.  His way of deflecting, shifting the focus back to you.  

(Jeon Jungkook doesn’t live in the spotlight.  Hates it, in fact.  It’s a curious combination - wanting to be praised, to show off, and yet fearing failure so strongly.  A worrying mix when he’s down and an endearing one when he’s up.)

You’re still cocooned, still held far enough away that he hasn’t run for the hills, locking himself in the bathroom to put a further physical barrier between you.  Should you move too fast, you know he’ll spook.  Push too hard, he’ll leave.  

“Couldn’t sleep without you.”  It’s true enough.  Dreams had evaded you for the better part of the evening, held somewhere by hands inked like his, blemished by scars and calluses like his. They’d been kept in his coat pocket, tucked behind his ear.  (So maybe it’d been anger, too, that’d kept you up.  That doesn’t matter now.)

The disbelief is evident, both in his words and the quirk of his mouth, bathed in dim light.  “Really?”

(You sometimes wonder how different the two of you see things.  What a day looks like from his point of view - whether he reads all of your interactions in the same way.  You’ve always been terribly incompatible in that way, opposites in so many respects that it’d frankly baffled your friends when you’d started dating.

You were intent - sometimes too intent - on resolving problems, never letting up.  Forcing conversations you felt you needed to have, demanding answers even before there was one.  He, on the other hand, was uncomfortable with conflict, choosing to ignore the things that bothered him until they went away.  It’d driven you absolutely insane at first, made you worry that it was you that was the issue, simply being too much.  

But over time - three long years, to be exact - you’d found a common ground.  Or so you’d thought.)

“Why are you so surprised?”  

“You were pissed earlier.”  There’s a lightness to his tone, careful consideration poured into each word he offers, as if he’s navigating a minefield.  You’ve had these kinds of disagreements too many times for him to believe otherwise, as if his caution is a part of him, stitched lovingly - forcefully - by your hand.  “Thought you wouldn’t wait up for me.”  

“I shouldn’t have,”  you retort before you can help it, still just a little childish, a little hurt.  “But you know I hate going to bed angry.”  Of course he knows.  He’s lost hours of sleep due to your insistence that everything be talked out. 

He hums a noncommittal sound - more of a grunt - and you know your window is closing.  Now that you’re not out for blood, he’s retreating as he always does.  Readying himself to rise from the bed, close this half-read chapter and move onto the next. 

You beat him before he can, curling your fingers around his wrist, over the dangling silver chain.  (His birthday gift this year, heavy metal that’s cold under your touch.)  

“Don’t.”

One blink.  Another.  Slow and confused - deliberately so.  Then he’s looking away, staring down at the ground as if you haven’t just read his next move.  The ring might be his domain but home is yours;  it’s the one place you hold the upper hand.  “What?”  

“Don’t leave.”  It’s easy to read the meaning in between your words, the unspoken request that might as well be brilliant red ink.  It’s far kinder than your usual demands, more pleading than begrudging, more need than want.  

“I need to shower.”  

It’s not a no - which you suppose is a win. 

“Just wait.”  Your request comes with an adjustment, whole tired frame rising from the bed only to sink back down - this time against your partner, your other half, your infuriating love.  He accepts you readily, dropping his ink-strewn hand over your covered thigh.  The weight is comforting over the warmth of the duvet, grounding you in the quiet of your home.

“I’m gross,”  he complains, though he doesn’t make to move away.  Stays right by your side when you drop your head against his bare shoulder.  “Now you’re gross.”

“We can be gross together.”  Because you’re not ready for him to leave you, to close the door as he so often does.  (And, for once, you’re not quite as angry, not seeking an argument that’ll give you the resolution you hope for.  You want communication, open and honest.  You want him, vulnerable and soft.)

A little sigh comes, a puff of breath that expands his doughy cheeks and sends wayward strands fluttering.  It’s less resigned and more endeared - you know how much it means when his acquiesces like this.  

Maybe he wants those same things, you think.  

“Do you wanna shower?”  You ask in perfect tandem, words folding together.  You nod in the same way.

Encased in the small space - it’s different.  He’s preoccupied, back turned to you, shielding you from the slow-heating stream.  It’s as if his mind is a thousand lightyears away, trapped somewhere with the stars as the water rains down around the two of you, fogging the glass and wetting his hair. 

“Babe?”  

There’s a delay before he reacts, peering over his shoulder at you, a faraway look in his eyes.  You wonder what he’d been thinking of, whether he’s still on the same page as you or if he’s skipped ahead as he tends to do.  When he speaks, you have your answer, his words flicking through paper to bring you two where you need to be.  

“Can you wash my hair?”  An indulgent treat he rarely requests, one he seldom allows.  He’s far too on the go, jumping from this to that to spend much time like this with you. 

It’s a sign if there ever was one. 

You reach for your shampoo bottle wordlessly, popping the cap and depositing sweet peach-scented liquid into your hands.  They fold into his strands carefully, tips of your fingers pressing into his scalp, delightful bubbles accumulating between your digits.  He doesn’t make a sound but you feel the way he relaxes, practically melting into your touch as you work the cleanser through his roots, careful to keep the suds from descending into his eyes. 

When was the last time you’d done this?  Weeks ago?  Months, maybe?  You honestly can’t recall.  (Not that it matters now.  You’ve found yourselves back here, terribly tender and intimate in the dead of night.  Almost as if no time has passed at all.)

Silence stretches between the two of you.  You don’t even need to instruct him to rinse, running seamlessly through the routine without hesitation. 

Conditioner replaces shampoo, deft fingers combing through the few knots in his feather soft strands.  Though there are hardly any, you know he loves when you take extra care, treating him in ways he’d never ask for otherwise.  He savours these quiet moments of almost-solitude, spoiled rotten by your familiar touch and comforting affection.  

You’d give it every single day if you could.  Had, in fact. 

That’s what’d brought you here, after all. 

“‘m sorry,”  he says - mumbles really - surprising you as you’re working your fingers into the nape of his neck, concentrating on the tension that’s carved out a home beneath muscle and sinew, turned bone iron-clad. 

“For what?” 

Any other time, it might’ve come across demanding, needing an answer that would soothe whatever inadequacy he’d somehow strung your heart up with.  Now, it’s genuine, asked more for him than you.  

You want to be let in.  Need it. 

“Being out of it, I guess.”  It’s a lot for him - admitting this.  “I’ve just been busy and I guess I kind of just—“  The imposing line of his shoulders rise and fall, a mountain range disturbed by the uncertainty in his voice.  

“Forgot about me?”  You don’t mean it meanly.  It’s a simple statement of fact, one the both of you have to face. 

“Yeah.  Something like that.”

You deliberate accepting the apology and moving on, sweeping it under the rug because he’s already come so much further than you’d thought he would.  But that’s not the kind of person you are, so you press just a little more, stand just a little taller. 

“I don’t think I ask for the world, Kook.”  Maybe more than some people.  Maybe less than others.  “If I’m being too much, I’d rather you let me know than shut me out.”

A sigh comes, so heavy you wonder whether he might be Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.  

“No, I know.”  

“Do you?”

(At some point you’d stopped massaging the conditioner in, opting to crowd your hands over his back, working into the knots that run beneath his skin.  He hadn’t been lying - he’s stiff as a board, entire broad form twitching any time you press the pads of your thumbs into a particularly sensitive spot.)

“I thought I’d figure it out myself,”  he reasons, in that oh-so impossible Jeon Jungkook way of his.  “Didn't realise it was taking a toll on you.” 

“On us,”  you correct, not at all tactful.  

“On us,”  he agrees with another sigh, smaller this time, tinged blue with something that feels like guilt and fills up the glass space. 

“We’re a team, you know.” 

(You know he knows.  You just have to remind him sometimes, anchor him with the knowledge that it’s not him against the world.  That you’re in his corner - always.)

“I know.” 

When he turns to look at you - doesn’t even flinch when the sudden movement has you wobbling on your feet, catches you when you stumble - you don’t doubt that.  He loves you just as much as you love him, sees the whole world in the small of your stare.  

“I’m sorry,”  he says again, two hands coming to cradle your face, palms warm over each cheek.  “Just give me some time.”  For what, you’re not sure.  You don’t mind waiting to find out though - willing to weather the storm just to see him happy.  

Jungkook holds you close, threads his fingers through yours and peppers love into the silk of your hair.  Dresses your skin in the heat of his affection and sears his signature into the velvet of your skin, teeth dragging, tongue gliding.  

“Is this better?”  He means how he holds you, how he treats you like porcelain as he fucks you slow and tender, keeps one leg hooked back over his own. 

It’s not that this is the kind of lovemaking you prefer but rather the one you need, with him consuming you wholly, sweetly, filling you with each fluid roll of his hips and nothing else.  No elaborate dirty talk, no overzealous bouncing, just the two of you together, curled against each other like you might not survive otherwise.  

He’s not pushing you to your finish with deft fingers over your clit, not taking his fill with greedy hands.  He’s simply there, with you, feeling every curve of your body as he sinks into your aching cunt and sighs as if he’s in heaven.  (And maybe he is - because where he is could only ever be where you are and you feel like you’re floating, weightless and lovestruck, anchored only to your bed by the hand that squeezes yours and the mouth that purrs your name.) 

“Yes,”  you breathe, exhale in a breath that seems to take all of your effort.  It’s hard to focus when he splits you open so well, fills your pussy and your heart and makes your chest erupt with a kaleidoscope of butterflies. 

“I love you, sweetheart.”

When he says it like that - folds it like a promise and tucks it into the spot behind your ear - you know it’s true.  Even if you don’t always feel it, even if he doesn’t always show it, there’s not a doubt in your mind. 

In all the ways he can, he loves you.  And whether that means enough from one day to the next, you don’t mind sticking around to find out.  Not if it means more of this. 

(Of him, of you, of your life together.)

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle

[goldenraeofsun]

Enhanced Extraction Techniques

Also available at AO3

“Cas?”

Cas whirls around. If he was standing on a normal floor, his shoes would have squeaked with the abrupt turn. In the Empty, though, his feet don’t make a sound. “Dean?” he calls back, his heart soaring in his chest.

“Cas? Where are you, man?”

Cas spins in another circle, his eyes straining against the darkness. The oppressive blankness of nothing presses against his eyeballs like an almost tangible film. He tries again, “Dean?”

“Cas?”

“Dean!” Cas takes off in the direction of Dean’s voice.

“Are you there?”

 Cas walks faster, anticipation quickening his heels. “I’m coming!”

“I can’t find you!”

“I’m here!” Cas calls back desperately.

“I’m running out of time here, buddy! Spell’s not gonna last forever. Where the hell are you?”

Panicked, Cas breaks out into a run. “I’m coming, Dean!”

“Are you?”

Cas stops dead. If he was back on Earth, he would have fallen flat on his face with the momentum. He turns to his right, where Dean’s voice just came.

“Cas? You there?”

Dean’s voice definitely came from his left that time.

“I need you.”

Cas swallows. Dean’s voice is coming from directly in front of him now. Icy dread creeps up his spine, but he feels hot all over.

“You make it too easy, Castiel.”

Dean never calls him by his full name, not in more than a decade. He is not talking with Dean.

“Nobody is coming for you.”

Cas doesn’t respond. Shamed beyond reason, he just stands there because there is nothing else to do. He can’t hide from the Empty. The Empty is everywhere.

Black ooze, blacker than the surrounding darkness, bubbles up from the floor. The Empty resolves into Cas’s own face, to his surprise. He’d been expecting Dean.

It shrugs, a knowing smirk playing on its lips. “What can I say? If you’re determined to keep me awake, I might as well amuse myself.”

“Your sense of humor leaves much to be desired,” Cas says as tonelessly as he can manage.

The Empty crosses its arms over its chest. “My options are limited, aren’t they?” it says snidely. “I can’t put you to sleep, so I can’t sleep. I might as well make this experience as hellish for you as it is for me.”

Cas frowns. “You could always negate our deal. Send me back to Earth.”

The Empty laughs. “That’s not how it works. That was a one-way trip.”

Cas grinds his teeth. “Then it seems like we’re at an impasse.”

“An impasse requires two forces of equal power,” the Empty tuts. “And you, my little gnat, have no power in this equation. You are my plaything. What was it that Gabriel said? A thousand channels and nothing’s on. Except you.”

Before Cas can respond, the Empty disappears, dissolving into a tarry splatter and absorbing into whatever passes as the floor in this place. 

 * * *

Cas wanders. He used to sleep while he was bored, but the Empty truly reigns supreme in his dreams. Cas killed Naomi’s Dean facsimile a thousand times, a million times. He watched Dean rake leaves, Crowley whispering poisoned promises into his ear. He walked away as Dean hurts and rages silently behind him in the Bunker.

So Cas stays awake. He’s an angel. It isn’t hard.

Dean’s voice occasionally calls for him.

Cas ignores it.

He wanders for what seems like miles, like hundreds of miles. Nothing ever changes in the Empty. With every step forward, he meets the same bleak blackness. The closest comparison in his long memory is the fraction of a second before the Big Bang - there was emptiness then too, but it was filled with a pregnant sense of promise. In the Empty - nothing.

Until.

Dean is running towards him.

Cas blinks a few times to make sure, even though his vision is perfect.

“Cas,” Dean breaks the silence first, “I found you.”

“Dean,” Cas breathes - any louder, and Dean will hear the trembling. “You’re here.”

“The real deal, sweetheart,” Dean says with a wink. “Now, come on. We’re getting out of here.” He takes off in the direction he came from, glancing behind him to check on Cas.

“We are?” Cas asks, following.

Dean throws him a disbelieving look. “Of course, dude. Sam and Jack are prepping the spell to get us back to the Bunker. We got Chuck by the short and curlies, but we’re one power player short. So we gotta get a move on.”

“So you need me?” Cas asks.

“Your mojo is the ticket,” Dean says with a little grin. “Chuck wiped all the angels off the Earth except Michael. And that dick isn’t answering our prayers, so you’re our next best bet.”

The joy at seeing Dean wavers. “I am?” he asks haltingly.

Dean shrugs. “We gotta work with what we have. And we just remembered you were here, out of Chuck’s reach. Our own spare angel!”

Cas barely holds back his flinch. Hunching in on himself, he mutters, “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Don’t worry,” Dean assures him, misreading his reaction completely. “We have a plan.”

Cas sighs. “Of course you do. What is it?”

“Sam found a spell,” Dean says. “It’ll rip Chuck apart, and, since Amara’s inside him - which, gross - it’ll maintain the balance when the spell takes her apart too.” 

Dean stops walking.

Cas looks around, but nothing sets aside this patch of emptiness from any other. No illuminated rift, no magic symbols, no X marking the spot - nothing.

“The catch is,” Dean says as he turns to Cas, his face regretful, “the spell needs an angel’s grace.”

In a blink of an eye, an angel blade drops into Dean’s palm.

Cas blinks. No beings but angels can manifest that particular weapon.

Dean raises the blade, fingers flexing on the handle. “You know,” he says conversationally, “Now that I think about it, we don’t actually need the angel himself - just the battery.”

Cas stands his ground, his eyes darting over Dean’s face, taking in every nuance and tell.

“I told you once,” Cas says warily, a horrible foreboding coming over him, “I’m always happy to bleed for the Winchesters.”

“Happy to hear that, Cas,” Dean says, his face impassive, “because you’re gonna bleed a lot, not gonna lie.” He shoves the blade in Cas’s chest, right above his heart.

Cas staggers back from the blow, pain and shock radiating out from the bloodless wound.

Dean raises his eyebrows, his mouth curling into a mocking smile as Cas meets his smug face. “What, were you expecting to go poof? We’re in the Empty,” he throws its hands wide, “everyone’s in stasis here, including you.”

Cas yanks the blade out of his chest, but it - and Dean - turns into black goo before he can stab anything with it.

 * * *

The Empty doesn’t mimic Dean next. Instead it takes Meg’s shape, Samandriel’s, Duma’s. Every one of the thousands of angels Cas killed up in heaven.

And there’s no escape. Cas can do his best not to listen, but if he retreats too far into himself, it almost counts as sleeping. With the Empty’s nudging, his thoughts will veer into his worst regrets, sooner or later. 

The Empty is in the middle of lecturing him in the form of Balthazar, when it explodes in a burst of light and sound.

Dean Winchester stands in the aftermath.

“Come on,” he says roughly. He strides forward to grab Cas’s hand and tug him in the other direction. “That bomb doesn’t last forever.”

“Dean?”

“Who else?” Dean yanks him sharply to the left. “This place didn’t turn your brains to scrambled eggs, did it?”

“I don’t think so,” Cas says shakily. “Dean are you really...”

“What?”

Cas can’t help looking down at their clasped hands. A fleeting thing, barely more than a glance. Still, Dean drops Cas’s hand like it burned him. “You good to run?” he asks shortly.

Cas barely nods before Dean takes off. They hurtle through the Empty, their rapid footsteps impossibly silent. Dean’s breath comes in sharp pants, and Cas’s useless wings ache, not for the first time, to fly them to their destination.

“Dean,” Cas starts, and Dean slows. “Where are we going?”

“Where I left my stuff,” Dean says shortly. “The spell to get us out of here needs a shit-ton of crap, and I couldn’t haul it all over this goddamn place while I was trying to find you.”

“How did you know your way back?”

The corners of Dean’s mouth lift in a faint smile. He points to the floor. “M&Ms.”

Cas squints at the ground, and, sure enough, they are following a trail of tiny candies. “Ingenious,” he murmurs.

“Hey, it worked with a Wendigo,” Dean says, shrugging. He directs them in a few more twists and turns before Cas sees Dean's duffle bag in the distance, topped with a bright yellow bag of M&Ms.

As they get closer, Dean pulls out an angel blade from inside his jacket.

Cas balks. 

Dean shoots him a puzzled look as he hands it to him. “It won’t kill anything here, obviously,” he says, unzipping his bag. He pulls out a copper bowl and bundles of herbs, “But having a weapon’s never a bad idea in unknown dimensions.”

“Yes, Dean.” Cas surveils their inky surroundings, already on high alert for any trespassers.

“Watch my back, okay?” Dean glances over his shoulder. Various ingredients get dropped into the bowl with outsized clangs and dribbles that seem to echo in the void around them.

Cas stays vigilant.

“This was easier than I thought it would be,” Dean mutters as the bowl’s contents start to smoke.

“Don’t jinx it,” Cas mutters out of the side of his mouth.

Dean chuckles under his breath. “I didn’t think angels believed in jinxes.”

It’s not like Cas has been especially angelic these past few years. He says shortly, “I’ve found you can never be too careful.”

Dean hums his agreement. “Need your blood for this part,” he says, shuffling over to make room. “Wait,” Dean says before Cas can press the blade againt his skin.

“Yes?”

“This is the last step,” Dean says seriously. “Once your blood goes in, it’s liftoff. So I wanted to get a couple things straight before we’re back in the Bunker.”

Cas doesn’t need to breathe, but if he did, his breath would have hitched in his chest at the closed-off look on Dean’s face. “Of course.” 

“What you said - what you told me,” Dean starts, his voice hard, “before you got sucked to this hellscape.” He drops his gaze to the bowl cradled in his hands, “That’s not me.”

Cas presses his lips together, struggling to keep his face impassive. Once he regains control of himself he says, “I did not expect you to reciprocate when I told you about my feelings for you.”

Dean actively recoils at the mention of feelings. He gives the bowl a little toss, and a few of the contents spill onto the floor. “Just, forget it,” he says brusquely, gathering everything up again.

“Dean-”

He turns to Cas, his eyes blazing. “But - you know what? I can’t forget it.”

Cas opens his mouth, but Dean is not done.

“How could you offload all that shit on me right before you fucked off to parts unknown?” he demands, voice rising in anger and volume. “Of all the goddamn things you could have said to me - that takes the fucking cake. You were my best friend -” he breaks off, shaking his head. “Worst moment of my goddamn life.”

Cas takes a step back, a sickly horror trickling down his spine. “I didn’t think-”

But Dean’s not listening. “I had serious doubts about coming here at all,” he continues, and the last Dean had stabbed him in the chest - how is this so much worse? “But Sam gave me those goddamn puppy dog eyes, and don’t even get me started on Jack-”

“I understand,” Cas interrupts stiffly. He inhales a deep breath he doesn’t need and continues, “Once we return to the Bunker, I’ll stay out of your way.”

“Probably for the best,” Dean mutters.

Cas cuts his forearm, watching with perverse fascination as the blood wells up and drips into the bowl waiting below.

There’s a violent burst of light and sound.

In the aftermath, Cas can only make out Dean’s mocking laughter. Before Cas can say a word, it turns into Meg’s delighted giggles. And then Gabriel’s howls of mirth.

 * * *

Cas sleeps after getting deceived for the third time. Anything is better than seeing the smug face of the Empty, whether it’s wearing Dean’s face, Gadreel’s, or Ruby’s. 

He breaks the wall in Sam’s head.

He lets Lucifer possess him in a futile plan.

He beats Dean to a bloody mess for the Angel Tablet.

Occasionally, the Empty grants him release, and Cas gets to deliver a bad joke to Uriel in Mesopotamia or Dean calls him a baby in a trenchcoat in a diner.

Time passes. Cas has no idea how long. There’s no sun - no moon - no cycling of the heavens. Only emptiness.

He gets shaken awake.

Cas blinks up at a pair of very familiar green eyes. “Dean,” he says, more or less resigned.

“Jesus,” Dean says as he sits back on his heels, “Way to make a guy feel welcome. I’m here to save your sorry ass, in case you were wondering. A full week of tearing my hair out over how to get you outta here, and this is the thanks I get.”

Cas sits up. “My apologies,” he says tentatively as he studies Dean’s face. There’s no sign it isn’t really Dean.

Then again, none of the others showed signs either.

Cas gets to his feet, asking, “Are you alone?”

Dean glances around them warily. “Yeah, Sam and Jack are keeping the portal open in the Bunker. They wanted to come,” he says, his eyes raking over Cas’s face, drinking him in. “They’ll be over the fucking moon to see you again.”

Cas swallows. “And you?”

“I -” A dull flush comes over Dean’s cheeks. He looks away.

Cas’s face shutters. “Right,” he says as he stands in front of Dean. “Now what?”

“Hey,” Dean says, reaching out to grasp his left shoulder, a mirror of the mark Cas left on him so long ago and so recently. “I missed you too. You have to know that.”

Worst moment of my life.

Cas looks away, Dean’s own raised voice echoing in his head.

“Hey,” Dean says again, gentler this time. His green eyes bore into Cas’s face. “What’s going on in that celestial brain of yours?”

The words catch in Cas’s throat, a lump of embarrassment and fear keeping them there. Embarrassment that the Empty deceived him. Fear that the Empty was right.

“Look, I know we didn’t leave things on great terms,” Dean says awkwardly, “and maybe this isn’t the best place to talk about it, but I’m so fucking happy to see you, man.” He chuckles ruefully. “’S making me lose my goddamn mind.”

Even if it’s only a facsimile of Dean - and there’s no way to tell for certain - seeing his face not contorted in anger or mockery is like a balm on Cas’s soul. If he had one, that was.

“About what you said before you got taken-” Dean starts.

Cas’s heart sinks.

“No,” Dean says, his voice low and gentle, “listen to me. I get that happiness for you might just be in the being, but for me-”

“It’s fine, Dean,” Cas interrupts. “I meant that, truly. You don’t have to-”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean says, smiling slightly, “You’re not making this easy are you?”

Cas bites his tongue to keep from contradicting Dean again.

“As I was saying,” Dean continues pointedly, his green eyes shining, “For me, happiness isn’t in the being - whatever the hell that means. It’s in the goddamn having.”

Cas bites his tongue harder, the pain hardly registering against the burst of hope fluttering wildly in his chest. “Dean,” he forces out, “You can’t mean…”

“Cas,” Dean starts, and Cas’s heart breaks - or mends. He can’t tell. He has no idea who he is talking to, and it’s, to borrow a phrase from the real Dean, an epic mindfuck.  

“Cas,” the Dean standing in front of him repeats, and Cas’s gaze automatically draws back to his face, “Good things do happen.”

Cas chuckles wetly. He has no choice but to say, “Not in my experience.”

Dean takes a step closer, far into the personal space he’d shown Cas so many years ago. Brows drawing together, he raises a hand to cup Cas’s face. “Someone told me a while ago that having faith was important. Seems you’re a little short there, buddy.”

Cas tries to duck his head, but Dean won’t let him. Eventually, he admits, “My faith has been tested recently.”

“But you didn’t give up, right?” Dean asks, leaning in close enough that Cas can feel the warmth of his breath in the air between them.

Cas shakes his head minutely. “No,” he murmurs, “not entirely.”

“Good,” Dean says, pausing just shy of Cas’s mouth. Waiting.

Cas steels himself and closes distance.

Just before their lips touch, Dean implodes in a burst of inky ooze.

 * * *

Cas breaks several knuckles on the floor of the Empty. There are no walls to punch, no blade to send heads rolling. Cas works with what he has.

The real Dean would probably approve.

Dean shows up again before too long. This Dean goes so far as to tell Cas he loves him.

Cas turns his back on Dean’s heartbroken face. He refuses to engage.

He wanders instead.

* * * 

Cas hears the footsteps before he sees his next Dean.

“Cas!” he pants, “Thank fuck. I thought I was never going to find you.”

Cas merely sighs.

Dean makes a face. “Way to roll out the welcome wagon,” he says, clearly offended. “I would’ve thought you were sick of this place by now.”

Cas purses his lips. “I am.”

“Shocker,” Dean says with a little smile. “Look, we don’t have a lot of time, so you gotta follow me.”

Cas doesn’t budge. He’d rather roam this place for eternity than suffer at the hands of another Dean facsimile. And he had thought he saw enough of them under Naomi’s tutelage. He’d been so naive.

Dean stares at him like Cas just stripped naked and danced the macarena. “What are you doing?”

“You’re not real,” Cas says bluntly.

Dean gapes. “Of course I’m real! Chuck’s de-powered, and Jack… well, it’s a long story. Bottom line: nobody’s pulling our strings but us.”

Cas lets out a derisive laugh.

Dean’s eyebrows rise, but he barrels on, “So it’s time to get a move on. Up and at ‘em, sunshine.” He jerks his head off to the right. 

Cas stays where he is. “No.”

“What the hell?” Dean has the gall to tug on Cas’s sleeve like he’s a wayward toddler. “Come on. You’re not making any sense.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Cas retorts. It’s not his best rejoinder, but he’s been very stressed lately.

Whatever Dean was about to say dies on his tongue as he stares at Cas in confusion. “What’s wrong with you?” He shakes his head before Cas can respond, saying, “Doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out later. But now, you’ve gotta come with me.”

Cas levels him a flat glare. This one is more stubborn than the last, more like the real Dean. “Why should I?”

“Because you don’t deserve to be stuck here?” Dean says, gesturing to the void around them. “You saved the world, Cas.” He swallows. “You saved me. Getting you out is the least we can do.”

“Because you need me to take on Chuck,” Cas says.

“No?” Dean says, his eyes narrowing. “I already told you, Chuck’s off the playing board.”

“Because you feel guilty about leaving me here.”

“No - wait, I do, but,” Dean breaks off, irritated, “you know what I mean.”

Cas doesn’t, so he continues in the same vein as before, “Because you love me.”

Dean hesitates. “I’m working on it.”

Cas snorts. At least the last Dean had the balls to say it. Many times. While crying.

“What?” Dean throws up his hands. “You just sprung it on me, dude! I didn’t even know angels could feel things like that, and it took me by surprise, okay? I’m only human, and sometimes we need time to get used to ideas. Like when we found out Snooki was a demon. Yeah, the signs were there, and it makes sense, but still - you sometimes need it spelled out for you.”

Cas pauses. None of the other Deans had referenced pop culture. “How long ago was this for you?”

“Since we summoned Snooki?” 

At Cas’s icy look of disdain, Dean hedges, “A month? Give or take.” He glares. “First we had to deal with Chuck, and it took a while to find a spell to get here. Remember, we didn’t even know this was a place before you died the last time. The Men of Letters weren’t a shit ton of help, for once.”

Cas crosses his arms over his chest.

“Just… hear me out,” Dean says. “There’s a portal to get us home. Sam and Jack can’t stall the Empty forever.”

That was new. “Jack and Sam aren’t in the Bunker?”

“No,” Dean says as he takes off in the opposite direction, all but forcing Cas to follow to find out more. “They’re up in Heaven.”

“Why?”

“Because the Empty can’t get to Earth without a summoning spell, which, as far as we can tell, doesn’t exist?” Dean says, checking over his shoulder to make sure Cas is still within earshot. “But you made that fucking stupid deal in Heaven, so we knew it could at least travel there. Jack zapped Sam to the Pearly Gates, and they’re hopefully making a distraction while I get you out.”

Still not entirely convinced, Cas asks begrudgingly, “And where are we going?”

“A portal,” Dean says confidently. “This place is a little like Purgatory, apparently. If it senses a human here, it’ll create a portal to spit them out again.” He flashes a grin over his shoulder. “So here I am, 100% genuine human to bail your ass out.”

“Thank you?”

“Don’t mention it,” Dean says with a wink.

Cas scowls. The first Dean had winked at him too.

“Jesus, tough crowd,” Dean mutters as they head further into the Empty.

Cas scans the ground, but there are no small candies lining the way. “How do you know where to go?”

“Turns out, Sam could find a spell for that,” Dean says as he holds up his left hand - clutching his amulet. The Empty must have really hunted around in his memories for that one, even more so than the Wendigo case. He hasn’t seen the real amulet in nearly five years. “It heats up when I’m on the right track towards the exit.”

“So no M&Ms?”

Dean turns to him. “I told you about that?”

Cas stares straight ahead, willing his face to fall into an expressionless mask. The real Dean had told him about the Wendigo over dinner with Sam and Mary while she was still alive, or the Empty wouldn’t be able to use it as inspiration now.

Dean shakes his head, smiling. “Man, I haven’t thought about that case in forever.” He glances at Cas, his face sobering. “You really don’t believe this is real?”

“No.”

He can’t. Not again.

Dean sighs as he steers them slightly to the right. “Come on, I’m almost getting third degree burns from this thing. We must be close.”

Sure enough, a blue swirling portal comes into view, a pinprick of light in the distance at first, elongating into an exact replica of the Purgatory exit as they approach. 

“Finally,” Dean mutters, his face impassive. He  turns to Cas. “Just… don’t stay behind,” he grimaces, “again.”

This version has been the most true to Dean - less callous than the first, more caring than the second, more guarded than the third. It will hurt the most when this one falls apart. Maybe it would be better if Cas heads it off at the pass instead of letting the whole painstaking ruse play out all the way through.

If the Empty could get it over with, Cas will go back to sleep. Anything is better than this torture.

Cas takes a step back, away from the portal. “This is pointless-”

“Jesus Christ, Cas!” Dean throws his hands in the air. “I don’t get it at all. You don’t think you deserve to be saved?”

Cas gapes at him.

Dean continues heatedly, “If an ex-demon with anger management problems and rap sheet a mile long deserved to be saved, I think a legit angel should get the same.”

Cas shakes his head. “I’m hardly a prime example of an angel anymore.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Have I ever cared about that?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Glad we can agree on something,” Dean cuts him off. “Now, are you going to go through the portal or am I gonna have to drag you? I’ll do it,” he threatens. “Don’t test me.”

Cas wavers. Everything in him says to follow Dean. But this isn’t the real Dean - this is the Empty waiting for the glorious moment when it can yank the illusion away, leaving Cas a little more broken than before.

Dean’s eyes narrow. “Fuck you,” he spits, “You can’t trust me just a little-”

“Trust?” Cas echoes as he strides forward to grab the lapels of Dean’s jacket, his voice rising in a mixture of outrage, desperation, and heartache, “You want me to trust you? After you’ve lied to me, deceived me - after you stabbed me, after you told me I put you through the worst moment of your life the last time you saw me, after you made me think you returned my feelings only to - only to-”

Dean shakes his head slowly. “But I didn’t do any of that.”

“You did,” Cas says fervently, shaking Dean a little - or maybe that’s his trembling hands. “You did - you’ve been putting me through hell since I got here, and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of you.”

Dean’s expression hardens. “You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, I do,” Cas swears. “I’m done pretending.”

Dean his eyes flicking down to Cas’s mouth. “What do you know,” he breathes, “so am I.”

Cas freezes, waiting for Dean to dissolve into a puddle of goo in his hands.

Dean kisses him instead.

At the first touch of Dean’s lips to his, Cas jerks back in surprise and horror.

He falls straight into the portal. 

The Empty vanishes in a blur of too-bright light.

 * * *

Cas comes to in the middle of a field. The sun shines overhead. Noon, Cas registers distantly as he looks around. Dean’s sprawled on the prairie grasses next to him, already waking up judging by the groaning noises.

“Dean?”

Dean opens his eyes, glances at the sky, and closes them again. “Oh great, we made it.”

Cas tentatively picks his way closer to Dean’s side. He stands over him for a moment, shuffling to the side so he doesn’t block the sunlight falling on Dean’s face. “We’re on Earth.”

“Well, it’s sure as shit not Mars,” Dean grumbles, eyes still closed. “Are you watching me right now? I feel like you’re watching me right now.”

Cas stares around the field. “Not anymore,” he says, and a genuine breeze blows against his face. What a marvel.

“‘S okay,” Dean says as he wiggles a little on the grass, getting more comfortable, “’M used to it.”

Cas turns to him. “It’s really you.”

“The real deal, sweetheart,” Dean cracks his eyes open, one corner of his mouth lifting into a lopsided smile. “You believe me now?”

“This could be the most elaborate ruse yet.”

Dean lifts his head up. “Seriously? You dick, I did not haul ass all the way-”

“I don’t really believe that, however,” Cas says before Dean can work himself up too much.

“Good.” He meaningfully thumps the grass next to him. “Sit. You’re giving me serious Law & Order vibes.”

Cas’s brow furrows. “I don’t get that reference. I know about Law & Order-”

“And how does every episode of Law & Order start?” Dean interrupts, “With someone standing over a dead body in a field.”

Cas takes a seat. “Not always a field. Most episodes show corpses in urban areas, or, once, a yacht.”

“Pretty sure it was more than once. I hate procedural cop shows.”

“They are very formulaic,” Cas admits, stretching out his legs, “and lack the drama of soap operas.”

“I’m just saying, if a long lost sibling doesn’t pop out of the woodwork or if the main character isn’t killed off at least six times, is it really worth watching?”

Cas levels him a flat look. “Dean, all those things have happened to you.”

Dean snorts. “At least none of us got amnesia.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Speak for yourself.”

Dean turns his head to stare at him, a wide grin spreading across his face as he laughs. “Oh shit, you're right. How the hell did I forget?”

“Because of supreme irony, most likely.”

It takes Dean a moment to get it, but when he does, he laughs even louder.

Cas doesn’t have anything to add, so he lets the conversation peter off into silence, listening to Dean’s even breathing and the grass rustling in the gentle wind.

“I didn’t think it would be like this,” Dean says in an undertone.

Cas turns to him. Dean’s eyes are closed again, but everything else about him radiates a quiet tension Cas might’ve missed anywhere else. But here, in this field, nothing prevents Cas from honing on Dean’s whole being with everything he has. “What do you mean?” he asks carefully.

“I dunno,” Dean says, his face scrunching up, “I thought it would be more awkward. But… it doesn’t feel any different.”

Cas blinks. “Why should it?” he asks, and though he’s not definitively sure what Dean means by ‘it’, he has a very strong suspicion.

Dean shoots him a pointed look. “Because you don’t tell someone you love them and expect everything to be OK after.”

Cas lays down next to Dean. Staring up at the wispy clouds overhead, he says, “If it changes anything, I didn’t expect to be around for the after part.” Dean’s head turns to look at him, but Cas can’t bring himself to see whatever expression is on his face. “If you’d like for us to go our separate ways after this, I understand.”

“You stupid bastard,” Dean mutters vehemently, “for the last goddamn time, I did not piss off the immortal Blob just to tell you to go fuck yourself in person.”

Cas inhales a slow breath, breathing in the dirt, wildflowers growing nearby, and Dean. “You kissed me,” he says.

“You said you loved me,” Dean shoots back.

“Did you mean it?”

“Did you?”

Cas grimaces as he turns his head to face him. “I thought it was obvious.”

Dean swallows. “No, it wasn’t,” he says quietly, “but I’ve never been good at that stuff.”

Cas squints at him. “You are the most emotionally intelligent man I’ve ever met.”

“What?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “You expertly navigate and manipulate people’s emotions to get them to talk to you, open up to you, have sex with you,” he lists. “It’s extraordinary to witness.”

Dean makes a choking noise. “Dude,” he says, which tells Cas absolutely nothing. A few more clouds pass by before Dean speaks again. “I guess the signs were there - with you. But I didn’t want to put them together.”

“Why not?”

Dean shrugs, his shoulders scraping almost inaudibly against the soil and grass stems. “Just didn’t.”

“Then that’s why I didn’t tell you. But, Dean-” Cas breaks off. This part of the conversation, despite what Dean said earlier, does not feel the same as others between them. 

Dean’s eyes flick to his. “Yeah?”

“You kissed me.”

Dean inhales a sharp breath. “I did,” he says at last.

Cas waits, but Dean doesn’t elaborate. “Was it just a ploy to get me to leave the Empty?”

“No.”

Cas grimaces. Not for the first time, his life would be so much easier if Dean could communicate without speaking in riddles or hiding every third word he wanted to say. “Dean...”

“I told you I’m working on it,” Dean says defensively.

Cas closes his eyes. “What does that mean?” he asks, his voice strained.

“It means I’m working on it,” Dean says shortly. But before Cas can press him further, he lets out an explosive sigh. “It means I don’t want to hear any more goodbyes from you. It means - it means that kiss wasn’t too bad, right?”

“I thought you were a fake version of yourself created to torture me for eternity,” Cas says flatly.

Dean props himself up on his elbows. “So all I’m hearing is there’s room for improvement.”

Cas rolls his eyes as Dean scoots closer, peering down at him. “I suppose that’s one way you could look at it.”

“Would you wanna... do something like that again?” Dean asks, his expression confident while his voice is anything but.

“Only if you want to,” Cas says seriously.

Dean licks his lips. He nods once, the movement stilted.

“Should I sit up?” Cas asks, frowning, as he half-lifts his head. “Or do you want to lay back down-”

“Cas,” Dean says impatiently, “it’s kissing we’re talking about here, not Twister.”

“I have played that game before.”

“Yeah, I remember now,” Dean says, a tentative smirk hiding in the corners of his mouth. “You ever do it naked?”

Cas frowns. “There was a strict policy against nudity in the psychiatric ward.”

Dean ducks his head, laughing silently. His forehead lands on Cas’s sternum, his breath warming Cas’s chest from the outside in.

“You were trying to say something arousing,” Cas says, a beat too late.

Dean shakes his head, grinning. “Something like that.”

“I would like to play naked Twister with you.”

Dean’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “Glad to hear it,” he says as he leans over Cas. Cas goes a bit cross-eyed to keep him in view until Dean murmurs, “Relax. ‘S just me.”

In the instant before their lips meet, Cas half-expects the whole world around him to splatter apart in a tidal wave of black, otherworldly goo. But Dean is gloriously solid, gloriously human, as he cradles Cas’s half-raised head, his fingers tangling in his hair. 

The midday sun shines; the grass whispers in the wind; and Cas is saved.

[carolmaximoffs]

in a crowd of strangers and lovers

summary: of course your ex is working the night you get stood up.

pairing: bartender! ex! bucky x reader

warnings: drinking, cursing, smut, a teeny bit of degradation, bartender! bucky, this is entirely self indulgent, use of a condom for the first time in my writing in i think ever oops

a/n: this has been 3/4 of the way done for so long...finally sat down and cranked out the rest of it. short and sweet and maybe not my best but heres nothin.

You swung your legs idly as you glanced once more at your phone. Only the time glared back at you - no missed calls, no explanation texts, not even a Snapchat or a DM. It was 20 minutes past the time you were supposed to meet the man you’d been talking to for the last couple of months, and you sighed. Obviously, he wasn’t coming. You waved a hand to grab a bartender’s attention before closing your eyes and rubbing at your temples in annoyance. An all too familiar voice disrupted your self-pitying thoughts.

“You look like a tequila girl.” The first words Bucky Barnes had ever said to you. Your eyes snapped open, mouth gaping. Of course...how could you have forgotten? This was the very bar, possibly the very stool you’d met Bucky at. Before you could stammer out a reply, he was making himself comfortable against the bar-top and leaning in conspiratorially. “Hot date?”

“Very,” You sniffed, meeting his gaze in spite of your churning gut. In the glow of a neon sign overhead, his blue eyes burned almost violet. Your heart ached when he beamed, those beautiful stupid eyes crinkling at the corners like they always had.

“Well, sweetheart, you’ve been here for a while now. Show up early?” Bucky propped his chin up with his metal hand; his flesh fingers drummed idly as he waited for your reply. He’d always been able to see right through you; you weren’t backing down so easily this time. You’d actually been late, but Bucky didn’t need to know that. It was bad enough he’d clearly spotted you as soon as you walked in...you weren’t really sure what to do with that information. You lifted your chin, shrugging and looking around as if your evasive date might suddenly show himself.

“I’ll take that tequila now, please,” You replied simply. Bucky’s eyes twinkled with mirth before he turned his back to you.

“Margarita or a straight up shot?” He threw over his shoulder. Your answer was a moment too late - you wouldn’t admit it, but you’d gotten a little absorbed in the way his white tee shirt stretched over the broad expanse of his back. “Y/N.”

“Huh? Oh...surprise me.” You fought the urge to bury your face in your hands again as he smiled and turned back around. You chanced looking at your phone as inconspicuously as possible. Still nothing. Moments later, thick fingers slid a tall glass towards you, rim salted, accompanied with two neat slices of lime.

“M’lady,” Bucky drawled, dipping his head dramatically. He looked up at you beneath his lashes, cheeks straining to contain his grin. Your own face burned and your heart pounded as you mumbled your thanks. You took more of a long gulp than a sip. Just your luck, it caught in the back of your throat, and you spluttered a bit. Bucky looked like he’d won the lottery.

“Careful, sugar,” He crooned, passing you a napkin. Idly, you wondered if, next, you'd fall off the stool. “You know I love to see you choke, but only-” 

“Barnes!” 

Natasha was standing near the door to the back, arms crossed and brow arched dangerously. Your old friend offered you a tight smile before returning to glaring at her employee. Bucky winked before he sidled off, Nat’s eyes narrowing. You wished the floor would swallow you up right then.

It didn’t, and you were swirling the dregs of your margarita by the time Bucky got back. For whatever reason, you couldn’t compel yourself to leave. Not just yet. You were rewarded, however, when he realized you’d hung around; Barnes’ eyes lit up. He bit back another smile, resuming his nonchalant stance against the bar. 

“What was that all about?” You blurted, before Bucky could say anything about the near-empty glass in front of you. His smirk didn’t waver.

“Just Nat lookin’ out for you, s’all. She got off a few minutes ago, wanted to make sure I didn’t give you too much trouble.” His simper stretched into a blinding flash of teeth. “I’m not givin’ you trouble, am I, babydoll?”

You shake your head dutifully, and you think Bucky’s face might split if he grins any wider. His smile drops into something a little more seductive as he tilts impossibly closer. “Looks like your boy toy’s a no show...Sam can cover if you need a little cheering up.” 

Body and brain exploded into disagreement; lust bubbled like lava in the pit of your stomach at his request, but you knew better. You had to know better by now - you were the one who’d gotten too involved in the first place. You floundered, managing to blubber a painful combination of "we shouldn’t” or “I don't think that's the best idea”. Bucky’s face fell, only just, but he was quick to hide it as he untied a thick, worn flannel from his waist. 

“Wilson - headed for a smoke!” He shouted across the bar to where Sam was seemingly tangled up trying to serve a very amorous bachelorette party. His eyes were steely as he looked at you as if trying to pick you apart. “Think on it, yeah? No big deal, sugar. Back in five.” 

You nodded, tracing your finger through the circle of condensation from your drink. You snuck a glance at his retreating form, however, and already wanted to kick yourself. His ass in those jeans...he’d bulked up, clearly, even in the short time since you’d stop seeing each other. And there was no way in hell he thought you wouldn’t notice. The angel on your shoulder was practically throwing a tantrum as you quickly shot a text to your closest confidante.

call me in the am. about to do a bad thing

Wanda texted back almost instantly, but Bucky reentered the bar simultaneously. You clicked off your incessantly active cell phone and put on an expression you hoped wasn’t as much of a grimace as you thought. Bucky raised a single, knowing brow.

“What’s that face for?” He murmured innocuously. You lift a single shoulder in response, working extra to keep your face neutral.

“Changed your mind?” You shrugged again, and when he was sure nobody was looking, he jerked his head towards the back of the bar. “C’mon then, pretty baby.” 

“This is stupid,” You mumbled under your breath. You don’t realize how close he is behind you, jumping a little as the door swings shut behind you. 

“What’s stupid is waiting an hour for some douche when you’ve got me standing right in front of you,” Bucky whispered hotly, already spinning the two of you so your back hit the wall by the doorframe. A case of the imported vodka Nat loved dug into your calves. 

“We split up, Bucky,” You moaned as he licked at the shell of your ear. Honestly, you were half expecting something like “i didn’t know we were together”. Instead, he pulled back for a second to give you sad eyes and a slight twist of the corner of his mouth. Regret? 

Before you could truly ponder it, he was ducking back towards you, lips pressing into yours with a fire fueled by all things left unsaid. He kissed his way down your neck, and you heard his voice from months ago: ‘it’s just sex, sweetheart. just enjoy it’. You were drawn back to the present as he tugged at your lip with sharp teeth, and you recalled his gruff morning voice - ‘I better get going’. Memory pierced your hazy brain even as he slid a hand down to cup your sex. You arched into him, and he looked positively feral even in his delight. You pushed the past away as hard as you could and let yourself melt into his touch. 

As your head lilted backward to likely smack the wall, Bucky tangled a hand into your hair. He tipped your face back up to kiss it incessantly - several to your cheeks, a peck on your nose, a handful of smooches dotted to your forehead. When he finally reached your mouth again you were laughing, breathy and floaty, and he laughed too. He chuckled softly with you even as he slips his hands into your jeans, past the waistband of your cute-but-not-presumptuous panties. He was still chuckling a little, but it was more smug than amused when his fingers parted your folds and you inhaled sharply.

“Yeah,” He murmured, so low you almost missed it. “There you go, that’s my girl.”

You pretended the burst of heat through your gut is from his palm bumping against your clit. You were halfway through a moan when he withdrew his hand, instead placing both dark metal and pale skin on steadfastly on your hips. Swiftly, he placed you on top of those nagging crates you’d been pressed against - despite the marks on your thighs you’d nearly forgotten about them.

“Bucky, what-” You tried, but he cut you off with a swift press of lips to yours, tongue sliding into your mouth with practiced ease. If you sighed into the kiss, well, you’d call it heat of the moment. The familiar crinkling of foil set your anticipation and adrenaline spiking impossibly higher. Bucky pulled away to line himself up as you caught your breath, which suddenly seemed impossible. He rubbed a comforting thumb over your hip, leaning in again to nip playfully at your jaw.

“You ready, angel?” He murmured; all it took was your assenting nod before he slid home, your body greedily accepting him as if the two of you had never stopped. “Fuuuck...missed you. Missed this.”

Normally, such a suggestion would’ve irritated you - but you couldn’t deny the feelings you had had for him once upon a time, despite the casual nature of your relationship. You knew it was mutual; you knew exactly what he missed. It wasn’t just about the sex - even in the dingy storeroom of the bar, Bucky thrusting as deep as possible with one hand stabilizing the crates and the other on the small of your back, panting into each other’s mouths, it was about the connection. Being this close with another person, especially someone you dared to say you’d been good friends with, had much in common with - the interconnection of body and soul was something else. Or maybe that was your orgasm talking.

It snuck up on you. Your toes curled in your shoes, lip drew between your teeth. “Please.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Bucky rasped, face buried in your shoulder. The hand on your back snaked between the two of you to rub furiously at your clit - you threw your arms around his neck for balance as your mouth dropped open in a silent scream. “Go ahead, let go. Come for me, let me make you feel good, angel.”

That did it. Your hands found purchase in his hair as your back arched; in your desperation to be quiet, you bit your lip so hard the taste of iron crept into your mouth. Bucky never slowed, chasing his own high as well as basking with you in yours. He kissed you, a little sudden, groaning deeply into your mouth as he came.

For a moment, the pair of you were silent, the only sound your heavy breaths and the rustling of clothing. Composing yourself, you made for the door - a hand on your wrist stopped you.

“This was a fluke, I know-” You started. The desperate look in Bucky’s eyes cut you off.

“I don’t...let me try again.” He mumbled, words jumbling together with nerves. He cleared his throat - you’d never seen Bucky Barnes nervous, of all things, and humility wasn’t a bad look for him. “You deserved - deserve better, sweetheart. I want to try again. I want to...I want to do it right.”

“Buck...” Your face softened, but he tensed, fearing rejection. You brought a hand up to cup his cheek softly. “I’d love to try again.”

That nagging voice in the back of your mind was on a roll - you’ll just get hurt again, it warned. He’s not good for you.

But when Bucky’s entire face lit up and he kissed you enthusiastically, making you laugh in equal parts shock and joy, that little voice was silent.

[idreamofplaid]

Forget Apple Pie

Summary: Dean is living the apple pie life. The reader has a hard time accepting it, and is it what he really wants?

Characters: Dean x Reader; Lisa (barely); Sam mentioned

Word Count: 3344

A/N: I wrote this years ago in a Writing Challenge and Follower Celebration called The Seven Deadly Sins Challenge hosted by @waywardbaby & @aint-t-bovvered. My sin was envy and my prompt was “This will not turn out the way you think.” It remains one of my favorite things I’ve ever written.

It was everything you had ever wanted for him. The sight of Dean in an actual backyard with a fence, trees, and flower beds was something you had hoped for in the deepest, quietest part of your heart. But this was just wrong. You were sitting on his deck half heartedly sipping a beer. Dean was a few feet away from you standing at the bar-b-que grill flipping burgers. He’d given up wearing layers of clothes, like he had in his hunting days, opting now for t-shirts only.

The short sleeves hugged his biceps. Dean’s muscles were still prominent. He hadn’t gone soft, in spite of his civilian lifestyle. Your mind wandered back to the hunts you’d gone on with Dean. You’d had each other’s backs then. Now, the monsters were yours to face alone.

Lisa came out of the house carrying an empty tray. She walked over to Dean, whispered something to him, and kissed his cheek. He smiled down at her and lifted the meat from the grill piling it on the platter. You put your bottle of beer down a little too hard on the table and got up to go find somewhere you could get away from the cozy domestic scene and the happy neighbors. You heard one of those neighbors say to Lisa as you were leaving. “You’re so lucky to have a man like Dean. You’ve turned him into absolute husband material!”

The first escape hatch you found was the door leading into the garage. It was easy to picture Dean in here surrounded by tools and spending hours working on his Baby, keeping her in mint condition. Baby. There she was. Her silhouette was unmistakable under the tarp covering her. A tarp. She’d been forgotten. Dean didn’t drive his car anymore.

You walked toward her in a sort of daze. You’d been here to Dean’s new home only a handful of times, and you hadn’t entered the garage during any of those visits. This was the final blow. You ran your fingers up the edge of her windshield, and something inside you broke. Everything you’d held together for so long just cracked and shattered.

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

You were standing in the same spot you’d stood in earlier in the day. You’d waited until almost midnight before picking the lock and slipping back into the garage. It had been surprisingly easy to get in here even after several shots of whiskey. Maybe Dean was going soft after all. You approached Baby again. This time running your hand along the edge of her roof. You whispered in the empty garage. “You don’t deserve this.”

You placed your hand on that hateful tarp and closed your fists around it clutching two large handfuls. You snatched the cover off revealing the Impala still gleaming and beautiful. “What are you doing?” Dean’s voice was low and steady. He had added another shirt over the clothes he had been wearing this afternoon.

Your mind was fairly fuzzy, but some things were perfectly clear. The wrongness of this situation was still glaring to you. “Why did you leave her here, Dean? Why did you forget about her?”

Dean walked closer to you and the car. He was staring at you intently. “I didn’t forget her.”

“Really? Do you come in and say ‘hi’ between backyard parties?” You teetered a little but managed to fling the tarp to the floor without falling on top of it.

Dean squinted his eyes. “What? Wha…”

“How long will it be before you get an SUV, maybe a minivan? Have you joined the PTA? A bowling league? Neighborhood watch?” Your eyes flashed at him. He just looked confused.

“What are you getting at? We talked about this. All the time. Having a normal life.”

Your voice lost a little of its edge. “Yeah. We talked about it.” In the silence that followed, whiskey inspired courage took hold of you. You moved close to Dean and touched your lips to his. His response was to put his hands on your waist and step back.

“Y/N…”

You rolled your neck to look up at the ceiling and shook your head. Your heart twisted, and you could feel the actual tightening in your chest. “You’re acting just like every man I’ve ever known. Chasing after the yoga instructor with her tight little ass.”

Tears gathered in your eyes. You swiped at them and carried on. “Come on, Dean. What’s wrong? Nobody has to know. We can do it right here in the garage. Just a little something on the side. Then you can go right back to Lisa and crawl into that bed you share with her. I bet it’s nice and big, pillows all over it, down comforter to match the sheets, and a big wooden headboard. So very married, that bed.”

You looked at Dean then, cocked your head to one side, and pointed your finger in the direction of his chest. “Tomorrow morning you can have a nice breakfast at your kitchen table with fresh squeezed orange juice and Belgian waffles with real fruit and pure maple syrup.” You dropped your finger, and your voice got soft. “I’ll be at one of those nondescript diners we used to go to, drinking cheap coffee. Maybe I’ll have scrambled eggs with soggy bacon, or if I’m feeling really festive, a stack of pancakes with some of that fake strawberry goo on top. While I eat I can enjoy watching all the people around me who aren’t alone.”

While you were talking, the tears had started to stream down your face. Dean stepped nearer to you and lay his hand on your arm. You shook it off. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare pity me, Dean Winchester!” You stumbled back and caught yourself on the Impala.

“Your life is so perfect now, isn’t it? Here you are in the suburbs with a mortgage. You don’t belong here, Dean. You’re playing house with a woman who doesn’t really know you. This will not turn out the way you think. You can’t forget about what matters to you, what…” You turned and braced yourself on Baby’s door. Your voice was broken and just above a whisper. “Just go back to thinking with your dick.”

Dean walked up behind you and put his hand on your shoulder. You let it stay. There was no fight left in you. “You’re drunk, Y/N. Get in the car. Let me take you home.”

You laughed. It was a humorless sound. “I don’t have a home.”

Dean turned you around gently to face him. His eyes held a soft expression. “Then let me take you to where you’re sleeping tonight.” You didn’t protest when he led you around to the other side of the car, opened the door, and settled you inside. You dozed on the ride to the motel where you were staying. When you got there, Dean helped you inside. That was the last thing you had a clear memory of until the next morning.

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

In spite of the curtains being drawn, the light seeping in around the edges was harsh to your eyes. You rubbed your fingers over your forehead. “How do you feel?” You opened your eyes at the sound of Dean’s voice. He was sitting next to you on top of the covers, legs stretched out, back against the headboard.

You pulled yourself up slowly, eyes blinking. “You stayed here all night?”

“Yeah.” He swung his legs off the side of the bed and disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. He reappeared in less than a minute carrying a glass of water and some aspirin. He sat down on the bed and handed you both. “Take those and drink all the water. All of it.”

You swallowed the pills and drank a few generous sips of water. “Shouldn’t you be home? Won’t Lisa wonder where you are?”

Dean took the glass from you and placed it on the bedside table. “I sent her a text. Told her not to worry. She probably thinks I’m with Sam.”

Bits and pieces of last night drifted through your mind, the things you’d said to Dean. Daylight had a way of making things embarrassing that seemed like the thing to do in the dark. You took a deep breath. “Dean, about what I said…”

Dean turned from you, made a fist on his lap, and grasped it with his other hand. “What you said was true. I have done a lot of thinking with my dick…but never with you. And I didn’t start last night.”

“Dean, I shouldn’t have…”

He turned back around, put his hand on your shoulder, and looked directly at you with his deep forest green eyes. “It would have been easy for me to accept your offer and take you right against the car or in the backseat if I slowed down long enough. I’ve wanted to for a long…long time. But you are not a quick roll in the sheets to me. You never have been. Know that.” Dean slipped his hand from your shoulder and looked away.

There was a hitch in your breathing, and absolutely no words would come to you. After a few seconds of heavy silence, Dean spoke. “I need to go. There are some things I need to take care of.” He reached for the notepad and pen on the table. He wrote something down, tore off the piece of paper and gave it to you. “Will you meet me there Wednesday night?” You looked at the address in your hand and nodded.

Dean crossed the room to the door. When he put his hand on the knob, he looked over his shoulder. “Y/N, you’re not alone.”

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

More than once you wondered if you were in the right place. The long driveway meandered its way through the trees, big sturdy evergreens and oaks. There was a clearing at the end of the drive, and in that clearing sat a cabin situated by a lake. It was immediately clear to you it wasn’t a hunter’s cabin. It had rustic charm but looked way too polished to be the kind of place where a hunter would seek shelter.

You gathered your purse, dropped your car keys inside, and made your way to the front door. You lay your palm flat against your stomach, took a deep breath, and knocked. Dean opened the door wearing one of the plaid shirts you remembered so well. You tried not to notice how handsome he looked, but that was a fight you weren’t going to win. It would be easier to take down a vampire.

Dean smiled when he saw you. It was almost shy, just a slight curve of his lips. “Come on in.” He led you into a large open room. There was a kitchen to the right, the cabinets were made of light wood, and there was a window overlooking the lake. Just off the kitchen there was an open door which you assumed led to a bedroom. To the left, there was a living room area with cream colored furniture and a large rug in warm hues of copper, red, and gold. There was also a fireplace which you could imagine added to the coziness of the room during the winter months.

You searched for the right words and settled on “‘This is a nice place. Is it yours?”

Dean laughed a little. “No. Construction doesn’t pay that good. I rented it. It’s where I come when I want to get away, do some fishing, and think.”

You surveyed your surroundings again and quietly asked, “Did you bring Lisa here?”

Dean stumbled over his words. “No. Too far from civilization for her, and she hates fish.” He started to wave toward the sofa, his hand floundered in the air for a second, then he dropped it to his side. “Do you want something? A beer?”

Your thoughts returned to your last experience with alcohol. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

“O…okay.” Dean motioned again toward the living area. You took a seat at the end of the sofa, and he sat in the chair to your side. He leaned over, elbows on his knees. “Look…um…” He sat up, back against the chair, then leaned forward again. “Something happened to me, Y/N.”

Dean rubbed his hand across his mouth then stared off into space like he was searching for what he wanted to say. “ I mean you. You happened.” His eyes sought yours; and there was a calmness in them, a certain kind of peace. “The other night when I stayed with you I was awake most of the night thinking about what you said. The stuff about not belonging where I was. I did try to fit into that world. It was what Sam wanted me to do, so I did my damnedest to do it. I didn’t even fire a gun that entire year. I didn’t scan the internet looking for a case. And sure it was normal, but there was this hole in me.”

Dean glanced down for a second and ran his tongue over his bottom lip before looking right back into your eyes. “You filled that. I know you were drunk and you don’t remember, but I do. You curled into my side and put your head against my shoulder. I held you while you slept. What I felt…I just wanted to protect you from anything that would ever hurt you, but the main thing that had hurt you was me.” His eyes were pleading with you to understand, to forgive him, to believe in him again like you once had, to trust him. “I thought I was still there for you. I didn’t know…I’m sorry.”

You looked away, your eyes landing on the wrought iron fire grate. While you stared your mouth fell open a little, and you closed it back. “Dean…I…” You looked back to him; he hadn’t taken his eyes from you. “What about Lisa?”

“There is no Lisa. The whole time I was with her I never felt anything like I did when I was holding you.” He paused. I ended it. I moved out, Y/N. I moved out because I love you.” Tears were shining in Dean’s eyes. He had shed so many tears because someone or something had died, but this time it was because something was alive. The same thing was living in you.

You reached for him. “Dean, why are you so far away?” He moved to sit beside you, and you wrapped your arms around each other. Dean held you to him like you were the air he needed to breathe to live. His hand cradled the back of your head, and he buried his face in your hair. You held each other until time ceased to exist. You’d been in that spot forever, and no time had passed at all.

When Dean finally moved, it was to take your face in his hands and kiss you. That awkward first kiss in the garage was forgotten; this was the one that mattered. He eased his tongue into your mouth claiming you with a gentleness only love could inspire. You held onto him through the kiss, and when he pulled away you opened your eyes. Your breathing had gotten shallow with the sweet intensity of that kiss. You brushed your fingers through his hair. “I love you too, Dean. I didn’t think you wanted to hear that from me.”

Dean stood and lifted you into his arms. He carried you into the bedroom and lay you down on top of the bed. He pulled off his shoes and socks before lying down on top of you. He started kissing you in the hollow of your neck, made his way up to your ear and back to your collarbone. You moaned releasing a little of your pent up need for him. You pushed at his shirt trying to get it over his shoulders. He finished taking it off, and it fell somewhere on the bed behind him.

Dean’s lips sought yours again. This time his kiss was more insistent. Your hands slid under the back of his t-shirt touching the warmth of his skin. The weight of him on top of you made you feel so safe, made you feel so cared for. The taste of him was so comforting and stirred every passion in you. The sound of his moans while he kissed you ignited all the emotions you’d pushed down and denied. Everything about what was happening overwhelmed your senses, and you started to cry.

Dean stopped, and his eyes roamed over your face. “Y/N? What is it?”

The tears were still falling down your face. You placed your hand on his cheek. “Will you just hold me for a minute?” He rolled a little to the side and circled his arms around you. It was hard for you to catch your breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Shhh. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Dean kissed the side of your head and whispered to you. “I’m here, Sweetheart. I’m right here. I love you. It’s okay.”

He kept whispering the same things to you over and over. His voice was soothing, and it calmed you down. Once your tears stopped, you kissed him without holding anything back. You let go of the loneliness you’d felt without him, the torment of the nights you’d known he was with another woman, and the anguish you’d felt believing he’d never know how much you loved him. You pulled and tore at his t-shirt practically ripping it off him. “Dean, make me forget the last year. Please make me forget.”

He discarded the rest of his clothes and took yours off slowly, taking the time to kiss every spot of your exposed skin as he did. Dean kissed your shoulders, stomach, hips, and thighs. He kissed each of your fingers and along the curve of your breasts sucking each nipple into his mouth and teasing it with his tongue until you were calling his name. He entwined his fingers with yours, holding your hand while he kissed a line down your jaw, lingered over your mouth with deep kisses full of desire, and moved up the other side.

He let go of your hand to move his own between your legs. Dean glided his fingers through your folds feeling how wet you already were for him. A whimper escaped your mouth. “Dean. Please.” You felt the tip of his length touch your opening. When you felt him push into you, your eyes locked on his. “I love you.”

His thrusts were slow and rolling at first. The feel of him stretching you made you gasp. And every sound you made, he answered with one of his own. As his thrusts became faster and deeper, the sounds gave way to your name. “Y/N. Y/N. Y/N.” He was so beautiful. His face held a look of totally focused bliss. His full lips mouthed your name without a sound right before he yelled your name with one final deep thrust and came inside you. His hot release filled your womb. Your walls tightened around him with your own climax, and Dean kept coming shooting rope after rope of his seed into you. Dean rolled off your body and lay on his side next to you catching his breath. He was still panting when he pulled you close to him. “I promise you I won’t do anything to mess this up. I will make you forget. I’ll do everything to make you happy, and I’ll never hurt you like that again.”

You kissed his shoulder wanting to hold this moment forever before you spoke. “What about a home? You had a home.”

Dean kissed you slowly, deliberately. Then he pushed your hair back from your face. “I have a home. My home is with you.”

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @jules-1999 @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @volleyballer519 @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @daisymoder72 @sorenmarie87 @lovealways-j @mrswhozeewhatsis @spnbaby-67 @wayward-and-worn @asthesunwentdown @vulgar-library @petitgateau911 @thinkinghardhardlythinking

Dean/Jensen: @deansyahtzee​ @flamencodiva @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @focusonspn @akshi8278 @ladywinchester1967 @sgarrett49 @wingedcatninja​ @coffee-obsessed-writer​ @adoptdontshoppets​ @ellewritesfix05​ @weepingwillowphoenix​

[contemplativepancakes]

not if it’s you

4k post mountain hurt/comfort fix it with gratuitous eskel for @witcher-and-his-bard . read on ao3 here!

Jaskier strums his lute idly, drumming his fingers on the base. He clears his throat before he starts tapping his foot on the wooden floor. Geralt is sure they can hear it four days down. He knows that if he prods Jaskier, he’ll just clam up and spend another three days working towards whatever he wants to say, though, so Geralt just lets him fidget.

To Geralt’s frustration, Jaskier doesn’t broach whatever topic has him worked up that day, or the next, or the one after that, and eventually, Geralt doesn’t think about it anymore. It must not have been important, never mind the fact that anything Jaskier says is inherently important to him.

 Geralt lets himself get swept up in the wave that is Yennefer, in that someone like her could ever desire someone like him. Geralt doesn’t know what she sees, still doesn’t even know why Jaskier sticks around, and he at least has a little more to offer him than he does to Yen.

And so, when Yennefer pushes him away, he pushes right back, on the one person that’s still convinced he isn’t completely full of shit. It won’t take long for Geralt to right that wrong; it’s not like he deserves that anyway. The words tumble from Geralt’s lips, each one making Jaskier’s face twist more and more.

Geralt thinks it might be the most he’s ever said to Jaskier all in one go, and that—that thought hurts.

Geralt turns his back so he doesn’t have to look at Jaskier.

“Right. Right, then.” Jaskier clears his throat, says something about the others. “I’ll... see you around, Geralt.”

There’s hesitation on the tip of his tongue, and it sounds like there’s something else he wants to say, but he doesn’t, he just turns and goes.

It must not have been important, Geralt thinks.

-

Geralt barely makes it to the winter. He’s about felled on three contracts that normally would have been nothing to sneeze at, but he just…can’t think. He can’t focus on what he’s doing, now that this is all he’s good for again. Just someone to slay monsters for people who don’t appreciate it, with no one to even limp back to at the end of the day.

Geralt combs a hand through Roach’s mane, determined not to bring her down with his melancholy mood. Besides, he’ll be at Kaer Morhen in a few days, and he’s sure everything will look brighter around his family and with his belly full. There’s something about a pitiful looking witcher that doesn’t inspire very much generosity by those setting the contracts, and Geralt can’t muster the will to argue with them about it.

He takes what he’s given. It’s when he got greedy and wanted too much that things started to fall apart, after all.

When he makes it to the keep, Vesemir comes out to greet him, concern twisting his face as he walks with Geralt to the stables. Geralt is sure he reeks; he hasn’t taken a bath in weeks and the emotions wafting off of him can’t be of the pleasant variety, but Vesemir doesn’t comment, just begins to brush Roach down as Geralt takes off her tack.

They stay silent all throughout finishing Roach’s care, until Geralt is triple checking that there’s nothing stuck in her hooves because he’s trying to delay any uncomfortable conversations.

Vesemir clears his throat. “Supper should be ready. You need to eat more.”

Geralt breathes a sigh of relief and follows him into the keep.

The warm air hits him in the face, oppressively stuffy, as he trails behind Vesemir to the kitchen. When he was still young, they used to sit in the dining room, laughter and chatter drifting through the crowded hall and drowning out the clink of cutlery, but now there’s only silence that does nothing to ease Geralt’s nerves.

He hadn’t realized he was so nervous to see his brothers until now. He’s not sure if he wants them to say something or nothing at all; each is its own special brand of depressing. Maybe Geralt is typically so morose anyway they won’t notice anything is amiss.

Geralt forces himself to eat, each bite turning into sawdust in his mouth, but he swallows it down despite that. Eskel gives him a scrutinizing look over the rim of his glass, but he doesn’t say anything. Lambert is too distracted in kicking Aiden under the table, and he’s barely said ten words to Geralt since he got here.

Geralt sighs.

-

Later, Eskel finds him.

Eskel comes into his room without knocking, and Geralt turns around to give him a half hearted snarl. Eskel rolls his eyes and sits on the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Who says anything is wrong?”

Eskel wrinkles his nose. “You stink.”

“Well, no one asked you to be in my room. You’re welcome to leave at any time.”

“Was it some villagers? Because I can go back and show them what an actual scary witcher looks like, gods know you’re too soft to get anywhere approaching intimidating.”

Geralt attempts a half hearted grin and hums. Eskel flops back on the bed, his hand coming up to itch at his face. “Not villagers, then. Your humans?”

Geralt grunts. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“So it is, then. Yennefer?”

Geralt walks over to the bed and shoves Eskel over to something resembling just one half before dropping down beside him. He kicks at Eskel’s legs to get them out of his space.

“Triss? Jaskier?”

Geralt rolls over and buries his head into a pillow.

He tenses when Eskel’s broad hands land on his shoulders. Eskel pauses, waiting for his permission, so Geralt relaxes his muscles, softening under Eskel’s touch. He rubs the knots out of Geralt’s back, digging in with his thumbs, until Geralt is a motionless pile of goo. He’s not sure he could move even if a monster came crashing in through the window.  

“Ready to talk yet?” Eskel murmurs.

“It’s—nothing is going right.”

Eskel hums. “Welcome to the life of a witcher. I hadn’t realized this was new for you.”

Geralt rolls over onto his back, looking over at Eskel to where he’s splayed out beside him. He considers the way Eskel’s mouth is turned down and reaches out to trace Eskel’s scars with his fingertips. Eskel turns his head away, but Geralt presses closer to him and plants a kiss on his jaw.

“Geralt,” Eskel says in warning, but Geralt would really like to just not think right now.

“Please?”

Eskel softens. Geralt so rarely lets himself ask for anything, and he knows Eskel understands the significance. Eskel turns towards him and wraps his arms around Geralt, tucking Geralt’s head under his chin. He pokes at Geralt’s chest. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

Geralt presses kisses along Eskel’s collarbone, not saying anything beyond a grunt. 

Eskel sighs and lets Geralt kiss him, their mouths meeting in something soft and sad.

Eskel opens to him, and Geralt lets the desire lick its way up his belly to settle somewhere in his chest. Eskel tugs Geralt's shirt off, and Geralt does the same for him, rubbing a hand across Eskel's torso and admiring how solid he is, his thumb tracing a jagged scar across Eskel’s pectoral. 

Eskel just looks at his ribs protruding through his skin and frowns, so Geralt does his best to distract him. "Come here," he mutters, pulling Eskel into another kiss.

Eskel's hands slide their way up his torso, brushing across his nipples and landing on his biceps and squeezing. Geralt knows that's one part of him that hasn't wasted away, at least. The soft layers are always the first to go when times are lean. Geralt's largely used to it, but it hasn't been this bad in a while. Certainly not since Jaskier had started traveling with him.

Geralt attempts to force his brain to stop thinking about Jaskier out of sheer willpower, but it evades his best efforts.

He drags his fingertips over Eskel's skin, trying to ground himself. He slides them from the smooth expanse of Eskel's forearms to his calloused palms, remembering how Eskel's rough hands feel around his cock.

He does not make any comparisons to Jaskier's clever fingers.

Geralt rolls them over, positioning himself on top as he deepens the kiss, making it as sloppy as he can and trying to lose himself in the sensation.

Unfortunately for him, witchers aren't meant to lose themselves in anything, their senses too sharp to ever truly be able to focus on just one thing. Geralt can hear Lambert and Aiden arguing three doors down, and he can smell the contentedness dripping off Vesemir at having them all there, mixed with just the slightest bit of sour worry. Geralt tries to ignore that last part.

"Hey," Eskel whispers. "You okay?"

"Mm," Geralt says, burying his face in Eskel's neck. "Peachy."

"Liar," Eskel replies, but it's without heat, and he coaxes Geralt back out of his neck and into another kiss.

Geralt slides his hands down Eskel's torso, unknotting his trouser ties and tugging them off. Eskel does the same for him, stripping them both out of their small clothes until his half hard cock is pressed against Geralt's bare skin.

Geralt reaches down between them and takes Eskel in hand, stroking him to full hardness and enjoying the sound of the rumbling coming from Eskel's chest.

Eskel raises a gentle hand to frame Geralt's face, stroking a thumb over his cheekbone before moving on to tucking a strand of hair being Geralt's ear.

Geralt swallows hard at the tenderness of it all. There's a burning in his chest, climbing up his ribcage and threatening to consume him, that he doesn't want to examine too closely.

Geralt jacks Eskel faster, but Eskel puts his hand on Geralt's and slows the movement. "We have time," he says.

Geralt lets his eyes flutter shut for a moment. They have time. Frankly, too damn much of it, if you ask Geralt.

He's distracted by Eskel moving away from him, sitting up to rummage through the stand next to the bed. He comes back with oil and settles back on the bed, slicking his fingers and reaching behind himself.

Geralt shuts his eyes for a moment, trying not to let himself be dragged down by the overwhelming scent and sight of Eskel this close to him and opening himself up for Geralt.

"Fuck, Eskel," he moans.

"Like what you see?" Eskel asks, turning his head away.

Geralt puts his fingers on Eskel's chin and tilts his head back. "Yes."

Eskel’s eyes dart down, but Geralt's gaze stays fixed on him, tracking the microexpressions of pleasure on Eskel's face until he leans forward to kiss him again, Eskel's lips warm and soft on his own.

Eventually, Eskel puts a hand on Geralt's chest, and Geralt pulls away in question.

Eskel pushes Geralt back, guiding him to lay down before wiping his hand on the bed spread. Geralt makes an indignant noise. "You doing my washing?"

"It's going to get a lot dirtier than that, don't worry," Eskel says with a wink.

Geralt gives him an exasperated eye roll, but it's lost when Eskel grips the base of his cock and sinks down on it.

Geralt inhales a sharp breath, letting the waves of pleasure wash over him as Eskel starts to ride him.

"Just let me take care of you," he whispers, so Geralt does.

-

After, Eskel rolls off of him, laying on the lumpy mattress beside Geralt. They stay in silence for quite a while, until Eskel finally says. “So it’s Jaskier, then?”

Geralt grunts and shoves at Eskel’s shoulder, but Eskel just gives him a self satisfied smirk before sobering again. “Neither one of us deserves second best, Geralt.”

“So you’ve...you’ve found someone, then?”

Eskel shrugs. “Maybe. For now.”

There’s a knife digging under his rib cage. Eskel’s never had someone serious before, at least not that he’s told Geralt about. It hurts more than Geralt can explain, and he wonders if Eskel feels this way about him. Neither one of them have any claim to the other, but—they do, a little. It’d been just them for so long.

When Geralt couldn’t even find a whore who would touch him because no coin purse could ever begin to outweigh their fear and disgust at witchers, Eskel had been there, waiting for Geralt at Kaer Morhen. And now, who knows if Eskel will even return next winter. Maybe he’ll bring his lover. Geralt feels sick.

Eskel must be able to sense Geralt’s thoughts spiraling because he tugs him closer, combing his fingers through Geralt’s hair. Geralt lets the motion soothe him to sleep.

-

Geralt spends the rest of the winter keeping everyone at arm’s length. No one moreso than Eskel. He pretends not to see the hurt looks Eskel gives him, but Geralt just—he can’t. At least he had pushed Yennefer and Jaskier away all by himself. Eskel left him of his own volition.

Logically, Geralt knows that isn’t fair, that he’s holding Eskel to a higher standard than he holds himself, but he can’t help the way it feels like someone ripped an arrow right out of him, the head catching on ragged flesh as it comes out and makes everything worse.

By the time the snow in the pass has melted, Geralt is practically climbing the walls. He makes himself seek Eskel out before he leaves. Eskel looks surprised to see him, and Geralt’s sure he thought Geralt was going to leave without so much as a goodbye. Geralt gives Eskel a rough hug. “I’m happy for you,” he says.

When they pull away, Eskel looks at him closely. “Take care of yourself. I’m gonna kick your ass at gwent next winter.”

This startles a laugh out of Geralt. “Keep dreaming.”

-

As he mounts Roach to leave the keep, he looks to the horizon. He pats Roach’s neck and resolves to make it to next winter, for Eskel, if no one else.

And so, irony decides to slap him in the face. He agrees to take a contract for a graveir that has been terrorizing the woods just outside of a village. Geralt makes his preparations, but he’s not too concerned about a singular graveir. Sure, they can be dangerous if they get the jump on him, but he’s not going to let that happen.

Famous last words.

The first problem is that it’s not a graveir; it’s a leshen. Geralt curses as he scrambles back from it, rotting flesh peeling away from the deer skull that it calls a head. Geralt’s not sure how the villagers managed to skip this little detail, and his mind is coming up blank for ideas on how to get out of this. Leshens are ancient and not easy to kill at the best of times. Unprepared and on the defensive is hardly an ideal circumstance.

Geralt knows he’s not going to be able to kill it, but he might be able to reason with it. Leshen are intelligent, so Geralt steels his nerves and sheathes his sword, holding out his hands.

“I’m sorry—” is all he gets out before the leshen lashes out with one of it’s branched arms and catches him hard in the side.

Geralt hisses in pain and drops to his knees, clutching at his side. He looks up at the leshen, trying to think of something, anything, that’s going to get him out of this predicament alive, but he draws a blank.

The leshen bludgeons him again, and he doesn’t think about anything else for quite a while.

-

“Geralt? Gods, Geralt!”

-

When Geralt wakes up, he thinks he must be dead. It’s the only reasonable explanation. If he had survived his encounter with the leshen, he would be lying on the hard ground with no less than four tiny rocks or twigs digging into his back, but he’s on a soft mattress. And it smells like...Jaskier?

Yes, this definitely isn’t real.

Geralt keeps his eyes shut as he registers the details and slowly fills in the world around him.

Jaskier is picking at his nails in a chair next to the bed, and there’s a clock slowly ticking on the wall. Jaskier sighs and tugs at the blanket covering Geralt, pulling it from his shoulders to rest just beneath Geralt’s chin.

Geralt finally surmises that he must not be dead, because if he were, all of these sounds and smells wouldn’t be grating so much on his senses.

He lets Jaskier’s fidgeting go on for three more minutes before he finally darts out a hand from underneath the blankets to take hold of Jaskier’s hands. Jaskier’s pulse ratchets up, and Geralt draws his hand back like he’s been burned. Jaskier has been drenched in the scent of fear ever since Geralt had gained enough consciousness to register the smell, and Geralt hates it.

He never wants Jaskier to smell like that, and the thought that he’s causing it? Well, it’s not a pleasant one. Jaskier had never been frightened of him before, but Geralt supposes he can’t expect everything to simply go back to the way it was before, even if desperately wants it to.

“Stay still, please,” Geralt scrapes out finally, and Jaskier stops his fiddling immediately.

“Oh, I’m,” he drops his voice to a whisper, “sorry. Your ears must be very sensitive right now.”

Geralt grunts in vague agreement, and some of the fear scent mellows out into something more resembling worry. Honestly, in this state, Jaskier could probably fight him off without too much of an issue, so he’s not sure what exactly he has to be worried about.

-

Jaskier stares at Geralt’s peaceful profile. The lines on his face have smoothed out in sleep, and his chest rises and falls at a steady rate. Jaskier lets out a deep sigh and scrubs his hands over his face. He was never enough for Geralt the first time around, so he doesn’t know why he thinks this time will be any different.

Just because, what? Because he saved Geralt this time instead of the other way around? Well, only about eleven more times to go and then they’ll be even.

Jaskier pulls out his notebook and flips to a page near the beginning. He runs his fingers over the words that have been smudged by age and tears, tapping his nails on the curves of the letters. He bites his lip as he looks back up at Geralt before closing the book again. Geralt wouldn’t have wanted this then, and he sure as fuck doesn’t want it right now.

The best thing Jaskier could do for him would be to leave, but Jaskier is selfish, and he needs to see that Geralt is going to wake up again for himself.

He’d been scared out of his wits earlier; sure that this time he’d finally lost it and he’d started to hallucinate while he had stumbled around in the woods. There had been a resounding crash, so Jaskier had gone to check it out, and he could almost hear Geralt berating him for his nonexistent survival instincts.

Jaskier had found Geralt, his white hair haloed around his head and still convinced he was seeing things. When he had sunk to his knees beside Geralt’s still form and reached out a hand, Geralt was solid and real and bloody, so Jaskier had panicked.

He didn’t know what to do, so he flitted his hands over Geralt until he found where the blood was sluggishly seeping from and pressed down hard. He tried to ignore his shaky hands, but it was hard to do when the bottles he fumbled from Geralt’s pack clinked together incessantly.

He almost dropped one, and upon closer examination, it looked like the one Geralt always took when he would come back wounded. Jaskier knew he shouldn’t try to make an unconscious person drink anything, but Geralt was looking dangerously paler by the second, and he didn’t see any other options. He lifted Geralt’s head up and pulled him into his lap, supporting his head as he tipped the bottle’s contents between Geralt’s lips.

Somehow, Jaskier had flagged down a cart that was passing not too far from where they were on a trail and had convinced the driver to help them. He’s sure he looked quite the sight, Geralt’s blood all over his doublet, but there must have been enough genuine panic in his voice to get the point across.

And now they’re here, Geralt taking rattling breaths as he sleeps. Geralt had wanted destiny to take him off his hands, but Jaskier…

He must be a glutton for punishment, because he can’t bring himself to leave Geralt’s side.

-

Geralt wakes again to a soft humming, and he cracks his eyes open to be surprised that Jaskier is still here. He allows himself to hope for a moment that maybe all isn’t lost before he quashes it. It’s more likely Jaskier was just waiting for him to wake up so he could tell him off to his face.

Geralt heaves himself to a sitting position, and Jaskier rushes over to him. “Easy!”

Geralt leans back against the headboard and prods his side. It feels slightly tender, but not anywhere near as bad as it was before.

“How long have I been asleep?” Geralt croaks.

Jaskier shrugs. “A day? Not long.”

“Healed up well.”

Jaskier eyes him. “Well, you have a stunningly handsome nurse to thank for that.”

“Well, where’s he at?” Geralt asks, before he can’t help himself and a chuckle escapes his lips.

Jaskier shoves at him, and for a second, everything is right again, exactly back to the way things were before. But Geralt can’t stop the tightening of his features after the jostling, and Jaskier takes immediate note. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

“Fine,” Geralt grits out. Jaskier’s already spent too long taking care of him as is.

“Oh.” Jaskier sits back down in the chair next to him.

Geralt waits for the beratement, the anger about why Jaskier wasted years of his life on him, but it doesn’t come.

And so Geralt is forced to make the first move. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did. It was cruel, and you didn’t—you never deserved that.”

Jaskier looks over at him in surprise, and it twists Geralt’s insides to see Jaskier looking at him like that over a simple apology.

“It turns out bards aren’t very successful when they’ve lost their muse,” Jaskier finally says, and Geralt stops to look at him.

Jaskier’s clothes hang off of him, and their once vibrant color seems muted. In fact, Geralt thinks he recognizes that shirt, and it’s certainly not like Jaskier to wear the same clothes season after season.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt says again. He’s not sure how to say anything else.

Jaskier puts one of his hands over Geralt’s, and Geralt shakes his head. “Jask, you deserve someone who’ll treat you like you deserve.”

Jaskier straightens up and arches an eyebrow. “You’re not up for the challenge?”

“Witchers, we can’t—”

“Bullshit,” Jaskier interrupts.

“What?”

“Bullshit. Whatever you were about to say, that you can’t feel, or whatever. Bull. Shit.”

Geralt’s taken aback. He clears his throat. “You’re right.”

Jaskier was clearly expecting more resistance, so he deflates a little at Geralt’s words.

“I missed you,” Geralt says.

“Like a sore thumb, I’m sure.”

Geralt huffs. “No, I really missed you.”

Jaskier looks at his hands, picking at a hangnail. “I missed you, too.”

Geralt’s not quite sure why, or what exactly there was to miss, but he won’t ask any questions and risk Jaskier changing his mind.

“I wrote you a song,” Jaskier blurts. “Before. All of this. But. I still mean it.”

Geralt’s heart breaks. “Will I have heard it anywhere?”

Jaskier clears his throat. “No, no. It was just for you. I haven’t played it for an audience.”

Geralt hums. “Well, I can’t imagine I won’t like it.”

“You haven’t even heard it yet, Geralt. Whatever happened to a fillingless pie?”

“I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry,” he says again.

He’ll say it however many times Jaskier needs to hear it. A flush rises to Jaskier’s cheeks. He takes a page from Geralt’s book. “Hmm.”

“If it comes from you, I’m going to like it. Even if it’s terrible.”

Jaskier shakes his head. “That makes no sense.”

“It’s a gift,” Geralt says. “What’s not to like?”

Jaskier huffs and shakes his head in exasperation. Geralt is no clearer now than he was before.

He pulls out his lute and tunes it, even though it was perfectly tuned just two nights ago before he performed. He can feel Geralt’s eyes on him, and he resolutely ignores them. Finally, he begins to play and sing along. He hasn’t let himself play this particular song in months. Everytime he tried, it was like ripping off a scab and pouring white gull on the wound.

Which, yes, he got to experience once when Geralt was convinced a nasty gash on his leg was infected. Jaskier maintains Geralt was just being an over concerned brooding hen, but he can’t say the attention wasn’t nice.

His voice is a little rusty from the disuse, but it quickly flakes off with the way Geralt is looking at him. It’s a measured look, one Jaskier’s not used to. Attention is fleeting when he performs, with people flitting back to talk to their companions, or eat their meal, but Geralt hasn’t taken his eyes off of him.

Jaskier stumbles over the next line, cursing himself, but he quickly recovers and goes on to finish the song.

When he’s done, he chances a glance back at Geralt. He licks his lips, finding them suddenly terribly dry. “Three words or less?”

Geralt gives him an impossibly soft look. “I loved it.”

[taephilia]

carnival lights

part of @jamaisjoons​ summer bucketlist writing event!

pairing: kim taehyung x fem!reader (feat. the rest of bts + a guest appearance)

genre: haunted carnival au, college au, horror/thriller, fluff, suggestive content

word count: 6,984

warnings: marijuana use, alcohol consumption, swearing, suggestive content (making out, grinding, hickeys, hair pulling, praise kink, degradation, dirty talk), breaking and entering, blood mention

summary: with half of your friend group graduated and leaving your hometown to move to the city for work, you and your friends decide to have one last adventure together (in the words of hobi even though it’s only may and you see each other like every day). but things are always different in the nighttime and you never know what’s lurking between the funnel cakes.

a/n: tysm to solaris for coming up with this writing event!! this was really fun for me to do because it’s very different from what i usually write. this was supposed to go up at the beginning of august but life became really crazy for me starting mid-july lmao. better late than never i guess but so sorry for the late upload. hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :-)

When you finally arrive at your childhood home, you’re not at all surprised to see 2 cars parked in front of your house and your group of friends sprawled out on your front lawn, all of them laughing and smiling as they wait for you. You were the last of your friends to get home after finishing your second year of university (shoutout to your organic chemistry professor for having a final exam on a Saturday) and you were lucky you didn’t get pulled over because of how eager you were to get home. It was a tough semester and you really need to not think about school for a few months. You wave at the boys through the car window when they see you pull into your driveway, all of them running over to greet you before you’ve even had a chance to get out of your car.

Jimin is the first to greet you as he practically pulls you out of the vehicle to wrap his arms around you. His sounds of excitement make you laugh as you pat his back. “It’s nice to see you too, Jimin,” you say to him, laughing harder when he starts to shake you back and forth from just how happy he is to see you.

Hoseok hugs you next, and you only have a few seconds after Jimin has released you before you’re swallowed up in another bear hug. This one is a bit tighter and you feel the breath get knocked out of you as the older boy whines, “(Y/N), I missed you so much! I’m already sick of the guys so thank goodness you’re finally home!”

“Good to know that the feeling is mutual then,” Yoongi says as he pulls you out of Hoseok’s grip. You’re enveloped in a much looser, but still just as warm, hug and you wrap your arms around the male’s waist, the first of your friends that you choose to hug back (well, more like the first of your friends who didn’t trap your arms to your sides, thus allowing you to hug them back). Also just because it’s Yoongi.

Seokjin and Namjoon both greet you with a “Welcome home” and hugs of their own and you have to stop yourself from burying your face in their chests because of how much they smell like home. Namjoon even pats your head while he hugs you and a chuckle escapes you at that; he must have really missed you.

Jungkook practically tackles you as he runs up and scoops you up into his arms, swinging you around as he cackles maniacally. As excited as you are to see him, you’re not exactly sure why he’s laughing like that and frankly, you’re too scared to ask. You’ve known Jungkook the longest out of the 7 of them and you know that that laugh means bad news. You’re gonna have to ask him what he’s been scheming about later.

“Can I please hug my girlfriend now?” Taehyung asks, the exasperation in his voice contrasting with the huge grin on his face. He’ll let the guys have their time now because now that you’re home, you’re all his for the next couple of months. Jungkook lets out an exaggerated vomiting sound while he puts you down, the rest of the boys already opening up your car to help you unload your things while you approach your boyfriend with heart eyes. 

“Hey there, stranger,” you greet him and you can’t help but let out a relieved sigh when he finally wraps his arms around you to pull you into a hug. Going to different universities along with having packed schedules kept you and Taehyung apart for longer than you liked, another reason for your eagerness to get home after your last final this morning. Standing here with his arms around you, his scent invading your senses, his warmth seeping through your clothes—it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. 

“Please don’t have a busy semester like that ever again,” he says quietly, his cheek resting against the top of your head as he rubs his hands up and down your back. “I nearly died because I couldn’t see you as often as I wanted to.”

“Same goes for you then,” you retort as you pull your head away from his chest to look up at him with narrowed eyes. “I wasn’t the only one with a busy semester, Mr. TA-with-2-Jobs. You’re also at fault here.”

Taehyung is about to reply but is interrupted by Jimin physically separating the two of you so that Seokjin and Yoongi could place boxes into your hands. “You two are also at fault for just standing there making goo-goo eyes at each other while the rest of us unload the car,” Jimin scolds you guys as he rolls his eyes. The three of them all but push you towards your front door, your family watching in amusement from inside. “Get a move on, lovebirds, I want to go to 7-11 after this for some ramen before I get hangry.”

“You did not just suggest that,” Seokjin groans, interrupting Hoseok after only one sentence. “I can’t believe you really said that.”

The 8 of you are sitting on the curb outside of a 7-11 eating your respective dinners, the buzzing of the neon sign and the chatter from people walking providing nice background noise for your first hangout of the summer. You stifle your laughter by shoving more noodles into your mouth, while Taehyung and Jungkook do nothing to silence theirs beside you. 

“There’s nothing wrong with going to the carnival, we go every year!” Hoseok protests. Well, more like whines, to be honest. Using that tone of voice usually worked in his favor but Seokjin’s unamused expression didn’t seem to be leaving his face any time soon. 

“That’s the point, we go every year,” Namjoon points out, pointing his chopsticks at Hoseok for emphasis. “Dude, we just graduated from college, don’t you think we’re a little old to be going to our town’s carnival?”

“Besides, it’s not even good anymore,” Yoongi says through a mouthful of noodles. “They’ve been getting rid of the good rides so the only fun part about it is the funnel cake and I guess the Ferris wheel if you’re into that.” 

Jungkook lets out a sound of protest, holding up a finger to signal to the others to wait for him while he chews before speaking. “I actually took my younger cousins there at the beginning of the week and the rides look pretty cool this year.”

Hoseok looks smug after that, resulting in Yoongi muttering, “Who’s side are you even on?” You let out a laugh at that, you can’t help it. “Regardless,” he says loudly, chopsticks waving in the air as he glares at his friend. “We’re too old to go, the tickets are overpriced, and the food is too expensive for how trashy it is. We’re not going.”

Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook all protest at that and you let out a sigh as you watch the younger ones (plus Hoseok) argue with the older boys. Your first day back and they’re already fighting over something dumb. “The four of you are leaving us in August, don’t you want to stick to tradition one last time before you go off into the adult world?” Jimin argues, and you raise an eyebrow at that, your eyes glancing at the older boys who seem to deflate a little at his words. They always get soft whenever someone brings up some sentimental crap like that.

“This will be the last time that we go,” Taehyung offers, and you notice Hoseok trying to hide his smirk as the younger boy talks. The two of you make eye contact and he winks at you, both of you knowing that he’s probably going to win this. “One last time for all 8 of us to pretend like we’re still in high school-”

“Who the fuck wants to pretend like they’re still in high school?” Jungkook interrupts, causing you to smack his arm. “Sorry for interrupting, but that place was a nightmare.”

Your boyfriend acknowledges his words with a nod before continuing. “One last time for all of us to pretend like we’re still young and have nothing to care about. Like we're not entering the adult world soon, some of us sooner than others, and all we have to worry about is having enough gas in our cars to get to where we want to go and not getting arrested for whatever we do.”

There’s silence after that as everyone mulls over those words while they eat. You, Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok know that Taehyung essentially has the rest of them right where he wants them so you just wait for them to say something.

It’s Namjoon who breaks the silence first. “You know, I hate it when you guys get all soft like that.”

With the amount of shit that you get into whenever you’re with Jungkook, you sometimes forget that he’s actually loaded (but it’s because he’s loaded that he feels the need to cause trouble wherever he is at every single possible second). So every time he invites you to hang out at his house, you can’t help but feel excited to experience even a smidge of the life of luxury that Jungkook gets to experience every day. 

And luxury it is.

It’s mid-day and you’re hanging out in Jungkook’s backyard while he’s at the grill making some food with Jin, you and Taehyung sprawled out on one another on a couch as you pass a joint back and forth. Empty bottles of beer and cans of White Claw are scattered around while the handles of harder alcohol are resting in the shade, waiting to be consumed at a more appropriate time. Namjoon and Yoongi are floating around in the pool, their shades on as they indulge in the feeling of being crossed while in the cold water. This is exactly what you were looking forward to.

Taehyung’s right hand gently runs up and down your shin as he hums along to whatever song Jungkook is playing on his speaker, his left hand holding the smoldering joint over an ashtray before bringing it to his lips. He inhales the smoke and you watch as his chest rises to allow it to settle in his lungs before he slowly blows it out in your face. 

“That wasn’t very nice,” you shake your head as you fan the smoke out of your face. Your eyes are dry enough as it is. 

Your boyfriend simply smiles widely at you before tugging at your ankle, sliding closer to you and pulling you closer to him so that he could situate you on his lap. He places the joint in your fingers, murmuring, “Finish it,” and watches with rapt attention as you bring it up to your lips. You inhale for a few seconds, the warmth from the smoke tickling your throat and almost causing you to cough but you fight it as you let it settle in your lungs while the joint falls from your fingertips and into the ashtray. You’re about to blow out the smoke when you feel Taehyung’s fingers on your chin, his lips on yours before you could even process what’s happening. His tongue swipes along your lower lip and you open your mouth to release the smoke into his own, a whimper escaping you when his hold on your hip tightens. Taehyung pulls away from you as he inhales, his pupils blown wide before they disappear behind a cloud of smoke.

Taehyung is about to pull you in for another kiss, your eyes almost closed as you lean closer to him, when you feel cold water get splashed on you and you gasp loudly. Goosebumps rise on your skin as you look for the culprit, your eyes narrowing on Jungkook who was standing beside the pool with a water gun in his hands. “Stop making out in front of us, it’s gross!” he exclaims while shooting the two of you a couple more times. 

“You little bitch-!” you say menacingly as you begin to get up from Taehyung’s lap. You don’t get far though because your boyfriend is already pulling you back down as Jungkook scrambles back to the grill to hide behind Seokjin. There’s a smirk on your face as you stare at him and you swear that you see him gulp. Serves him right.

Namjoon and Yoongi tease the youngest for being so scared of you as they clamber out of the pool, their eyes looking more alert as they make their way over to you and Taehyung. “It’s time to roll another one, I’m coming down,” Yoongi announces as he takes a seat next to you and you grin widely as he opens up the grinder. 

“You know, I’ve only ever seen you this excited when it comes to weed, sangria, and d-”

You clap your hand over Taehyung’s mouth before he can finish his sentence, smiling at him sweetly while your friends just try to stifle their laughter as they roll up a couple more joints. “Are you sure you want to finish that sentence, babe?”

Taehyung bites the palm of your hand in retaliation before tightly wrapping his arms around you, rocking you back and forth as he coos, “Is my baby embarrassed? You don’t want the boys to know how good I-”

“I’m getting some water!” you exclaim as you jump up, forcing Taehyung’s hands to fall into his lap as he laughs loudly at how embarrassed you look. “Does anyone want some? I’m going inside to get some.”

All of the boys raise their hands so Taehyung gets up from his spot on the couch as well to offer his help. As soon as he shuts the door to the backyard after you two are inside, you have a feeling that something is up, especially when you think you hear him chuckle darkly behind you. He’s right on your heels as you make your way to the kitchen and when you feel a tug at the back of Taehyung’s your shirt, you realize that your boyfriend has stopped you. He backs you up against the island in the center of the kitchen, his hands placed on either side of you to trap you, and you can’t help but look away as he stares down at you with a smirk playing on his lips.

“Been dying to kiss you, sweetheart,” he mumbles as one of his hands reaches up to touch your face, his thumb rubbing over your cheekbone. “That one from before just wasn’t enough.”

Taehyung leans down to press his lips to yours, and even though you know that it’s a combination of the feeling you get from kissing your boyfriend and the feeling of being high, you swear that there’s electricity running through your veins. Your hands grip his biceps and you whimper when you feel a hand on your ass, squeezing it and bringing you closer to his body. You feel your knees buckle when he pulls away from your mouth only to kiss and bite at your neck, the thought of marks on your skin causing you to feel even more tingly. 

“Please,” you whisper as you card your fingers through his hair. “Taehyung.”

Taehyung stops and looks at you, an amused look on his face as he takes in just how desperate you look for him. “Please what?” he teases you, head tilting to the side as you huff in annoyance. You’re so cute.

“Please kiss me,” you pout. And with the way that you’re looking at him, so desperate for him just to kiss you, who is Taehyung to deny you that?

He presses a quick kiss to your lips and laughs when you lean forward more as he leans away. “If Jimin and Hoseok aren’t here in the next few minutes, we’re going home so I can do more than just kiss you,” he tells you, and God, even though he has to fight down all of the dirty thoughts are coming to mind about just what exactly he wants to do to you, he can’t help but think that the excited look on your face is absolutely adorable.

Taehyung spoke too soon though because just as he’s about to continue your little makeout session, you hear the door to the backyard open, followed by Seokjin yelling at the two of you, “Jimin and Hobi are here!”

And Jungkook, always a fan of getting on your nerves whenever he can, continues with, “You guys better not be fucking in the kitchen, those are new countertops! Did you even get the water?”

When you and Taehyung come back outside with eight water bottles, the urge to throw them at your friends is overwhelming as they whoop and holler at you. You reach up to try to cover the marks on your neck with your hair but this just brings closer attention to them. “For the record, we didn’t actually do anything so get your minds out of the gutter, you fucking pervs,” you sneer as you hand out the water.

“I’m sure they’re just jealous because it’s not their necks covered in marks,” Taehyung shrugs, walking away from Namjoon just as he chokes on his water from the younger boy’s words. 

“Dude, why do you always have to make it weird?” Jimin mutters as he shakes his head at his best friend. “Anyways, Hoseok and I have an announcement so put your cell phones on silent and shut your fucking mouths. The show is about to begin.”

You raise an eyebrow at that as Seokjin attempts to stop himself from laughing. Always one for the theatrics, that Park Jimin. Hoseok clears his throat and takes a small step forward to gain everyone’s attention.

“We’re going to the carnival tonight.”

Taehyung’s hand squeezes your thigh reassuringly as Jungkook and Jimin struggle to converse over the loud music. Why Jungkook can’t just lower the music considering the fact that you’re all in his car is beyond you. You’re more than used to the antics that you and your friends tend to pull every summer but a part of you is wondering if you’re taking it a bit too far this time. You pull into the dirt parking lot right next to Jin’s car and you’re not surprised to see skeptic looks that match yours on Seokjin’s and Namjoon’s faces.

“Why the fuck do you have that?” Yoongi practically yells as he looks down at what Jimin’s holding, prompting you to shush him. 

“They’re just bolt cutters, dude, relax,” Jimin shrugs and your eyes dart down to his hands to see that he is in fact holding bolt cutters. “This is for our backup plan.”

“Wh-“

“Yoongi, if you don’t wanna get caught, then keep your fucking voice down,” you hiss at him. “The entire town will know we’re here because of how loud you’re being.”

“Can someone please explain to me what the hell our so-called ‘plan’ is?” Namjoon whispers loudly, his eyes narrowing on Hoseok presumably because this was his idea in the first place. “Because I haven’t felt confident about it since literally all you fucking said was ‘I know a guy’.”

“If it makes you feel better, you know him too,” Hoseok shrugs, and just as Namjoon opens his mouth to say something, another pair of headlights passes over you guys. You all watch silently as a very expensive car drives into the parking lot, and even though all of the windows are up, you can still hear the loud thumping of the bass before the driver turns the engine off. 4 people exit the car, none of whom you recognize, but based off of Namjoon’s barely hidden annoyance, Hoseok was telling the truth and he does know them.

“Kim Namjoon!” the driver exclaims after greeting Hoseok with one of those bro handshakes, making you wince at the loud volume. Did none of them understand that you all are about to commit a crime? “Didn’t think I would be seeing you so soon after graduation. Did you miss me?”

“Considering the fact that I woke up to you asleep on my bathroom floor because Hoseok had to bring your drunk ass home with him the night before my 9am graduation when your frat had a party, I’m gonna have to say no,” Namjoon replies drily, and you have to stifle your laughter at that. You’ve never heard him speak like that to anyone except maybe Jungkook and Seokjin, he’s always polite and nice, so this is very different. You can’t say you blame him though, the guy does kind of look like a douche.

The douche in question laughs at his statement before his eyes rove over your friend group, only to stop at you. “And who’s this?” he asks, voice piquing in interest. “You never mentioned a girl to me, Hoseok.”

You cross your arms over your chest as Taehyung snorts beside you. “That’s because he has no reason to. So are you the guy that’s going to unlock the gate for us or are we just going to stand here and talk in the dark for another 5 minutes?”

“The name’s Jackson, sweetheart,” the guy smirks as he walks right up to you to dangle what you assume are keys for the entire amusement park in your face. “Jackson Wang. And don’t you forget it.”

“I’m not really good with names but my boyfriend is,” you shrug as you point at Taehyung who drapes an arm over your shoulders. “So I’m sure he’ll remember, right Tae?”

Taehyung smiles beside you, but it’s more like he’s baring his teeth at the guy, and both yours and Jackson’s friends snicker as the two of you watch him slowly walk over to the gate in a stunned silence. The lock opens with a click and you all follow him in, watching as he turns some of the lights on and then gives Hoseok a copy of the keys.

“You guys have one hour,” he explains as he hands them over. “If you’re not at the gate by then, then we’re leaving and you guys get to deal with whatever trouble finds you. Got it?”

“Yes sir!” Taehyung and Jimin exclaim at the same time and you smack both of them when you see them saluting Jackson. 

The frat boy merely rolls his eyes at their antics as he unlocks the gate, all of you shuffling forward hesitantly as he swings open the gate and leads you all inside. He tells you all to wait while he goes off somewhere and you can’t help but clutch Taehyung’s hand a little bit tighter as you stand there in the dark. You’re not a believer in the supernatural per se but you’re not about to hang out in a dark amusement park long enough to find out. Suddenly, the flood lights come on, the harsh white light driving away any shadows that may have been lingering.

“Go crazy,” you hear Jackson say and you turn around to see him waving you off. “But not too crazy because if you guys break something, then I’ll kill you.”

Him and his friends go off while you and your friends decide where you should go first. You’re about to nod along to Jungkook’s suggestion of finding some leftover funnel cakes when you feel a tug at your arm. Taehyung pulls the two of you a few feet away from your friends with a wide grin on his face, leaning closer to you before whispering, “Wanna ditch them and go make out in the Tunnel of Love?”

You roll your eyes at that but a matching grin appears on your face. “You’re so fucking cheesy. Fine, let’s go.”

You allow your boyfriend to pull you along eagerly, both of you snickering to yourselves as you break away from your friends. A noise of disgust leaves your mouth as you glance at the murky water, the abandoned pink gondolas looking almost sad as you pass by them in favor of entering the tunnel on foot. There’s no light aside from the ones outside but you guess that that’s the point as Taehyung pushes you up against the wall and presses his body against yours. He tilts your chin up so that you have no choice but to look at him and even in the darkness, you can see the glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Been wanting to do that since you talked back to that Jackson guy earlier,” he hums, head ducking down to press a kiss to your jawline and then another to your cheek. “You’re really cute when you’re mad, you know that?”

Taehyung presses his mouth against yours harshly as his hands travel down to your hips to bring them even closer to his. You whimper as you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers finding their way into his hair before softly tugging at the strands. You’re usually not one for making out in public but there’s something about making out with your boyfriend in an empty amusement park at night that sends just the tiniest bit of adrenaline through your veins. A gasp escapes your mouth when you feel him grab at your ass roughly, kneading it with the palm of his hand as the other lightly traces up and down your side. You can feel him getting hard against your thigh and just the thought his cock is enough for you to let out a moan against his lips.

“Dirty girl,” he chastises you when he pulls away, only to duck down to kiss and bite at the skin on your neck. “You’re being so loud, you want someone to catch us? You want one of the guys to walk in and see you like this?”

“Sorry,” you apologize, eyelids fluttering when he wraps a hand around your throat and applies just the slightest bit of pressure. “I was just-”

“Thinking about my cock?” Taehyung interrupts, finishing your sentence for you. Your eyes fly open to meet his and there’s a smirk on his face that tells you that he knew exactly what you were thinking about. “You can feel it against your thigh, right? How bad do you want it, baby?”

His hands slide under your shirt to toy with your nipples over the fabric of your bra and your breath hitches in your throat. You think you can hear Namjoon’s excited yelling from outside but you're too far lost in how good Taehyung is making you feel to care. “Want it so bad,” you whisper, biting down on your lower lip when he brings a hand down to cup your heat. “Wanna choke on it, get it so fucking wet with my mouth.”

He rubs at your clit through your cotton shorts and based off of how wet you feel right now, you know that your panties are probably ruined. Taehyung shifts so that his thigh is now pressed up against your pussy and you let out another moan from the pressure on your clit. Your hands come up to grab at his shoulders as he steadies you with his own on your hips, dark eyes looking down at you with lust as he licks his lips. “Feels good, huh?” he teases you as he presses you down harder against his thigh. “Why don’t you get yourself off for me, sweetheart. Grind against my thigh until you make yourself come and then I’ll reward you with my cock.”

You nod along eagerly at his words, your hips moving against him before he even reached the end of his sentence. Pleasure courses through your veins as you grind against Taehyung’s thigh, unable to control the noises that are leaving your mouth. But after a particularly loud moan, you feel your boyfriend’s hand wrap around your throat again before squeezing as a warning. “You’re being so loud, baby,” he mumbles as he leans forward to press more kisses to your cheek. “I thought you were my good girl, that you knew how to stay quiet. And only good girls get to feel good...”

“I’ll be quiet,” you say, and the pleading look on your face is enough to make his cock stir in his pants. “I promise I won’t make any more noise, please just let me come.”

Taehyung’s hand comes up to rest against your cheek, thumb stroking at your cheekbone softly and your movements against his thigh stutter at the gentle gesture. “Since you asked so nicely,” he concedes just before flexing his thigh muscles under you.

You clap your hand over your mouth to stop the gasp that you were about to let out, eyes never leaving Taehyung as your hips speed up. Your other hand comes up to grab at his bicep, squeezing tightly as you listen to his words of encouragement.

“There’s my good girl,” he coos, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. “Always so eager to please, you want my cock in your mouth so bad, don’t you? I know you do, baby girl, because you fucking love it. You love choking on this big, thick cock, right? Gagging on it and being so fucking sloppy with it. My little cockslut-”

Taehyung’s dirty whispers are cut off by the lights coming off and the theme music of the ride blaring through the speakers, and you swear your heart almost jumps out of your chest. Any pleasure that you felt is immediately replaced with shock and fear as your boyfriend pulls you closer out of instinct. The two of you look around before running out quickly, the music fading as you stand a few yards away from the ride. Annoyance overcomes your boyfriend’s face when his eyes land on something—or rather, someone. You look over and see Jimin and Hoseok standing at a nearby food truck eating cotton candy and laughing their asses off, words not even escaping them from how hard they’re laughing.

“You guys are fucking assholes, you know that?” Taehyung yells as you both walk over to them. His hand squeezes yours when he feels you still shaking slightly beside him, and he pulls you closer for good measure. “You scared the shit out of us!”

“W-What?” Jimin stutters, unable to properly form words around his laughter. He wipes tears away from his eyes as Hoseok breathes deeply next to you to get himself to calm down. “What are you talking about?”

“Fuck off, Jimin,” you say dismissively with a roll of your eyes. “We know it was the two of you, you were standing here laughing your asses off about it when we ran out. If you’re gonna pull some shit like that, either don’t stick around or act cool if you’re gonna stand there.”

“Seriously, we have no idea what you guys are talking about,” Hoseok protests, still sounding like he’s on the verge of tears as he gets the last of his laughter out. “We literally just got here and the ride was on when we ran by. I didn’t even know where you guys were until just now.”

“Maybe it was Jackson and his friends,” Jimin offers, but Hoseok shakes his head beside him. “Well it can’t have been the others, they’re on the Gravitron right now. Joon and Yoongi are probably close to puking their guts up right now because they smoked just before they went on.”

An image of the small, dark, spinning room pops up into your mind with puke splattered along the walls and you grimace. “Gross. Let’s go wait outside to see if you’re right.”

The four of you walk towards the ride and you steal a bit of Hobi’s cotton candy from him, smiling innocently before popping it into your mouth as he whines in protest. Taehyung is looking around as he swings your joined hands between the two of you and you have a sneaking suspicion that Jimin may have taken a couple of hits with the boys because his eyes are only half open. You all lean against the gate as the ride slowly comes to a stop and you take this moment to pull out your phone, calling out Jimin’s name to get his attention before quickly taking a picture of him in all of his stoned glory.

“(Y/N), I swear to God, if you post that picture anywhere…!” he exclaims as he lunges for your phone, and you cackle as you quickly dodge and hide behind your tall boyfriend. 

Taehyung does nothing to help either of you, merely standing still as the two of you circle each other. “It’s just going to be your new contact picture, relax,” you tease, the slight slump of Jimin’s shoulders making you chuckle. “And I’ll probably put it in the group chat.”

“There have been worse pictures of you sent in the group chat,” Taehyung points out, and Hobi bursts out laughing as Jimin’s posture straightens out with the most offended look on his face that he can muster. “So I think you should just let her have this.”

Before Jimin can argue, the doors to the Gravitron open and Seokjin, Namjoon, and Yoongi all come stumbling out with Jungkook following soon after. Yoongi and Seokjin look a bit pale, Namjoon looks like he’s about to go into shock, and Jungkook’s smiling as if a girl just agreed to show him her tits. A pretty normal situation if you do say so yourself. You can hear Yoongi mumbling something to himself as the four of them approach the exit, and as he gets closer, you begin to laugh when you realize what he’s saying.

“Never again!” he exclaims as he straightens up, wobbling in place he points as menacingly as he can at Jungkook. “I am never ever doing that again!”

“Agreed,” Jin groans and you reach forward to pat his back as he leans against the railing.

“Jin, did you smoke too?” Hoseok asks, a bit shocked. Jin is usually one of the more responsible ones out of the eight of you, so you’re a bit surprised as well since he’s one of the two people that drove tonight. 

The eldest shakes his head and takes a deep shuddering breath. “No, I just forgot how fucking horrible that ride is. Honestly, how does anyone enjoy that? It feels like my brain was trying to squeeze out of my ears.”

“Let’s just walk it off,” Namjoon suggests, voice barely above a whisper and you know that he’s just barely holding himself back from throwing up in front of you all. “Why don’t we go to one of those funhouses?”

You all agree and make your way through the carnival, and are surprised to find a funhouse that was already on. “Jackson probably forgot to turn it off,” Hoseok shrugs as he steps forward to pull aside the plastic curtain and enter. “Yells at us to make sure to leave everything like we found it and he can’t even follow his own rules.”

As you enter the funhouse, a chill runs down your spine and you shiver, stepping a bit closer to your boyfriend to allow his warmth to wash over you. The boys are all joking around as you make your way through but you can’t help but feel like something is off. It feels like there’s something… watching you and you keep hearing whispering in between all of their exclamations of what sounds like your name. But it’s too dark to see anything and the other boys don’t seem to notice anything so you try to shake it off. The further you get into the funhouse though, the more unnerved you get until you’re practically cutting off the circulation in Taehyung’s hand. You’re so consumed in your own thoughts of making it out that you don’t even notice how quiet the boys have gotten. Or how fast you’ve all started walking.

“I don’t want to alarm anyone,” Seokjin says, and you have to strain to hear him because he’s speaking so quietly. “But has anyone noticed the weird banging sounds that have been happening ever since we came in?” A loud bang sounds out, as if to confirm that it is indeed there, and you feel your heart drop to your stomach. 

“Maybe it’s a bad time to bring this up but I swear I saw something in the reflection when we were in the mirror room not too long ago,” Namjoon confesses before looking over at Yoongi, who’s usually always calm but now looks as scared as you feel. “And I’m pretty sure you saw it too.”

“I-I don’t know what I saw,” he stutters out, but the hint of fear in his voice is enough to make Jungkook shiver beside you and Taehyung to push you behind him so that you’re more in the middle of the group. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, I don’t like this.”

You all begin to quickly walk through the attraction and you try your best to ignore everything except for Taehyung’s hand in yours and your friends around you. Jungkook’s hand reaches out for your other hand at a particularly loud noise and that’s when you all begin to haul ass out of there. You haven’t even seen anything but if the hair standing up on the back of your neck is anything to trust then-

“Okay I’m pretty sure I just heard footsteps behind me so fucking run!” Jimin yells from his spot in the back and you turn around to see Seokjin grab his hand as you all begin to run like your lives depend on it.

It’s a struggle to get through all of the obstacles when both of your hands are preoccupied but you refuse to let go as you near the exit. You’re practically shaking as you enter the spinning tunnel and the imbalance that the illusion is making you feel definitely isn’t helping. There’s a metallic smell in the air that causes you to wrinkle your nose and before you can even wonder what it is, Jungkook whips out his phone and turns on the flashlight. Only a gasp escapes your lips when you see the blood that’s dripping down the walls, the red fluid covering most of the glow-in-the-dark paint that was originally splattered on to the tunnel. There’s another loud bang followed by a deep yelling and you all scream as you run out. 

Your heart is pounding in your chest as Jungkook and Taehyung pick up speed, practically pulling you with them as all eight of you sprint through the amusement park. As you run by, all of the rides suddenly turn on, the music blaring and lights flashing almost like a warning. You check behind you to make sure that you all made it out and what you see near the funhouse almost makes your heart stop; there’s a dark figure there, one that you can barely make out because of both the distance and how fast you’ve moving, but you swear that you see it wave at you. 

All of you make it out and you yell at Jin and Jungkook to pull out their keys, not too eager at the thought of slowing down just to wait for them to unlock their cars. You frantically tug at the door handle of Jungkook’s car and dive in just as an ear-piercing scream sounds out. There are more screams, ones of terror, and the lights of all of the rides begin to flash faster and faster before everything goes dark and the gates swing shut on their own. 

“Jungkook, what the fuck are you waiting for?” Taehyung yells from beside you in the back, snapping the younger boy out of his reverie. “Get us out of here!”

Jungkook nods frantically as he starts the car and peels out of the parking lot, Seokjin’s car right behind you guys as you speed away from the carnival. You chance a look behind you but all you can see are the silhouettes of the rides and Jackson’s car still parked in the same place. Jungkook doesn’t slow down until you’re miles away but your breathing doesn’t calm down until you spot the 7-11 that you all were at just last week. 

“Can we stay at your place for the night, Jungkook?” Jimin asks timidly from the passenger seat. “All of us, I mean. Hobi wanted me to ask you too.”

“Yeah,” the youngest agrees, finally turning on the radio and putting it on a low volume just to break through the fear that’s still in the car. “Yeah, I think that would be a good idea.”

He turns and begins to drive towards his house and you rest your head on Taehyung’s shoulder, finally feeling somewhat safe. Your boyfriend presses a reassuring kiss to the top of your head and you feel like you could cry from just how relieved you feel. 

“...So. Maybe you and I should go to my house. My parents aren’t home. And we didn’t get to finish what we started,” Taehyung mumbles lowly in your ear, and you sit up straight to look at him incredulously.

“Taehyung! We almost just got murdered by who knows what and all you can think about is getting your dick wet?” you whisper frantically.

Taehyung stares. 

“Okay fine, I’ll come over, I already told my parents I was probably staying the night at Yeri’s anyways,” you concede with a roll of your eyes, but you chuckle when Taehyung’s hand reaches out to squeeze at your thigh. “Jungkook, would you be able to take Tae and I to his house?” 

“Thank God, I did not want you guys fucking in my house.”

[virtueangel]

anyways,, what if gordon went back to apologise to benrey and they became best friends?

funny lil idea. 

i would just like to believe that there is a world in which gordon feels bad about what he did to benrey — a world where he apologises, and maybe benrey feels a little bit bad as well. 

headcanon is after “keep reading” — it’s pretty long, sorry lsdkfjslfj

but uh. yeah. here you go :) 

The Apology

Time is relative. It’s a made-up concept — only created to measure and organise. Five months doesn’t seem like very long to someone who is on their deathbed; but it’s a hell of a lot longer to someone who can only seem to fill the space with guilt. Five months is a long time to be drowning for. Unfortunately, Gordon Freeman is the kind of man who fills the space with guilt. He’s had to learn the hard way that five months is, relatively, a long time.

He stands in front of his bathroom mirror, gripping the sink tightly and staring at himself with tired eyes. His skin has gone grey, and his hair has grown out like unmaintained ivy vines. His eyes look heavy without his glasses; like they’re pulling down his whole head with their weight. He wraps his hair into a loose bun, too tired to position it on the top of his head. He runs the faucet and leans over the sink, splashing cool water onto his face with his one hand. He stops the faucet and pats his face with a brown washcloth, frowning at the dark spots under his eyes when he looks at his reflection in the mirror. Five months is a long time to carry guilt in your mouth but never swallow.

Gordon slips his glasses onto his face before turning around to walk back into his bedroom. He makes his way over to his walk-in closet, which is barely half full, and pulls out a variation of the same outfit he wears every day: jeans, some sort of sweater, heavy black boots; all under a white lab coat. He doesn’t get to wear the HEV suit much anymore — or at all, really. There’s no need for it with the work he does now. There’s barely any Black Mesa to work in, for that matter. What was too destroyed to save is just gone; all the employees who died — were killed — never got replaced. The facility is smaller, the staff is smaller, the work is smaller. No more green goo; no more Wikipedia; no more “testing”. Just scientists watching nothing, for ages, trying to decide how to clean up the mess that they’ve made.

This job of cleaning, of course, falls to the people who caused the problem in the first place: the Science Team; Dr. Coomer, Dr. Bubby, Tommy Coolatta, and, well, Gordon Freeman.

Gordon tugs his hair tie to let down his disastrous bun, and instead gathers it into a much more presentable ponytail. Hair this long really shouldn’t be up to regulation at a facility as dangerous as Black Mesa, but it’s not like there are any corrections officers around to stop him — not anymore. Gordon sighs and picks his car keys up from his nightstand, jingling them in his hand before quickly snatching his passport and shoving it into the pocket of his lab coat. He scoffs to himself and rolls his eyes to the ceiling, wondering when bringing identification to work with him will stop feeling like a punishment.

Punishment. Guilt. Same thing.

Gordon drives to work cautiously and parks as far away from the entrance of the building as possible. He knows that the building is OSHA approved — he walked around with the team surveying the facility to make sure it was up to code and that Tommy really had been telling the truth — but a small part of him is still waiting for the entire lab to explode. After what he saw five months ago, Dr. Freeman wouldn’t put anything past the facility.

The walk from his car to the entrance of Black Mesa takes Gordon three minutes. He nods to people he passes, recognising some of them as fellow employees and greeting others just out of politeness. He doesn’t open his mouth to speak any actual words to anyone; he decides they’ll be content with only a little bit of acknowledgement. It’s not like he interacted much with anyone at Black Mesa, even before the accident. The only people he really talks to now are his counterparts of the Science Team, but even then he’s not quite sure what to say to them. They can make small talk all they want, but they’ll never forget what they’ve been through. Avoiding something won’t make it any less real.

Gordon’s first stop when he enters Black Mesa is the break room. He usually tries to avoid this place — or really, anyplace that reeks of memories — but he forgot something at the lab yesterday and this is where the lost and found is located. The room isn’t empty when he enters it, but luckily it is only filled with people Gordon doesn’t mind talking to. Still, he tries to pretend he doesn’t notice any other presences when he bends down to sift through the dark green tub for his wristwatch.

“Good morning, Mr. Freeman!” Tommy exclaims from his seat across the room, beaming a smile at Gordon.

Gordon stands up straight and takes a deep breath before turning to let Tommy see his face. “Hey, Tommy. How’s it going?” He asks, hoping his tone seems genuine.

“I’ve been here for three hours already,” Tommy replies, not directly answering the question. He holds up a can from the table, his arm wobbling the slightest bit. “This is my fourth soda of the morning!”

“I don’t think that’s very healthy, Tommy,” Dr. Coomer offers from his seat across the table from Tommy. He turns to Gordon now. “Hello, Gordon!”

“Hi, Dr. Coomer,” Gordon responds, trying to sound polite. Small talk, he thinks to himself. That’s all I have to manage right now. Small talk.

“Do you want a soda, Mr. Freeman? I think I have an extra quarter if you want it. I know a soda costs three quarters and I only have one but I think that could still be helpful if you only have two.”

“I’m fine, Tommy, thank you,” Gordon replies, pushing his glasses up on his face nervously. This is starting to feel more like a come and sit down with us, Gordon! kind of morning than a let’s say hello and then go our separate ways kind of morning. He bends over to look through the lost and found bin again, fishes out his watch, and turns to leave before he has the accessory fastened around his wrist. Dr. Freeman doesn’t take more than one step when a third person gets his attention.

“For Christ’s sake, Gordon. You never want to spend any time with us anymore. That makes me a little bit sad,” Dr. Bubby says from his seat next to Tommy, and Gordon freezes.

“I’ve just been… busy,” he excuses, but he can’t meet Bubby’s eye.

Bubby sucks the backs of his teeth, making a tsk sound. “Gordon got a fancy promotion and suddenly he’s too busy for us. You hear that?” He says, looking from Tommy to Dr. Coomer.

Tommy looks away from Gordon, but doesn’t make eye contact with Bubby or Coomer. “Yeah, I think I’ve started to miss him just a little bit,” he admits.

Dr. Freeman frowns to himself. “Tommy,” he starts, apologetically.

“I do think you’ve been avoiding us a little bit, Gordon, and I can’t figure out why,” Dr. Coomer cuts in.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Coomer,” Gordon replies, looking at the floor.

“Well don’t just stand there, Gordon! Come and sit down with us!” Dr. Coomer shifts his seat so he’s sitting closest to the wall. He pats the empty chair next to him, inviting Gordon to sit down. Hesitantly, he crosses the room. I guess one little conversation couldn’t hurt.

“What have you been up to, Mr. Freeman?” Tommy asks, a childish grin hanging on his face as he takes a sip of his soda.

“Just… working,” Gordon replies. The other three go silent, waiting for him to say more, but he doesn’t elaborate. There’s nothing much to say.

“Well, that sounds boring,” Bubby says, earning nods in agreement from Tommy and Dr. Coomer.

“Where have you been working, Mr. Freeman?” Tommy asks, not knowing what to do with the weighted silence.

“The Lambda Lab,” Gordon replies, spitting the words out quickly.

Dr. Coomer nods in approval. “Oh, I do enjoy the Lambda Lab! What are you up to today?”

“I’m, uh, I’m actually not sure,” Gordon says, looking down at his watch. “You know what? I should actually get going or I’m gonna be late for my assignment.”

“You don’t report to anybody, Gordon! You’re a head scientist!” Bubby retorts, but Gordon is already out of his seat and heading for the door.

“Visit us back here for lunch!” Tommy calls, but Gordon doesn’t turn around for that either. He has no intentions of meeting up with them again for more questioning, but he isn’t going to be the one to crush Tommy’s hopes.

Suddenly, Gordon doesn’t want to go to the Lambda Lab anymore. Sure, that’s where he works now — but he isn’t called for another hour and a half. And besides, it’s not like he really reports to anyone anymore. Everyone is too afraid to tell Gordon what to do, considering how… horribly wrong everything went the last time anyone yelled at him. Dr. Freeman scoffs to himself at the thought of it, remembering how he had been in the right and it was really just that security guard who had screwed everything up… That security guard whom Gordon had always treated like he was stupid. I probably owe him an apology for that, Gordon thinks. I owe him an apology for a lot more than that, actually.

Gordon walks through the wide, abandoned halls of Black Mesa, nervously whipping his head from side to side. He fears that someone might be following him — terrified that someone might see where he’s going. He walks right past the turn in the hallway that will eventually lead him to the Lambda Lab, wincing ever so slightly. Guilt, he thinks. Always the heaviest thing in the air.

Dr. Freeman finds himself in front of a heavy door, the frame lined with red and yellow reflective tape. There’s nothing indicating that it isn’t safe to go in, just probably that you… shouldn’t. Gordon takes a deep breath and pushes the bright red button next to the door, waiting apprehensively as the mechanism slowly whirrs and pulls the doors apart. Gordon taps his foot and tilts his wristwatch upward again, even though he knows he is nothing short on time. The doors seem to take ages to open, when in actuality, he only waits about ten or fifteen seconds. His pulse quickens as he enters the room — a wing of Black Mesa that he has never spent time in before. It’s the part of Black Mesa that everyone views as a dark corner; there are stories about it, but no one has ever actually visited to see if those stories are true or not. Everyone is too afraid.

The room is quiet and spacious, almost… peaceful. Dr. Freeman flips the bulky switch on the wall next to him, and the lab is flooded with light. Gordon takes a deep breath as he scans this unfamiliar territory, knowing exactly what he’s looking for but still unclear on what it’s actually supposed to look like. The question doesn’t remain unanswered for long, because there he spots it, pressed against the back wall of the room: a test tube, filled almost to the brim with gel-like teal fluid. There are about twenty cords plugged into the wall, all of them connected to the tube. Gordon’s stomach lurches when he brings himself to finally look at what’s inside the tube — what’s floating in the teal fluid.

This tube is different from the one Dr. Bubby was grown in. It’s almost cryogenic, but with gel instead of nitrogen. It’s for preservation, but it has only ever been in experimental trials. The tubes were tested with small animals, but never with anything human-sized. Gordon frowns to himself, catching himself feeling bad for a second. What if the tube doesn’t work? What if he’s just been drowning in there for all these months? Dr. Freeman expected to feel emotions if and when he ever visited this room, but he never expected sympathy to be amongst them. He takes a steadying breath, remembering one crucial detail: Benrey isn’t human.

Gordon crosses the room to the control panel, vaguely remembering the day this tube was first introduced. He had been in the room when it was first installed — that was the last time he saw Benrey until, well, now. Dr. Freeman was vaguely briefed on how the tube works, but he never studied it in detail. It was too painful for him. Why try to preserve this life at all?

Nonetheless, Gordon had listened. He presses the big blue button on the control panel, and pushes forward a lever. He turns around to watch the tube as the liquid slowly drains, trying to steady his breathing. One overlying fear leaks into his brain: am I going to regret this? Gordon takes another steadying breath, telling himself that what’s done is done, there’s no going back now. And besides: there’s always a way out. He can simply fill the tube back up again if things with Benrey don’t go as planned, right? There’s more teal gel in Black Mesa somewhere.

Once the gel has been drained, Gordon presses the green button on the opposite side of the control panel to flood the tube with oxygen. “I’ll at least want him breathing…” Gordon mumbles to himself, a touch of sarcasm dancing between his words. He smiles maliciously to himself, about to make a joke, but thinks better of it. He came here to talk to Benrey, not to beat him up. Dr. Freeman has already “killed” Benrey once, — if you could even say that about someone who doesn’t die — he doesn’t need to do it again.

Gordon turns around to watch the thing in the tube, slowly taking steps closer until he could reach out and touch the glass if he wanted to. Little by little, Benrey starts to stand up straighter, open his eyes wider, breathe deeper. Gordon waits, hoping his fearful state doesn’t show on his face. He has nothing to be afraid of. He never had anything to be afraid of. That’s the whole reason why he’s apologising.

“Oh, yo, it’s you,” Benrey says once he regains full consciousness.

Gordon crosses his arms over his chest, realises that this stance seems too dominant, and relaxes his arms at his sides. That feels weird, though, and not guarded enough. He goes on fidgeting with his hands for about thirty seconds before realising how stupid he looks. He’s relieved that Benrey hasn’t commented on it yet.

Gordon takes a good look at Benrey now, allowing himself to really look at the entity for the first time since, well… this might be the first time ever. He’d somehow managed to never take in Benrey’s appearance, despite all the time they’d spent together. Benrey is still wearing his Black Mesa security uniform, but it is now out-of-date. The security chief at the facility decided to instate a new dress code, simply so the guards wouldn’t look like Benrey anymore. He’s wearing black lace-up boots, but they aren’t nearly as chunky as the ones Gordon is wearing. They have a little bit of a platform, but only for the tread. He’s also wearing navy blue pants, with a matching navy blue long-sleeve shirt under his security vest. The only thing missing from his outfit is his helmet. Without it, his hair is revealed; it’s black and fluffy, and Dr. Freeman smiles to himself because he can’t imagine how Benrey ever managed to keep all of that under his helmet in the first place.

“Bro, I’m talking to you. Can you please answer me?”

Gordon is transported back into reality. “What?”

Benrey sighs, uninterested. “I was sleeping so peacefully and you came in here and woke me up. I wanna know why.”

“Wait, you were alive? Like, you could function and shit?” Gordon asks.

Benrey shrugs. “I could see and hear shit. I was like, alive, but not conscious. I couldn’t process anything. It was kinda dumb, but whatever.”

Gordon looks taken aback, making a mental note of that. Alive, but not conscious. Got it. I don’t think that’s what’s supposed to happen. “I actually came here for a reason, believe it or not.”

Benrey makes an exaggerated yawning sound. “So get it over with.”

Dr. Freeman glares. “Can you be nice? I’m trying to be nice right now but I think you’re going to ruin that for both of us.”

Benrey scoffs. “Oh, so you’re going to be nice now like you were nice when you shot me even though I wasn’t even shooting back?”

“You have to understand that you were a threat, Benrey. Do you even know how big you were?”

Benrey laughs. “Yeah, of course I know. I did that on purpose. I thought it was funny.”

Gordon shakes his head. “It wasn’t funny. You terrified me.”

Benrey shrugs. “You hurt me first.”

Gordon goes silent, searching for the right words. Is that true? He wonders. Did I hurt him first? And then, Was it on purpose? “How did I hurt you?”

“You never listened to me when I spoke,” Benrey starts. “All I wanted was your passport, bro! I was just trying to keep Black Mesa safe and somehow that made me the enemy!”

“I didn’t know there was a rule about having ID,” Dr. Freeman replies, but he knows it’s a weak excuse. He closes his mouth, willing Benrey to continue.

“Well, I guess it must’ve been instated that morning or something because I was definitely told that all employees needed an ID to enter any facility, not just the high security ones. And I was just doing my job, you know? I wasn’t trying to… harass you, or whatever. I just needed to know that you weren’t dangerous.”

“I’m not dangerous…”

“I didn’t know that, man! I kinda started to figure it out as we spent more time together, but I didn’t know it in the beginning and I guess I was scared that I was going to get in trouble or something if I just decided that you weren’t dangerous without having any proof of it.”

Gordon sighs, formulating a response.

“Can I get out of this tube? It’s really cramped in here.”

Dr. Freeman mulls over this request, thinking about the pros and cons to each side. It would probably be easier to have this difficult conversation if Benrey weren’t on the other side of the glass. It does seem a bit cramped in the tube — and it’s kind of Gordon’s fault Benrey is in there in the first place. Gordon nods and makes his way back across the room to the control panel, flipping a switch and watching as the tube door slowly flips open. Benrey steps down to the tile floor delicately, wobbling a little bit from the movement.

“You okay there, buddy?” Gordon asks, offering a hand for support.

Benrey takes Gordon’s hand and nods. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Gordon scans the room, looking for somewhere to sit. He does a full rotation with his head, before landing again on the test tube. He panics for a second, wondering where Benrey went, but all he needs to do is tilt his head down to see the entity sitting on the floor in front of him. Gordon sinks down as well, and they sit cross-legged on the tile.

“So you came to talk to me, huh?” Benrey asks, staring Gordon right in the eye.

Gordon looks away, uncomfortable. “Yeah, uh, I guess so…”

Benrey blinks, waiting for Gordon to go on. When he doesn’t, Benrey says, “So get on with it.”

Gordon sighs, willing up the courage to continue. “I wanted to… apologise, actually. I wanted to apologise… to you,” he says finally, avoiding eye contact.

“Okay,” Benrey replies, unimpressed. “What for?”

Gordon rolls his eyes, embarrassed to have even come here in the first place. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe he should just seal Benrey back in the tube, fill it up with the teal fluid again, and leave. He could easily pretend not to know what’s in this room at all. He could go back to the break room, sit down with the rest of the Science Team, and act like Benrey is nothing to them anymore. As far as the rest of the team are concerned, he isn’t.

But Dr. Freeman came here for a reason, and he’s going to see it through. “For… everything, I guess. For being rude to you when you didn’t deserve it. For not giving you a chance,” he pauses, looking up at the ceiling. There is a weird tingling in his nose that he desperately wants to get rid of. “For… seeing you as a threat when you weren’t one.”

“I’m Black Mesa security, Gordon. I’m the best of the best. Of course I’m not a threat,” Benrey scoffs.

Gordon freezes, eyes focused intently on the thing sitting in front of him. Human never felt like the right term. But monster is just plain vile. “That is the second time I have ever heard you address me by name.”

Benrey shrugs nonchalantly. He doesn’t look directly at Dr. Freeman. “I’m taking this conversation seriously. And besides — I want it to last as long as possible. I know you’re just gonna seal me back in that tube when it’s over with.”

Gordon opens his mouth to protest, but Benrey cuts him off.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind the tube, actually. It’s better than being dead, I guess. But I’d rather be alive. Have control over my life. It’s shit to have to wait for someone to make decisions for me.”

Gordon fidgets with his ponytail, winding it around his finger and letting it go. “I guess I let my ego get ahead of me,” he says finally.

This seems to catch Benrey’s attention, for he turns back to Gordon and leans forward, suddenly interested in the conversation once again. “You think?”

Gordon is about to groan, when he remembers that arguing is not at all the goal of this conversation. “I was a bit of an asshole, I’ll admit, but I don’t deserve this,” he gestures at Benrey with his right arm — the one with a gun where a hand is supposed to be.

Benrey frowns. “No, I guess you didn’t deserve that.”

The two sit in silence for a minute or so, avoiding each other’s faces, looking anywhere but in front of them. Finally, Benrey breaks the silence with a question.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

Gordon hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t hate you, Benrey. That’s the whole thing.”

“I told you not to shoot,” he retorts, almost too quickly. “I said to stop shooting, because if you shoot me I’ll have to shoot you and I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want violence, you bastard! I just wanted you to listen. But you don’t fucking listen because you think you’re better than everyone else. Look at you!” He gestures to Gordon’s attire. “You’re a head fucking scientist! I don’t know what you did to deserve that title, but it has definitely inflated your ego a good bit. You’re an asshole, you know that?”

Gordon frowns, but doesn’t defend himself. He knows he deserves every word of Benrey’s harshness. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, planning out a response in his head. “I know that I’m an asshole, Benrey, and I’m sorry.”

Benrey perks up, not expecting an admission. Hell, he’d been expecting an argument. He stays silent, willing Gordon to go on, suspicious of the man’s motives.

“That’s why I’m here, actually. It was fucked up, what we did — what I did.” He looks up at Benrey now, cautiously meeting his gaze. Neither of them look away.

“I never meant for it all to get so… grotesquely out of hand,” Gordon continues. “I was blinded by the shiny objects, I suppose. I had a job to do. I had a responsibility — a reputation — to uphold. I was ready to gun down any and everything in my path to get to where I needed to be. I had all these lost and broken people standing behind me, looking to me to make a move. I couldn’t let them down. I had to save them, get them out of Black Mesa. And I guess I was willing to destroy everything just to get them to their destination.”

After a few seconds of silence, Benrey says, “But it wasn’t to get them to their destination, was it?”

Gordon shakes his head. “No. It was for the glory. For the gold star you get when you finish a game.”

“You know gold stars hold no actual weight, right? It’s a fake trophy. Motivation comes in forms of fabrication. You’re smart enough to know that, I think.”

Dr. Freeman nods, breaking eye contact with Benrey. He brushes a strand of hair out of his face and fidgets with his ponytail once again. “I am smart enough to know that. But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t naïve.”

There is a moment of silence before Benrey says, “It’s almost admirable.”

Gordon looks up. “Almost?”

Benrey shrugs. “I don’t know. That you were willing to go that whole way. Even if it was for a gold star, you were still doing something good for the rest of them.” He pauses before adding, “But you are in no way a saint. You didn’t have to push me down the fucking ladder to get your happy ending. I could’ve been part of your happy ending.”

“You were getting on my nerves.”

“Weak excuse.”

Gordon nods. He knows that already.

“Is this you saying you’re sorry because you actually feel bad, or just so you can alleviate guilt?”

Alleviate guilt, he thinks to himself, realising the truth. But he doesn’t want it to be the truth. He continues. “Look, the point is getting away from me.”

Benrey scoffs. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry about… everything. You’re not a threat. I know that you were just trying to do your job. I got angry when I shouldn’t have. You didn’t deserve me lashing out at you…” He trails off, his eyes landing on the tube behind Benrey. He gestures at it with a nod of his chin. “You don’t deserve that, either. You’re not dangerous. You don’t deserve to be locked in a cell.

Benrey smiles. “I don’t mind the tube, but I miss Black Mesa. I miss,” he stops, looking down at the tile floor between his crossed legs. He begins tracing a circle with his fingernail. “I miss the Science Team, a little bit. Even though I know I wasn’t technically part of it. I miss Tommy, and Bubby. And sometimes even Dr. Coomer,” he smiles. He hopes he’s doing a good job of hiding it, but Gordon can still see the corners of his lips turned up ever so slightly.

“You could come back, I suppose,” Dr. Freeman replies in a cautious tone.

Benrey’s head snaps up, and his cheeks flush. He can’t hide his excitement anymore. “You mean it?”

Gordon shrugs. “As you said, I’m a head scientist. I don’t report to anyone. No one can tell me to put you back in the tube.”

“I don’t wanna go back in the tube.”

Dr. Freeman shakes his head, smiling to himself now as well. “You don’t have to go back in the tube. And besides, I’m not actually sure I could fill it back up anyway.”

Benrey laughs, just a little bit, before the tone turns serious again.

“I really am sorry, Benrey.” Gordon opens his mouth like he’s going to add more, but only the same words come out. “I’m sorry.”

Benrey shakes his head, looking down at the floor again. “I forgive you.”

The two sit in silence, smiling, not sure of what to say. Eventually, Gordon stands up. Benrey watches as he bends his arm at the elbow, offering it to Benrey. Benrey stands up and links his arm through Gordon’s, and together they walk through the metal doors and out into the hallway. They don’t say much, but they smile, and it is the first time Gordon has been able to breathe in months.

__________________________________________

“Can I shoot the gun?”

“No, you may not shoot the gun!” Gordon protests, trying to pry Benrey’s hand off of his arm.

“I’m going to shoot the gun.”

Gordon watches in horror as Benrey somehow manages to make his gun-arm shoot at the floor, creating an explosion of tile pieces and smoke. The aftermath is a hole in the floor, threatening to crumble into a bigger sinkhole and take this hallway down to the level below it.

“Bro, why’d you do that?” Benrey exclaims, letting go of Gordon and moving as far away from him as possible.

Through gritted teeth, Gordon mumbles, “You piece of shit.”

[writinginthedarkwood]

Alien! Dabi x Reader. Smoke and Mirrors.

Okay okay, so TECHNICALLY. This is a part 2, from my last part to this series. If you aren’t completely caught up, I recommend at least reading Mirio’s part before this one. There’s some lore in here to answer questions I get!

 Here is a link to my master list so you can get caught up---> Master List 

Warnings: Quite a bit darker than usual, you all asked for it. Ovipositor kink, mention of death. Manipulation. 

“Take a deep breath. It might hurt, but you can do it.”

I gripped my chest and coughed hard, a fowl tasting liquid splattered against the cold ground by my face. I gagged on the taste and coughed again. “Can you see yet?” The voice talking to me was sweet and soft, a gentle hand touched my head and I grabbed their wrist. I peeled my eyes open, I felt their other hand wipe something sticky off of my face. It’s blurry, but I can see a bit better now. “Listen I know you must feel like shit, but we have to hurry honey, can you stand up?” She hooked her arm underneath mine and pulled me up to my knees. “I- I can stand...”

My stomach turned and bile burned the back of my throat. “Don’t puke!” I looked up at the girls face. She’s small and blonde, her cheek is swollen like something recently slapped her, she’s wearing a jumpsuit that looks like it used to be white but was stained by something green. I looked down at my own body, I have the same outfit. “My name is Anna, we’re not safe here.”

The sound of footsteps echoed against metal not far from here. “We need to hide.” She took my hand and crouched down, I copied her movements, trying to make myself seem small. “What’s going on? Where am I?” She yanked me down to the ground, pulling me behind a pile of discarded machines. Each machine looked like some type of pod, leaking green slime. They stacked on top of each other, glass cracking and loose parts scattered around. She slammed a hand over my mouth and whispered in my ear. “Don’t scream, whatever you see-” Her breathing faltered as she hushed her voice even further. “Just don’t scream.”

“I don’t know why we didn’t grab more T’s, that should have been way harder than it was.” The man that walked into the room was hardly a man at all, it was a walking upright green lizard. He was completely covered in scales head to toe. “Yeah that was easy.” The other man looked relatively normal, but he has black mask covering his face. “No it wasn’t!” The same man contradicted himself. “Hey wait where did that one go? Her pod is empty!” The lizard man rushed to a container half filled with the green goo. “Oh shit, shit shit shit-” The masked man slammed his hand on a red button on the wall. The sound of an alarm blared, the lights in the ceiling flashed red. “He’s going to fucking kill us! Dabi didn’t want her to wake up until we got to Home-” The lizard man shouted over the terrible buzzing sound. “You don’t think I know that? Spread out!” The odd pair ran into the hall, a metal door slid out from the wall and slammed shut. “What was that thing?” I hissed out as soon as Anna took her hand off of my mouth. “They’re both aliens. We’re on a ship.” She looked over the top of the mechanical pile. “I think I found a way off of it, but I was scared to go alone.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “Do you remember getting abducted?” She took an elastic band off of her wrist and pulled my sticky hair off of my neck into a little bun. I still feel terribly groggy, I feel like I’ve been asleep for days.

I don’t remember much. I remember smelling the smoke of burning buildings and gun fire. 

“I don’t remember anything. I’m from NYC...” Anna sounds American, but her voice has a bit of a southern draw. “I’m so glad you speak English...” She muttered a bit under her breath. “It wouldn’t matter, I’d just be happy to have someone with me. The label on your pod say’s your name is Y/N? Is that true?”

I nodded my head. “I think so...” 

“You poor thing... you remind me of my best friend...” Anna’s jaw trembled for a minute and she flinched like something touched her. “I’d love to sit here and get to know you better, but we have to move.”

As sweet as she is, her eyes look far away. The shudder, the tremble, her side ways glances.

What have they been doing to this girl?

“There’s a smaller ship in the hanger, it has an auto pilot... it can take us back to Earth.” She smiled, it wasn’t a happy smile.

It was a desperate, terrible smile.

She stood up and felt around the wall for some type of button that could open the door. I stood on shaky legs and followed close behind, trying to help. The panel holding the red alarm button had only one other button. She pressed it repeatedly. Nothing happened.

“No no no please...” She slammed her fist against the button and choked on a sob. I grabbed her hand and pulled her away. She looked at me with a bit of fear, my touch making her jump. I pressed the red button at the same time as the smaller button. The door shot open, Anna giggled happily and clapped her hands. “You did it! I knew I was right to wake you up!” She grabbed my hand and pulled us into the hall.

It doesn’t seem like anyone is around.

“Do you know how to get to the escape ship?” I couldn’t whisper, the sound of the alarm is too loud. I spoke just short of yelling. Anna cocked her head to the side and put a finger on her chin. “Well, no, but I mean this place can’t be that big, right?”

 I dragged my hand across the metal walls, we walked as close as we can to the sides of the hallway. Anna stopped us and peered around the corner. “I don’t think anyone is coming this way...”

“Hey Anna...” I tugged on her hand. “What do they want from us? I- I have to admit I’m scared...” Anna’s head whipped around to look at me, at first her face was filled with fear. Her contorted look of shock twisted, and she chuckled a bit, her eyes glazing over. Anna gripped her stomach and looked me dead in the eye. “They want to use us as baby incubators.” She laughed again. “That’s all the universe thinks we’re good for I guess! Baby fucking makers!” Her body was shaking. She lowered her voice and put her mouth next to my ear so I can hear her. “If they find us... Don’t let them touch you with their spit.” She grabbed my face to see if I understood. I nodded my head and nodded back.

Anna yanked my arm around the corner. “We need to keep moving.” She broke into more of a run than before. “Before the parasites find us!” She was frantic and making a lot of noise. “Anna stop! We need to think!”

I pulled her back just in time. A wall of blue fire erupted a few feet ahead, Anna fell back into my arms with another scream.

“Well well well, look who’s causing all of the trouble!” Anna tried to wiggle out of my arms, she screamed ‘no’ repeatedly and broke into panicked sobs. “Anna stop!” I held her tight and covered her head with my arms, holding her close to my shoulder. “If Shigaraki knew what you’ve been up to, well...” The man talking to us stepped closer, his silhouette becoming more complete in the lighting. At first, he looked like a normal person. A tall, lanky man with black hair that jutted out in every direction. He kept both hands in his pockets, and his face looked bored.

His body is heavily scarred, with only a few patches of skin that’s not damaged tissue.

“Well I think he would be a little hurt, don’t you? Why don’t you be a good female and run on back to your mate, this has nothing to do with you.” Anna wasn’t listening to his words. She sobbed into my shoulder, shaking her head no. “G-go away!” She screamed in my ear, but I know it’s not directed at me.

The man stepped closer with a slight smirk on his mouth. The light reflected off pieces of metal attached to his face. “Leave her alone!” I cradled her closer to me, shouting over the roar of the fire and her choking cries. “She’s not really what I’m concerned about...” He purred, his voice low and raspy as he closed the space between us. “I didn’t want us to meet this way, you must be so confused. Why don’t you come with me so we can have a talk?” I shook my head no and tried to move Anna so she was hiding behind me. She clutched desperately onto my clothes. “I know exactly what you want and I won’t do it...” I pushed the words out of my throat in a squeak. He put an arm against the wall, towering over me. “Aw doll face, I would never wanna do something that would hurt you.” His face is stoic and stern, not matching his tone of voice at all. “You have me so misunderstood.” He cleared his throat and smirked. He spit without even puckering his lips. Anna grabbed my face and pulled me out of the way, his stream of saliva smacking against her hand. She screeched as her skin sizzled and steamed. “Ah fuck, look what you did-” She slammed her burning hand into the side of his face, knocking him back off of us.

She shouted a terrible, guttural cry.

“Run!”

We sprinted away hand in hand, the smell of singed metal getting farther from us. Our bare feet slammed against the floor, it stings with every step. “We need a plan!” Anna heard me and nodded, she stopped so abruptly I almost ran past her. The wall slid half way open after she pressed her hand to touch screen panel. It creaked like a very old elevator door, and was even louder shutting behind us. “You need to hide.” She put both of her hands on my chest and shoved me towards the wall. “What about you?” I tried to fight her. “If Shigaraki finds me I can throw them off of your trail. You’ll be able to escape.” She swallowed hard, she was speaking much more calmly now. “I- I don’t understand I thought you wanted me to come with you...”

She smiled softly. “When I saw you asleep in that goo, my heart ached. I couldn’t let this happen to another innocent girl.” She wiped a strand of stray hair off of my cheek. “You reminded me of someone I knew before any of this, my best friend, my sister. If you make it back to Earth just watch out because...” She looked over her shoulder, someones coming. “There! The vent!”

“I don’t want to leave you! I’m still so confused!” I shook her shoulders. Anna ignored my pleas and shoved me further to the wall. An air duct cover hung loosely on the wall, the opening looked wide enough for me to crawl in. She lifted me just enough for me to be able to pull myself into the wall. I quickly oriented myself to face her again as she replaced the cover. I backed up to get further away from the metal, and laid completely still. Anna looked my direction with a smile before throwing herself to the ground, screaming . She rocked herself back and forth dramatically, crying out a name I’d never heard before. “Tomura!” She screamed, her throat catching her sob and sending out the name with a coarse terror. The door flung open and the frame was filled with a tall, lanky looking man. He touched the side of the door with a firm grip, the veins in his pale hands popping out as the metal underneath his touch began to suddenly turn to dust. He looked down at the ground through long hair, his eyes were piercing and a sick smirk spread across his face. Anna stopped crying and crawled over to the man, he bent his knees and squatted over her, guiding her chin to look up at him. “I hate fighting with you. Don’t you understand that I’m what you need to be happy? I would give you the entire universe if you would just...” His voice tightened, his tone shifting into something more unpleasant. “If you would just behave.” Anna threw her arms around him and cradled her head into his shoulder. She took a finger and traced over parts of his neck, small flaky patches of irritated skin. “I promise I’ll be good Tomura!” She squeezed him tighter. “I just missed having.. female friends. It’s so lonely when you’re busy.” 

The man twirled her messy hair in his long spindly fingers. “You’ll learn to love this way of life, it’s not like it’s any better on Earth, Anna. We may all be an island of misfit toys! But...” He kissed her forehead. “We’re all a family.”

Anna gently lifted her head off of him and cracked a smile. 

She laughed, softly at first and gradually grew until she was cackling with her arms gripping her stomach. The man just smiled at her. “You’re right Tomura! We are all a family!”

My heart started racing, something was wrong. Anna was supposed to be pretending to want to stay, right? I wormed myself backwards farther away from the vent and into the tight duct way. They can’t see me in here can they? My sight of what was happening blurred just a bit, now that I can’t peer through the grate. Another voice entered the room, and I felt just a bit warmer. Like something was breathing down my neck. A gnawing feeling of anxiety. 

“I’m so glad you and your mate are living crazily ever after over here, but we still have a problem Shigaraki.” The condescending voice said. “She woke up my T. The whole ship is on alert and YOUR mate knows where she is.”

“Oh my Anna wouldn’t be hiding anything from me... she knows that keeping secrets is such a fun way to really make me mad.” Shigaraki hissed out the last few words. Anna giggled again. “I know where she is! Y/N, come out so we can be a family!” Anna’s voice was closer to the wall now. I froze, I see her fingers reach up and try to adjust the grate. 

I panic and shuffle further backwards, my heart lurches into my stomach as I feel the metal under my legs disappear. I try to crane my neck and look over my shoulder and I can see that the vent drops off and shoots straight down. 

I have two choices, be pulled out of this air duct and thrown into whatever mess is happening out there. 

Or fall.

“Hey what are you doing? It’s okay Y/N don’t be scared!” Anna called out, her face was wet with tears but she was displaying a wide toothy smile. She stuck her dainty hand out and reached for me. 

I’m tempted to take it. A million things are running through my head, but none of the thoughts are connecting. 

I can hardly remember anything before waking up and seeing Anna. I remember feeling terrified, hungry, exhausted. Like I had been running from something for days, but it was always two steps behind me.

In the split second I take to think about all of this I reach my hand out gently, Anna’s finger tips just inches from mine. 

A pair of turquoise eyes appeared behind her. His presence made Anna jump and pull her hand away out of the vent. I gasped, his stern face showing no emotion as he spoke. “Now what are you doing hiding in there?” 

Earlier with the adrenaline pumping through me as we were running I hadn’t been able to stop and think clearly for a second. 

I don’t remember much about myself, I think I like to play the guitar. I remember objects, and smells of food I like. 

With his voice speaking to me again I remember one thing clearly, like the sound of a gong vibrating and rocking my head.

I remember him. 

“You can’t hide forever Y/N!” The alien called out from the side walk. How did he know my name? I lifted the slab of drywall that blocked the entrance to the hole I’ve been living in and gently set it down after crawling inside. I tried to keep my footsteps silent, avoiding touching any rocks of stepping on shards of glass. 

That’s when I smelled it, the smell of smoke. I looked through a crack in the bricks and saw him. He lifted a hand lazily and blue flames erupted from his arms and ignited the dust and fallen wood on the ground. They quickly spread to the debris of my apartment.

I’m not the only one squatting here. Other families have taken to the structure, some with small children. It’s not completely safe, but pieces of it still have a roof to protect us from the weather. 

The flames spread quickly. I screamed, begging that the other survivors could hear me and run. Things were being swallowed within seconds, the few entry points quickly disappearing. 

He locked eyes with me through the crack and grinned. “Nowhere to run to now, mouse. If only you’d have listened to me, maybe these pathetic humans would have lived.” He shouted and I closed my eyes, the smoke filling my lungs and making me suddenly very tired. When I hit the ground, I felt him. I felt him pull me into his arms, but after that.

Everything was dark. 

“Y-you...” I whispered, barely able to speak. 

The alien squinted his eyes a bit. 

Before I let him speak, I pushed my hands against the metal vent, my palms squeaking as I propelled myself backwards.

My chin hit the metal and scratched me as I fell. My back scraped against the metal chute, tearing at the thin clothing I have on. I closed my eyes, certain I’d hit the ground soon, breaking my legs and possibly my spine. Hopefully it kills me right away so I don’t have to lay there and suffer. 

The wind was knocked out of me when I hit something soft. I clawed at my chest for a second, gasping until I sucked in the air I desperately needed. I’ve landed in a discarded pile of.. laundry? 

Smocks similar to the one I was wearing were piled high, I was swallowed by them, completely covering everything but my head. This room is poorly lit, a dim green light flickered over head, but other wise it’s completely dark. I desperately clawed at the clothing, pushing it off of me and crawling to the hard, damp tile. My whole body shook and I looked around. 

There’s not much here, the ceiling is very tall and there are a lot of pieces of metal thrown about the room. Another vent pointing downwards like the one I just fell from was over a sharp looking pile of metal, lot’s of parts that would have impaled me if I fell just a few feet away. 

I gathered my footing and stood on trembling knee’s. It’s cold, my skin is covered in goose bumps. 

A strange pod, about the size of a large van sat in the middle of the room. It was rounded, and the door was open with a metal ramp sticking out of it. 

Could that be the ship? 

I stumbled to it, a hopeful smile plastered on my tired face. 

It was easy to step inside, it felt a bit more roomy in here than it looked from the outside. I stood without my head touching the ceiling. With another step towards the dash, the room lit up, buttons and screens whirring and coming to life with the sound of a fan blowing. It looks complicated, a few symbols appear but I don’t recognize them as letters I’ve ever seen before. Panic starts to set in, I’m not even sure where to begin. What does any of this mean? 

“Well, I’ll admit you’re pretty smart. I like that.” 

I turned around to that deep voice. “But what is your plan now? Find a way to pilot back to Earth with no rations, and no idea how much oxygen this thing has in it?” He leaned against the wall and looked at me with almost a face of disinterest. “Putting aside the fact that we are an entire universe away from Earth right now...” He slowly blinked at me. “Why go back?” He asked with a slight smile. He paused, waiting for my response. I swallowed hard and thought about what I was going to say. “It’s... my home.” I whimpered out. 

“Is it though? Earth is crumbling. Society has collapsed, the survivors are the people scummy enough to hurt others and take what they want without repercussion.” He stepped towards me, making my heart slam against my chest. he stepped past me and pressed a few buttons on the dash and a video appeared on the windshield. “This is where that girl you met is from, Anna.” 

It was aerial footage, like it was being filmed from a drone, but the people below didn’t seem to notice they were being watched. 

Men stood in the beds of trucks with large guns. They had them pointed at young men who had their hands on their head, kneeling down as crying girls were dragged by their arms into the vehicles. A man stood up and rushed for a screaming blonde child, she looked like she couldn’t have been older than 12. The men on trucks didn’t hesitate to shoot him down, his blood splattering on the clothes of the girl he tried to rescue. 

She couldn’t even scream.

I covered my mouth in horror. “Wh- what are they doing to those girls?” 

He sat down in a cushion chair, sitting back and relaxing a bit. He leaned his head on his elbow. “They’re collecting surviving women and auctioning them off for rations. They claim they’re trying to help repopulate the planet.” He smirked a bit. “They believe that they are the superior men, more masculine and deserve to pass on their genetics more than the men not willing to resort to violence. Anna was almost a victim to this.” He snapped his fingers and the footage shut off. “She’s much better off here.” 

“How is what you’re doing here any different?” I spoke with a bit of confidence, my fear slowly being replaced with anger. “And what are we doing here?” He asked with a lift of his eyebrows. 

“Anna told me, she said you plan to use us as incubators for your alien offspring.” I wasn’t yelling, his question threw me off. I answered like I was also asking a question back. 

“I won’t lie, some of my actions go against what the society I come from deems as “normal” or “acceptable” but who’s to say that the King is always right?” He started, still leaning casually as he talked to me. “None of that has anything to do with you, baby doll. See I have something to offer you that you could never find back on that rock.” He tried to smile a sweet look, but his bright eyes flashed me a glimpse of something wicked. His line of intrigue caught me like a fish hook. I lowered my guard, just a bit. “And... and what is that?” I grabbed my arms, suddenly feeling self conscious about the way that I looked right now, battered and a bit dirty. “Unconditional love and happiness, for the rest of your life.” 

I expected him to say that he had some type of alien knowledge, or money to offer me if I complied with his request. “See humans are often real superficial don’t you think? The way you look matters, how much money someone makes. Where they come from and how much value the community gives them. A lot of things get in your way, preventing you from having everything you want. But you baby, you are so, so lucky.” He stuck out his hand, reaching it towards me. Something inside of me told me to take it, I fought the urge for a minute. He smiled and leaned farther, taking my hand in his and holding it softly. I noticed pieces of metal stuck out of his arm in places, holding his skin together. His fingers had calluses on them, but the rest of his hand was soft. “You never have to worry about any of that, if you kiss me one time, you’ll never feel anything but happiness again. I can make all of your dreams come true.” 

“Wait you love me?” I asked confused. He gently pulled on my hand, moving me into his lap in a smooth fluid movement. He brushed my hair away from my face and looked at me with that wolfish grin. Like he’s unable to smile without looking suspicious. My heart slammed against my chest. “When you were back on Earth, before the end of your world, what did you want to be baby? What was your wildest dream?”

I tried to think hard, only flashes of memories ran through my head, nothing solid. I remembered going to school, I can see my campus. It felt pleasant to remember the classroom, but it looks off. It looked young, big letters on the walls with small chairs and seats. I remember the smell of coffee and art supplies. “I think I wanted to be a teacher...” He moved his hand down my spine and settled on my lower back. “How sweet, we could use someone as smart as you here. We don’t get all the luxuries the Kingdom has to offer, we have to survive on our own. We could use someone as bright as you to help teach all the sweet children who will be running around soon.” He purred into my ear. “And I’ll give you the perfect family, my boss promised us land on the dwarf planet we’ll be staying on for awhile. I’ll build you a house and you can decorate it anyway you like.” He spoke right against my ear while rubbing small circles along my spine. Chills ran up my back and neck. Anna’s words rang through my head suddenly like a gong. It was like she change the minute that man kissed her forehead, her entire plan thrown out the window.

Don’t let them touch you with their spit.

He must have noticed my sudden change in demeanor. I tried to scramble and pull myself out of his lap, but he gripped my back and held my face in place with his other hand. “And here I thought we were getting somewhere...” He growled under his breath and smirked. My chest heaved as I started to hyperventilate. I squirmed, trying to shake him off. His firm grip barely had to adjust from my thrashing to still keep me firm in his lap. He stuck out his tongue, long strands of thick spit connected the roof of his mouth with his tongue. I winced, expecting it to burn me like his spit hurt Anna before. His slimy appendage dragged along my jawline and up my cheek. He playfully grabbed my ear lobe and bit down a little.

It didn’t hiss and burn, it was warm for just a second before my entire body heated up. The anxiety and fear I was feeling melted away, and I felt my shaky limbs calm and steady. “See isn’t that so much better?” 

“Y-yes.” I gripped onto his shirt and pulled myself closer to him, resting my face on his scarred neck. “See? I wouldn’t lie to you. Let’s go back to my room so we can finish our talk...” 

Six months later.

I sat a little cold by the glass window. It had a light green frost growing on the edges. It still surprises me that the “water” here has a fluorescent hue. The nature outside was quiet like it is on Earth winters, but small and strange creatures would walk by occasionally and take a look at our greenhouse, wondering how to get inside and steal some of our food. I’ve been documenting them and their behaviors, trying to soak up everything about this place before we move again. 

We don’t stay places long. Dabi will disappear for awhile, often coming back exhausted and injured. He doesn’t talk about what he was up too, but the more time I spend here the more I realize that it’s probably better that I don’t know. The watch he gave me rang from the other room. I left my hot drink on the window sill and stepped into the kitchen. I clicked the button answering Anna’s call. Her face appeared in a hologram projected over the watch. “Hey Anna, how are you and the babies today?” 

“They’re back! Tomura just called to tell me that they landed!” She said excitedly. “Oh! And the babies should be here any day now! I’m getting as big as a whale.” She smiled happily. “But I just called to tell you that they landed.” She trailed off for a minute. “I think I’m going to pack the bags. Tomura did not sound happy, I think we’re going to move again.” She said sort of quiet. “I thought he promised you would deliver here? You already made your nest.” It’s only been a few weeks, we’ve barely settled. Our food reserves are getting lower, we needed to grow more and gather more resources here. “I... I know. But Tomura always knows best. He’s the leader for a reason...” She said with a smile, but her confidence wavered in her voice. “Anna, I’m worried that what they’re doing is a lot worse than they are making it out to be...” I tread carefully, it’s been long enough sense we’ve seen our mates that Anna should have a bit more mental clarity. When Tomura is home, it’s like she has no thoughts of her own. “Don’t start this again. Tomura wouldn’t lie to us. He’s doing work for the greater good.” 

“I’m just worried. If it’s so good why can’t we live on Home World? Why can’t they tell us anything?” I looked over my shoulder to make sure Dabi wasn’t standing behind me. “Stop it Y/N! You know they said Home World is dangerous. They’re working to free the citizens of Home World from the tyrant. They don’t tell us anything because it’s not our job to worry about it. WE are the good guys.” 

“But Anna I found something in Dabi’s stuff, they’re killing-” 

“STOP!” She yelled into the receiver. She choked on a cry. “I don’t want to hear it!” She sniffled. “If you know what’s good for you you’ll stop asking questions.” Her face disappeared and the watch was quiet, she hung up. I set down the watch and sighed in frustration. I grabbed another glass to make Dabi a hot drink for when he came home. I poured the liquid and held it for a second, just letting the steam reach my chin. 

I turned around and dropped the cup to the ground, it’s metal so it hits the floor with a loud sound but doesn’t break. Dabi was standing against the doorway with a dark look on his face. “Oh hi honey. You’re back.” I said with a smile. 

“Did I scare you?” He asked, glancing down at the spilled liquid. 

“I didn’t hear you come in.” I reached for a cloth hanging on the wall and he grabbed my wrist. I flinched and he looked at me funny. “What has you so jumpy, love?” He pulled me into his arms and put a hand in my hair, running his fingers along my neck and scalp. “I missed you.” He said against my head. I said nothing for a moment. He smelled heavily of smoke. “I have a surprise for you.” He said, pulling himself away so he can look at my face. “What is it?” 

“We’re taking a bit of a vacation.” He had his hands on my sides and rocked us a bit as we stood there. “A vacation?” 

“Yeah we uh, have decided that some of our efforts are being wasted at the minute. We need time to recoup, ground ourselves and come back stronger.” He lead us to our pile of bedding and pulled us down so that I was laying on his chest. “So we’ll have time to bond more, I haven’t seen you in so long. We’ll have some time to start our little family.”

I stiffened a bit. We’ve had this conversation a lot, I’ve thought of every excuse in the book. I’ve gotten away without breeding because he’s been gone a lot. “You think it’s a good time to start having kids?” I asked quietly. 

“Don’t you? I’ll be able to be here for the whole gestation. We have the next location of where we’re going to stay for awhile. It’s much warmer, you’ll love the wildlife.” He played with my hair, massaging the nape of my neck with his callused fingers. “I- I have a few questions...” 

“What is it baby?” He crooned, leaning forward and kissing my face and neck. He was gentle, playfully trailing them across my skin, not leaving too many traces of his saliva. “Did you... I mean, are you killing the Kingdoms mates?” 

Dabi snapped his head up and rolled me off of his chest. “Who said that to you? Who’s lying to my mate?” His eyes were wide, a vein popping out on his forehead as he growled. “N-nobody told me anything I found-” 

He cut me off with a laugh. Gathering some composure with a chuckle. “So you’re going through my things?” 

I said nothing. “We’re not doing anything that isn’t necessary. The Kingdom needs to fall.” 

I sat myself up and tried to look brave. “So you are killing human women.” My lip trembled. I wanted to believe it wasn’t true, that he never meant to hurt anybody back on Earth, and he would never harm innocent women. 

Women that already lost everything, that have nothing to do with these insane politics.

Women like me.

“I think you’ve been spending too much time alone, little mate.” He gently pushed my shoulders down onto the cozy pile of cloth. He crawled over top of me, his hips pressing down on mine, pinning me to the bed. “You’re getting paranoid out here all by yourself, I’ve been treating you bad. My poor baby...” My breath caught in my chest, he ran his hands up my shirt and traced along my side. “Do you think I would ever lie to my precious angel? My most treasured possession?” He planted a sticky kiss on my neck, his spit sinking into my skin and sending signals to my brain. My fear started to fade, my anxiety relaxing. He grabbed my chin, parting my mouth and forcing me to look up at him. He kissed me hard, jamming his tongue into my mouth and swirling it around. I mewled a bit into his mouth, letting out a slight cry as my body reacted to him. My blood rushed to my lower half, setting me on fire. I bucked my hips to press harder against his and he smiled into my mouth before pulling away. “There she is, there���s my good girl.” He whispered to me with his wolfish grin. “I would be the lucky guy to get such a smart little mate, but still so obedient.” He smirked before leaning down and biting down hard on my neck. I whimpered and grabbed onto his shoulders. 

Dabi leaned on his hands behind his head and relaxed, watching me bounce and squirm. I reached to cover my face, lightly embarrassed by his gaze. I moved up and down on his cock, feeling kind of awkward as I get used to moving my body this way. He quickly snatched my hands away from my blushing face. He clicked his tongue. “Ah ah ah baby girl, I like watching you.” He grabbed my hips, digging his fingers into my skin and pushing me down harder on top of him. I moaned and placed my hands on his chest to stabilize myself. “You’re not getting tired are you? This is only round two.” His tone lightly mocking me. 

“I- I’m not used to this...” I whined and rolled his eyes. “Fine you want me to drill you again? Your wish is my command.” He held me in place as he bucked his hips up, slamming his hips into mine with little strain on his face. “D-dabi!” I screamed, his pace so fast I can barely have time to moan. I felt his body shift, his member start to open inside of me. He shoved me onto my back and slowed down his strokes drawing himself out almost all of the way before pounding back into me with a hard thrust. I grabbed onto his shoulders, prepping myself for him to finish. He stopped and held himself deep inside of me, the first egg leaving his body and hitting my cervix. My climax shivered down my spine and my gasp stuck in my chest. He stared down at me with his signature cold gaze with a light grin. “You love getting fucked, you pretend like you don’t want it but then look at that face-” He let out a small grunt, holding most of it back as he deposited another egg in me. My whole body shook and I gasped again. “Drooling all over the place. You’re such a slut.” 

He pulled out and kissed my forehead. “You feel a little better now that I’ve fucked the attitude out of you?” I laid flat on my back and tried to catch my breath, my face flushed and my body tired. He grabbed his shirt off of the floor and tossed it to me for me to put on. He stretched out his arms, showing off his toned muscles. “I’ll just go ahead and take that as a yes.” 

My brain swam with nothing but thoughts of having a sweet little family with him. I pictured what our children will look like and smiled. I’ll make a good mother... 

For just a second, a thought crossed my mind, a distant one. I could barely see it behind the cloud of euphoria. 

The thought of people screaming as smoke filled their mouths.

This took me so long to write, it’s been requested from the beginning but I had a plan! I hope you like it. Inbox me and tell me what you think!

[goldenraeofsun]

Symmetria

A 15x18 fix-it, set post-series

Also available on AO3

Dean doesn’t make an immediate trip to the Empty when all’s said and done with Chuck. He takes his time getting used to his new gig as capital D Death. Billie, of course, did not see fit to leave him a training manual. Instead Dean gets a squad of whiny angels (reapers, but still) to manage and a bajillion books to read, so he does his best to channel his inner Cas and get the job done. 

It’s nothing like that day old Death brought him along on Take Your Human to Work Day. For one, Dean's been to Heaven, so he’s not as torn up about reaping kids and good people. He can tell them with complete honesty, You’re gonna be in a better place. Heaven's awesome. No cryptic bullshit when Dean’s holding the scythe. 

For another, he’s also been to Hell, and Rowena herself set him straight on her plans for the place. Sending dead scumbags and murderers down to her is the highlight of his day. 

It’s still exhausting work, and he gets why Billie thought it would be a better punishment than killing him outright. He can never rest, never find peace, since there’s always a job to do. Death and taxes, and all that. 

Not that Dean wanted to kick the bucket before his little brother. But now Sam’s capital G God, so they’ll both be hanging around for a while longer. When Dean reaps him, Dean’ll give one of his lackeys the scythe, and they’ll both party it up in the Empty. 

Oh, and he’ll reap Jack too, since Dean can’t reap God without the Darkness. Balance, as those damn books keep telling him. 

“Hey.” Dean stomps his snowy feet on the welcome mat. He hikes his take out bags higher in his arms. 

Eileen signs hello. “How are things?”

Dean grins as they make their way to Sam and Jack in the kitchen. “Sent a Wall Street embezzler down to Rowena before I got here.” He knocks hard on the table with his knuckles to get Sam and Jack’s attention. 

Jack looks up from the textbook they both had been pour over, beaming. “Dean’s here.”

“Already?” Sam’s gaze darts to the clock above the oven. 

Dean drops the food on the table. “It’s Sunday dinner! I wouldn’t miss it since you’d probably starve without me.” He pulls out a chair and flips the book to his side of the table. He scans it with mild interest. “What’re you working on?”

“History!” Jack says brightly. “I’m learning about ancient Rome.”

Dean turns to Sam. “You know, you could just take him to see Caesar, right? Or I could. Rowena gave us an all-access pass.”

Sam bitchfaces at him. “That’s not the point, Dean.”

“The point is to learn critical thinking and rhetorical skills without supernatural assistance,” Jack says, and obviously those aren’t his words judging by the proud look on Sam’s face.

Eileen shakes her head, signing emphatically, “I don’t know if that counts if God is helping with your homework.”

“I’m just supervising!” Sam protests.

Dean snorts. "Uh huh."

Jack peers at the takeout bags with interest. “What did you bring for dinner, Dean?”

“Russian,” Dean says with a grin as Jack pulls out a container of pierogies. “Borscht, stuffed cabbage, and stroganoff. Plus some vegetable thing. I don’t know - it was all in Russian.”

Sam rolls his eyes since a little thing like a language barrier isn’t really a problem for them anymore. They’re all fluent in ASL from a snap of Sam’s fingers. He had first offered to restore Eileen’s hearing, but she politely declined. Being Deaf is part of her identity, apparently, just like keeping his stupid Jesus hair is Sam’s.

“This looks delicious,” Eileen signs as she gets to her feet to grab plates. Jack hops up too, making a bee-line for the cutlery drawer.

Sam tosses Jack’s homework on the empty seat at the table. “How’re you doing?”

“Fine,” Dean says. He pulls the stroganoff closer for first dibs.

Sam narrows his eyes as he accepts a plate from Eileen. “You sure?”

“What?” Dean makes a face. “It’s true.”

“I think you can aim a little higher than fine,” Sam says exasperatedly. “You’re a universal constant who has Sunday dinner with two cosmic beings. Plus Eileen.”

“I do only come here for Eileen,” Dean acknowledges solemnly.

Eileen winks at him as she sits back down. Jack laughs.

“There’s gotta be something else you want out of this,” Sam says, gesturing around them.

The one thing I want, is something I know I can’t have.

Dean swallows down the lump in his throat and dumps stroganoff on his plate. He deliberately does not look at the empty chair to his right, currently occupied by Jack’s homework. 

“It’s too soon,” he grunts.

“Is it?” Sam asks, eyebrows raised. “You’ve got your reapers under control. I’ve created enough new angels to run Heaven without blackouts. Jack’s got a handle on his Darkness powers and settled in at school. There’s literally been no better time.”

Dean sighs. “What if something happens?” He looks at each of them in turn. “We’ve finally got something good going for us.”

Jack makes a face like he killed yet another plant without meaning to. “But is it really good without Cas?”

* * *

Dean has lost count of the number of times he’s replayed Cas’s final moments on Earth in his head. He has also lost count of his regrets. There were so many times he could have said something, done something. Been the loving man Cas talked about in his goodbye.

But he isn’t.

He can’t love Cas. If Dean did, he would have caught on a hell of a lot sooner. Wouldn’t have waited or held back. Wouldn’t have, for the first time in that moment, questioned whether Cas could feel something as human as that. For him, of all the mud monkeys on planet Earth.

Instead, he just stood there like a jackass and let Cas get taken away by black goo again.

Love is sacrifice. Cas hammered that point home like no demon deal, no trials, no soul bomb ever has.

But Dean’s a Winchester, and if their family is known for anything, it’s throwing sacrifices back in each other’s faces - spitefully, lovingly.

Sam and Eileen hit the books. Jack writes down all he remembers about his time in the Empty.

It takes two weeks to come up with a spell to take out the Empty, or, at least, temporarily cut it off at the knees.

Dean, Sam, and Jack head back to the Bunker. Technically, Dean still lives there, but he’s usually all over the country, carrying out his Deathly duties. He hasn’t spent the night since they took out Chuck. After the adrenaline crash, he just sat back with his brother-turned-God at the war table and wondered if this’ll be the rest of their supernaturally long lives. Neither of them said much.

They prep the spells in the kitchen before heading down to the dungeon - the most secure room in the Bunker. Dean, tense as a coiled spring, tries to keep up with the laughs and jokes, but Sam keeps shooting him knowing looks.

“You good?” Sam asks as they get ready for the last seps. 

Dean, his mouth dry, can only nod.

They prop up the bowl of ingredients on an old filing cabinet, and Jack stands by with Empty bombs (based on Kevin’s demon bombs). Sam bleeds into the bowl and reads out the Enochian.

The whole Bunker rumbles ominously, before the overhead lights pop out, one by one.

Dean almost laughs - or cries. Hard to tell in the dark.

Shadows bubble up from the middle of the floor, blacker than anything else in the room. Dean adjusts his grip on his scythe, waiting with bated breath as the tarry, otherworldly substance takes a humanoid shape.

It settles on a body and a face, and Dean sees red. He stabs it straight in its trenchcoated chest, right where its heart would be.

The Empty stares down at the blade, its expression turning to wry amusement. “I believe the saying is ‘deja vu’?”

“Shut up,” Dean hisses. He yanks his scythe back as, behind him, Sam snaps his fingers. A few of the lights repair themselves. To the Empty, Dean growls, “Wear someone else’s face.”

The Empty bristles like it’s almost offended. “No?”

Sam pulls Dean behind him before Dean can stab it again. “Hi,” he says loudly over Dean’s angry spluttering, “I know we got off on the wrong foot last time, but-”

“Wrong foot?” the Empty interrupts, head tilting.

Dean’s fingers tighten around his scythe. How dare that thing wear Cas’s face, do Cas’s thing, talk like Cas. Only Sam’s arm in front of his chest stops Dean from surging forward and finishing what he started. 

“Yeah,” Sam says with a warning look at Dean. “In Death’s library - well, old Death. Dean uses a hard drive to store all his books of fate now. Look, you’re probably still pissed I woke you up, but all we need is one thing, and then we won’t bother you again.”

“Oh,” the Empty says. Its forehead furrows in a way Dean had seen on Cas too many times. The burning ache of regret flares with a new heat, and Dean glares murderously at the Empty as it says, “That wasn’t me.”

Sam’s mouth opens and closes. “What?”

The Empty clears its throat. “You met the old Empty. Billie and I killed it before she died.”

“The Empty can die?” Dean asks roughly.

It nods, its attention turning to Dean almost hungrily. “It was weakened from Jack’s explosion. Billie didn’t want to help me, naturally. But if the last Empty was still in charge, Billie’s final rest would have been far from peaceful.” It smiles. “I could also guarantee she would never have to see any of us ever again.”

“And who’re you?” Dean demands.

The smile drops off the Empty’s face. “You don’t know? After all this time?”

Dean swallows, a terrible, wonderful hope struggling to breathe in his chest. He tries, his voice almost a whisper. “Cas?” 

The Empty nods, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean turns to Sam for verification because there’s no fucking way Dean trusts himself anymore when it comes to Cas. But Sam’s face reads nothing but mingled relief and joy, so -

Dean lets the scythe drop with a clatter and strides forward on shaky legs. Cas tenses like he’s bracing for impact. “It’s alright,” Dean tells him in a low voice as he squeezes tight. Cas is real, alive (or alive as any of them are at this point), and back in the Bunker where he belongs. “I got you, Cas.”

Cas sighs, an exhale of bone-deep weariness. He buries his face deeper in the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean holds on even though it’s been way too long for a normal hug. But hell, Cas fucking loves him. Cas can deal with a little extra hug time.

Sam coughs pointedly as he steps up for his own hug. “It’s good to have you back, man.”

Cas smiles as he accepts a few manly back slaps from Sam. 

Jack rushes forward for his turn. 

“Jack,” Cas says reverently as he wraps his arms around him. “You’ve done so well.”

“Thank you,” Jack says, his voice cracking. “I missed you, Cas.”

Cas just shakes his head, overcome with emotion. “I’m very happy to see you.” He mutters a few words, too low for any of them to hear, as he disentangles himself from Jack’s arms. He looks around at the three of them. “I’d say you all are doing very well for yourselves.”

Grinning, Dean picks up his scythe and gives it a little spin. “Gee, what gave it away?” He sobers as Cas doesn’t say anything, just stares at him with an unreadable expression on his face. “But you already knew that,” Dean surmises.

“Chuck told me.”

Sam's eyes go wide. “Chuck?” 

“When he died, he was sent to the Empty,” Cas says shortly. “To me.”

Sam grimaces. “Sorry.”

Cas’s lips press together in a thin line. “It took forever for him to shut up. I suppose I should have expected it.” He sighs. “Chuck always did pride himself on being a storyteller.”

“And a dick,” Sam adds. 

 “Chuck told me about how you defeated him - his ‘greatest creations’,” Cas quotes sourly, “and about the cosmic consequences, which included a changing of the guard - God, the Darkness, Death,” he shakes his head, adding, “the Empty.”

“This was his plan?” Dean growls, his voice a mixture of anger and surprise. But his rage dies as Cas slowly shakes his head. 

“Not exactly, but he said he could appreciate the symmetry.”

“Of course he could.” Dean runs a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ, please tell me that’s the end of him.”

“I have complete control over the Empty,” Cas assures, “He isn’t waking up any time soon.”

“Oh,” Dean says awkwardly, “good. That’s good.”

Reluctantly, Cas tears his gaze away from Dean. He straightens, his mouth set determinedly, and asks Sam, “There was something you wanted?”

Sam shakes his head, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Not anymore.”

Cas’s brow furrows. “If you need anything from the Empty, I can give it to you.” He glances at each of them in turn. “As I told you once, I am always happy to bleed for the Winchesters.”

“No,” Dean chokes out before Sam or Jack can get a word in, “No goddamn bleeding - of any kind. Just, no.”

Cas’s frown deepens.

Sam grins. “We were gonna ask the Empty to wake you up. So I guess… we’re good.”

Cas blinks a few times in confusion. “You wanted… me?”

Jack throws him an incredulous look. “You’re a part of us, Cas. Of course we wanted you here.”

* * *

Dean makes burgers for dinner. Even though none of them need to eat, they’re far too used to it to stop. By the stove, he listens with half an ear as Jack peppers Cas with updates on the new world order and high school. Every once in a while, Sam’s voice comes through with a few modifiers and anecdotes.

Jack turns in first, complaining about leftover homework.

Sam takes off next, saying he promised to buy bread and eggs on the way home to Eileen. He leaves Dean and Cas alone in the Bunker’s kitchen.

Neither of them say anything as Sam’s footsteps fade up the stairs to the exit. Dean steadily keeps his eyes trained on the half-empty beer bottle spinning around in his hands. Cas sits next to him at the table, happy as a fucking clam to sit in silence, staring at Dean like he’s a goddamn miracle.

It’s too much.

This is why Dean didn’t jump to bring Cas back to the land of the living. It tore him apart inside, like metaphorical hellhound claws digging into his gut. Sure, Cas deserved to be topside. Cas deserved to have his happy ever after like the rest of Team Free Will 2.0. What Cas didn’t deserve, was a man with his head so far up his own ass he couldn’t muster up three measly words when they mattered most. And Dean had no idea how to tell Cas any of that.

“Dean,” Cas breaks the silence first because for all he said in his big goodbye speech, Dean’s a fucking coward. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again,” he clears his throat, “so I didn’t anticipate the position I would put you in by showing up. I apologize.”

Dean turns to him, alarmed. “No, don’t apologize. It’s my - I should have - you were - son of a bitch.” He presses his lips together so he doesn’t go blurting something stupid like you were so wrong about me; it fucked me up for a while.

“It’s okay,” Cas says gently. “I’ve seen Jack and you and Sam. That’s all I wanted since I left. Truly.”

Dean sucks in a breath, his pulse spiking with fear. “That sounds like another goodbye. I don’t - I don’t think I can take another one of those from you.”

Cas blinks. “You want me to stay?”

Dean’s mouth works furiously before he demands, “You don’t want to?”

“No,” Cas draws out slowly like he’s concerned for Dean’s sanity, “but if my presence-”

“Stop,” Dean holds up a hand, “just ‘cause I don’t know what to say to you -” liar “- doesn’t mean you have to get exiled from the whole planet. You saved the world, the same as us. The very least you get is free rent for eternity.” 

“If you say so,” Cas says doubtfully.

“Jack would be real upset if you fucked back off to the Empty for the rest of time,” Dean adds. “He’s studying the Roman Empire and could use some help from someone who was there.” He takes a sip of beer, and fuck cosmic tolerances. He could drink a whole liquor store and not feel anything. 

The corners of Cas’s mouth twitch. “I was actually stationed in China during that time. I would be a minor help at best.”

“Then make it up,” Dean says with a grin. “It’s not like Jack will know the difference. And if his teachers call him out on it, Sam can wave his magic wand and make it true anyway. All hail President Clinton.”

Cas snorts. “That would be one way to help, I suppose.”

Dean drains his beer, a purely instinctual response, before he starts, “You’ve levelled up. Got a power upgrade as the Empty.” At Cas’s tentative nod, he goes on, “You could’ve said something, dude. Given us some sign. I - we all thought you died. For good.”

“I cannot come to Earth without being summoned,” Cas says heavily.

Dean makes a face. “Rules like that never stopped any of us before.”

“You could have performed the summoning ritual at any time - all the cards were in your hands.” Cas’s gaze drops to the table. “I thought you didn’t want to see me.”

Dean shakes his head vehemently. “That wasn’t the case at all.”

“But you said you don’t know how to talk to me,” Cas points out.

Dean swallows. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want you around. I didn’t know how to talk to you when you were cuckoo for cocoa puffs, when you had fucking amnesia. Hell, it was even weird when you were human. But things are… better with you here. No matter what.”

“Really?” Cas asks, the doubt clear in his voice.

“Of course,” Dean says gruffly. “You gotta know that.”

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean says as he gets up for another drink - old habits, “now you do.”

“Do you still believe this?” Cas presses.

“Never doubted it for a second,” Dean promises as he sits back down.

“Even after you sent me away?” Cas asks quietly.

“Hey,” Dean says sharply, “You made that choice to walk out that door.” But that old anger doesn’t survive long in the wake of the look on Cas’s face. Dean smiles humorlessly as he twists the cap off. It clatters to the table, the sound echoing around the empty kitchen. “But, yeah, that was me being angry over a bunch of shit that was out of our control. Not you. You just happened to be in my line of fire.” Dean takes a long pull from the bottle. “What a guy to fall for, huh? Blames you for everything that goes wrong and makes you think you’re better off gone.”

Cas freezes. “So we’re talking about it?”

Dean raises his eyebrows, half in surprise at himself. “Guess so.”

“Nothing has to change,” Cas assures him. “The only difference is you know about my feelings for you.”

“How long have you had them?” Dean asks with a casual air that’s one-hundred percent, Grade-A bullshit. 

Cas presses his lips together as he thinks. “Since you took me to that brothel.”

Dean chokes on his drink. “Seriously?”

Cas ducks his head, a surprisingly human gesture of embarrassment. “I didn’t know it then,” he says in a low voice, “all I knew was that I wanted to impress you. I had never felt that way about anyone before, except God.”

“Gross, man.”

Cas purses his lips. “Not like that.” He sighs. “But I suppose it happened the year I made that deal with Crowley.” He reaches for his own beer bottle, long emptied sometime in the middle of dinner. He spins it between his fingers contemplatively. “I told myself I made the deal to make the world safer for you, so you could live out your retirement in peace. But it was just a convenient ploy to keep myself busy. You didn’t need me for the first time since Hell.” He presses his lips together. “My love for you made me reckless and blind, as approximately 231,600 love songs could have told me, if I had bothered to listen to any of them.”

Dean chuckles. “It probably would have been better if you just had an emo phase.” At Cas’s frown of confusion, Dean waves it off, “Forget it. It’s water under the bridge anyway.” He sips his beer. “Since the Purgatory deal? That’s a long time.”

“Not for an angel,” Cas counters. “I’m extremely old.”

Dean snorts a laugh. “Touché.”

“You’re not going to ask why I never told you before?”

Dean shakes his head. “You made that pretty clear in your little goodbye speech. ‘The one thing I want, is something I know I can’t have’,” he rattles off the phrase that had been bouncing around his skull for the past month and a half.

Cas bites his lip, a shade of hurt lurking behind his eyes at hearing his words parroted back to him. “I had always known my feelings were fruitless. Telling you was more of an act for myself than for you,” he says to the table, “but I didn’t think I would be around to know what that meant for us.”

“I get that,” Dean says haltingly, “but they’re not.”

“They’re not what?”

Dean forcibly lets go of his empty beer bottle because he’s going to shatter it if he says this next bit with glass between his hands. “Your feelings. They’re not fruitless. They’re, uh, pretty fucking fruity.”

Cas’s mouth opens and closes, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Is that a dated and offensive reference to homosexuality?”

“What?” Dean yelps, “No!”

Cas sits there, nonplussed.

“Your feelings,” Dean says through gritted teeth. “What you want. You can have it.”

Cas makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” Dean mutters. “Even with all of history crammed in your noggin, you don’t get it. Fine.” He shifts in his seat so he can face Cas fully. “Let me clear things up for you. Just… smite me if I cross a line.”

“Dean,” Cas protests, “As the Empty, I can’t smite any-”

Dean cuts him off with a kiss.

As far as first kisses go, it’s passable. Cas clearly has some experience - he doesn’t go straight for the tongue, but he’s frozen for so long, Dean almost pulls away to check if he drastically miscalculated. But Cas exhales, tentative hands wrap around Dean’s forearms, and he pulls Dean in closer. Dean smiles against his mouth, small puffs of laughter escaping as Cas’s nose bumps against his. He cups Cas’s jaw in one hand, and Cas lets out a little sigh, melting the last few layers of Dean’s reservations about this whole business.

It’s the promise in the kiss that makes it awesome. This isn’t their end. For once, the world isn’t on fire, and they’re not playing catch up with an apocalypse.

It’s just them, Death and the Empty.

The Endgame for every human, angel, and demon on Earth.

Suck it, Chuck. That’s fucking symmetry.

[muwur]

do u think u could write something fluffy for atsumu? :D (if not, bc he just showed up in the anime, futakuchi?) nd they/them pronouns pls :3 ty ty!!!

dating headcanons

✧ hc’s ✧ for atsumu and futakuchi

❧ gn reader

✎ 1.6k words

a/n: oml my first request fgrinffej thank u anon <3 been doing sum ~research~ and brainstorming snaccing and i hope this is okay ! >:) for u i shall do both ppl hehe. feel free to lmk if you would like me to redo or add anything, i wanna do my requests justice :*)

also i find myself gettin inspo at 4 am ofhfuohf i hope this is a bit fluffy, tho its a bit playful n snarky as well fnoggrefjf. also this took me so long bc i literaly got this whole other idea LMAOOOO but i find it more suitable as a separate piece so be on the lookout for that (nudge nudge itll feature atsumu ;) i got a bit carried away AAHA). here u goo

atsumu

✧ boi’s a tease

✧ on days he stays really late to practice so like?? most days LOL  you drop by a nearby eatery and pick up some fatty tuna (or something else, you like to change it up sometimes even if fatty tuna is his fave)  for him to munch on (gotta replenish your body!!)

✧ even though it’s for him, he’ll make you share the food with him as you both sit on a field nearby the gym

✧ likes to feed you but exaggerates it just to mess with you

✧ “say ahh, y/n” he coos with a smirk when he holds out some food from his chopsticks

✧ and just to mess with him back, you close your mouth around the piece, taking it from the chopsticks slowly and never breaking eye contact with him until after you chew and swallow

✧ “ah, that was delicious, honey” you smile cheekily

✧ rip atsumu, he malfuncc inside

✧ however

✧ fights you for the last piece of any food or snack you’re sharing

✧ “why even offer sharing if you’re just gonna hog it all”

✧ “you were just slower than me, that’s not my problem”

✧ in the end, he would definitely just let you have it. Only fights you when hes bored and wants to provoke you, which is often

✧ pretty affectionate in public. likes to ruffle your hair or place a head on your hand, no matter what height you are

✧ especially likes to do this when you’re annoyed at him, which kinda makes it not cute anymore and you just wanna punch him in the face

✧ as annoying as he could be tho you had to admit that your bickering could be quite fun he was definitely a caring partner

✧ is quick to take notice how youre feeling, liek:

✧  “hey, are you feeling okay?”

✧ “yeah im fine, why?”

✧ “you know you dont have to lie, right? you cant hide these things, anyways, i can just tell if something’s up. what’s wrong, babe?”

✧ pulls you aside to talk things out a little, then offers to spend some time together after practice  

✧ squeezes your hand as he walks you home, plants a soft kiss to your forehead before parting ways, and says goodnight

✧ he also notices any changes, no matter how small, in your appearances:

✧ *scrutinizing you* “what do you want, atsumu?”

✧ “did you do something different today? maybe like with your hair or uniform or something?”

✧ “o-oh, yeah, i did.”

✧ “hm. it really suits you, actually.”

✧ “oh, thanks. it’s such a small change, i didnt think anyone would notice--”

✧  “dont get too ahead of yourself, i didnt say it looked nice-- im kidding, im kidding!” he has to say in order to defend himself from your piercing glare

✧ lowkey highkey cant go long without seeing you

✧ so when he finally gets to spend some time with you, he’s even more touchy than usual

✧ you eye him suspiciously before saying, “you’re acting like you missed me or something”

✧  “yeah, i did miss you. something wrong with that?” he asks, burying his face in your neck as he hugs you from behind

✧ “yes, because its been two days”

✧ expect lots of kisses and hugs, though. mans is deprived and he gets what he wants (with consent, of course)

✧ makes sure everyone knows he’s there to stand up for you if necessary, which can be pretty intimidating

✧ loves it when you fall asleep on his shoulder. will take selfies with your sleeping face and show you later

✧  “you look cute even when you’re drooling all over my arm”

✧ doesn’t talk about how he sniffed or kissed your head when you were asleep. definitely doesn’t admit how he was whispering about how lucky he was to be in love with you asdfghjk

✧ was the first to admit he loved you

✧ it occurred after his team won a game to qualify for nationals. excitedly, you raced your way to meet him and tackled him in a hug. who cares if he was sweaty. “i knew you guys would win, and im so proud, atsumu.”

✧ he stumbled a bit and hugged back. he pulled away shortly to look you in the eye

✧  “y/n, i love you.”

✧ and all you could do was blush before he pulled you into a soft, yet passionate kiss

✧ surrounded by like. literally everyone lol

✧ osamu just fake gags in the background

✧ later that day:

✧  “sooooo do I get a reward for winning ? ;)”

✧  “dont push your luck”

✧ but you do spend the night just chilling at his place, watching a movie and cuddling, unwinding from a long day

futakuchi

✧ you met each other in class, bonding over how bored and sleepy you both were

✧ one day he started passing you notes and you went with along it until this class’s purpose in y’alls lives was just for goofing off and totally not to see each other’s smiles or be a bit flirty

✧ loves to mess around with you, but also thinks highly of you

✧ shortly after you started dating and met the boy’s volleyball team, moniwa asks you to please keep futakuchi in line

✧  “babe, please, you’re driving your seniors crazy”

✧ but ever since he became captain, you could sense that futakuchi seemed more responsible

✧ but poor bby was also wayyyy more tired than usual

✧ you poked his back with your pencil whenever you found him dozing off in class, just in time before he risked getting caught by the teacher

✧ you also nagged him about getting more rest and maintaining his health, doing things to help him out until he gave in and made a better attempt at taking care of himself

✧ unless you have other activities going on, you’d usually come by the gym to watch practice and then walk home with futakuchi

✧ you always bring him and his team snacks. they all love you, especially koganegawa

✧ “how are you and y/n dating, they’re so much nicer than futaku--”

✧ cant even finish his sentence before the captain smacks his head and poor kogane chokes on his snacc

✧ but les be real you also go to admire your manz

✧ on the walk home one day:

✧  “you hit a really good spike today”

✧ sheepishly scratches the back of his head, “oh, thanks. kogane’s sets are improving, so it’s getting easier to hit the ball”

✧ secretly loves and craves your praise

✧ futakuchi’s pretty down for pda. you two can often be seen walking down the aisles, hand in hand

✧ will also give you lots of pecks, especially on your cheeks and lips

✧ he also insists on helping you carry your things

✧ wants you to rely on him

✧ saw you shivering once and took his jacket off, draping it around you like nbd

✧ lets just say he wishes he coulda thought of that sooner dhqnwxhgergk  youre not allowed to look this cute

✧ but now you literally keep half his closet in your house cuz he always tells you to return it whenever you want

✧ could go on dates anywhere and literally have such a good time. the night market? y’all will share foods and play games the whole time. the park? he could go for a nice, relaxing walk, or if it’s at night, he’d love to lie in the grass and admire the night sky with you (as long as you hold hands lol). at home? would totally binge some shows or movies with you, has sour gummies n a blanket ready to share hog

✧ can be a tease, but will protect you at all costs

✧ glares at anyone who looks at you with interest (boi gets jealous)

✧ had to pull you into his arms and give you a kiss to save you from getting hit on by someone from a rival school. “hey babe, i’ve been looking for you. let’s head back, everyone’s waiting.”

✧ you happily follow him, not noticing how futakuchi looks back at his now sworn-enemy and sticks his tongue out at them

✧ he will fIGHT anyone who hurts you, is very overprotective to say the least

✧ always makes sure he knows where you’re at, starts to worry a bit if you’ve gone mia

✧ got reallly worried one time when he called you like 5 times and you didnt pick up!

✧ 20 minutes later his phone rings and he picks it up immediately. “hello? y/n? are you okay?? you haven’t been answering me for a while.”

✧  “ahh, yes, im sorry about that, my phone died :P”

✧ thinks the best cuddles are the ones in which you both end up falling asleep. also likes to admire your sleeping face totes not a creeper

✧ also loveloveloves to snuggle you from behind and bury his face in your neck and loves to just smELL you

✧ you told him you loved him first

✧ you were having a rough day when you heard a knock on your door

✧ opening it, you found a futakuchi giving you a small smile and carrying a plastic bag full of goodies. “i, uh, didn’t want you to be alone, so i thought we could hang out for a bit? just us two, your favorite snacks, and whatever else you want to do”

✧ touched by his gesture, you pulled him in by his jacket’s collar and gave him a long kiss

✧ after separating, you looked into his eyes as you cupped his face gently. “thank you, kenji. i love you. this means a lot to me”

✧ ejiufnicenjfdhksujsk he nearly melted in place

✧ later tries playing the pocky game with you, but then y’all forget about the pocky after your first round and stick to the smooching

[liron-ao3]

Read on AO3 here.

Don't touch the buns

It started as a gag gift. Dean opened the little present, expecting a band shirt or something, but Sam grinned at him too much for something simple as that.

Ever since they moved into the bunker, Dean loved cooking and baking from scratch, not the convience stuff that you could heat up in the kitchenette that some motel rooms offered. Sam teased him about the white apron he loved to wear when he indulged in his new hobby ever so often.

So, it shouldn't have come as a surprise that instead of a new Led Zeppelin shirt he found a full size apron in it, neatly folded to show off the word 'kiss' and a fitting lipstick print next to it.

Dean raised a sceptical eyebrow, but the smile tugging on his lips betrayed his cool acting. He shook out the fabric to see what else was hidden and a chuckle worked his way up out of his mouth.

Kiss the cook, but don't touch the buns was printed on the apron.

"You better keep to the instructions," Dean said to Sam who giggled like a high school girl and gave him a wet smooch on his cheek that Dean wiped off with an overdramatical expression of disgust.

Fast forward to the next day. Dean is standing in the kitchen, flipping burgers next to the spread of sliced burger buns, cheese slices, pickles, and condiments. He sports the new apron, figuring that bacon grease splatter on the new plaid shirt that Castiel gifted him and which Eileen said brought out the colour of his eyes, would be a worse fate than being made fun of by his baby brother.

It's when he's carefully lowering the last patty on the bottom part of a bun that Castiel walks in, his trenchcoat swaying behind him like the cape of a superhero.

Dean chuckles. Not that he minds that the angel always wears the same clothes, basically since the day they met, but he sometimes wishes, he had savoured the days when Cass was human and wore that cute hoodie. Well, he wished he wouldn't have send him away with nothing but his clothes on his skin. But that's a story for self-flagellation at another time.

He turns to face Castiel fully, enjoying the crinkles around the angel's tightening eyes. Maybe it's out of concentration, confusion, or old Jimmy would have needed glasses. Who cares? Castiel, ex-angel of Chuck, looks adorable like that and Dean's stomach flutters in a way Dean is far too acquainted with.

Castiel's gaze wanders from the apron to the buns, to Dean's lips, and back to the apron. The corners of the angel's lips twitch nervously, somewhere between a tender smile and a tense endeavour to keep his lips a straight line.

Dean's brain catches up on the scene he, the half finished burgers, and the apron form and a big, but very welcome swarm of butterflies makes its way through his chest, taking his breath away for a moment. His face must have shown delight for the split of a second of unguardedness. Whatever it was, it's enough to draw in the other man like a moth to a lamp.

Castiel walks slowly, but with intent. He looks down at the apron and then up into Dean's eyes. The light frown on his forehead makes Cass look like a puppy and isn't that the strangest thing to think about an ancient being. It's moments like this that make Dean forget sometimes, that Castiel isn't really human, no matter how cute he looks in a cowboy hat, how sexy in scrubs, or just beautiful in a boring trench coat.

Castiel bursts his little daydream bubble. "Is that a convention or just a silly joke I do not understand?" Cass' voice is neutral like it happens so often, deep and curious in a way that makes the hairs on Dean's arms stand up when spoken to him from such close proximity to the lips they are falling off.

Dean swallows around a lump in his throat, trying to school his countenance into a cocky grin, but fails, ending up with a lopsided smile that looks more shy than confident.

"It's ... um ... a common custom," he lies, voice shaking a little in embarrassment and repressed excitement.

Castiel nods thoughtfully. "Where does the kiss go?" he asks and Dean suspects that the innocence of his voice is not as angelic as it seems.

"Where ... wherever one wants to," he presses out, grabbing the worktop tightly when leaning against it for some support as his legs turn to jelly.

"Everywhere?" Castiel asks in earnest and Dean can't suppress an eyeroll.

"Yes, basically."

Castiel smiles softly and strokes his thumb over the knuckles of Dean's hand. He loosens the fingers tenderly from the tight grip and moves the hand up towards his face. He presses a soft kiss on the back. A surprised gasp escapes Dean's mouth. He can't remember anyone kissing him this cautiously, as if he were fragile or special and not a man who kills monsters for a living, whose face was spluttered with blood and goo more often than tears of joy.

Castiel lowers Dean's hand that grabs back tightly when the angel tries to let go. Castiel searches the hunter's face for an answer to this unusual behaviour. All he finds are relaxed features and careful eyes.

Dean leans in slowly, waiting for Castiel to step back, for a sign of confusion or disgust. But nothing happens apart from the lips that open up a wee bit, inviting, soft-looking, and oh so close.

Their lips meet, delicately and gentle, so different to what Dean had pictured a hundred times before. None of them is dying, none of them is hurting. The kiss isn't a fruitless attempt to say something in the last possible moment, desperate and hopeless. It's soft and sweet, indulgent and smooth.

They seperate after a long moment, gentle smiles playing on their lips.

"That ... was a better spot for kissing the cook," Castiel chuckles.

Dean smirks. "Yeah."

"You should finish the burgers before they get cold," Castiel says in the matter-of-fact way that's nearly soothing and Dean nods.

Castiel walks to the door where he stops in his track and turns around.

"Why shouldn't I 'touch the buns'?" he asks, air quotes and all.

Dean laughs out loud, shaking his head in amusement. "You, sweetheart, you are allowed to touch them."

[s-horne]

for the prompt list: #56 being said by tony to steve?

“How was he?” Steve asked when the kids were finally in bed and him and Tony were halfway through a bottle of wine. “I appreciated the messages, but I know you were holding back.”

Tony sighed. He swirled the dregs of his wine around in his glass, eyes drawn to the dark, bold color. The same color as the red blanket he’d tucked Harley under on the plane when the boy had finally cried himself out.

“He was fine.”

Steve was silent beside him and Tony sighed again. “He was. For the most part. He adored being the centre of attention, our darling boy. Just like his daddy.”

Steve let out a small huff as he tightened his grip on Tony’s shoulders and tugged him closer. “Was she there?”

Tony swallowed the last gulp of his wine and reached for the bottle. “No,” he said finally, when his hands had stopped shaking and he was back against Steve’s side, glass blissfully full. “No, I don’t know where she was. Her parents didn’t know, either. Said she’d told them she’d be on her own vacation when we arrived.”

“I’m sorry she wasn’t there to see Harley,” Steve murmured into his hair. “Did he notice?”

Tony scoffed bitterly. “Of course not. When was the last time that he saw her? As far as he’s concerned, everything was normal.” It was wrong, but that was the way that things were.

“I’m sorry. She should have been there.” Steve pressed a kiss to Tony’s temple.

“I knew she wouldn’t be.” Tony almost didn’t recognise his own voice, dark and hostile as it was. “Even after preparing myself to see her, I don’t know why I ever thought any different.”

“Hope,” Steve whispered and Tony squeezed his eyes shut.

It hurt. The whole, stupid thing hurt. Tony didn’t want to deal with it anymore. He was tired, the sort of exhaustion that had sunk right into his bones. The wine wasn’t doing much to wake him up, but it was at least dulling some of the pain in his heart.

No child should be without a parent, to be cast aside and not given a second thought. Tony hated thinking about it. Harley was his entire world and the mere idea of the boy not registering on his own mother’s radar made him want to scream. Tony had been through that for most of his own life and he didn’t want his son to experience the same heartache, those feelings of shame and self-loathing. 

The whole damn vacation had been a nightmare from start to finish and Tony hated going through the routine every other school holiday. He’d always wanted Harley to have some sort of relationship with at least one side of his family, but actually taking the effort to reinforce that was a pain. Especially on his own. 

“I missed you,” Tony said instead of voicing the thoughts in his head. They were probably written all over his face anyway. Steve knew him far too well. “Fuck, I really missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

Against his back, Steve was a solid presence. A reminder that he was there and Tony wasn’t alone anymore.

“The whole time I was there, I was scared.” The wine had gone straight to Tony’s head, making his words thick but honest.

“Of what?” Steve asked as one of his hands slid across Tony’s chest to rest over his heart. “Talk to me.”

“Everything,” Tony said after a pause. It could have been a minute or it could have been an hour. Tony didn’t know. He didn’t really care. “I just kept thinking of everything that could go wrong.”

Nosing at Tony’s hair, Steve hummed. “Nothing did, though.” His grip suddenly tightened. “Did it?”

Tony took another mouthful of his wine, savouring the taste. They so rarely had a chance to drink with each other with two small kids running around. It was a rare indulgence and Tony was going to make the most of it.

“No. No, not – no. Harley was just a terror, that’s all. He obviously missed you. Cried nearly the whole flight there.”

“I did wonder.” Steve shifted on the couch, one leg stretching out to rest on the small table in front of them. “He clung pretty close when I put him to bed.”

“Mm. Drew you about a thousand pictures. Must have used the whole red pen up. And the dark blue. We’ll have to buy him another set.”

Steve’s hand moved from Tony’s chest into his hair, pulling lightly on the thick strands. “My little artist. We’ll have to make room on the fridge for them all. But that’s not scary. Unless any of them were a portrait of you.”

Tony gave a half-hearted smile at the pinch Steve gave to his hip, but it fell quickly. “I kept thinking she’d be there.”

“But she wasn’t.” Steve was far too rational, always trying to be the voice of reason. “And even if she was, she’s not scary either.”

“No,” Tony agreed, pressing the heel of his hand to his temple in a weak attempt to stave off his headache, “but her lawyer is.”

Steve’s hand stilled in Tony’s hair. There was a lump the size of a rock in Tony’s throat, which he recognised in Steve’s own when he spoke.

“Her lawyer? Tony, she – she can’t. No, she can’t – can she?”

“I don’t know.” The laugh that Tony let out was hoarse and broken. It didn’t sound very humorous. “I doubt it after everything. But I don’t like the chance.”

Tony hated chance. He liked answers, an easy yes or no. Clear and precise results with no room for error or an outcome he didn’t like.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered, starting to rock them ever so slightly. It was reminiscent of the way they’d lured their babies to sleep and Tony leant in to the familiar movement. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Tony wasn’t bitter about their circumstances, not really. Not in the slightest, actually. Losing a parent at any age was hard and Tony’s heart bled for Peter, for their amazing, resilient, clever little boy who bounced around as though he wasn’t missing half of his heart.

But sometimes, sometimes, there was a part of him that wished his situation was as cut and dry. He knew that was awful, knew that he was a terrible, shitty person and a terrible, shitty dad, but Harley was his entire world. Sometimes he was allowed to get a little crazy.

“I just kept waiting. Her parents were as kind as ever, as lovely to Harley as they’ve always been, but I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was obvious. Even Harley could tell, which only made him more anxious. He’d go from wild and hyper to clingy in a matter of seconds.”

The wine had properly hit Tony and the words were spilling from him like the time that Harley had knocked over his pot of badly-homemade slime and green goo had spread over everything. The table, the carpet, Harley’s jeans. It was all a mess and Tony’s words just kept falling.

“But he’s my clingy, annoying little terror. He’s mine. Mine, yours, and Peter’s. Her parents can see him a few times a year, but she can’t. I won’t let her. He’s mine, and the idea that she could just take… he’s mine,” Tony ended, voice a little broken. Just like him. “Mine, Steve. I can’t keep doing this to him.”

“She won’t get him, sweetheart.”

“And the flight,” Tony said, ignoring Steve’s reassurances but leaning even closer into his touch. Stupidly so. Close enough that he could open Steve’s chest right up and burrow in there. “There was turbulence going and delays coming back. Turns out Harley doesn’t like turbulence – who would have guessed? All I could think about how much I wanted you. Wanted you to be with me. Sitting in a cold airport watching the clock tick slowly with a tired boy crying into my chest and the threat of her at the back of my neck. I wanted you. You and me and Peter and Harley. That’s how it should be. No more and definitely no less. Please no less.”

Steve was suddenly everywhere, surrounding and cradling Tony from head to toe. They were twisted almost into one, Tony’s head tucked into Steve’s head and his hands under Steve’s jumper. It was entirely possible that Tony’s wine glass was on the floor and seeping into the plush carpet, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Never,” Steve said fiercely. “Never, Tony. Us four forever, okay? No one is ever leaving. She doesn’t stand a chance.”

“The only place,” Tony started, fingers catching the elastic waistband of Steve’s briefs, “the only place that I feel safe is in your arms. Don’t ever let me go.”

“Never,” Steve said again, voice warming Tony from the inside out. “I will never let you go.”

It wasn’t realistic, but Tony clung to it like a lifeline.

“You’re safe, sweetheart. You and Harley and me and Peter. We will never, ever let you be alone again.”

(this list)

[quant-um-fizzx]

Relenting

Synopsis: James Barnes had always been sweet, until he wasn’t. Somewhere along the way, your mutual attraction took a turn. Now, you can’t tell if he’s playing with you or playing you. Then, fate forces some honesty.

Warnings:  Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader. Smut, Dub-Con (Sex Pollen, my friends), Language, (some) Angst, elements of stalking & emotional manipulation. Explicit, rough sex, slight anal play. Literally the most dirty talk I’ve ever written.

Word Count:  5900

If you’ve come here expecting the comedy erotica or angst I write elsewhere, this is not for you. 

This is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor‘s writing challenge from the prompt: “Just a little more, baby.” (How we got here from there, I’ll never know.) 

I’ve labeled this Dark!Bucky, but he’s probably more gray than dark. But not the soft, uses-all-the-bath-salts-when-you’re-out-of-town Bucky I’d consider more canon.  

 *****

No one can pinpoint when, nobody’s ready to say it out loud, but Barnes came back different. Off. 

Wrong.

Might’ve been that mission in the Midwest (of all places to find that kind of cult) or when someone got it in their fool head to send him to verify exactly what the stone status was on Vormir. Your money’s on the veiled gateway rift that sucked him in but spit two out; he’d beaten his wild-eyed spare and flung it back into the void the moment it’d lunged for you. 

Chances are it’s not a solitary event, but the culmination of everything. One could hardly blame him if it were. 

Whatever, whenever, he’s not the same. Speech now often sly, maneuvering. Manners slipping into predatory where they’d always been soft.

Sometimes, you think you’re imagining it - cold glint like metal chips in ice eyes - that maybe you only see him differently because of failed romance. 

Now, he delights in flustering you. Taunting and near cruel one moment. Playful, protective the next.  Makes it nearly impossible to get a read on him. 

You find, in spite of your better judgement, uncertainty is its own kind of clever seduction. 

“Hey, I know this isn’t really my business, but whatever happened there?” Bruce inclines his head toward where Barnes stalks by outside the lab windows. His second pass since you started to prepping vials for transport. Dark, rough strides. He slips out of view and the lab seems colder. Sleek, sterile.  Your mind conjures up memories of sandalwood on fleece, in stark contrast to the lab’s xylene and bitter almond air. “Everyone thought you two were a good match.”

You smile, wistful. Mourning. “I had hoped so, too. But,” you sigh, “what makes good theory does not necessarily work in practical execution.”

Banner tsks. “Shame. Ever since you came on board, you both used to get along so well. Even now, he still looks at you like you ought to be picking out curtains.”

You scoff. “‘Used to get along’ until he...never mind. Whatever Sergeant Barnes might really want, it’s not that. And definitely not that with me.” He’d made that perfectly clear.

Suddenly, as if he’d heard you - but he shouldn't have, couldn’t have - Barnes pauses outside. His glance locks on your eyes. You fumble and clink the glass against the tray’s edge. 

Bruce shakes his head, gently using a tremendously large, green hand to steady the tongs you hold. “Careful there. Breaking that in here? Could’ve been ugly.”

“Doctor Banner,” you say, placing the final vial in its slot and trying to shift your attention from the man outside, “your report indicated that universal precautions were sufficient for international transport of these ‘classified contagion’ samples. As I have committed to hand-carrying them, despite possessing insufficient clearance to be privileged with details, if it would be best to utilize hazmat gear and airborne pathogen protocols, not only would I appreciate a full disclosure I would consider it your due diligence to do so.”

He nods. “You’re right. You’re right. It’s really an unknown at this point. I’m just being cautious. Using any iteration of the Hulk as a guinea pig is a scenario I strive to avoid.”

“Fair enough.” You click the lid closed, the half dozen tubes of churning red haze goo nestled securely inside. “Do I wait there for test results?”

“Nah,” Bruce says, already on the way back to his microscope. “Thorough runs could take longer than we can spare you here.”  

Smiling, you return your lab coat to it’s hook, smooth your hair, and give the station a once-over, making sure everything has been completed properly. This also serves as a welcome delay to going out those doors and encountering the long-haired enigma who has plagued your thoughts for longer than you care to admit.

“On second thought,” Banner says, peering up over the eyepiece. “She could have a prelim synthesis to send back in no time. Their tech is so different.” 

Taking a deep breath, you gather your gear and subtly check if Barnes is still nearby. Being off-kilter around him, while handling what you suspect is more dangerous than Bruce is letting on, is the last thing you need. 

Being around Barnes doesn’t feel cordial the way it used to. Warm banter that had felt safe.  

You can’t get a read on him, aren’t sure how you feel around him, about him. 

You don’t love him. Probably easily could.

You might fear him. Probably, definitely should. 

You do...care.

Lately, day in, day out, he’s there. Stalking along the periphery, a shuck peering out from woodlands.

He’s charming, affable enough for everyone else’s comfort. He used to be with you, too. 

Even in a crowded room, he  - sullen growl of a man - used to seem alone. The kind of alone that oozes off a person, rolls out from his shoulders. Used to it. Accustomed to it.

Trust only it. 

When you first tried - heart in your throat and skin gooseflesh - when you first stepped up to that guy, part matinee idol, part drive-in backseat rogue, he’d turned in on himself. Tried to force his large frame to disappear. Behind his barriers, he’d just watched you. Wary. Accessing.

But the next time he’d been holding the wall up, ale bottle in loose metal grip, you didn’t have to look for an opening. He’d lifted his chin and inclined his head toward chairs.

After that, the pair of you could be found engaged in long, private conversations. Content to let whatever ruckus go on around you. Foreheads nearly touching. Fingers not-so-casually brushing together. Your stomach flutters at the memory.

Now, his attention makes the hair on your neck stand up at least as much as it travels down your belly, between your thighs. Puts you on edge, mouse batted between paws. 

When you exit the lab, he’s waiting. Leans his back against a column, arms folded. Legs crossed at the ankles, pants taunt were they wrap around his thighs. His eyes flick to you, his only perceived movement. “Whatcha got there, Red?”  He draws each word out as if puffing smoke.

Your eyes go wide before you can stop them. Left corner of his mouth ticks up, goal met. 

The nickname startles you for a moment. It always does. He dusts the name off, digs it out once in awhile, just when you’ve almost forgotten. When you’ve let your mind scab over that single, awkward date. Forgotten how once upon a time, even his team thought you’d “be good together” and made that final push to fix you up. 

It had been right after the rift clone incident. If you’d not been so caught up in him - that red warmth that unfurled in your chest - you should’ve known. Paid attention to his shift, his change. The tragedy of it all.

You’d worn a crimson silk column dress, French twist, Replique dotted on pulse points. 

He’d worn black jeans and blood-dirt under his nails.

Peering at you over his menu, he’d dropped it down and motioned between you both. “You took this seriously, huh?”

Only just enough to have waxed everything reasonably prudent. 

Crestfallen, your shoulders dropped. Clearly, you thought, you’d misread the prior conversations, his lingering looks, mistakenly thought he returned your interest.

Cheeks on fire, you’d started to fold your napkin and push your chair back. “My apologies, Sergeant Barnes. I won’t take up any more of your time. You may return to the Olympic-level brooding of which you are so fond and I will retire for the evening.”

He’d thrown his head back, barked what might’ve been a laugh. “You’ll ‘retire for the evening?’“ Shook his head. “Red, you’re too much.” He grabbed a waiter - not ours, but Barnes didn’t let that stop him - “Bring us that special and a bottle of whatever makes uptight dames spread their legs these days.”

You sat still, mouth open, staring at your fork. 

He reached out, took your hand in his. Seemed to apologize with his eyes. They held yours, sky fading into sapphire. Held you without touching you. 

You look up behind lashes. “Dinner is just...we can have a good time. Talk.”  

“Yeah, let’s have the Blue Plate. See how it goes.,” he said. 

Then, the air had shifted, when he seemed...vulnerable...he pulled away. 

By the end of the night, the pulse pounds in your ears. You’d talked and laughed and when he walked you home, you knew you’d invite him in. You’d always known.  

He’d walked you to your door, eight-to-ten now-uncharacteristically chivalrous inches between your bodies on the way up the steps. Single bulb buzzing overhead. The key had proven elusive. Always on its ring and placed in the back pocket of your purse, your shaking fingers had let it slip down somewhere in your bag. 

He stepped in closer behind you, looking over your shoulder, breath passing over the shell of your ear. “You need a hand there?”

You jolted up straight, back bumping into his chest. “Thank you,” your voice cracked, “but I think I can manage unlocking my own stupid door.”  You inhaled sharply through your nose. “Excuse me,” you said, sounding mousy even to your own ears. “I didn't mean for that to sound so rude.”

“You didn’t, hmm?” He hums, breath slipping down your neck and he wrapped his right hand low around your waist.

“No,” you swallowed hard. Your skin on fire under his palm. 

“So, you’re saying you would like a hand...” He whispered, smoothing cool fingers down along the space between your hip and thigh. 

Limbs shaking, desire and curiosity and confusion swirling in your veins. You tried to find your voice, leaned against his chest’s blister strum. Shuddered as another warm breath huffed over your skin. 

“Y-yes.”

He spun you and you found your back suddenly against the cold, wooden door. His face hovered, lips barely an inch above your own. 

“As much as I think you think you want this.” He traced your collarbone, eyes burrowing into yours. “As much as I enjoy hearing your heart race.” His finger dipped inside your neckline, under the edge of your bra, skimming pebbled flesh. You shuddered, worried some neighbor might be looking, but unable to tear your gaze away from his. 

“Today’s your lucky day, Red. I am gonna leave ya jus’ the way I found ya.” He pressed himself against you, thigh wedged between yours. “‘Cause, if I stay here on this porch one more minute, with you an’ your wide eyes, smelling like sins you don’t begin to understand…” Stubble grazed your cheek. He hummed, words hot and heavy in your ear. “I think I’d ruin you.”

You wanted to grab his hand and hold it there. To ask him in and show what he did to you, to prove to him...to yourself...that this could be good. Special. Right.     

“You wouldn’t ruin me. I - I trust you, ” you squeaked, instead. Tentatively closed that fractional space, brushed your lips against his. 

He didn’t let it become a kiss. “You misunderstand me.” He moved back a bit, pulled his arm free and ran knuckles down between you, tracing your chest and then grabbing tightly around your waist. Pushed you, a quick snap, deeper into the door.

“I want to.”

Then, he’d bound off the porch and down the steps before the night air had even cooled your skin. Calling out behind him as he cut across the grass, “You aren’t ready, little girl.”

His words play back every night as you fall into fitful sleep.

Now, he looks at you knowingly. Like he knows where your mind was, that shared flickering old film reel memory.

You hold up the vials and manage a small laugh. It’s short. Belies your nerves. 

“Oh, I - I have some things to deliver to Shuri. To Shuri’s lab.” 

“Shuri’s lab.” He says, mouth moving as if rolling around an invisible hay straw. He still leans, unblinking, trained on you. 

A moment of silence as he considers you. Electricity buzzes across your skin. Words rush out of you to fill the void. “Shuri’s lab. In Wakanda. Shuri’s lab.”

His eyes crinkle, pleased as you stumble over your words. “Yeah, I’m familiar.” 

Of course he is. You’re supposed to be smarter than this. 

**

Across the hanger, Clint performs his pre-flight checklist. 

“Change of plans,” he calls out, back still turned to you. “Laura’s got me roped into filming a play tonight.”

“Okay,” you say, unable to fault her for wanting to keep Clint as retired as possible. “I need to put these samples back on ice then.” You start to head back when a shadow emerges from inside the jet. 

Clint says, dryly, “You’re going. Looks like I'm still the only one around here who doesn’t have a Wakanda stamp on my passport.”

Barnes peers down from the quinjet ramp, takes the checklist, and winks. Your stomach drops. 

Clint claps him on the shoulder. “Say ‘hi’ to those damn goats for me.”

Once inside the jet, Barnes gestures toward the insulated box you carry. “That it there? What did Barton call it? Funky Cold Medina?”

Of course. Yes, naturally. That’s exactly what it would be. Aphrodisiac Pheromones. Sex Pollen. 

The mystery of why evil organizations frequently leave a cache of screw-or-die juice sitting around abandoned complexes for wandering bands of Do-Gooders to uncover is as baffling as why they consider rampant libido to be a great offensive strategy in the first place. 

Nodding curtly, acting unruffled by the news, you brush past him and secure it in the cooler. 

**

The plane is at cruising altitude before either of you speak again.

“How long has it been since you’ve been to Wakanda?” You venture, throat tight.

He runs his tongue along his teeth, never looking away from the sky, then answers, “Haven’t been back since Strange showed up.”  He pauses, then continues, “Used to have a nice place there. Best view. Sunsets over still water.” Leans slightly out of his seat in your direction. “I think I wanna take you there.”

A smile comes over you, wide and almost hurting your cheeks. This glimpse of how he’d been, hope tingles along your arms. 

“I’d love that.” And you would. Have him let you in, return to where he’d been and who he was.

“Sure thing,” he says, voice lilting out on a devil smirk. “I could take you there. It’s...secluded. Make you scream.”

“Why do you do that?” The tingles take on a different tenor. 

“Do what?” He sounds believably innocent in the way a prostitute dresses up like a nun. 

You fidget, nails scratching a foreign itch on your palms, and chastise yourself, reminded again why it’s better when you don’t get your hopes up. Don’t act on your urge to spend time with him.  Your once almost more-than-friend...your wishful thinking...seems gone for good. Now, when he comes around, it feels like finding yourself suddenly teetering on a high ledge when you’d expected grass between your toes. 

“Why must you be so...so, crude?” 

“It is. I am. That’s the point though, isn’t it?  You like it,” he says matter-of-factly, looking you up and down, “Hell, you crave it. And that’s what’s got you confused, all tied up in knots.” He turns in his chair, arms bent and leaning on his knees, casual, is if he was discussing new coffee in the common room or a cell phone plan. “Because you’re stuck thinking the goal is a fella wife-ing you up,” he snorts.

“Hell, Red, you’re still stuck thinking you want a guy grunting on top of you Tuesdays from 9 to 9:10 with a meatloaf pan soaking in the sink.” He shakes his head. ”You have hangs-ups and I’m not gonna play along with them like that boring ass agent you wasted time on.”

“Stop,” you whisper. “Please, stop trying to scare me.”

He blows out a lungful of air. “It doesn’t scare you. That I could just take it. That I could have you - have you in all the ways that you won’t let yourself think you want. The thoughts you kill before you can admit them in the back of that beautiful mind of yours. I could have you every one of those ways. But, that’s not how I want it. Not how I want you. What scares you,” he says, leaning in. “What scares you is, that I won’t. I won’t let you keep fooling yourself about what you really want. 

“You know, deep down you know, that’s not how it’s gonna happen. You gotta admit what you need.”

He inches a little closer. “You’re gonna have to beg.”

Your heart stops, eyes unblinking. “You’re wrong.”

“No,’ he says, returning to the controls and beginning your descent. “No, you’re wrong - and I’m a different kind of wrong. I’m so wrong that I’m the only thing right.”

Your head pounds. Stomach lurches as the plane breaks beneath the clouds. “You used to be my friend,” you half-mumble, staring down at your knees. “Sweetheart,” he punches the word out, saccharine-sweet, “I was never meant to be your friend.”

**

Silence stretches out for several more minutes. Only the engine’s hum, lull and dense, barely bats at the thoughts raging in your mind. Barnes’ words, his presence, suffocates you. Even strapped securely in his pilot seat, it feels like he’s crushing your lungs.

The plane lands in an outlying region. 

“I should be back by four,” you spit, container swinging wildly from your fist. The walk is probably twenty minutes from here and you relish the idea of having the quiet to process things.

“Orders are I make sure you’re safe.” He falls in step.

You spin and push a single finger into his chest, stopping him in his tracks. “Your services are not needed, Barnes.”

“Don’t be like that,” he snaps, serious. “Just because you’re pissed at me for saying shit you don’t wanna hear, don’t put yourself in danger.”

“Danger? I think I’m infinitely safer out here. It’s Wakanda, the most advanced place on the planet!” You sweep your arms wide toward the city in the distance, towers like exclamation points jutting out of fields. “I’ll be fine. Besides, the plane could have flown directly to the palace but you’re the one who elected to land way out here.”

He pushes his hair out of his face, holding it up and off his neck. You notice the curve, the warm, inviting color of his skin. He looks out toward the trees, calm as anything, like your outburst never happened. “Guess I can check out the old stomping ground.”

Fighting the urge to flip him off, you march down the ramp, leaving him standing there. “By all means. Go have congress with a goat for all I care.”

**

Mid afternoon, as soon as you break the tree line on your return, he emerges from the woods. Appears freshly bathed in the river, mane wet and loose, shirt clinging to his frame. 

“After you,” he smiles, wolfish, and bows exaggeratedly, inviting you to go first up the ramp. 

Your eyes narrow, but you climb inside anyway. 

Suddenly, coming around from behind you, his hand reaches for the biohazard bag containing the single tube Shuri had sent back.

“What are you doing?” You snatch the bag away, crushing it to your body.

He throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Begging your pardon. Just trying to be a gentleman and carry your bag.”

“Knock it off, Barnes. If you’ve got a predilection for hearing every woman throw themselves at your feet, you can satiate it someplace else.” 

“Oh, I can. Just don’t wanna.” His eyes narrow on the bag and he wrenches it out of your grasp, tosses it unceremoniously into the cooler and slams the door 

You watch the cooler as if the door might burst open and the horny wrath of Hell take flight about the cabin.  When it remains undisturbed until Barnes completes the pre flight rituals, you finally allow yourself to breathe a little deeper and turn away from it.  

“And you wound me,” he croons, spinning his seat into position. “It’s not every woman.”

You roll your eyes, strap in, and swear you’re never giving him the satisfaction of hearing you speak again. 

That resolve, among other things, breaks over the Atlantic.

The air fills, flowery. Like a florist’s shoppe - oh. Oh, god no -  so many scents it feels fake. Cloying and sweet. 

“Wha-What is- we need to land!”

He holds his hand up toward the windshield, water as far as the eye can see. “No problem. Just shout ‘ahoy’ when you spot some dirt.”

You fling aside the belt and run toward the cooler.  Viscous sludge flows slick as mercury on the floor around it. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Barnes yells from the cockpit. 

You start rummaging through cabinets, looking for something, anything. “Maybe I can dilute it, cut the effects.” You open the cooler and pull the bag out. It’s ruptured, the vial broken and plastic cut, or eaten away by the chemical, it’s hard to tell at this point. 

“By touching it?!” He punches in codes hard enough the key clanks echo. “Stop, just - just wait. Wait two seconds until I can find out what’s what.”

You fling the near empty bag at the back of the plane. “You! You did this on purpose!” The plastic thumps, hollow against the metal door. A roaring, mute thing.

Barnes shakes his head once, hisses between clenched teeth, “You’re the one who smashed it against their chest.” 

Then, he cleanly switches tone - deep and clear - speaking into his earpiece. “Banner. Yeah, we have a situation here.

“The package Shuri sent back has been compromised. We’re mid flight, no safe place to put her down. Need to mitigate effects. Please advise.”  He pauses, presumably listening to Bruce, then purses his lips. “Nothing? Banner, are you sure?” Turns again, gives you a gauging look.

This can’t be happening. Can’t. You start to shake, knees going out from under you.

He keeps his eyes on you, touches the earpiece. “Nothing. Understood. Barnes out.” Then rips it off and throws it hard enough to shatter.

A thousand thoughts swirl at once. Is it really going to work? How long do you have? What if you go at it like rabbits who just got out of prison and then have to face him day-after-day? What if it works on you both but he resists? 

Preemptive humiliation, clawing feral behind your ribs, the terror of possibly being rejected if you, if you...finally admit...

Then, Barnes is there, crouched down beside you, offers you his hand. You wave it away. 

“Doll,” he says, soft, like one might coax a fawn to take berries. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Sniffling, you shake your head. 

“C’mon,” he says softer yet and backing up, giving you space. “Get out of that. Come, sit.” 

You look down and realize the liquid is seeping toward you. Some on your leg. Scrambling past him you make it to the other side of the cabin and slump back down to the floor. He moves away from the spill, but keeps his distance, placing himself on the other side of the aisle. 

“Why?” Betrayal pours out of you.

He sits down on the floor opposite you. Legs bent and knees up, hands clasped and hanging between. “You gotta believe me, the very last thing I want is something happening between us that’s not real.”

You stare at him. He seems so genuine in this moment. But, you force focus, because this is how he always is, right before he pulls the rug out from under you.

When you don’t reply, he breaks the silence again. “Besides, maybe it doesn’t even work. Hasn’t kicked in already. That’s a good sign. I’ve been around that type of shit before,” he pauses, looking off to the right, unfocused on something that isn’t really there, remembering some horror you don’t want to contemplate. “It’s not always so bad.” He shrugs, picks a string off his pants. “Even if it is, if it is...bad, I know I can hold off.”

You can’t look at him. Not when his voice is soft and his words are kind and he reminds you so much of the man you fell...the man you...

dammit.

He gets up slowly. Checks the autopilot. Eases back down where he was. Boots scuffing out in front of him along the metal floor.

“Did you mean what you said?” You venture. He just raises his eyebrows. “When you said you wanted something real with me-with us?” You elaborate, barely audible. 

He clears his throat, rearranges himself on the floor. Stares off at nothing. “Why else would I hold off all this time? At first, sure, I thought you were interesting enough. Probably good for letting off steam.” He looks to you for a moment, then away again. “Then, you just sorta snuck in. Took over. You and your little button up sweaters.” Gives a little chuckle. “Fucking seduced me with your cardigans and ‘Nova’ recaps.” 

Mulling it over, you start to ask, “Then, why do you-”

“You know why.”

He blows out a lungful of air.  “Because I’m not settling for half-ass. Never had much. But they always find a way to take even more.” 

So torn up in your own stupid fears - selfish, petty girl - you never thought about his lot in this. A sob punches out of you. Made and unmade. So many times. Here’s another time, one more damned time, he faces control of himself being torn away.

You don’t know how long you sit there, crying into your hand. Eventually, he swipes a tear from your face. 

He scoots back away. But his touch...lingers. He watches you trace where he’d been, little lightning strikes that turn and shift, then burn. Burns past your skin, thrums in your veins.

“It’s happening.”

“Nah, Doll. We’re halfway home, we’re not gonna do anything we don’t want to do.” 

His voice, coffee rich and smoke, settles in your belly. Your hips clench, rock. You think, this must be the cusp, there’s more to come, but you want to tell him, show him...feel him before you’re so far gone it’s a blur.

Hazy want swirls around him, poppies and violets and jet fuel in the air. Your hand sneaks up under your shirt, the rough outline of it juts out over your breast. He’s sitting up now. Licks his lips. 

“I can’t - noooo,” you say, breathless. It’s scorching now. Boiling, latent want bubbling up. You pull your shirt off, burning.

“I can’t wait,” you plead. He looks so good, always looks so damned good. “I don’t want to wait.”

His back goes straight. Muscles tense. Ready to pounce. 

“Not like this.” His breath has picked up. “Not if you think you can tell yourself later that it was chemicals talking.”

“You want real, Barnes? I’ll give you real,” you purr. Stretch out lythe before him. It’s not so bad, but you know it will be. “I do want this. I want you. Always have.”

He smiles, crooked, but doesn’t move. “That’s nice. Real nice to hear.” Watches your hand go under your clothes, between your legs. “That’s not enough. I could’ve had you back then. Back on your porch. Had you a couple times. Taken the edge off. Maybe gotten it outta our systems. But,” he stops for a moment, seeming to reconsider when you moan as you slip between your folds. He palms the hard length of him. “that’s not enough. I want all of you.”

Electric yearning rolls your shoulders, pressure between your legs frustrating. “Please.”

“‘Please’ what?” He shifts again, watching you, sweat forming on his brow. Fists clenched at his sides.

“I don’t want to date you, Red. Don’t wanna be your boyfriend or any fucking trivial thing like marriage.” Stares you down, blue boring into your soul. “I want more than that meaningless shit.”

Your mind is nothing but the want of him - broad shoulders, his gravel-tired voice, the thick of him. 

Skin on fire with tremors. “Anything you want, Bucky. Everything. Please. I just, just-” you moan, a twisted mess on the floor before him. Voice a shuddered breath.  “You’re right. I want you everywhere. Mark me up. Show me - show me you own me.”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” Then, he’s there. Hands holding your jaw, angling you open, tongue a deep slide. He breaks free, swallows your breaths, presses his head to yours. 

He’s out of his clothes while you fumble with what’s left of your own. They start to rip. “Shush. Let me.” Deftly, he undoes them, sets you free. “You need to wear these later. No one gets to see but me.” His eyes sparkle mischief until the thin sky edge gives way to black.

Cool fingers slide inside you. One, then two. Curl and pump, wet and obscene. Moments and, you’re there. “I’m gonna...I’m gonna come.”

He doesn't let up. “Yeah you are. Give it to me.”  Your head falls forward, clinging, hanging on through a silent scream, wet rushes past his wrist.

“My turn,” he snarls. Towers over your, pushes a finger past your lips, hooks it around you cheek, and pulls you to his cock. Pressure and he angles your face up, finger replaced by thumbs at each side pulling your mouth wide - drool pooling - and pushes the tip onto your tongue. 

You give a tentative lick. Try to work the girth of him while he holds you open. “Look at me,” he says, hair a veil framing his face. “You can do better than that. Don’t hold back.”

You keep your eyes on him, nudge his hands away, work him halfway down, salty musk on the back of your tongue. 

“This ain’t about you being passive, Sugar. Come on. Show me what I do to you. Fucking treat me right,” he growls, grabs your head and shoves as you gag. “I didn’t spend months coming in my own hand, thinking about you, biding my time - waiting to do this right - for you to barely-” 

Fast, determined, almost angry, you swallow him down as far as possible, eyes wet and blurred.  Find the spot behind him, between his legs, warm, heavy, and rub in tight ovals. “Fuuuck - yesssss.” He twists your hair in his hands - holding you in your place. 

“That’s it. Oh god, Sugar, you didn’t just come up with that. What else you got hiding, waiting to show me? So fuckin -“ he shudders as you massage him more, pinky brushing farther back. 

He laughs, surprised. “Dirty girl.” He pulls out, then wraps his hand around your neck, squeezing himself there as he pushes back in. “You got the sweetest goddamn throat.” Thrusts while you run your circuits until he empties himself, head thrown back and thighs straining.

He moves faster than should be humanly possible, unfurls his jacket over the floor grid, and pulls you over it. Wads his shirt under your knees.

“Floor’s hard,” he says, chest rising and falling rapidly. “I only want you feelin’ me.”

“Spread.” He smacks your ass with a sting.

You obey, arch your back, offer yourself. He dives in with his mouth, tongue in deep. When he starts to thumb your clit, constellations bursting behind your eyes, you stop him. “In me. I want to come with you inside me. Only with you inside me.”

He smiles, face slick with you. Straightens, grabs your hips and pulls you to him as he starts his slide in. 

You mewl, palms flat and fingers splayed. Try to relax through the stretch and drag, strain to take the rest of him.

He runs his hand over your spine. “Just a little more, baby,” he coos. “Fuck. Look at you. Takin’ me so good.

“You’re mine. The moment I heard your heart race, you were mine. When I made you wait, you were still mine. When I told you to beg for it and you did, you were mine. When I told you to spread your legs and you did it, you were mine.” He makes a final push, fully seated, sharp spark at your end. Holds you there, pulsing. Then, pulls out long, begins again. 

It’s everything you ever wanted. He was so right. So, so right and you can’t believe you waited for so long and you really need to thank Shuri for not inventing vibranium test tubes. 

“When that bastard wearing my face looked at you, looked at you like he had the right, that’s when-”  He moans long and low, makes a particularly full stroke, air sucking through his teeth. 

“That’s when I knew. No other man could have you. Even if that man was me.”

His hands dig into your hips. Anchoring you. He holds you open, watching. Cold thumb follows the line down the center of you. Stops above where you meet. Pad runs over where you’re tight and untested. 

“Pleeeease,” you keen. You need him. Need him everywhere. 

His hips falter, finesse sacrificed to curious need. 

“Has anyone been in here before?”

“No,” you mewl, debauched, wanton. 

His pace picks up. Harder, slamming, sting against cervix. “I need in there. Fuck. Sugar, let me in.”

Beyond words, you tilt your hips and push back, forcing him in knuckle deep.

“Only me,” he roars. “Promise me. Swear.” He angles over you, spreads you out, chest crushing to the floor. His free hand finds your neck. Pins your down. Breath harsh beside your ear.

“You. Only you.” You come, crying and clenching around him in all the places he is within. 

He pulls out. Kisses your face as he lifts you, turns you to him.

He settles between your waiting thighs - surrounds, nuzzles in, taking in your scent - until there’s nothing you can see, or feel, think, that isn’t him. 

Then he stills. Then watches. Then breathes.

Brushes his warm hand along the curve of your face. Presses a kiss, pillow soft. Weight pinning you down. He pushes fully back in, his head breaking skyward as you take him. 

Hips rolling full - the drag and curve brings him to your chest. His tongue slips along you breast, seeks and teases. Licks and pulls you in. 

His hands wrap around your thighs, anchors you, opens you up. Kisses deep and pushes in, until you’ve run out of you and he’s run out of him.

“Fuuuck, you feel so good. I knew you would. Thought about you every fu- every fucking day.” 

He stops for a moment, beaming down at you. You realize you were the one talking.   

“That’s my girl.” 

Then, he’s moves, ruts, whispers faint praise into your skin. Low. Can’t quite hear.

And you want to hear.

You want to taste his secrets and feel his sounds and listen to his mouth on you.

You push up into him, hard, matching him. You explode again, suddenly. 

“Fuuuuck.  He swells. Rhythm falters. Marks your walls. 

After, you tuck into his side, both of you curled up on the floor. His face is finally relaxed, serene. You press your lips above his heart.

“Bucky, I want you to know, I wanted this, I will always want this. I am yours. It wasn’t just the chemicals.”

He kisses the sweat and tears from your face. Tucks your hair behind your ear. “I know, Red, I know,” he says, eyes sparkling, voice sincere, “Bruce said there was ‘nothing’ to worry about. That wasn’t the pollen - that was just the antidote.”

[until-theend-oftheline]

Pumpkins

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Squares Filled: Buying Flowers for No Reason @marvelfluffbingo​ 

Warnings: Pumpkins (but human and the actual ones) - Seb’s also kind of a warning but the best kind.   

Word Count: 2000ish

A/N:  This is part of my LLL Universe. It takes place about a week before Halloween 2019 but it can also as always be read as a one-shot.

Betaed by: the amazing @blacktithe7​ - thanks for helping out on short notice hon!

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

You hadn’t been overly happy about all the meetings you had today, but the tour for “This Is Us” and your solo album didn’t plan itself. Your managers and every other person involved were busy too, so today had to be the day, even if it had been one of the last days Sebastian had home before traveling back and forth between Atlanta and New York began. That was life though, and luckily it was all over and done with now. You were just looking forward to spending the night with your family. 

You drew a sigh of relief when you walked through the door, closing your eyes as the feel and smell of home hit you. You slowly opened your eyes, and a smile spread across your face as you saw the huge bucket of flowers standing on the buffet cabinet in the hallway. It wasn’t unlike Sebastian to surprise you with something, but flowers were rare for some reason. You took a few steps forward to admire and smell them, and your smile only grew as you saw the card attached in the middle. You quickly snatched it and read it, smiling so hard that your cheeks hurt.

True love is friendship set on fire. 

Yours always and forever 

-Seb

Just like that, with a few simple words, the stress of the day washed off you completely, and nothing but pure happiness filled your chest. He always seemed to know exactly what you needed before you did. He was your best friend, and your heart truly was blazing with the love you felt for him now and every day. 

You lifted up the flowers gently, carrying them with you into the living room where you could really enjoy them. You smiled as you heard the laughter spreading through the house from the kitchen. You quickly set down the flowers, smelling them again and smiling before turning around to join your family in whatever they were doing to your kitchen.

You stopped dead in your tracks when you saw them. You were expecting a mess. Sebastian wasn’t a world-class chef, but he made do in the kitchen. When he was joined by the kids, he lost his focus fast, and that showed more in the mess around them than it affected how much fun the kids were having or the general state of the food. You were fine with the occasional mess. You know the kids loved spending time with their daddy, and Sebastian was an amazing father. Which was more important than the momentarily suffering of your poor kitchen. 

You hadn’t expected no food being prepared though, and you certainly hadn’t expected everyone and everything to be orange. You didn’t say anything, and no one saw you. You just stood there with your mouth gaping open before shaking your head and smiling. You leaned against the doorway to watch your little family a moment longer. 

The floor, counters, and table were completely covered in pumpkin goo. Sebastian had goo in his hair and on his pants as he patiently helped Isabella carve out the drawing she had painted on her pumpkin, while she was babbling in his ear about the next drawing she was making in a smaller pumpkin. Her white dress was now more orange than white, and she had black marker on her cheek and pumpkin caught in her hair just like her dad. 

Alex was sitting on the table next to Sebastian. The little boy had a very gleeful look on his face as he was digging out the goo from a third or fourth or fifth pumpkin. The longer you looked, the more you lost count. Sebastian had clearly taken the kids shopping and hadn’t been able to say no when they went overboard. He had happily gotten the kids what you, this far, counted to be ten pumpkins, keeping the smile on their faces. He was a bit of a pushover at times, but the kids loved him. They were having fun, which was the most important thing. It wasn’t like you were going bankrupt from a few extra pumpkins, and you did have three balconies to put them on; so what the hell right?  

“Not on the floor, Monkey,” Sebastian attempted to keep some order to the chaos when Alex pushed the mountain of goo out of his way and onto the floor next to Seb and the chair Isabella was standing on. 

The warmth as you watched your family grew. As much as you wanted to jump in several times you were happy just watching from the sidelines as well. The love between your favorite three people in the world was more than evident, and you couldn’t get enough of seeing them together like this, making memories that would last a lifetime. It wasn’t until Alex pushed the goo onto the floor and Sebastian’s failed attempt at control the warm grew into a bubbling fire in your chest and you couldn’t help but giggle. All three of them quickly looked up and turning their heads to look at you walking up to them. 

“I think that ship sailed about three pumpkins ago,” you teased, making Sebastian rolled his eyes, understanding your joke even if the kids didn’t.  

“Mommy look,” Alex held up his small fists filled with pumpkin goo, before letting it splatter onto the table. Sebastian and you couldn’t help but laugh. 

“You’re very good at that, Monkey,” you giggled, kissing his chubby cheek, tasting the pumpkin and wrinkling your nose a little before turning your attention to Isabella. 

“Mommy look. I drew the one Daddy is carving, and Alex drew that one,” she pointed before jumping off the chair and taking your hand. “Daddy’s is really good though. Look, it’s a spider.” She said sounded impressed. You could see why too, Sebastian was quite the artist when he wanted to be. 

“They are all amazing, Isa.” You knelt down next to her letting her hug you, not caring you would soon be as orange as your little family. “I can’t wait to see them out on the balcony with lights in them. It’s gonna look amazing honey.”

“I think so too,” Isabella beamed giving you a kiss before crawling back onto the chair next to her dad. 

“Did you guys save me a pumpkin?” you asked, wrapping your arms around Seb’s middle from behind and resting your head against his arm, peeking around him. 

He smiled sheepishly, looking down at you. “There are still about eight in the bag over there,” he nodded towards the kitchen counter, and you threw your head back laughing. 

“We went a little overboard,” he admitted, as you shook your head, kissing his cheek.

“Only a little?” you teased as you went to pick out your own pumpkin and joining your son in making a mess emptying it. 

The four of you stayed in the kitchen for the next two hours. Laughing, making a mess, cutting and drawing until there were no more pumpkins but the two very alive ones on your tabletop.

“Right. Who wants pizza for dinner?” Sebastian asked with a grin, looking around the kitchen. He must have realized if the two of you had to clean it before starting dinner and then eating, it would be close to midnight before the kiddos got to bed. Pizza would spare you from having to cook, and it wouldn’t matter if cleaning the kitchen was all done before or after the kids were in bed. You could start now but finish later. 

“Meeeee,” Alex and Isa both bounced off the table and were dancing around their laughing dad, while you looked on with a smile. Your eyes meet Sebastian’s and you mouthed an “I love you” to him that made him beam just as brightly as your children. 

“Okay. Pizza after bathtime,” Sebastian ordered, making Alex whine loudly, but Isabella just grabbed his hand to get his attention. 

“We can have a bath together and you can play with my fish if you want?” she suggested, and Alex stopped crying as quickly as he had begun. He loved Isabella’s fish but more than that he loved spending time with his big sister. 

Isabella sent her dad a proud smile when he ruffled her hair. 

“Good girl.”

“We’ll get ready. If you fill the tub and give us the towels when we call, I can help Alex and you and mom can clean the kitchen,” Isabella announced, causing both your and Sebastian's jaws to drop without her realizing it. The little girl just skipped ahead of her brother, with his hand still in hers, as they talked about the games they were gonna play with her fishies. 

“Okay she is growing up way too fast,” Sebastian grumbled when they were out of earshot, making you laugh and wrap your arms around him from the side. He quickly pulled you in front of him and into a proper hug as you looked up at him with a soft smile. 

“She’ll always be your little girl,” you promised, smiling when you saw the pain in his eyes, and you knew he was already picturing her going off to college and getting married. 

“Seb. She’s five,” you laughed, giving his butt a squeeze, and he groaned playfully, dipping down to kiss you. 

He stopped just before your lips met, whispering, “six in a month. She is practically already grown up.” 

He smiled, swallowing your giggles with his kiss, not breaking it before Isabella’s voice sounded through the apartment. 

“Daddy! We’re ready soon. Come turn on the water please.”

“Well little miss gown up still can’t reach the faucet honey,” you teased, squealing when Sebastian pinched your butt in retaliation. 

“Smartass,” he grinned. “Did you like the flowers?”

“Oh you mean the bribe?” you teased. 

Sebastian’s face fell instantly and he started stammering. “It wasn’t… I mean we hadn't even bought the pumpkins when I….” he tried to explain, before you stopped him, gently cupping his face in your hands. 

“I know. I was just teasing. I’m sorry. I love them. And I’m keeping the card,” you assured him, and Sebastian lit up instantly, leaning in to give you a kiss. 

“I love you,” he said softly, rubbing his nose against yours as he pulled away. 

“I’ll love you always and forever too,” you smiled up at him. Before Sebastian could reply Isabella yelled again. 

“Daddy! Water!”

You threw your head back laughing, and Sebastian rolled his eyes lovingly. “Just as bossy as her mom,” he mumbled. He grinned and ducked out of the way of the projectile pumpkin goo that you threw his way with a laugh as he headed for the door. 

“I’ll order the pizza. You better be back here to help me clean up when I am done,” you warned playfully. 

Sebastian laughed, calling back to you on his way to the kids' bathroom, “Like I said. Bossy!”

You smiled as you went to get your phone, passing the flowers and Sebastian’s card on the way. He couldn’t have been more accurate. You were friends, best friends, and you always would be. He was the one you wanted to share the good and the bad with. He was the one that could always make you laugh and feel like everything was going to be okay. He was always the most handsome man you’d ever met and the only guy to have ever earned and held your heart truly and safely. Your relationship was loving, teasing, and warm. He was the love of your life and the father of your two beautiful kids. Your version of love was most certainly friendship set on fire, and you didn’t want it any other way, nor did you want to share your life with anyone else. Sebastian was it for you, and you were living your happiest life with him. 

Reblogs spread my work and make me happy. Got a favorite part/line? Did something touch you? Do you relate in some way? Please tell me and make my day. 

Sebastian Stan Tag Team

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