#what happened is i saved charlie's apartment and a couple other builds a few days before i deleted my build folder

[tricoufamily]

also i finally worked up the courage to see the damage after accidentally not saving beckett's trailer cc. i'm gonna cry

[raindownforme]

“I love you” in Comic Sans (pt2!)

Charlie Slimecicle x reader [they/them used](CW: slightly sexist content)

Schlatt shoved y/n through the door way. The first person they looked for was Charlie, who was staring at them with wide eyes.

Of course Charlie was angry; he was angry and worried and quite honestly pissed off! Only moments ago Traves and Cooper had run in to tell him that Schlatt was holding y/n outside the front door. He had wanted so desperately to go out there and whisk them away from whatever Schlatt was planning, but before he could actualise a thought process they had both stumbled through the door. Watching y/n stand there, dressed to marry him, he felt his heart leave his chest and soar high up above him. The hood resting gently on their head and the cape swirling around their feet was pretty of course, but the second they made eye contact with Charlie, y/n smiled so wide that he felt invincible. He stood at the altar, watching as someone handed them the bouquet of flowers. He watched as they smiled, staring at the bright blue cornflowers, then smiling back to him. They mouth thank you and he felt his face burn bright pink.

He heard Schlatt mutter “come on” and shove y/n forward. As Schlatt slowly walked them towards the altar, Charlie felt anger boil from deep inside of himself. He saw Schlatt continue to whisper in their ear, and after what felt like ages (even though it was probably ten seconds) y/n and Schlatt now stood across from him at the altar.

“Thank you Schlatt, that will be all from you.” Ted did his best to excuse the man from the scene, but he didn’t seem to want to let go without a final word.

Schlatt turned to Charlie, poison dripping from each word. “Every bit as real as you think this is, the day this is over is the same day I put a bounty on both of your heads.”

Everyone watched as Schlatt walked towards the back few rows of the church and took the seat next to Connor.

Ted cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved, we have gathered here today....”

Charlie zoned out as Ted continued the speech. He stared at y/n, who kept glancing between either Ted or their conjoined hands. Charlie looked down at their hands, too. Ever so gently, he ran his thumb over the back of their hand, smiling to himself. y/n squeezed his hand and he looked back up to them. They silently mouthed to him, this is real.

Charlie smiled, unsure of how to feel. Off of basic instinct he was elated. The idea that the person he was in love with wanted to marry him set his soul on fire, but knowing that all of this was just political confused him. They must mean real for Schlatt, right? Real for him? Because Charlie was convinced there was no way this would be real like he wanted it to be real.

“Do you have rings?” Ted’s voice cut through Charlie’s thoughts and he came to the quick realization of-

“Oh my god I forgot the rings.” Charlie huffed in frustration. “I am so sorry-“

“Hey it’s okay. We’ll go get some tomorrow. We can pick out ones we like. Together.” y/n smiled at Charlie and then looked back to Ted. “We have no rings.”

Ted nodded, a small smirk on his face. “Any vows then?”

“Oh I’ve got this one covered.” Charlie let go of y/n to reach into his breast pocket and pull out a set of hot pink flash cards. “Here watch this.”

Charlie made a gesture to clear his throat and y/n let out a laugh. “Oh god I might divorce you now.”

Charlie laughed, adjusting his glasses a bit before diving into the speech. “y/n, I’ve only known you for probably a year. Maybe two. But I know that I can say with all of my heart that I will love you through thick and thin, especially through the slime of it all. But I love you and I’m excited to spend my life with you.”

He slipped away the cards to see y/n stifling a laugh. He went to grab their hand and they did their best to swallow the smile. “Alright. My turn. Uhm. Unfortunately, I didn’t have anything special prepared like you but I can tell you that every single day you find some way to make me smile and every single day I seem to find some way to make you smile. And putting together everything I know, that makes me feel like you are who I am supposed to spend the rest of my life with, which is such a relief because I love you so, so much Charlie.”

The couple stared at each other, smiling, until Ted brought them back to the ceremony. He held out a small book and a quill dipped in blue ink. “With no objections, would you both please sign this?”

y/n went to sign the certificate in the book first, ending with a swirly flourish. Charlie signed the line underneath, but his looked closer to chicken scratch.

Ted closed the book and held it with both hands. “I pronounce you two, married!”

Charlie wrapped his arms around y/n’s waist, expecting a hug, but instead they grabbed his face and kissed him. Charlie could feel them smiling against his lips and he felt like fire works. He felt like sparks were running under his skin from everywhere they were touching; the hands on his cheeks, their lips against his, his hands against their back. He picked them up, arms still around their waist and spun them in a circle.

y/n stopped kissing Charlie to laugh and bury their face in the crook of his neck, but they didn’t want to. When they kissed Charlie it felt electrifying. It felt whole, like something that had been missing.

Charlie pulled apart from them, still keeping hands on their waist, still smiling wide enough to make sure his face hurt for the rest of the week. “Hey,” he whispered just loud enough for y/n and Ted to hear. “If we give Ted those flowers we can take the book and book it.”

y/n giggled and nodded. They quickly exchanged the items with Ted. And then, hand in hand, the two ran down the aisles of the church and out into the open air.

———

Three weeks had passed since the wedding. In that time, they’d been able to move all of y/n’s stuff to a new house buried in a forested hill. Their house and home garden were well-hidden, but even if something were to happen, Charlie���s home was a three-minute horse ride away.

It had only taken a week to dig out the hill side and build the house, but even after that Charlie had offered to stay with y/n to make sure they felt safe. So for the past three weeks, Charlie had spent every waking day and night at y/n’s house, save for the very few times he had something to attend to.

Today was one of those days. It was late in the afternoon. The sun was about to set, so y/n waited patiently next to the window until their husband came home. It wasn’t unusual for Charlie to be more late than he had originally said. The boy got distracted quite often, whether it was some antics one of his friends had gotten stuck in or something new someone made. But y/n still couldn’t help the anxious feeling that itched beneath their skin.

They sat in their obsessive thoughts for a while longer before they heard the familiar knock at the door. He always knocked the same way, and he would wait for y/n to knock the same way back, which they happily ran to the door to do, then they turned the deadbolt.

Charlie burst through the door, holding his arms out wide as if he were addressing a large crowd. “Hey!”

“Hey! Why are you breathing so hard?”

“Oh. Right.” Charlie shut the door behind himself and set a box from his back pocket on the table near the door. “Well I was in town and I’m not sure who it was but someone built the coolest thing! It’s this big planet and there’s a ring around it like that one planet-“

“Saturn?”

“-yeah Saturn! Which Is why I ran here to tell you because I had the perfect thing to say.”

Charlie opened the box he had set down earlier and pulled out two smaller black velvet boxes. y/n gasped, trying not to hold their breath. “Charlie, what is this?”

“I told you I’d get you a ring! And now you can be saturn! Or we could be Saturn!” Charlie opened the small box and inside was a simple silver band ring engraved with twisting vines and cornflowers to decorate the outside, but on the inside of the band, the wedding date was engraved in comic sans. y/n laughed at the gift, taking it out of the box and slipping it onto their ring finger. Somehow, it fit perfectly. Charlie started explaining something, but all y/n could focus on was not crying. They were gently snapped back into focus when Charlie placed his hand gently on their face and brushed their cheek with his thumb. “Are you okay? You look like you’re crying.”

“Yeah. No I’m fine.”

“Is it the ring? Because I can return them if you want. You don’t even have to pay me back.”

“Charlie its not the rings-“

“Is it something I can fix? At least tell me that-“

“Charlie I love you.” He released his hold on their face and stared in shock. “I’ve been in love with you forever now. That’s why I didn’t want to marry you. I knew you’d be too good of a guy and you’d make it so much harder to not say anything but I’m really worried now that whenever you leave me to marry someone else it’s going to kill me.” Charlie stared at y/n softly. They glanced to see the ring sitting in the box in his other hand and they groaned. “I just embarrassed myself didn’t I?”

“No, y/n-“

“No it’s okay I know you were being nice but you can leave-“

Charlie, with one hand against their cheek and the other wrapped around their waist, pulled y/n in for a kiss. His glasses pushed against their brow and they gasped before they could appropriately react, but Charlie melted at the feeling of y/n smiling against him and the fire works going off under his skin, and y/n smiled as the electricity raced through them.

Charlie pulled the two of them apart, but still rested his forehead against y/n’s. “When you kissed me, it was like fireworks went off everywhere. I wanted to do it every single day. I want to hold your hand every single day, and come home to you at night, and tell you about the wild shit I find in town, and maybe start a store or something so we don’t go broke, and I want to wake up with you. And I want to do all those things because I have loved you for so long. So when you told me it was real I was ecstatic. And you telling me this now makes me happier than I was then.”

“Charlie?”

“Yes?”

“I want the store with you. And the hand holding. And the coming home at night. And everything else you said.”

“Good. Now can you actually tell me if you like the rings? Because you didn’t before.”

y/n laughed, pulling Charlie into a full hug. “Did it have to be comic sans?”

He mumbled intoto the crook of their neck. “I love you too.”

————

Tags: @rosefreckles06 @short-potato

[buddielove]

Hi! I'm a gay fan of 911 and I have a question about the whole Buddie fandom. As much as I like Buck and Eddie, it's frustrating that a HUGE part of the fandom is pushing for these two characters to get together instead of putting energy into supporting Hen & Carla and Michael & Dave. Not to mention Carlos and TK in Lone Star. Can you explain to me the appeal of wanting these two men together? Wouldn't it be more interesting to see two heterosexual males just be able to bond in a non-toxic fashion? That's something we don't get to see often on television.

Hey! This is MAD long lmao I am so sorry! You caught me on a day I felt like talking! Also this took like a year to answer you lolololol. This does have a few ʻhot takesʻ so please be warned! So like in this essay....

So first I am also apart of the LGBTQIA+ community, so I do understand how it could come across as a fetish or being non supportive of the current canonically LGBTQIA+ characters, however I think a lot of the interest around Buddie and the want for them to be confirmed as a couple is how they are being written. Me personally I knew since s2 e1 Buck and Eddie were written not as rivals but as two people who would eventually become friends, but it wasn’t until the Christmas episode with the elf assuming Buck was Chris’s dad and Eddie’s partner that I was like ‘hold on!’ because I was really hoping Abbey would return and I didn’t see Eddie as a possible Buck live interest because of that. The elf’s comment wasn’t played off like most other shows would (think Dean and Sam arriving anywhere in Supernatural) it made me go back and look at the other episodes to see exactly how Buck and Eddie were being framed/written. And as we have moved into further seasons I think there has been a shift in how Buddie is being written, in s3 it was very much like two people progressing into a deeper friendship then the blood clot/lawsuit gets in the way and they both have to deal with emotions surrounding that, then Buck’s response to Eddie being trapped (we see how is he when Boddy is trapped in a fire WITH A GUNMAN, it’s emotional but not to the point is is with Eddie), even the love interests feel very pushed on us and there’s so little banter between Buddie about their gfs and how they feel about these new beginnings. It feels off, not like a friendship in the slightest, more like two people trying to force something and not wanting to deal with any other feelings. Then when Eddie gets shot and reveals Buck is Chris’s legal Guardian in the event Eddie dies, that’s huge, and he did this after only a year of knowing Buck (I have friends with kids. I’ve known one of them for FIVE years, I’m at their house every week, the kid calls me family. I’m person #10 on the list of ‘who gets my kid if I die’, not #1 lol) It just feels like it’s all building up to something, and people are getting tired of waiting for that something! We’re all emotionally tired from the past two years, and probably from many shows queerbaiting us and this is something that could happen, seems to be something the actors are ok with and the fans want. So why do they keep drawing it out. This isn’t about us demanding they ignore the chance to write a healthy platonic male friendship, or forcing two characters to be gay, it’s about holding the writers to what they’ve implied and seeing what could come of it.

Also think of it like this; If Buddie is confirmed it will still be a good example of a healthy friendship which then developed into something else, like Booth/Bones! Showing the natural progression of friendship to relationship that happens a lot in real life. It’s two men who previously (on screen at least) have only been with woman, but now they have an emotionally connection with someone which they then develop and explore. This could be 911’s first nontoxic depiction of two gay characters coming together, because sorry not sorry the canon couples aren’t perfect (which does humanize them) but they also reenforce harmful troupes that plaque the LGBTQIA+ community, which I’m sure you understand: TK was a drug addict, who only got with Carlos at first cause he was hot and sex was TK’s new addition (all gay men are sex addicts who do drugs and sleep with anything that moves). Carlos was ashamed and wanted to keep TK on the downlow (poc gay men want to pretend to be straight but have free access to gay sex). Hen cheated on Karen seemingly the first chance she got (lesbians can’t handle monogamy when pushed, and cheat on their long term partners). All known and documented troupes that happen far too often.

I’m not saying Buddie is some gay jesus ship that’s gonna save the entertainment industry but if done right it could prove to be one of the few healthy depictions of two men getting into a gay relationship we have. If they plan it out correctly, show us the relationship development, like they did with Maddie/Chim for example, Buddie could be used as a positive example of a gay fictional relationship (I really could go into depth about this. I probably should tbh).

As for not supporting Hen and KAREN, or Michael and DAVID, I think fans do support them! The writers don’t. If you read fanfics Henren and Michael/David are featured heavily in many fics, and ik some people might say ‘well they’re only there so Buddie can talk about their gay side!!’ but both these couples have their own fans and fanfic tags! They aren’t just plot devices in Buddie stories. There is a huge side of the fandom that supports Henren and wants to see more of them and their family. Same with Michael and David, during the episode where Michael and Bobby team up to find that plastic surgeon who was working illegally many people where ecstatic that we were getting more Michael/David content and that David was getting more than a couple lines. But sadly it seems like the writers only want to delve into these story lines when they need filler, they even miss opportunities to include these other LGBTQIA+ characters when it makes sense;

(Someone came for me about this but I am going to bring it up again)

When Chris is sad and wants more human connection, instead of bring Harry + Michael/David and Denny+Nia+Henren back into the picture (and yes I understood at the time the pandemic was bad (lmao still is!!), but all the actors at some point would have/had crossed over into each other’s ‘bubbles’, so ALL the actors would have been exposed to each other so getting the children together with adults they had ALREADY been with during shooting wouldn’t have been a super spreader event) but instead they brought in Ana after only two on screen dates and pretended like it was a logical thing for someone who’s up to that point been extremely careful with their child.

They really could have pushed the ‘118 is a family!’ message here and included the canonically gay supporting characters, and the lesbian main character(s) but they did not and instead chose to push the Ana/Eddie coupling even though they hadn’t properly developed it yet. The writers themselves don’t seem to care about developing their canonically gay characters and including them more than they have to but fans are continuously developing Henren and Michael/David with hc and fics.

I’d like to use your logic against you for a second, in s1 we have a very healthy, platonic friendship between Chim/Bobby but that got written out to the point they are more like boss/employee unless the scene calls for them to seem closer, we now have Bobby and Michael friendship but again we hardly see Michael. On Lone Star we have Owen and Judd as a really, really good example of a healthy male friendship but we see Judd more often with Tommy now then we do with Owen, and in s2 it’s overshadowed by Owen trusting Charlie from Twilight and constantly getting fucked over! Why can’t the writter just be happy with these happy, healthy, emotionally well male-male friendship they’ve already included and expand upon them. There’s enough drama because the show literally involves burning buildings and people’s lives being at risk from some natural/man made disaster ever 12 seconds. Does it need to have so much interpersonal conflict and male peacocking??

[blackandgoldandeverythingnice]

i don’t remember me (before you) - j. debrusk [part ii]

Pairing: Jake DeBrusk x female!OC

Summary: Could it be more cliche than falling in love with your neighbor when she wasn’t exactly available? What happens when getting her to fall in love with you isn’t even the hard part?

Word Count: 9,077

A/N: so, part ii - maybe one day i’ll get good at summaries and update them accordingly but honestly, no promises. this one has a LOT of warnings and i’ll adore any and all feedback. 

Warnings: adult themes, alcohol consumption, abuse [very much the abuse in this part so please be warned], shitty boyfriend/ex-boyfriend, swearing...I think that’s it

part ii

“I have travelled many miles, I don't wanna walk no more Every road and every highway led me right back to your door” -lord huron

Jake was pretty sure he’d never seen Alina nervous before. Normally she was the quintessential Russian: serious, blank face that belied nothing about how she was feeling. But right now she was tapping her foot nervously and gnawing on her bottom lip. Her hair was up in a little half ponytail thing and he forgot he usually only saw her in scrubs, his sweats or a mini dress for a night out. This version of Alina was softer, not as sexy as ‘club Alina’ but he thought he might like it better. She had on a pair of ripped jeans with a loose cardigan buttoned up, cutting in a low v on her chest. They didn’t speak much in the car ride over but Jake kept a hand on her knee, rubbing at the bare skin he could get to.

When she’d showed up at his apartment after getting ready, she shoved a bottle of wine into his hand and anxiously asked if he thought it would be good enough. Jake had managed to make her laugh when he’d snorted at her, asking how it was she thought he would know what wine was good or not.

That same bottle was now being grasped tightly in one hand, her other squeezing at his thigh tightly.

“Ease up, Leenie – you’re gonna leave a mark.” He teased, tapping her hand softly.

“Oh! Sorry, Jed.” But she didn’t loosen her grip much and he just let her keep clinging to him. He realized while she was usually a blank face to everyone around her, lately – more often than not – she was completely and purely herself around him. It’s like a wall that had been blocking back emotions before had come down and now everything she thought played clearly on her face for him to see. But only for him.

It wasn’t a long ride to get to Charlie’s and when they pulled up, Jake went to climb out of the car but realized that Alina was still sitting quietly in the back seat.

“Maybe you should just go without me. I can have him take me back home.” She nodded at the driver who was frowning and looked like he was a minute away from yelling at them to get in or out.

“Nope.” Jake responded, reaching into the car and physically dragging her out. She stumbled slightly as she hit the curb and he managed to shut the door to the car mere seconds before the driver pulled away.

“Jake…” she practically whined. “They don’t like me. I should just go, you’ll have a better time without me.”

“Leenie, if you don’t go, I’m sure as hell not going. I spend all my time with these idiots, I want to be wherever you are.” The hesitance remained on her face and he stepped closer to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “If you really don’t want to go, we’ll go home. Or out to dinner. Whatever you want. Ride or die.”

That earned him a giggle. “Ride or die?”  

“I’m your ride or die, whatever you want, we’ll do.” He nodded seriously until she finally gave him a smile, her facing turning determined.

“Okay. We’ll go. But if they’re not nice to you, I’m gonna let ‘em have it.” 

“I expect nothing less.” He teased, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. Forehead kisses had become more and more frequent. As had holding hands, cuddling and the way Alina would nudge her nose into his neck, brushing her lashes against his skin. At this point, they were more affectionate than he’d been with any previous girlfriend.

It still wasn’t enough but he instinctively knew he needed to go slow, knew that he couldn’t risk pushing her into something she wasn’t ready for. Shit, he wasn’t even sure if she felt the same as he did. All he had was a ‘feeling’ that things between them were different, that they were out of the sure footing that had been their friendship and in some weird limbo zone where they were both trying to figure out what the other wanted.

Sighing to himself, he took her free hand and pulled her towards Charlie’s building. He had forgotten to ask exactly who was going to be there and now that they were in the elevator, he felt a little panicky about what they were walking into.

While he’d deny it to her, he knew Alina wasn’t his friends’ favorite. And her desire to protect him meant she overreacted to the smallest chirp that was thrown his way even when it didn’t bother him. He only hoped that tonight would go okay.

Walking into Charlie’s apartment, Jake immediately felt like this was the wrong decision. There were at least eight couples and some of the girls were looking at Alina critically, from the bottle of wine in her hand to the way she was clinging onto Jake. Looking friendly wasn’t something Alina excelled at so the stoic look that Jake knew came from a place of nervousness or shyness, instead made her look like a mega bitch.

He squeezed her hand gently and turned his face into her ear. “Smile, babe. You look entirely too Russian right now.”

Alina snorted, squeezing his hand back and relaxing slightly, smiling at him. “It’s just my face, I can’t help it.”

Jake rolled his eyes, dropping her hand and placing it on her lower back to lead her through the room. He wanted to find Charlie and, more importantly, Charlie’s girlfriend. Kiley was one of the sweetest girls he knew and had always been kind to Alina, usually the only one she’d talk to while waiting for him after games.

Walking into the kitchen, he found the hosts putting the finishing touch on plates of charcuterie. And really, that just meant they were unwrapping the clearly pre-made platters.

“So much for doing the heavy lifting,” Jake teased, bundling Kiley up into a big hug. Charlie hit him but stepped around him to pull Alina into a hug. Jake noticed her stiffen slightly but return the hug before pulling away quickly.

“Ki – you remember Alina.” Jake gestured, returning to her side and throwing an arm around her shoulders.

“Of course! Welcome.” She pulled her into a hug before accepting the offered bottle of wine. “Oh wow, this is really nice – you shouldn’t have.”

Alina flushed slightly, waving a hand dismissively. “It was always one of my favorites so I thought I’d share.”

“Well thank you.” Kiley said sincerely and Jake couldn’t help smiling at her. Charlie really had found a good one. “I say we open this in here and just save it for the two of us.”

“Great idea.” She grinned back conspiratorially. “Can I help with anything?”

“Grab a few glasses, yeah? And are you any good at opening wine?”

“Am I ever!” she responded, grabbing a wine key and getting to work on the wine she’d brought. “I used to work in my Dedushka’s restaurant, if you fucked up the bottle, you had to pay for it but you also got to drink it.”

Kiley grinned at the story, taking it at face value but Jake’s head shot up at the sound of her talking about being younger. He’d never once heard her mention anything about working in a restaurant.

“What’s a ‘dad-kush-kah’?” Charlie asked earning a little smile from Alina who promptly corrected his pronunciation.

“Grandfather.” She got a little faraway look in her eyes but quickly returned to the task at hand.

“Come on, man – come say hi to the rest of the guys.” Charlie tried to shove him back in the direction of the living room but he dug his heels in, twirling around to escape and slide next to Alina.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, leaning down so only she could hear him. “You okay? I can stay with you.”

It looked like she was thinking about it, her gray eyes searching his before she shook her head slightly. “Go on, I’m good – I’ll be a wine opening maniac.”

Instinctively, he pressed a kiss to her temple and ignored the look that Charlie and Kiley exchanged before following Chuck into the living room. He greeted his teammates and their significant others, smiling good-naturedly as the boys all yelled his name or teased him about one thing or another. He was just happy that Alina didn’t hear them or she’d end up lighting them up in his defense.

He managed to stay in the room for all of fourteen minutes before drifting back into the kitchen. Despite Charlie saying it was going to be just couples, a few of the girlfriends had brought friends and he got the distinct feeling Charlie Coyle’s girlfriend was trying to set him up with one of them. He walked back into the kitchen to find Alina perched on the counter, chatting animatedly with Kiley. He paused in the doorway to watch her as she gestured dramatically with one hand, large glass of wine in the other, only pausing her story to take a long sip and accept a piece of cheese that Ki had handed her. The sweater she had on had slipped off one shoulder and he eyed the bare skin greedily, aching to touch her.

It was a relief to see her getting along with at least one of the girls, a light floaty feeling filled him at the sight. Baby steps, he told himself, baby steps.

Eventually, he couldn’t resist interrupting, moving towards Alina and fitting himself between her legs. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rested her head on the top of his while continuing to talk to Kiley.

“But yeah, I’m super lucky the other nurses are so experienced and are actually super sweet. Have you been doing nights or days?”

The two girls continued the conversation around him like he hadn’t even joined and he contented himself with sharing Alina’s glass of wine and helping himself to one of the smaller trays that hadn’t been circulated out into the living room yet. They spent the better part of an hour in there, switching to a different bottle when Alina’s fancy one had been finished.

“If you’re not gonna get your own glass, you have to be the refill bitch.”  She muttered in his ear, pressing an errant kiss to the side of his head before refocusing on whatever Kiley was saying to her.

He pushed back from the counter to refill from a new bottle, pouring it nearly to the brim before returning to his position. A couple other girls had wandered in to join them and Jake felt Alina stiffen slightly as the kitchen got more crowded.

“Ohh, boujee! Who brought this?” one of the girls cooed, picking up the now empty bottle that Alina had brought. “This is like 200 bucks.”

Surprised, he turned to catch Alina’s eye but she avoided his stare, cheeks flushing at the attention.

“JD’s gir – uh, neighbor brought it.” Kiley answered. Half a dozen people turned to look at Alina who just waved awkwardly and tightened her grip on him.

“That was – ” one of the girls who Jake was pretty sure was a friend of a friend paused to eye the way Alina and Jake were tangled together before continuing, “Generous of you, Jake.”

He knew what she was doing. It was something all the guys had to deal with: girls that wanted to be with a player because of the money. And if a girl was like that she usually assumed all the others were. Jake flushed with anger, opening his mouth to respond but Alina beat him to it.

“Actually, I bought it myself.” She answered stiffly, tugging the glass from Jake’s hand to take a sip.

The kitchen felt ice cold and tense, nothing like it had been when it had just been Kiley and Alina chatting. Thankfully, Chuck and Gryz came flying into the room shouting about everyone going into the living room. The girls that had just come in exchanged looks before turning to go while Alina stayed put. Kiley shot the two of them a concerned look but grabbed a few things to bring into the living room, leaving them alone.

He turned around so he could face her, placing a hand on either side of her body and leaning his forehead against hers. “Leen, ignore them.”

“I told you your friends hated me.” She mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Those are absolutely not my friends.” He nudged her nose with his. “Do you wanna go? I told you, the second you want to leave, we can.”

She was quiet for a second, fingers trailing along the sliver of skin between his shirt collar and hair. He practically melted into her at the sensation. “No, no – I need to be nicer. I do want your friends to like me…”

“How bout this: we spend another hour or so here, drink a bit more fancy wine and eat some cheese then we’ll go out to dinner – just you and me.”

That earned him a smile and her eyes brightened for the first time that night. “You’d do that for me?”

He sighed, feeling the wine loosen his tongue slightly. “Leenie, when’re you gonna learn I’d do anything for you?”

“I don’t deserve you, Jed.” She mumbled, staring straight at him, her eyes serious and intense.

“We’re not gonna do our little argument about who deserves who.” He teased but she stayed serious, eyes dropping slightly to his lips.

“Jake, I – ” he wasn’t sure what she was going to say, he wasn’t sure if she even knew because she cut herself off. 

Instead, she leaned forward and pressed her lips gently to his. It caught him so off-guard he hesitated for a second but thankfully his instinct kicked in before she could pull back in embarrassment and he caught the back of back of her head, pulling her in closer.

It was like everything he’d been dreaming about but better. Alina tasted sweet like honey, her mouth hot on his as she wrapped her arms around him tightly. He wound the hand not buried in her hair around her waist, tucking up under her sweater to press his palm against her skin.

Reluctantly, she pulled back, staring at him seriously. “I’m sorry.”

“Why the fuck are you sorry, Leen? Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that?”

She giggled, sliding off the counter and burying her face into his chest before turning up to look at him. “You still wanna stay?” she teased, eyes sparkling.

“Fuck,” he grumbled into the top of her head. “I really really don’t but we should.”

Just as he was leaning down to steal another kiss, Charlie bounced back into the room. “Heyo, what’re you two doing? Come have some more wine before we have to switch to the boxed stuff.”

He stared at the two of them, tangled around each other and faces flushed but that didn’t stop him from continuing to egg them on about moving into the living room with the rest of the party.

“Alright, alright – we’re coming!” he yelled over his shoulder finally, shooting him a dirty look for interrupting. He turned back to face Alina, resting his head against hers. “Maybe we’ll stay for like twenty minutes?”

Smirking, she stood on tiptoe to press the lightest kiss to his lips before moving around him to go into the living room. He scurried behind her to follow, catching up easily. He wrapped his arm around her waist, feeling her relax at his touch. The move wasn’t lost on nearly everyone in the room. While officially Alina had been introduced as his neighbor, he was pretty sure a blind person could see the way he was touching her and staring at her and refusing to be farther than an inch away from her.

Alina remained controlled with her drinking, sipping wine slower than she had been drinking lately and that in and of itself felt like a victory. She did relax slightly but Jake noticed how she tended to stay close to him or Kiley. If she was ever talking to another of the girls, Kiley was also involved and if she moved along, Alina would do the same after a minute or so. She’d finally settled into a conversation with Charlie Coyle and his girlfriend leaving Jake to talk to a few other people while still keeping a close eye on her.

He desperately wanted to leave, wanted to get her alone so they could talk or make out or do more, he didn’t know. But he also wanted to give her the chance to get along with the group because he was hoping she’d be part of it soon.

“Slim! My guy! You crash any cars lately?” Khuls came blazing in loudly and Jake noticed Alina’s eyes shooting over and narrowing at the words.

He rubbed at his neck, “Er, not lately, man.”

Once the can was open, a few of the other guys started to chirp him, mostly around if he was going to grow a mullet again this year or if he’d been working out instead of going to McDonalds every night. He kept glancing over at Alina who was back to Russian Bitch Face and he was worried about what was about to come next if the guys didn’t stop.

And sure enough, Karson said something else about his driving and then Alina was at his side, threading her fingers with his. There was barely contained rage on her face but she seemed to swallow it down, instead squeezing his hand tightly.

Standing on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to his ear. “I’m ready to go if you are.”

He knew she was trying to make an effort, trying to get his friends to like her and in this case that meant not saying a word to them when they were chirping him.

He knew his face gave away everything when he looked down at her with a goofy smile. “Yeah, Leens – let’s go.”

“You guys are leaving already?” Kiley pouted and rather than admit Alina had just about had enough of being around so many people she wasn’t comfortable with he shrugged, swinging their clasped hands lightly.

“Sorry, Ki – we have late dinner plans.”

“Where are you going?” the girl that had been bitchy about the wine Alina had brought cut in and Jake was never outwardly rude so he just gave her a tight smile.

“Committee, down by the waterfront near our place.” He liked saying ‘our place’ like they lived together for real instead of just in the same building. “It’s Leenie’s favorite.” He added to get this girl to realize Alina wasn’t just some random girl that he’d brought out for a good time.

“Nice.” Chuck gave a reassuring nod, seeming to understand that it was time for them to leave. “Thanks for coming, bro.”

They made their goodbyes as quickly as possible but it still took about fifteen minutes to get out of there. By the time they were heading down the hall, Jake was thrumming with energy at getting to be alone with Alina. As they stepped into the elevator and the doors slid shut, Alina was wrapping herself around his body and pulling him to her lips for a soft kiss.

He pulled back, grinning down at her. “Do you actually want dinner?” he teased and she flushed slightly before smacking his stomach.

“I’m a classy lady, I need dinner first.” She smirked back at him, stepping up for another kiss but he pulled back so she couldn’t reach him.

“You know this is more than that, eh?” He paused, serious as he brushed her hair back off her shoulders.

She squeezed his waist, tucking one hand under his t-shirt and tugging on the belt loop with her other. “If it was just that, I would’ve taken advantage of the four times I’ve woken up to your hard cock poking me in the ass.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, flushing red and feeling his body overheat at her words. “You noticed that?”

“Jesus – yeah. I noticed it.” Now she was flushing, biting on her lip teasingly and trailing her fingers down his torso. “But yeah, Jakey – let’s go to dinner first.”

She seemed to have timed it perfectly, winking up at him just as the elevator door slid open and then she slinked out, heading towards their waiting Uber, leaving Jake shaking his head like a puppy. Before the doors could close on him he hurried after her, catching her around the waist just as she was opening the car door and he hustled them inside.

The couple glasses of wine they’d both drank seemed to have made them both more relaxed and Jake spent the ride back to South Boston contenting himself with sweet, slow kisses and brushing his fingers along the waistband of her jeans. He was aching just thinking about what it would be like when they got home. It was tempting to just race home and throw her on the mattress but Jake wanted to talk about it first. Make sure this wasn’t a rebound or a hookup. He knew he wouldn’t be able to take it if they weren’t on the same page.

By the time they got to the restaurant, Jake was half hard and regretting his plan to go through dinner. The Uber driver had given them a sharp warning to stop getting handsy and Alina had just replied back in Russian angrily which seemed to scare him into leaving them alone.

They were both happy it was a Tuesday and the restaurant was only half full. Jake requested a table in the back corner and while he’d always made fun of couples that sat on the same side, it was impossible to separate himself from being close to her. So he slid in next to her, crowding into her space until she was playfully trying to push him away.

“What?” he asked, ducking in close so he could kiss her. “You think I can sit all the way over there when you’re here looking like that?”

“Like what?” she teased.

“How you always do,” Jake shrugged. “Perfect.”

Alina flushed and Jake was pretty sure he’d never seen her blush as much as she had tonight. She slid her hand along his thigh, dancing her fingertips up along his leg until he was inhaling sharply and caught her wrist with his hand.

“Why won’t you let me play?” she teased, pressing her face against his neck.

Jake had to take in a few deep calming breaths and he felt grateful when the server stopped by. They ordered cocktails and an appetizer but he didn’t think the two of them had the patience for actual dinner.

As soon as the server walked away, Alina was back to teasing her fingers along his leg and he had to get hold of the situation before he wasn’t able to think straight.

“Leenie…can we talk? For just a minute?”

She frowned slightly, pulling back when she realized he was being serious. “Um, of course. I just – you want this too, right?”

The question caught him so off-guard he was quiet for a beat too long. Alina looked up at him sadly, biting hard on her lower lip. He panicked slightly, turning to face her so he could hold her face and she couldn’t avoid his stare.

“Alina,” he started seriously. “I want this. I want you. But I also want more.”

He held his breath, waiting for his words to sink in. She was gripping on to his wrist tightly, eyes scanning his nervously. “Like…you like me?”

He huffed a breath out. How could she not know? 

“Yeah, Leens. I like you. A lot. Like a lot a lot.”

“A lot a lot?”

“More than you could know.” He admitted, heart pounding in his chest. He’d watched Alina go through a traumatic relationship and he liked to think he’d helped her start to heal. Over the last year and a bit of knowing her, he’d fallen hard and stupid but it had felt like she’d been right there with him.

She opened her mouth to respond but shut it, looking shier than he’d ever seen her before. It felt like she was quiet for hours until she finally spoke.

“I – I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about someone before.” She admitted quietly, rubbing her thumb along the underside of his wrist. “I’m – shit…I’m not easy and kind of a disaster but you make me feel good; feel like someone that deserves to be loved. I want to try this. I want to be with you if you want to be with me.”

“We’ll go slow. I don’t want to push you but I need you to know I’m not gonna give up or go away just because you get a little too drunk one night or you yell at half my friends.” He teased slightly and she gave a watery little chuckle.

“Can we still have sex tonight though?” she asked and he choked on air, glaring at her when she started laughing.

“I might hold out on you just for that.” He answered with zero truth in his words. She raised one eyebrow and just leaned back without a word before he huffed a sigh. “Yeah okay, there’s no way I’m ever going to deny you anything.”

It was obvious he wasn’t just talking about tonight and instead of speaking, Alina just leaned forward to kiss him gently.

Their drinks arrived and then the food shortly after while the two of them went back to their normal relationship, joking and teasing each other except this time there were kisses and sly touches mixed in. Jake felt like he was floating. It was everything he’d been wanting for more than a year and it was better than he’d ever imagined.

Before the server could even ask if they wanted more food or drinks, Jake was sliding his credit card over. All he wanted was to get Alina alone. The restaurant was only a block away from their building and as soon as the check was signed, he was bundling her out the door and practically dragging her along as they walked.

Alina giggled behind him and he just squeezed her hand tighter. “I’m not gonna run away from you, Jed.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you it’s that you’re a drunk runner.”

“Trust me,” she started to say and he glanced over at her, drinking in the happy glow around her and the way her eyes were sparkling back at him. “I’m not running away from this.”

--- ---

“Holy shit.” Jake exhaled into Alina’s neck as he tried to catch his breath. 

He’d collapsed on top of her and he could feel her still pulsing around him and her heart racing. He lifted his head to see her staring back at him, eyes soft and a happy little smile playing on her kiss-bruised lips. She ran a hand through his hair as he finally rolled off of her, hissing slightly at the loss of her around him.

“We’ve been cuddling for weeks when we could’ve been doing that?” she whispered, rolling into him so she could wrap around his body. He lifted his arm up to hold her close, smirking and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“To be fair, I’ve been thinking about doing that for more than a year.”

“Oh?” she raised an eyebrow at him. “And how did you prepare? Watch some game tape?”

He threw his head back with a laugh, sliding a hand down her side to land on her ass. “Lotta nights alone in hotel rooms thinking about what I’d do if I had you in my bed.”

“Did it live up to your expectations?”

“Not even a little.” He answered, grinning at the glare she gave him. Before she could say anything he tilted her head up to catch her lips in another kiss then pulled back. “It was a million times better.”

They fell quiet, content to stay cuddled up in the little cocoon they’d made. Alina’s bed was a massive king but they stayed on top of each other, the sheets tangled around them. Jake felt like he was moving through a dream. Last night he had been arguing with his teammates about Alina and how they were ‘just friends’ and now he was in her bed with her naked body pressed against him, trailing her fingers up and down his stomach gently. He traced the length of her spine, a little smile playing on his lips.

He stared down at her, eyes drinking in her features. There was a little birthmark he’d never noticed right on her temple. Her hair was a mess, the dark waves tickling his arm. She was staring across the room sleepily, eyes hooded and a satisfied little smile on her lips. The warmth of her body and the way she was distractedly running her fingers along his skin was making him sleepy. Eventually, her movements slowed and they both dropped off to sleep.

The next thing Jake knew a loud banging was startling the two of them awake. Alina shot up into a sitting position next to him, blinking awake and alert faster than he was. The banging continued, coupled with muffled yelling.

Frantically, she rolled out of the bed, grabbing her phone before snagging his button down and pulling it on as she hurried out of the room.

“Fuck.” Jake hissed, jumping out to follow her only pausing to grab a pair of shorts he’d left at some point.

The banging was deafening in the living room, shouts coming through the door and it wasn’t hard to guess who was out there based on the language and the sheer fear on Alina’s face.

“Baby, let me – ” he moved towards the door but she got between him, pushing back on his chest.

She started to yell back through the door in Russian, clearly telling her ex to go away but he just kept pounding loudly. It was nearly three in the morning and he was going to wake up the neighbors if he didn’t leave soon. Nothing she was saying was working and Jake felt helpless. There was pure fear etched on her face and he stepped behind her to place a calming hand on her back.

“Do you want me to call the police?” it was the only thing he could think of except opening the door and telling him to fuck off himself. He was bigger than her ex but he’d always noticed there was something unhinged that reflected in his eyes. But if it meant protecting Alina, he’d go toe to toe with the guy.

“Yes – no – shit, they never help. I’ll just – I – fuck. I’m going to open the door but keep the chain on. He – he’s yelling about you.” She whispered at him, panic and fear overwhelming her momentarily and some of what she said made no sense. “There’s something on Instagram?”

Jake paled wondering what the fuck could’ve been posted in the last few hours to put this guy in a rage. He could only imagine that it wasn’t good.

Alina cracked the door slightly, hissing back in Russian as her ex pushed hard against the door trying to snap the chain. She jumped back in fear and there was zero-way Jake was going to let this continue.

He stepped forward, pushing Alina behind him. The second her ex caught his eye, his face turned red and he shook the door harder.  

“Stay fuck away Alinochka.” His words were followed by another hard bang as he tried to muscle through the chain.

“You need to leave.” Jake shot back, forgetting he was standing in just a pair of shorts while Alina was wearing his shirt which was only making the guy angrier.

He switched back to Russian, yelling angrily at Alina who was responding but her voice was shaking.

“Leen – this isn’t okay, I’m getting rid of him.”

The fear grew on her face and she grabbed his arm frantically. “Jake, no. You can’t get into a fight because of me.”

“He’s a piece of shit, I don’t want him anywhere near you.” He squeezed her arm softly before turning back to the door and inhaling deeply, trying to control his own temper. He threw the door open and thankfully her ex was smaller than he remembered. Definitely still an angry maniac who hit women but Jake was stronger.

Her ex tried to barrel through the door, attempting to get by him and to Alina, shoving into Jake who pushed him back. “Not gonna say it again, man. Get the fuck out of here. And don’t fucking come back.”

He tried again to get past Jake who muscled him back. He had tunnel vision, entirely focused on getting her ex the fuck away from her. He really didn’t want to get into a fist fight in the middle of the night but he would if it meant keeping her safe. Another shove and this time Jake was knocked back into the apartment. Alina gave a little shriek of panic and he heard her on the phone, giving their address and begging for someone to come quickly.

Again, her ex barreled towards him and this time, caught him around the waist. Jake fell back with a thud and just barely had time to get his arm up to protect himself from a punch. The second one landed, cracking him dully on the side of the head. Going off instinct, he pushed his hands on his chest, shoving as hard as he could to get him off of him.

The move managed to allow him to scramble up and reposition himself in front of Alina who looked like she was having a panic attack. But he barely had time to glance at her before returning his focus to her absolute fucking psycho ex who was preparing to take another swing at him. Ducking from the blow, he managed to hit him squarely in the face, hearing the satisfying crunch of a broken nose. Blood started to drip onto the floor and it slowed him down long enough for two cops to come barreling into the room, one grabbing her ex and the other pushing him back.

One cop tried to get control of the screaming Russian who was spewing blood all over the place while Jake immediately threw his hands up defensively to show he wasn’t doing anything. It only took about thirty seconds for the cops to recognize him.

“Jesus, DeBrusk?” the one that had initially tried to restrain him before realizing he wasn’t the problem. He was an older guy, maybe his dad’s age while the guy trying to hold onto Alina’s ex was younger and beefier, practically a John Cena clone.

“Yeah – can you guys get this asshole away from my girlfriend?” he snarled angrily, stepping over to snag Alina’s hand and pull her close to him. He was trying to calm his breathing, shaking out his hand that was already killing him while pulling her into his side.

“Okay, let’s all calm down here. Jesus – does this guy speak English?” the other officer said, still struggling to control him.

“Sir, officer, I’m sorry – he does but his English isn’t great.” Alina managed to get out, her voice cracking slightly. “His name is Mikhail Drozdov.”

Mikhail’s eyes flashed dangerously at Alina and he tried again to lunge forward to grab at her.

“None of that.” Officer Cena clone grunted, using one hand to twist Mikhail’s arm back behind him at a painful angle to snag his handcuffs before finally restraining him and plopping him down on the floor. “Stay. Does he understand ‘stay’?”

Alina hissed at Mikhail, her words sounding harsh and bitter. He was still glaring at the way she was tucked protectively into Jake’s side. The longer he was sitting there, the stronger the scent of vodka grew and Jake realized the guy was completely obliterated.

“Now that he’s restrained, can I ask you two a few questions?”

“Yes, sir.” Jake said, turning to his media training. He was going to get lit up by the front office if this got out but he was just happy he’d been here to protect Alina and now he just wanted to focus on getting everyone the fuck out of her apartment. “Can we grab some clothes first?”

The officer smirked at the pair of them in their state of undress. Alina was trying to cover herself and Jake made a point to shield as much of her body as she could.

“Go ahead, kids. We’ll try to interview Igor over here while we wait.”

Jake turned carefully, still keeping her as covered as he could as he nudged her back towards her bedroom. The second they were in the room Alina burst into tears and threw herself into his arms.

“Holy shit, Jake – I’m so sorry. So so fucking sorry.” She rambled into the crook of his neck, her tears soaking into his skin. “I don’t know what happened. He was yelling about something on Instagram? What does that even mean? How did he know we were together?”

Jake’s stomach flipped. Someone from the party had to have posted something that showed the pair of them together. He didn’t think it would be from the restaurant, that would take a lot to find but if it was in the background of one of the guys’ stories, it was possible.

He drew back so he could look at her, pushing her hair off her face and pressing a quick kiss to her nose. “I don’t know, baby. Maybe one of the guys shared something? And we were in the back? I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened.”

“How much trouble are you going to be in?” she asked, focusing her worry on him. It made his heart hurt a little to think about the fact that some asshole had just physically tried to assault her and she was worried about him. Carefully, she brushed at his eye where the punch had landed. “I bet the cops would let you go back to your place. You don’t have to be involved. It’ll just be me and Mikhail.”

“Leen, I’m not leaving you. We didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll talk to Bergy in the morning. He’ll help but right now we have to go talk to them.”

Nervously, she nodded through wide, watery eyes. He hated seeing the terror on her face so he pulled her in for a kiss, pressing his lips to hers and holding her tightly for a long moment. When he released her, they quickly got dressed; Jake pulling on a Bruins sweatshirt of his that Alina had stolen a couple weeks ago while she dragged on a pair of yoga pants while keeping his shirt on. The buttons were crooked and only two of them done up so he paused to carefully fix it for her.

Finally they emerged from her room to find two more cops had arrived and Mikhail still on the floor, spitting an angry stream of Russian at those around him. When he spotted Alina he snarled and tried to move forward.

“Where’d you find this guy?” Cena clone asked, kicking at his leg slightly.

Alina ignored him, walking back towards the first cop they’d talked to. “I’m Alina Agapov.”

“Yes, ma’am. We pulled your info. I’m Sergeant McDonald. Let’s take a seat in the kitchen, okay?” It was like a switch had flipped, the police officer turning into a kindly uncle as he led Alina and Jake towards the kitchen island where the two of them sat down. “Looks like you have an active restraining order against Mr. Drozdov.”

Jake shot a surprised look at Alina. He had no idea that she’d taken her ex to court and he hated himself for not having been around to help her through it. And that she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him about it.

She swallowed hard, moving closer to Jake and he wrapped his arm around her, letting her lead the conversation.

“Yes, that’s right. We just had the hearing a few weeks ago. He – he’s not supposed to come near me.”

“No, ma’am. We’re going to bring him into the station and hold him. He’ll have the option of bail but the more times he breaks the order, the worse it’ll be.” Sergeant McDonald said softly but his words did nothing to calm Jake’s anger.

“‘More times he breaks it’? What the fuck does that mean – he’ll just keep trying to attack her but bail will go up?”

“Calm down.” He said sharply, shooting Jake a stern look.

Alina squeezed his leg. “Jake, please. It’s okay.”

“No, it fucking isn’t.” He huffed under his breath but fell quiet as they were asked more questions. They recounted the night, explaining that they’d been asleep when Mikhail had showed up screaming then all that had happened to get to this point.

Jake chanced a glance behind him to see two of the officers hauling Mikhail out of the apartment. He sighed slightly, pulling Alina in tighter to him. After another ten minutes of answering questions, the officer finally seemed satisfied and offered a card to Alina.

“This is where we’ll be holding him and that’s where you can get a copy of the report. Recommend you call your lawyer in the morning, he’ll know what to do next.” He looked awkward, unsure of how to deal with a girl that was so clearly emotionally drained and then slid his gaze to Jake. “Listen – we, uh, we don’t have to put your name in the report or anything.”

Surprised, Jake looked at him. “That – that doesn’t seem right. I broke his nose.”

“We can work around that, son. The guy is gonna go to jail regardless, your girl has like seven police reports filed against him so it shouldn’t be a hard decision for the judge.”

The fact that Alina had filed so many reports hit him like a truck. It had clearly been far worse than he’d even realized. In a daze, knowing the cop was giving him an out because of who he was, he looked down at Alina.

“He’s right, Jake – this can fuck things up for you.” She said softly, her gray eyes pleading with him to think about himself.

It didn’t feel right. He was worried if there was anything that wasn’t right in that report, Mikhail would be able to work around it and get back at Alina.

So he shook his head no. “Just – write it as it happened, sir. I’ll sign it or whatever but it should be right.”

Sighing, Sergeant McDonald flipped his notebook closed. “Okay…we’ll do our best to keep it quiet though. And uh, good luck – you’re playing like a beast.”

He gave him a tight smile. The fact that they were talking about his play when a guy had just violently gone after his girlfriend didn’t exactly sit right with him.

But he walked him to the door, saying goodbye to the other cop who was lingering as well, staring curiously at Alina. This had been a nightmare of a night and there was still blood all over the floor. As he shut the door behind them, he leaned against it, tapping his head lightly against the surface.

He squeezed his eyes tightly before turning to face Alina. Her face was pale, quiet tears streaming down her cheeks. He rushed towards her, dragging her into his arms and holding her as she cried.

What a fucking night.

It was almost five in the morning. He had practice in a few hours and he knew he’d need to go in early to let management know about what had happened but right now all he could think about was holding Alina.

He rubbed her back gently, tilting her face up to his. “Baby, let’s go to my place – we can lay down for a bit longer.”

She sniffled, wiping her nose with his sleeve. “This is humiliating. I’m sorry, Jakey. Maybe you should just go – ”

“Stop apologizing. And there’s no way I’m going to leave you. I told you earlier I wasn’t going to give up on you. On us.”

“You called me your girlfriend.” She said softly, hands gripping his waist tightly.

He smiled down at her, “That’s because you are. At least, I want you to be.”

“So much for slow.” She managed to tease through a watery smile. “I like it. I like you.”

“Then come on, girlfriend. Let’s go home.”

Trying to ignore the blood on the floor, he told her he’d call someone to clean it tomorrow when she tried to pause to take care of it. He kept a tight hold on her hand as they walked the length of the hall to get to his apartment. It was quiet and peaceful in his place compared to what they’d just walked out of. He didn’t want to push her but he had more questions than answers at this point. There wasn’t anything she could do that would make him not want to be with her; that didn’t mean she could cut him out and not tell him things.

Alina went straight into his bedroom, pulling him along by his hand. She slid out of her yoga pants but kept his shirt on as she crawled into his bed. He pulled his sweatshirt off then slid in next to her, wrapping around her body.

“Can we talk, Leenie?” he whispered in her ear. “I need you to talk to me.”

She inhaled sharply, sniffling as she did and he felt her shake slightly. He wasn’t sure she’d share but then she started to speak softly. “We – we started dating when I was fifteen. My uh – my parents died when I was ten. That’s why I moved to the States. To be with my Dedushka. He lived in this neighborhood in Brooklyn that was mostly Russian and I met Mikhail there. It just – it was easy to talk to him, he knew what it was like. Leaving home and being in a place where people glared if you fucked up your English.”

Jake felt his heart pounding as she shook slightly in his arms. She pushed back into him to try to get closer and he just hugged her tightly, pressing a kiss to her head as she continued.

“I’d spent five years barely talking to anyone. Too scared to speak until my English was perfect. Then Mikhail showed up. He was always with his dad when they came to my Dedushka’s restaurant. He made me remember where I’d come from. His parents were from the same city I’d grown up in. He was familiar in the most comforting way.”

She paused, trying to catch her breath. Jake ran his fingers down her arm so he could lace their fingers together.

“He wasn’t always so terrible. My Deduskha would’ve kill him, that’s for sure.” She gave a watery little chuckle before continuing. “But then…” she paused and Jake could hear her sniffling again, a little whimper slipping from her lips.

“Baby, come’re.” he whispered against her head, loosening his grip so he could turn him towards him. Her eyes were filled with tears and he used his thumbs to wipe them away. “I’m sorry, if it’s too much – we can talk la – ”

“No,” she said sharper than he expected before her features softened. “I – I know I haven’t shared a lot with you. And you deserve to hear this after tonight.”

He leaned forward to kiss her gently, nudging his nose against hers until she smiled. It was harder for her now, facing him as she spoke. She stayed quiet for a long moment before finally staring up at him and continuing.

“My Dedushka died when I was nineteen. And then it was just me.” She whispered.

Jake swallowed hard. No wonder she never talked about family: she didn’t have any. He rubbed her back lightly as she tried to swallow back her tears.

“He was all I really had left. I’ve never made friends very easily and my whole life was in that little neighborhood in Brooklyn. But…well you saw him. The older he got, the more controlling. He expected us to get married and me to be his little wife and have babies but I didn’t want that.

“I wanted to be a nurse. I wanted to see what else was out there beyond the little corner I knew. We made a deal that we would go to Boston for a couple years and if he did that for me, I’d marry him.”

Her voice was so soft, he barely heard her but the words hit him like a truck. The idea that he would’ve never had this made him sick. But he stayed quiet, rubbing her back gently as she talked.

“He got a job in Boston easily with this international accounting firm, managing the Russian relationships. He settled in better than I did – going out with the guys he worked with constantly. I was studying and working so much, exhausted all the time but I noticed how bad his drinking got. He’d come home sometimes just…so fucking angry for no reason. He didn’t get rough until a year or so ago. But it was a pattern I’d seen from Mikhail’s own father. His mama was so…broken. I started to see that becoming my future.

“It just kept getting worse. The cheating. Yelling. The hitting. But then I met you.” She smiled slightly, looking up at him and pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. “And you just…were this light, funny, perfect guy. Who was soft and gentle with me and I started to fall for you but I didn’t know how to get away from Mikhail.”

“I wish I’d – I…” he struggled for the words, feeling lost and a little blindsided. “I didn’t know how to help you.”

“Jake, you did help me.” She swore, brushing his hair back off his forehead. “You couldn’t fix everything, I needed to fix a lot of it myself first. And I made mistakes by letting Mikhail back in so many times but he was my past – the closest thing I had to family and that was hard to let go.”

“Tell me about the restraining order.” He asked softly, bracing himself for how hard it would be to hear what she had to say.

“I did the right thing – the thing you’re supposed to which is report the abuse. So I started to. He was…it was usually the worst when you were out of town. It’s like he waited until you were gone then he’d come over raging like you just saw. I almost got evicted over the summer from the number of times they had to call the cops but the management company was surprisingly good about it.”

“Jesus, Leen – why didn’t you tell me?” Jake asked, trying not to get upset.

Her eyes filled with tears again. “It’s humiliating. All the neighbors hearing him scream at me and throw things then the cops showing up at all hours. I didn’t want you to know that about me.”

“I would’ve come back. I would’ve helped.” He drew her in closer, squeezing her against his chest.

“I know you would’ve, but you deserved your summer. Deserved time with your family and friends.” Her voice was muffled into his chest and she was crying softly again.

“Hey now,” he whispered, grasping her chin to turn her face up to his. “No more crying. Let’s get some sleep, you’re exhausted. This is still the best night of my life.”

That earned him another little laugh as she angled up to kiss him softly. “You haven’t had a very good life then, babe.”

He scoffed. “I’m in the NHL. Very important and cool and do a lot of things. You’re still the best thing I’ve ever done.” He pressed kisses along her face as she giggled and swatted him away.

“Oh, so now I’m just something you’ve done?” she raised an eyebrow at him and he groaned, flopping his head back on the pillow. She kept a smile on her face as she rolled on top of him, straddling his waist.

He caught her hips to keep her steady, rubbing his thumb along her skin. “This is a nice view.”

Leaning back, she grabbed for his right hand. “You okay?” She pressed a kiss to each knuckle, frowning at how red they were before focusing on his face. Gently, she brushed her fingers along his tender cheek. “Do you need ice? I think this is gonna be a black eye.”

“I’m fine. Come’re,” he urged and pulled her down to him so he could thread his hands through her hair to pull her down to his lips. “Want a kiss. Then it’s bedtime.”

“Shit – what time do you have practice?”

“Eleven. I’m gonna go around ten though. I need to talk to Bergy and figure out who to talk to on the team.”

Alina frowned. “I told you I was a train wreck. It’s not too late to – ”

Jake cut her off, leaning forward to kiss her before pulling back. “Leen, I mean this is the nicest way possible – shut up. You’re my girl.”

“Thank you, Jakey.” She whispered, sliding off him and nestling back into his side.

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Go to sleep, I’ll wake you up before I go.”

She mumbled something in Russian, pressing her lips to his chest and then she was out like a light. He lay awake for a while after she’d fallen asleep, holding her against him and thinking about the night. Everything she’d told him about her life made things so much clearer: the way she was so strong and stubborn yet had continually gone back to an abusive boyfriend, how she never talked about her past or her family. He wished she’d told him sooner but he knew he couldn’t have dragged this out of her until she was ready.

The sun was just starting to peak through the windows when he finally dropped off to sleep, dreading what waited for him at practice later but still happier than he’d been in a long time.

[supernatural-jackles]

Owe You One - Part 3

Title: Owe You One - Saving You

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 5,141

Warnings: Angst, Self Hate, Nudity, Depression, Anxiety, Mentions of Sex, Minor Fluff, Self Loathing.

Summary:  Dean Winchester has been your best friend and neighbour for the last year. A year of finding comfort in random drop ins and casual conversations, but neither of you know the pasts that the other has. Not fully. Pasts that come back to haunt you, and ruin everything you want in life. Can you find what you’re seeking in a couple of favours and a good time between the sheets or is history doomed to repeat itself?

Owe You One - Masterlist

Square Filled : Best Friend for @spndeanbingo

A/N: Here we go! I hope y’all enjoy this part! Please please please, leave a comment, reblog or ask! Your response is very important to me! Happy Reading!

*Tags are still open! Please send an ask*

Three Months Later

 “Hey Y/N, it’s me, Dean. Again. Uh, look, we need to talk. It’s been three months since I last heard from you. I haven’t seen you since the night out. I’m getting worried now. I’m stopping by tonight around seven. Have a good day.”

 You listened to his words, letting them swirl around in your head as they sunk in. It had been three months since you last saw him. The night of his mom’s party. He called and left messages. Knocked on your door a few times and sent a bunch of texts. You didn’t return any of them. It was for the best.

 You couldn’t get his mother’s words out of your head since that night. You were never going to be good enough for the Winchester family. You were never going to measure up because you were the same filth that your mom was. You were bound to repeat history with their oldest son and she was going to make damn sure nothing happened. Hell, you had no idea what had happened. You were clueless, helpless and most of all, you were completely and utterly alone.

 You glanced around your messy bedroom, knowing fine well it was time to get up to get ready for work. That didn’t help you move. Your room hadn’t been cleaned in close to two months. You had probably vacuumed about three times. You had clothes everywhere. Your sheets were half on the bed. You had blankets on the floor, and the odd pillow. You just stopped cleaning up and taking care of yourself. There was no motivation in you to do anything. You slept, are the odd meal, went to work and repeat. There was nothing special about your life now that you didn’t have anyone in it.

 You rolled off of your bed, your feet landing in what felt to be a sweater that you had worn yesterday or the day before. You couldn’t quite remember. You took a deep breath, searching your drawer for something you could wear that was semi presentable, and not already worn and on the floor. You didn’t have a whole lot of clean clothes left.

 As soon as you pulled on your pants and shirt, you slipped out of your room and into the main part of the apartment. Your dishes were piled up in the sink, and all over the counter. You hadn’t bothered to clean anything in your apartment for awhile now. You just didn’t have the energy to put into cleaning up.

 You shoved your shoes on your feet, wanting to leave the apartment as quickly as possible to get out before you had the chance to run onto Dean. That was the very last thing you wanted. Especially after the message on your phone. If you were lucky and timed everything out, you’d be home early and you could ignore him like you had done for the last three months. Dean and the rest of the Winchester’s were better off without you.

 You hopped on the number five bus that took you straight to the stop right outside your work’s building. You barely gave his beloved impala a second glance as the bus took off down the road. It was filled with the usual crowd. Some in their business suits, others in scrubs. It was always the same people that never said a single word to each other. Not even a hello.

 The ride was exactly twenty six minutes. The average amount it took you to get there. This morning, the lady with the stroller didn’t get on, which saved you three and a half minutes. The old man with the big hat got off at a different stop, and a few new faces got on at a stop that wasn’t typically used. It was all so routine. Nothing ever changed.

 Maybe that was part of your problem. Your life was so routine now that you were alone. You didn’t run the odd chance that Dean was coming over to hang out because you had shut him out. You didn’t go out. You lived the same daily routine every single day. No change. Maybe that was why you were in the slump you were in. Partially anyways.

 You pulled the string, letting the driver know you needed off. You stood up, heading for the side door to get ready to leave. No one looked at you, or even paid any attention to you. They were all staring at their phones, not taking in their surroundings. It made you wonder how they ever got off at their stops.

 You stepped out onto the cracked sidewalk, heading straight towards your building’s entrance. You had your key card ready to scan when you walked in. You took a deep breath as you pulled the door open, your footsteps light as you made your way to the front desk. You slipped your card in the slot, hearing the click to unlock the door.

 The exact same routine every morning. Your work station as you liked to call it was on the third floor. You had your own little cubicle that you made yours. The elevator dinged as it stopped on your floor. You heard the conversations the second you stepped out and headed into the big room. Your area was to the left of the room, near the conference office.

 You arrived at your cubicle, removing your bag from your shoulder before placing it on your desk. You took a seat in your comfortable chair. Your eyes wandered in the same place they always did. The picture of you and Dean that you had there. It was the only picture you had the two of you. You didn’t have the heart to remove it. You loved the picture. He was smiling wide while you were laughing. His younger brother Sam had taken it. What you would do to go back to that day.

 “Morning Y/N,” Charlie beamed, handing you your morning tea with a smile. “Your morning pick me up.”

 “Thanks Charlie,” you smiled softly at her.

 “Are you caught up on The Walking Dead yet?” she asked, leaning against your desk.

 “No not yet,” you shook your head. “I’ve been a bit busy. I think I’m six episodes behind now.”

 “You are and it’s killing me,” she sighed. “Okay, what about we get together this weekend and catch up. Or have a Harry Potter marathon.”

 “I’ll see what I’m doing,” you nodded. “I’ll text you and let you know.”

 “Will you?” she cocked her eyebrow knowingly.

 “Promise,” you said, looking directly at her.

 She gave you a weak smile before heading to the next cubicle with their drink. You let out a breath, turning your computer on. You were just going to focus on getting your work done so you could go home and feel comfortable once more.

 Your job wasn’t hard. You worked for a magazine company called Asemodeus and you wrote articles. It wasn’t your dream job by any means. When you moved here, this was the only place you heard back from that the pay was decent. It was better than nothing. You just weren’t challenged as much as you would have liked. It was all a routine to you.

 Your column was strictly fashion. Nothing to write home about. You worked with a bunch of other woman who helped get the main parts of the magazine together. Your boss, Abaddon was the daughter of the company’s CEO. She ran this floor and was the one in charge of getting everything done. Charlie worked alongside her. She was in charge of everything Abaddon couldn’t get done. Everyone else was just like you in some sense.

 The day was dragging on. You had nothing due. Nothing to research and nothing to write. You were ahead and there wasn’t anything you could help with in anyway. Your eyes kept slipping over to that picture and how he was coming over tonight. He was worried about you. All you could think about was his mom’s words. You weren’t good enough for any of them. What made you think that Dean wasn’t going to realize it at some point? As soon as another woman came into his life, you would be shoved out of his life anyways. You were saving yourself the heartache.

 Six o’clock finally came. You shut down your computer and turned your side light off before standing up. You had your sweater close to you and your bag over your shoulder. If you were lucky, you would catch the first bus back to the apartment, you thought to yourself. You pulled your hair out from beneath the strap.

 You slipped your card in the slot once more, signing out for the day before pushing the door open. The cool March air filled your lungs instantly. The wind had picked up a little. You were looking forward to spring finally making its appearance.

 The bus stopped in front of the stop for you to get on. This ride was shorter than the last one you reminded yourself as you took your seat at the back of the bus. It was a different crowd on this route compared to the morning round. There was a man always on his phone with his wife. Today they were arguing about something which sounded a lot like what to get for dinner. Most of the time, he was telling her how his day went and how much he missed her. He couldn’t have been much older than you by the looks of him. He wore a suit and carried a briefcase. It wasn’t new by any means. A hand me down at best. His suit was one of three he owned. He was definitely just starting out.

 Your stop came quickly and before you knew it, you were back out into the cool evening. You glanced both ways, checking for cars coming before stepping out onto the street to cross over. You couldn’t wait to be in your bed. It was all you could think about.

 It was just after six thirty when you stepped foot on your floor off the stairs. You searched your bag for your keys. You pulled them out of their spot, finally look up, only to have your heart sink in your chest. Dean was sitting on the floor outside your apartment with his knees up to his chest. It wasn’t even seven yet. So much for getting home early enough that you could avoid him. There was nothing you could say to him. There was no point in conversation.

 “Y/N,” he half smiled, getting up off the floor.

 “Look, now’s not really a good time,” you said, slipping the keys in the lock as quickly as you could. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do.”

 “Not even ten minutes?” he asked, his tone almost cold. Not that you could really blame him.

 “As you can see, I’m fine. I’m still alive and all is good. I’m just busy. You can stop worrying,” you stated, pushing the door open.

 “Y/N,” he breathed out. “Please.”

 “It’s not a good idea, okay?” you muttered, stepping inside your apartment. You turned back, finally looking directly at him for the first time. He had a sad, broken and defeated look on his face. It damn near broke you. You didn’t want to hurt him. That wasn’t your intention in the slightest. You were saving both of you from heartache later on.

 “You have someone over last night?” he asked, pointing towards your kitchen, furrowing his eyebrows. Shit. Of course he could see your kitchen from where he was standing.

 “No,” you shook your head. “I gotta go.”

 “Y/N, please,” he pleaded. “I talked to my mom about what happened.” You stiffened at the thought of him talking to her about you. The mere thought of you on her mind, her face turning angry and filling with disgust.

 “That’s great. I don’t want to hear it, okay? Please, leave me be,” you said. Your voice laced with defeat. You moved to shut the door closed, only to have Dean’s hand stop it before he entered your apartment. He wasn’t going to give up. There was no getting him to leave now without a fight.

 “You’re not okay,” he said sadly. “Are you?”

 “I’m okay,” you lied. “I’ve just been busy.”

 “Don’t lie to me,” he stated. “Your kitchen is a mess which is completely unlike you.” He walked over to the fridge, opening it up. “You have nothing in your fridge, Y/N. Not even a carton of milk. You haven’t done the dishes in what looks like a week or two. God knows, the last time you had a proper meal.”

 “I’ve been busy,” you whispered, trying to make yourself small. He wasn’t going to buy a word you were saying. You could see it on his face. Maybe if you kept lying, you’d piss him off to the point where he’d leave. Maybe if you pretended not to need him.

 “Y/N, don’t lie to me,” he frowned, making you feel guilty.

 “Can you please, just go,” you swallowed hard, not daring to look at him.

 “Let me clean up, okay? Go shower and do whatever you do after work,” he told you. You didn’t have to be told twice. You turned on your heel, heading into your bedroom. You shut the door quietly, taking in the darkness that was the room. The curtains hadn’t been opened in months. Dean was going to leave after he did the one thing you couldn’t do. You could handle him doing that. You were tired of fighting.

 You shed out of your work clothes, dropping them near the overflowing laundry basket. You never bothered to make sure they were fully in there. It didn’t matter anyways. Your room was as much of a mess as your kitchen was, if not worse. You reached for your pyjamas that you had on this morning, pulling them on your body before slipping beneath the covers of your bed.

 You lay your head on your pillow, bringing your legs up to your chest as you settled in. You felt everything, but at the same time, you felt nothing. It was one of the worst feelings in the world. Knowing something was wrong, but not having the slightest clue how to fix it, or the energy to even try. Nothing was going to make you feel any better.

 You had no idea how much time had past when your bedroom door opened, letting in a little bit of light from the main part of the apartment. You had no energy to move, let alone talk. You didn’t want to do this. You didn’t want to have to fight Dean on this.

 “Y/N,” you heard as the bed dipped down next to you. You felt his hand coming down to the other side of your body. “How bad is it?”

 “What?” you mouthed.

 “The way you’re feeling. How bad?” he questioned. His tone was light. There wasn’t a single hint of anger or judgment.

 “‘M fine,” you replied, nuzzling your head into your pillow a bit more.

 “Y/N, please don’t lie to me. This is my fault; I know it is. Please just, talk to me,” he almost begged.

 “I would like you to leave,” you asked politely. You couldn’t handle the hurt in his voice. He was worried and you knew it was a long shot of him leaving after he seen you like this.

 “Not without a fight, sweetheart,” he half smiled. “C’mon.”

 He stood up, throwing the comforter back without your consent. You felt the draft instantly, wanting the warmth back. Before you could reach for it, Dean reached down, pulling you into his arms, lifting you out of bed. You could barely protest as he carried you into the bathroom. He placed you down on top of the counter before flicking on the light.

 “Alright, arms up,” he pointed to your shirt.

 “Dean,” you shook your head.

 “I’m going to say this as nicely as possible. You smell terrible. Now arms up. We’re showering,” he explained.

 “I don’t want to,” you protested, casting your head down.

 “Okay,” he nodded. “Then you can go for a bath instead. You can soak in there while I clean up your room.”

 “No,” you refused.

 “Y/N, please,” he declared, raising his voice just a little. He turned away from you, reaching your tub. He turned the nozzle, beginning to fill up the tub. He grabbed the bubble bath from the shelf, adding a good amount into the water before testing the temperature. He never uttered another word to you. You knew he was irritated with you, and you did nothing to make that any better. You were pathetic. Why was he sticking around?

 When he was satisfied with the bath, he made his way back to you. This time, you didn’t protest. You weren’t sure you had any fight left in you. He pulled your shirt over your head, revealing your breasts to him once more. He didn’t look at you with the same lust filled eyes this time. Then again, this wasn’t the time or place. Next were your pants and your panties, which were off quickly. What you weren’t expecting was for him to carry you over to the tub. He was careful when he placed you in the water. It wasn’t too hot. It was the right temperature to provide you with some relief. It felt nice to be in the water.

 “I’m going to go clean up,” he stated lowly. For a split second, you didn’t want him to leave you. After telling him to leave so many times. After avoiding him for so long. You didn’t want him to go. If he was in here, you weren’t alone with yourself and your thoughts. You weren’t alone with your fears, and your depression. You would have him here with you and it was a lot less scary if he was here.

 “Stay,” you whispered. Your voice was weak and barely even there.

 “I’ll just be out there-”

 “Please,” you mouthed.

 “Alright,” he nodded. “You want me to wash your hair?” You nodded your head this time, not daring to try to speak again. He opened up the cupboard door, grabbing the pitcher from the shelf. He moved to the shower, grabbing your shampoo and conditioner from the perch before settling down next to the tub.

 You moved to the middle of the tub, giving him some room to work. You brought your knees to your chest, letting him do what he needed to do. He was gentle, which you should have expected but didn’t. He worked in silence, solely focused on washing your hair the best he could. You didn’t want to do anything to make him mad. You just let him do his thing.

 You couldn’t deny that it felt good to have him run his fingers through your hair. It was that comfort thing again. Like the way he kissed your head at his mom’s party. It was little things that put you at a little more ease. You never really realized just how much you missed him until you thought about these things.

 “I’m sorry,” you mouthed.

 “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he assured you, running his fingers through your wet hair once more. “You want to get out now so we can dry you off?”

 “Okay,” you breathed out. You moved your hands to the side of the tub, finding the energy to prop yourself up to a standing position. He reached for your arm, helping you climb out of the tub and onto the soft mat to dry your feet. He wrapped you in one of your warm towels, trying to dry you off the best he could. He held out his finger to you, taking off into your bedroom a second later. You moved the towel around your body, drying yourself off in all the places you knew Dean would miss.

 “Clean pyjamas,” he said as he stepped foot in the bathroom once more. Dean took the towel from you, and handed you the clean clothes in exchange. You managed to pull them on without too much of an effort. Dean stepped over to the counter, grabbing your hair brush off the little shelf. What you didn’t expect was for him to begin brushing your hair. You felt useless. You couldn’t even take care of yourself and it took to Dean barging into your apartment to help you for you to actually do something. He had to be thinking about how pathetic you were. How much of a broken fucking mess you were.

 “De-”

 “We’re going out,” he told you, throwing his arm around your shoulder. You furrowed your brows. Where in the hell could he be taking you that you could be wearing your pyjamas. He lead you into your bedroom, heading over to your closest to grab you a sweater before exiting the room.

 You followed him into the now clean kitchen. He was setting out your comfortable slip on shoes for you, and he had your bag ready for you. You weren’t really up for going out, but there was no way he was taking no for an answer. Not this time. Even if you tried, you were still going. You were breaking routine, you told yourself. That was good.

 He threw his arm around you once more, pulling you into him as he lead you down the stairs and to the impala. The wind had picked up a little more, chilling you instantly due to your wet hair. Dean still opened the door for you first like the true gentleman that he was. You couldn’t wait for him to get in and turn the heating on.

 You were on the road within seconds, heading left instead of right, which was what you were expecting. The car heated up pretty fast, warming you up slowly. Dean hummed along to the Queen song that played on the radio. The car ride was pretty silent all in all. You didn’t know what to say to him. You were sure he didn’t know what to say to you at this point. You were a mess. You weren’t his responsibility.

 He made another left turn up a road you weren’t sure about. It was a dirt road that went uphill. You weren’t sure how long you were in the car for or where you were for that matter. Dean knew what he was doing and that was more than enough to put you at ease. The car eventually came to a halt and Dean cut the engine. You were at the top of the hill, overlooking the main part of the city.

 It was just starting to get dark out and the lights were becoming brighter. You couldn’t stop staring out the window, taking it all in. It was breathtaking. You took a deep breath, letting the calm feeling take over you. It was the first time in a long time that you felt a sense of ease. You didn’t want that feeling to leave you.

 “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Dean said lowly, grasping your attention.

 “Yeah,” you breathed out. You could sense that he wanted to say something more but chose not to. Not yet. You knew after everything he did for you, you owed him an explanation. You owned him something. There was no nice way to put any of it. You had no idea why he even cared. After everything with his mom. You knew she didn’t want you around him or any of them. You shouldn’t have been with him now.

 “Y/N,” he sighed, almost as if he was defeated.

 “I’m not okay,” you confessed. “But Dean, we can’t be friends.”

 “Why not?” he questioned.

 “Because your family hates me,” you reminded him. “Because for some reason that I don’t know about, they hate me. My existence was enough for your mom to tell me get away from her family. I’m not good enough for you, Dean. Or anyone for that matter.”

 “Is- is that why you didn’t answer any of my calls, or texts? Because you think you’re not good enough for me?”

 “Yeah,” you nodded. “Partially.”

 “I’ve been so fucking worried about you,” he revealed, turning to face you. “And clearly I’ve had a good reason to. Talk to me, Y/N.”

 “There is nothing to say,” you shook your head.

 “Yes there is,” he pointed out. “Since when do you not have something to say?”

 “Since my best friend’s mom hates me,” you raised your voice. “Since the one person I actually got along with was told to break up with me, because my bitch of a mom fucked your mom over in some way that I don’t even know about!” You let out a huff, crossing your arms over your body, trying to make yourself small.

 “I’m sorry,” he frowned. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve done something sooner. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

 “We can’t be friends, De-”

 “I don’t give a fuck what my parents think, Y/N,” he stated clearly. “I care about you. The one who stuck by my side even when she wanted to run. I’m never going to leave you behind because my parents feel a certain way. They can go to hell for all I care.”

 “I’m not going to be the one to break you from your parents, Dean. I’m not worth it,” you argued.

 “I’ll be the judge of that one,” he told you. “I like you and that’s all that matters. I’m not going another day without knowing you’re okay.”

 “You said you talked to your mom about what happened?” you brought up, finally turning to look over at him. He gave you a soft smile, motioning for you to move over to him. You took a deep breath, not fighting him this time. He threw his arm around you, tugging you into him, giving you a squeeze.

 “From what she told me, she said your mom and her were best friends growing up. From Kindergarten to junior year. She didn’t speak kindly of her, I’m going to tell you that now-”

 “I figured,” you shrugged.

 “Your mom cared more about her boyfriends that she did about her friendship with my mom. My parents were together in high school. Have been since sophomore year. Apparently they took a break during senior year and during that time, your mom hit on my dad and said a bunch of things about her to him. Their friendship was over after that and your mom took off. I know there has to be more to it, but that’s what she told me.”

 “I’m trying my hardest not to be like my mom,” you breathed out. “She made it pretty clear before she died that I was going to end up the same way as she did. A slut who was never going to settle down with anyone.”

 “Sweetheart, you’re not your mom,” Dean declared. “You’re not a slut. Trust me, someone is going to fall head over heels for you someday. You’re definitely a little naughty though, I’m not gonna lie.”

 “Shut up,” you let out a chuckle.

 “You are,” he laughed, “I’d fuck you anytime. You’re hot as hell.”

 “I’m a mess. You don’t want me,” you half joked, swallowing hard.

 “I’d take you no matter what,” he assured you. “Best sex I’ve ever had.”

 “You already know you’re the best I’ve ever had,” you shrugged. “Backseat is free.”

 “As much as I’d love that, I’m not sleeping with you. Not tonight,” he breathed out. “You’ve clearly got a lot going on and I’m not about to make that any worse for you. Just, don’t shut me out again, okay?” he said, nudging you.

 “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “Things just got dark, you know? My head got the better of me after that night and I just kinda stopped. Everything whirled around in my head and I convinced myself you were better off without me. After that, I felt trapped in a loop. Everyday was the same shitty routine. I didn’t want to talk to you because of what happened, and I worried that because your mom told you to break up with me, you were going to leave me in the end anyways. You deserved a better friend that your parents didn’t hate. On top of that, I never told you that I have bad anxiety and a bit of depression all wrapped up in this tight little box. I’m a mess nine times out of ten. And everything with my mom and growing up - I figured I’m only good for a night between the sheets and nothing more.”

 “You are worth a lot more than that, sweetheart. I can promise you that,” he stated, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “You might have a few dents, but you aren’t broken and you aren’t a mess. You’ll always have me, no matter what. I’m right next door, neighbor.”

 “Thank you,” you nodded, swallowing hard. You leaned your head over, resting it on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I’ve been a terrible person the last three months.”

 “You do owe me a birthday present,” he joked. “I get it. I don’t mind helping you clean up your apartment when things get to be too much. I don’t want you to feel like you have to shut me out. I’m always here for you. I don’t care about what my parents think. You’re always going to be my friend. I’m not a kid and I can make decisions for myself.”

 “I might need you to remind me of that from time to time,” you shared. “I’m not going to be okay all the time. I’m never okay all the time.”

 “I’m a phone call and probably about twenty two steps away. Anytime,” he assured you.

 “Can - can you stay over tonight,” you inquired. “I don’t really feel like being alone. Not after three months of it.”

 “Only if I can sleep in your bed. I’m not sleeping on the couch,” he chuckled.

 “Yeah you can sleep in my bed,” you nodded.

 “Good. Your bed is comfortable,” he smiled. “We’ll get your room back in order this weekend.”

 “Thank you for being a good friend, even if I’m a shit friend.”

 “You’re not a shit friend, Y/N. You thought you were doing what was best for you at the time. You’re overprotective of yourself and I get it,” he smiled. “But remember I’m here for you.”

 “I know,” you breathed out. “Thanks for caring.”

 “Always!”

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

Part 4 will be out on Sunday 👀 

Did you like it? What was your favourite part? Any theories? Please share your thoughts with me via reblog, reply or send me an ask! Nothing is stupid! I WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU! Your response is the ONLY thing keeping me sharing this story! 

Dean Babes

@emoryhemsworth / @deans-baby-momma / @percussiongirl2017 / @gabavaldman / @a-distantdreamer / @clarewinchester / @feelmyroarrrr / @x-waywardaf-x /  @ria132love / @whimsicalrobots / @gh0stgurl/  @tabrown2021 / @jayankles / @1000roughdrafts / @claitynroberts / @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester / @atc74 / @dolphincliffs / @shamelesslydean / @tailsoflightning /  @spnwoman / @squirrelnotsam /  @squirrel-moose-winchester / @mtngirlforever / @dean-winchesters-bacon / @maddiepants / @pandaheazen / @liberty01 / @deanscarlett / @sandlee44 / @idontknow-canyou / @imaginationisgrowth / @closetspngirl / @blacktithe7 / @dubuforeveralone / @theunofficialduke / @mersuperwholocked-lowlife / @winchester19-67 / @mogaruke / @midnightsilver16830 / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @its-not-a-tulpa / @akshi8278 / @im-a-light-child / @kcp15 / @mishapanicmeow / @whiskeywinter89 / @gallifreyansass / @flamencodiva / @ruprecht0420 / @xristina-gkika / @padamoosemakegirlmoosegowhaaa / @stellaa33 / @cookiechipdough / @deansgirl215 / @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou / @robfangirl / @mlovesstories / @spn-fan-girl-173 / @spnwoman

@imagefanfictionlover / @prettyinplaid94 / @luci-in-trenchcoats / @cpag7 / @wwecrazed2010 / @mamaredd123 / @fanfreak07  / @hhiggs / @kcp15 / @caseyrhodes / @severinsnape / @deanwinchesterswitch / @darklivingcenturies / @bloodwitch666 /  @deansgirl-1968 / @waitwhatsrealityagain / @captainelkequinn / @missstrictlydickly / @alexwinchester23 / @spnbaby-67 / @one-little-anon / @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce / @tardis-is-mine / @keymology / @absolute-randomness-forever / @justanotherwinchester / @jadesupernatural / @anastacia-winchester / @team-free-will-you-idjiot / @idksupernatural / @deanwanddamons / @spnfamily-j2 / @majorcurious007 / @rhiannon79j / @pisces-cutie

Owe You One

@indecisive20something / @deanmonandnegansbitch / @rosiehayes / @allonsy-yesiwill / @onethirstyunicorn / @herscrunchiehairtie / @deanwinchesterinthedarktower / @badpvn​ / @akshi8278 / @invisiblexnobodyximportant / @roonyxx​ / @sucker-for-dean​ / @kakakatey​ / @ladyofmaidensandwine​ / @busy-bee-angel-misska​ / @hopefulmoonobject​ / @wayward-gypsy​ / @magssteenkamp​ / @matsumama​ / @compresshischest09​

[ffangirlingsince2001]

End of the Tunnel: I

Description: It’s almost been a year since Freed Weasley was lost to the Battle of Hogwarts, and for George Weasley it might as well be an eternity. He is lost in the dark, no color to be found. Until suddenly there might be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Warnings: (future as well as present) suicidal thoughts, smut, angst, fluff, depression,  attempted SUICIDE, self harm, torture, mentions of torture

A/N: So, this is pretty dark, just FYI. There will be happy moments but a lot of the time it will get pretty dark. Trigger warning applies now, just be forewarned. Please enjoy though if you are willing to suffer through the tragedy to get to the light at the end of the tunnel.

MASTERLIST

***

The world ended on May 2, 1998.

At least it did for George Weasley.

He was not dead, of course. His mother and father still loved him. Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ron, and Ginny all still hugged him. His business was doing splendid, far better than it ever had before the war, Ron was even helping him run it. And yet, the world felt as if it no longer turned because Fred was gone and that was all that really mattered.

May 2 had been awful, but the funeral was even worse. Friends, family, and strangers wanting nothing more than to hug him or shake his hand when all he wanted to do was destroy everything that touched him. He hadn’t shed any tears that day. He figured he was all out, but now that he considered it, he was sure he had just grown numb.

He had never had a problem smiling before, and even in the winter he was constantly warm, denying every coat his mother sent his way. And now, he was sure he had forgotten how to smile and even in the hottest part of July he wore a sweater, fighting off the chills that ran along his spine.

His mother had pleaded with him to go to therapy, to talk to someone about the tragedy but he had refused. There was nothing a therapist could tell him that he didn’t already know.

He knew he was depressed; he knew Fred was never coming back, and he knew he needed to move forward. He had no interest in reliving the moments when he had witnessed the cold lifeless body of his twin lying on the floor of the school they had once attended. All he wanted to do was the lock the door to his new flat and never come out. He had considered returning to his home above the shop but every time he thought of the memories he had built there his stomach churned and before he knew it he was emptying the contents of his stomach into the nearest sink. So, he gave it to Ron and Hermione and bought himself a smaller one.

He was laying in the bed that occupied most of the studio flat, thinking about the day he moved in as he struggled to get up. The walls were grey, and the bedsheets were white. He hadn’t bothered to buy curtains, so the dingy light of the cloudy morning was highlighting the dust he had let build up over the months. No pictures hung on the walls; no Knick knacks sat on the shelves. Dishes were piling up from the last spout of motivation, not that he ate a whole lot these days. Most importantly, there were no mirrors. He had ripped the bathroom one from the wall and shattered it in the street the moment he moved in, completely satisfied with giving up his security deposit for a little bit of sanity. His world was completely colorless. His skin was pale and the warmth that had generally resided in his face had seeped away like water from a washcloth. In fact, the only color one could find in the small room was his hair, shining just as brightly as it had the day the world ended.

He had dyed it once. A dark brown, the most boring color he could think of, but the moment his mother had seen it she burst into tears and begrudgingly changed it back, if only to avoid the dirty looks that Ginny shot him through the very uncomfortable family dinner.

Today was the first of March, and George could feel the anniversary of Fred’s death drawing nearer with every movement of his body. His muscles ached and his bones creaked like an old rocking chair no one had touched in a century.

As he laid there he considered never getting up, but eventually with great effort he pulled himself from the cold sheets and pulled on the dullest clothing he owned. A grey tailcoat covered a white button up and black slacks, severely pressed hung a bit short over his ankles. The shoes were so old they no longer shined. He didn’t bother brushing his hair, sure that the howling wind would mess it up anyway.

He left the door without eating breakfast and turned down the street in the opposite direction of the store. He couldn’t bare to go to work today, and Ron could handle it.

Ron had gotten a lot better at handling it.

He was right about the wind, it battled against him like it was trying to force him to go to work, but he pushed on, determined to spend his day in miserable loneliness. Somedays he imagined Fred was screaming at him from the clouds, telling him to stop being a git and move on with his life, but he had never been good at taking orders. So, without any regard for the signs of the universe he continued to push on, wrapping his arms around himself as he tried to keep warm.

In honor of his mood, it began to pour and before he knew it, he was drenched to the bone, the neat he clothes he had donned pressing tightly against this skin. By now he was in a muggle town he had never been to. The streets were completely empty, no one wanting to get caught in the torrential downpour.

He was going to turn around, go home if not to work, when he heard a voice shouting through a roll of thunder. He glanced around, searching for the source, and was met with the sight of a woman hailing him towards her store. He looked behind him, checking for someone else, when he heard a sharp laugh.

“I’m talking to you, silly. Now, come in before you catch a cold,” she called, stepping into the rain to usher him closer. He walked quickly, ducking through the doorway as he followed her inside. He watched as she shoved the door closed against the atrocious wind, the bell jingling ferociously overhead. When she had succeeded, deadbolting it for good measure she turned to face him. She wrung out her blonde hair as she studied him with bright eyes (they reminded him an awful lot of what his used to look like). “What on earth are you doing out in this weather?” she laughed, and he shrugged, unsure of how to approach the situation. He had not been met with such glee in an exceptionally long time. When he didn’t respond he smile faded and concern rested heavy on her shoulders. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t think so,” he muttered, and she nodded.

“Then I think you need a drink.” She ushered him to barstool and disappeared behind the counter. “Butterbeer or tap?” His eyes snapped to her when she mentioned the magical drink. “Butterbeer then.”

“You’re a witch?” he blurted, and she laughed, shaking her head.

“Oh no, but I know my customers, and you are clearly a wizard.”

“How can you tell?”

“The wand in your tailcoat.” He glanced down and sure enough, a faint outline of his wand was visible against the fabric. “No need to obliviate me though, I’m no snitch. I’ve had all types in this little pub of mine, vampires, werewolves after a particularly bad night, wizards, what you call muggles, I’ve even had a couple goblins gamble in my back room, no bias here.” He didn’t say anything as she twittered on, setting the mug in front of him and leaning on her elbows as she took him in with earnest curiosity. A few minutes of silence before she spoke again. “Do you want to talk about it, that’s what bartenders are for to hear all your tragedies while you drown them in the best liquor we have?”

“Who are you?”

“Hannah Gladdis. And you are?”

“George Weasley.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen, twenty in June. You?”

“Twenty-one in April. How’d you come to own a magical bar at nineteen?”

“It was a tragic thing really, last year the owner died in a war with your sort. I was a waitress then, but he left it to me in his will, so now it’s all mine. Honestly, I’m surprised I survived long enough to own it, luck I guess.”

“What happened?”

“These men in masks came and tore the place apart looking for the owner, shouting something about blood traitors, but he wasn’t in. It was just me, hiding right behind this counter praying that they wouldn’t find me.”

“Did they?”

“Yes,” she whispered, fear creeping into her eyes as she thought about the night she was describing to him. “They used two spells. One made me feel like I was on fire and the other made me bleed, I can barely remember it. The whole thing was awful, by the time they were sure I didn’t know I could barely move. They set the place on fire and left me to die, still hunting for him, I guess since he’s dead now. Somehow someone saved me, I don’t even remember them but they must have performed a counter curse because I got out with only a few scars, but you would know all about those,” she said noting his missing ear. “Were you in the war?”

“Right in the center of it. Do you have any firewhiskey?” She nodded and dropped beneath the counter and pulled out the familiar bottle.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“How do you know I lost anyone?” he growled, and she offered him a sad smile.

“I lost friends and I’m not even a witch, I figured a hero right in the center of it wouldn’t come out unscathed. Also you’re missing an ear.” He grunted and threw back the shot of liquor she had poured. “You won though?”

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way,” he mumbled, and she nodded, taking one of his hands into hers. He watched her hands cradle his as if he were the fragile one, but he could see the scars that were etched into her fingers. He ran is thumb along one of the more prominent ones. When he glanced up, she was biting her lip, eyes focused on the thumb that was stroking the harsh scar. He whispered her name, but she didn’t move. He said it again and this time her eyes met his. He wanted to say they were blue, but that didn’t seem quite right. Her dark eyelashes were hanging heavily over them, casting shadows into the two small pools of ocean that stared back at him. He was going to say something more, let the light buzz from the liquor take control and pull her against him, but she moved away before he could. With an awkward laugh she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and pulled herself a shot, downing it just as quickly.

“It’s not even noon,” she laughed to herself and he shrugged.

“I’ve been drunk before noon before, nothing to ashamed of.”

“Isn’t that a sign of alcoholism?”

“Not that I’ve ever heard of before.” He flashed her a tight, unpracticed smile that made his heart cringe against his ribs but it seemed to work. Pink washed over her cheeks and she was quick to busy herself among the empty glasses, searching for one to clean.

“So, what’s someone like you wandering the streets during a downpour?”

“Escaping.”

“By catching a cold?”

“Or something like that.” She laughed awkwardly, running a damp washrag over the top of the bar, avoiding eye contact at all costs, and it was killing him. He wanted to look into her eyes all day. He had to think of something, do something, say something that would draw her back.

“Why didn’t the Ministry take your memories?” he asked, and then silently cursed himself. Out of all the topics he could have chosen, he chose the one that terrified her. He hadn’t spoken to a stranger so domestically in such a long time it seemed he was out of practice.

“They don’t know, as far as I know they don’t even know I exist. And I would like to keep it that way if you don’t mind.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to forget?”

“To forget what?”

“All that pain and fear.”

“I considered it at first, but then I decided it was better to know what was coming then feel broken all over again.”

“No one is going to hurt you like that again,” he growled, far more aggressively than he had intended and she laugh, taking his hand and finally allowing their eyes to meet once more. She didn’t seem scared when she looked at him, it was if she almost wanted to believe him. She really seemed to believe the idea he could chase away her nightmares. He knew he would disappoint; he could barely chase away his own.

“You sound so sure, George, but alas, you won’t always be sitting in my little bar to protect me.”

“Then come home with me.”

She was shocked to say the least, at least that’s what her eyes said.

“I barely know you.”

“Then get to know me.”

“I’m working.”

“You said it yourself, no one is out in this rainstorm.” He sauntered towards the window and flipped the sign around and locked the door. “And anyways, it seems you’re closed.” She studied him closely, and he was acutely aware that she was still holding his hand. Finally, she nodded and for the first time in ten months his heart jolted with joy. He spun her around the bar and caught her in his arms. “Ready?”

“For what?” she began to ask but they were already gone, whipping through the air as he apparated them to the small flat.

She was laughing when they landed, clutching her stomach as she tried to catch her breath.

“My god, that was exhilarating,” she gasped. She was still holding his hand, tighter than ever. He watched her as she looked around and cursed himself for not keeping the place cleaner. “I like your place.” He was sure she was lying; it was so dull and lifeless it was almost a prison cell. The counters were dirty, and the trashcan was overflowing. “It could use a little color, but maybe that’s the beauty of it. I can never decide how to decorate so I’m constantly having to remodel, this way I can just close my eyes and imagine the walls orange.”

“Orange?”

“Or maybe a soft teal, I don’t know, it depends on my mood.” He caught him smiling again for the second time on the day he woke up feeling like death. She was like a ball of sunshine and she was standing in the little place he called home. For the first time since he had been born, he found himself wishing his home was bigger. Even when he was a kid he had never cared, but now that there was someone he was dying to impress he wished he owned the minster’s mansion.

“It’s not much…”

“It’s lovely.” Color tinged his cheeks and now it was his turn to busy himself in the kitchen.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Oh, yes, why thank you,” she said as she glanced out the window, “What part of town are we in?”

“Just on the edge of Diagon Alley.”

“Oh really! I’ve always wanted to come; I’ve heard it’s absolutely beautiful. Wow, a real wizard town. Is it true what they say about Hogsmeade?”

“It depends on what they say,” he chuckled, bathing in her excitement. It was a welcome tone, something he had not felt since months before the end of the world.

“That it’s absolutely picturesque. Someone showed me a post card once, and I called her a liar, told her nothing but a painting could be that beautiful, but she assured me it was all true.”

“She wasn’t lying, if you want, I’ll take you sometime.”

“Wow, not even a first date and you’re already promising to whisk me off to some beautiful village in the countryside.” He blushed when he realized what he had said, abashed that this woman had gotten into his head so quickly. He had never been so infatuated with anything. He turned quickly, spilling hot tea over the side of his hand, but he barely even noticed. Her eyes were big and blue as she stared at him, cheeks pink and lips parted. “George…” she began but the teacups hadn’t even hit the ground when he was taking her into his arms and kissing her as softly as his feelings would allow.

She tasted like Christmas. Cinnamon from the firewhiskey and butterscotch from the beer tainted her lips like frosting on cake he had only eaten in a distant memory. He wanted to throw her to his bed and devour her, experience every inch she would allow him, but her tentative fingers stopped him. He was stranger who had apparated her to his flat in a place she did not know, and now he was doing everything in his power to ravish her like the goddess she appeared to be.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pulling away as far as he dared. He was not sure he would ever be able to be far from her again, not when he knew how wonderful she was. She stepped forward, still hesitant, and cupped his cheek in her hand.

“No, don’t be. That was brilliant.”

“Then would you mind if I did it again?” She laughed and leapt into his arms, pressing her lips against his. He had never understood people comparing others to home, but as he wrapped his arms around her and he felt her fingers unbuttoning his shirt as fast as she could manage. His hands dropped to the hem of her shirt, prepared to pull it off and admire her entirety but she jerked back. He stopped immediately, pulling away as he searched her face for what he had done wrong. She wasn’t looking at him again, eyes crossed over her chest as she shuffled her feet.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled and he shook his head, taking her cheek in his hand.

“Don’t be. Tell me what you want. If it’s nothing then we’ll do nothing,” he whispered and with tentative fingers she brushed the place where is ear had once been. He wanted to pull away, but he didn’t dare, not when she looked like she was going to break.

“Very few survived your war without scars, even us muggles.” She pulled her hand away and took a deep breath before pulling her shirt over her head. He watched it hit the ground before trailing his gaze over her skin. She hadn’t lied. Scars were etched across skin that had once been soft. They were harsh and angry, still red after what he had assumed was months of healing. Silence crept into the room as he stared, anger coursing through his veins as he imagined the kind of pain that had caused these scars. “Say something,” she whispered, words catching in her throat.

“If I ever find who did this to you, I will not hesitate to kill them,” he growled and she let out a short laugh. “I’m not kidding.” She leaned up and kissed him softly, gratitude laced in every touch. He pulled her closer, fingers trailing the scars that plagued her. They tipped into his bed with unexpected grace, laughing between kisses. Quick fingers undid his pants and he followed suit, exposing soft skin raked with more scars. She didn’t pull away anymore, in fact he was sure she was trying to get closer than possible. Her legs pressed against his hips as her fingers explored every inch of skin. He flipped them over, admiring her against the bedsheets, blonde hair spread out like a halo. He leaned down and kissed her softly as she giggled against his lips.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered before he could stop himself and with all seriousness she nodded.

“Not in a thousand years.”

[twilitty]

Waiting pt.2

Waiting

@twilitty​

Part 2/?

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: none

Read this first! Bella is away while Rose and Emmett are watching Nessie. This fic is centered around Bella.

It took everything out of Bella to not draw attention to herself. She had dressed in sweatpants and a ratty sweatshirt that she had to hide in the back of her closet so Alice couldn’t find it. Yet still people stared at her. This was one thing Bella doubted she would ever get used to: the attention.

She liked to lay low, fly under the radar, get lost in the crowd. But, that hasn’t happened to her since her human days. Well, it hasn’t really happened to her since Phoenix. It seemed that Forks high school thought she was the best thing around and quickly she had a band of boys vying for her attention. 

She’s walking down a busy side street in Port Angeles, she hadn’t lied about where she was going. The entire family knows she is in the city, they just don’t know why- except for Alice- and decidedly choose not to ask her about it. She appreciates the faux privacy they give her. It’s difficult living with a family who had supernatural hearing abilities, every whispered argument with her new husband was put on display for all to discuss in private. 

Port Angeles is her monthly retreat from the Cullens, who seemed to be her only socialization after she awoke as a vampire. It’s not that she doesn’t enjoy spending time with them, she loves them all dearly, but most conversations revert back to time periods from before she was born. She was never a fan of history class.

Port Angeles was nowhere near as large as other cities, but it was close to home and she doesn’t like leaving her daughter for long periods of time. 

The street is littered with tourists in heavy backpacks, maps under their noses. The maps are unnecessary, each street has clear signage and you can always cut through alleyways to the next street over if you need to move fast. She can’t imagine how anybody could get lost among these streets and then scolds herself immediately. She had gotten lost in these streets. Her human self was used to getting lost and falling into the lap of trouble. She hates forgetting about her old self. 

Her shoulder bag bumps her hip with every step, inside her car keys, wallet, and a hardcover book. It’s a battered copy of Pride and Prejudice, the edges of the stiff covers frayed with time and use. The words inside bore the stains of past tears, tears she would never shed again. She remembers the last time she cried over these pages, sitting on Charlies beat up couch with her wet hair tied up in a towel atop her head. She couldn’t stop thinking of Edward. This was before they had come together and stayed together. She had hoped that his behaviour was an imitation of Mr.Darcy’s. Hopefully he was just pretending to dislike her because he didn’t know how to work through his true emotions, ultimately her hopes came true, but at the time she felt empty. 

Empty from caring too much and empty from being let down yet another time. A new town she didn’t want to be in, and the one bright side seemed to hate her, how is she supposed to cope with that? She had treated herself with a bowl of ice cream after her hot shower, curling up in a quilt that seemed older than her and reading Jane Austen yet again. 

Everytime Darcy entered a scene another fat tear would drop onto the page, marking the exact spot she thought of the cruel bronze haired boy. A boy so beautiful her heart wanted to sing, yet every time he looked at her with that same disdain she couldn’t help but feel torn apart all over again. How could one human stand so much torment?

A part of her, small and insignificant, sits in her gut and wishes for tears. Wants some physical expression of her emotions. But, that won’t happen. 

The street winds to the right, groups of teenagers clustered outside of an indie coffee shop and giggling amongst each other. Idly she wonders, how is Angela doing? But the thought disappears as quickly as it comes and she finds herself at the end of the street with a four-way stop in front of her. 

She takes the right turn, sneakers scuffing as she lets her heels drag a little with every step. Humans never walk evenly, there is always something to unbalance their gait and mark their shoes. Alice would rather die a million deaths than see Bella purposefully mistreat her shoes, even if they’re knock offs she bought at an outlet mall. 

A couple buildings down, all cement and brick, is the public library. It’s poorly funded and the lighting inside is horrendous. The windows need to be resealed and the doors squeak like mice. She loves it. She enters into the drafty lobby, a bulletin board shows all the events this month, a book club is scheduled for today at noon. She checks her watch, 11:47. 

The next doors lead into the children's section where parents and toddlers sit in a semicircle at the back wall, a poorly constructed stage is used to recreate a story with hand puppets. “Save me!” She hears one of the socks yell out, a few children gasp and her steps slow to a stop. A child sitting up close to the stage has brown hair braided down her back in uneven strips. Her giggles stand out from every other childs gasps of horror. Beside her sits an identical little boy, his brown skin shining just like his sisters. 

“Don’t worry,” the little girl whispers into his ear, “the princess has a happy ending.” The boy looks up at her with big doe eyes, his nose sniffling. “I promise,” she says. Then, as if feeling that someone is watching, she turns around and faces Bella from across the wide room. 

They look at each other, the human and the vampire, the child and the woman, the hunted and the hunter. Her, Bella thinks absently, her senses slow to a dull, focused only on the soft thudding of the little girls heart. She is so beautiful. The girl watches her, wide eyes blinking as she takes in the woman staring at her without seeming to notice it. Then, she raises a dark palm, waving it at the woman.

Bellas senses surge back into her, noises and colours and scents slam into her like a wall and she almost feels the need to take a steadying breath. The girl continues to wave, her little brother looking over his shoulder to see who she’s looking at. 

Walking quickly and a little dazed, Bella makes her way to the staircase and closes the door behind her. She takes a deep, unnecessary breath which does nothing more than fill her lungs. Her chest sits hollow, no movement unless she forces it and no beating of a heart. She wonders idly what would happen if she was opened up, would they find her heart still intact? Did the venom solidify it like the rest of her or is it just simply gone? 

“Isabella!” It’s Nancy, she’s at the top of the stairs holding a book to her chest. She’s an older woman, maybe sixty five, with beautiful grey hair cut into a sleek bob at her shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re here, and looking stylish as always!” Bella just nods with what she hopes is a warm smile, she had heard and smelt Nancy above before she heard her but still widens her eyes to make it seem surprising. 

Coming from anybody else, calling Bella “stylish” for wearing sweatpants would have been sarcastic. Maybe a joke about how she always looks beautiful. But not from Nancy. Nancy is too kind, she likely has never said a poor word to anybody. 

“Thank you,” Bella responds. Taking the stairs up, Nancy has already started talking again. Bella's mind has a difficult time abandoning the little girl in front of the stage. The girl's heartbeat thuds in her ears, carrying through the thick metal door and up the stairs. She isn’t sure if she can still hear it or if her mind is just playing it back on a loop.

“All the ladies are already here, you’re the last to join us.” She continues to talk about who is here and who can’t make it. Someone brought lemon squares and someone else had snuck in orange juice and a bottle of champagne for mimosas. It’s a wonder the book club hasn’t been kicked out of the library permanently, it seems every month they are receiving another infraction for bringing in food and drinks. 

The book club meets once a month to discuss the book they were supposed to read, this week it’s Pride and Prejudice. The room they reserve is tucked into the back left corner of the library, the carpet is dingy and the walls that were once white are closer to yellow. Bella loves this room.

The ladies are all already sitting in a semicircle, a low table in the center is covered in treats and large glasses filled with a sweet smelling drink. A large bottle of champagne sits next to it. “Isabella!” A few of them call out as she enters the room with Nancy. She greets them happily, smiling widely.

“Alright, so this month we read Pride and Prejudice!” A few women whoop at that, giggling and whispering amongst each other. “Now, now,” Dhruvi chastises lightly. She’s the club leader, she makes sure the discussion doesn't get carried away. “Who wants to share their first reactions to Mr.Darcy?” Bella's mind runs faster than any computer, her words and actions are usually well thought through before she reacts, which is why she takes herself off guard when she responds so quickly. She hadn’t even known she had something to add. “I think he was acting a little cruel.” Bella’s voice says without her knowing. All eyes are immediately on her, apparently none of them agreed because their eyes are wide as saucers.

“How could you say that?” A woman pipes up, her bushy eyebrows knitted atop her wrinkled forehead. “He loves Elizabeth.”

“Yeah,” Bella says slowly, her mind whirring but not producing anything. “But that doesn’t mean he can treat her like he doesn’t care for her. He should have been open with his feelings at the start, not play stupid mind games with her.”

The room is quiet, the air dripping in what can only be suppressed judgement and mild concern from the old women. Bella notices this, takes a few looks around the circle and swallows her pride. “I’m sorry,” she enunciates, each syllable crisp with her obvious discomfort. “I guess I’m just projecting my life onto the story.”

“Is it your husband, dear?” It’s Nancy, sitting three women down from her and giving her a soft smile. Her skin is wrinkled, her eyes creasing in a motherly way. Bella’s vocal cords refuse to work, and even if they were functioning she has no idea what to say. None of the women speak and instead watch Bella work the question over in her mind.

Even though Bella could have thought this over in the bare breath of a second, she takes a minute to truly think it over. Was it her husband? Edward who loved her, who she loved? They had a child together, they were both immortal. She served up her human life on a platter and asked him to throw it away. No, it wasn’t her husband. Their relationship was perfect, picturesque, the happy ending everybody always knew they would get.

“My wife,” starts Dhruvi with a heavy sigh, “does this to me sometimes, too.” Bella had met Dhruvi’s wife before, she was a kind woman with long black hair streaked with silver, her skin a nearly identical shade of brown to Dhruvi. “She will go days treating me like a guest in our home, not holding my hand or kissing me. We will eat breakfast at opposite ends of the table and make small talk. The entire time I think, ‘did I do something wrong? Has she abandoned her feelings for me?’ But, no.” She leans over onto her knees and the scent of her floral perfume fills Bella’s head. “The next night she will cook me dinner and kiss me and tell me I’m beautiful. And, yes that is nice but it is also sad like you said-” Bella never said that what Darcy did was sad, but in her head she can see now that that word fits into her sentiment perfectly. “- because for a moment I questioned my wife’s love for me and that is very painful.” 

The room nods and murmurs in agreement, Nancy giving Bella a sad, pitying look the entire time. “I- I’m sorry about your wife not always being open about her feelings,” Bella starts, feeling like she’s being forced into giving confession. “But that’s not my Edward.” 

“Not mine either,” Nancy says quickly. “But when we met that was him. He was my Darcy in the way you described him. I love Patt now but at the time he would take me out on a date only to show up for class the next day with some new broad.” She shrugs her shoulders, “and that was cruel. He played mind games with me.” The grey haired woman doesn’t seem upset by this, instead she seems content with it. Stating it with a resigned indifference. 

“But you’ve got him now!” A woman exclaims and that sends the room into an uproar of laughter. Bella’s is noticeably absent from the mixture. 

The group finishes their discussion about the book in just over an hour, a few women sneak snacks into their purses as they depart, giggly from all the champagne. Bella packages her novel into her bag and puts it over her shoulder. Dhruvi stands at the door, with a styrofoam plate of lemon squares, only three left. 

“Isabella, I’m sorry about your experiences with this month's novel.” She says it kindly, but also as if she’s digging for more information. Trying to reopen the discussion from earlier. 

“No, I enjoyed the book, really. It was quite romantic.” The words rush out of Bella, the last thing she wants to do is start this conversation all over again. Dhruvi laughs off her comment.

“I’m considering hosting dinner at my home, I will be inviting a few of the women from this group and a few others you don’t know.” Bella’s silent heart has jumped into her throat. “Would you be interested in joining us?” What does she say? That she will go but won’t eat a single damn thing? Oh, sorry, I ate just before getting to your house for this prescheduled dinner. How awful is that, there is no way that she can go. 

“I don’t think I’ll be available that day.”

“I didn’t mention the date,” the older woman says slowly, eyelids leveling down over her pupils as if searching for something in Bella. The vampire has no response to this. “Bring your husband,” she says finally, “I would like to meet him.” 

[pixie88]

Revelations

Chapter 8 - Together - Adam & Ellie.

A/N: So I had no intentions on writing the next chapter so quickly but this little aussie rainbow lorikeet <(Hoping google out this right you only see these bird in Australia) messaged me with a song she thought would be great for A&E I love it. Check it out! I’d also like to thank her for being a spring board and letting me bounce ideas off her and giving me ideas! She also taught me a new Word Sassenach. So thank you @aussieez​ you are a star! This chapter reveals hidden secrets no one, not even I was expecting! I’m hoping google translation is correct with the Scots Gaelic. This chapter is a bit dark but also has some laughs let’s face it atm we all need to laugh. I hope you like it!

If you like it let me know or if you don’t still tell me why I won’t be offended!

I am only tagging those who have asked to be tagged in this new series from now on as I don't want to annoying people with tags. So Let me know if you would like to be tagged and if I missed anyone sorry just let me know!  

Find previous chapters HERE under Together - Adam & Ellie.

Song: Natalia Kills - Problem

Word count: 2086

WARNINGS: ⚠️ Fluffy fluff, Mild NSFW, Angst & adult language.

Pairings: Adam x Ellie.

Enjoy 😘

"Tom, what did you mean you had something to tell me?"

"El's, I'll tell you later this is your party! I don't want to steal your limelight!" he gives me a smug look and taps his nose.

"Tell me!" I protest.

"Fine, but keep it to yourself. Like I said, this is your day"

He holds out his left hand I look down and scream "OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!" the whole room turns to look at me.

"El's!!"

I pull him on for a hug "I'm so happy for you guys! I need details!"

He laughs, "Why don't you and Adam come back to the flat after this and I'll fill you in!"

"OK, also congratulations!" I'm beaming for him.

~*~*~*~

Later, at the flat "Congratulations to the both!" Adam reaches his glass.

"So, who purposed to whom? Justin, please tell me it was Tom!" I laugh.

"No, actually it was me. You know what he's like with all that gushy stuff Ellie"

"Oi! I can be romantic when I want to be!" Me and Justin laugh.

"So, how did you ask him?"

"Well, It was nowhere near like what you did for Ellie, but I took him to the restaurant where we had our first date, then got down on one knee" I start to get a bit emotional Adams arms come around me.

"Stupid hormones!" I brush away my tears.

Adam and Justin are talking about football, I leave them to it and grab a glass of water. "So, do you think you'd want to be my best woman?" Tom ask.

The biggest smile appears on my face "I'd be offended if you asked anyone else!"

He laughs, "El's there's something else I need to tell you," He looks worried.

"What's wrong?"

"That spat me and Justin had, it was...it was over something I done, something that happened 2 years ago now"

"What is it?"

"Justin thinks you have a right to know, to be honest with you and I think he's right. Jake, I...."

I cut him off, "Tom..."

"Just let me finish! After your Mum and I found out about your drinking I did something stupid in fact, more than stupid I..."

"Tom, I know exactly what you did"

He looks confused "El's?"

"Can we go for a walk?" I ask not wanting Justin to hear.

"Yeah," he takes the last of the milk out the fridge and pours it down the drain.

"Justin, El's wants a tea, but we are out of milk we're just going to pop to the shop"

"Oh, OK" he calls over his shoulder.

We make our way out the flat, it's dark now the street is quiet "El's, how did you know?"

I take a deep breath as we are walking "I got a call from the hospital saying Jake had been attacked, and he was in a bad way. The idiot still had me under his emergency contact but even after everything that happened, a part of me needed to know he was OK, so I went to see him. When I got there he had just come round, so they let me in, he told me what happened and how it was you that put him there. He was gloating telling me how he was going to tell the police you attacked him and how you would go to prison..."

"But he didn't?" he looks even more confused now.

"No, he didn't...."

"But why?!" his tone is demanding.

"Me and you have this sibling kinda bond right. If one of us gets knocked down the other starts throwing punches..."

"El's, what did you do?"

"So, do you remember that armed robber at that jewelers in the city centre nearly 3 years ago?"

"Yeah, of course it was all over the news. They still haven't caught the guys that done it"

"For my birthday that year Jake had got me this bracelet. A couple of months later I was at the hospital with Dad just reading the paper to him. They had printed pictures of everything that was stolen. As soon as I saw it, I felt sick there in this newspaper was a picture of this bracelet he had got me for my birthday. I never confronted him about it because of Dad, I need to focus all my energy on him. So, at the hospital that day when he told me he was going to tell the police who attacked him, I told him if you were to go down for this, I would make sure he went down for a lot longer for armed robbery as I knew exactly where the bracelet had come from and I still had it"

"El's, Fuck! You know if you are ever caught with it you would go down to right"

"That's the thing I don't have it, not anymore. I told Mum everything she got rid of it!"

"How?!"

"You know those new luxury apartments in the city centre 2 streets away from Mums club?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's just say the foundations of that building are worth a lot of money" 

"Does Adam know?"

"He does. I told him last year when he asks for us to move in together"

"El's, he could lose everything if it ever gets out!"

"I said that to him that before I told him about it. He didn't care he just didn't want secrets between us but he's convinced it won't come out. Well, at least not in our lifetime"

"El's why didn't you tell me?"

I laugh, "The same reason you didn't tell me. I was protecting you, the less people that knew the better”

"I guess we're both as bad as each other"

"I guess! Come on we better get this milk! Are you going to tell Justin?"

"To be honest with you I don't know, El's"

~*~*~*~

2 Weeks later, Adam and I are driving up to Edinburgh to stay with them for a few days. Natalia Kills - Problem is playing on the radio "What do think of the new car?"

I huff and roll my eyes, "It's nice I suppose, but it's not Bella!"

He takes my hand in his, "It's red like Bella, but more child friendly"

"I guess!" I say with a huff.

"Why don't we name it?"

I laugh, "What?"

"Why don't we give her a name? Maybe your fall in love with her if we name her!" he kisses my hand.

"I'm trying to keep to my eyes on the road"

"I'm sure your Mum will look after Bella. Plus, don't you like being up high?"

"OK, I like it! The gadgets make it worth giving up Bella"

I can see him smirking at the corner of my eye, "So, what are we calling her?"

"Rose?...God, Adam, I need a wee!"

"Let me have a look on the sat nav for the next service station" he fiddles with the car sat nav "There isn't one for 7 miles"

"Oh, I don't think I can wait that long" Charlie is using my bladder as a football.

"Pull over on the hard shoulder," I look at him to see if he's joking.

"You want me to wee on the side of the motorway?"

"Ellie, it will be fine. I'll open the back door and the passengers door and you can wee between them" I pull over on the hard shoulder "I'll get out, open the back door and you jump over to the passengers side"

I crawl over "I just realize we have nothing to wipe with"

Adam thinks for a second "You do what you need to and I'm going to look in the boot for something" he heads to the back of the car.

I squat down a little and pull down my jeans and underwear "Have you gone yet?"

"Nope! What if a lorry drives pass and sees me?!"

I hear him chuckle "I'm sure they're aren't looking. Ellie, I got a couple of pairs of new socks here. You can use a pair then I'll chuck them"

"You want me to used socks to wipe? Good job I don't need a poo! You might lose a t-shirt!" I laugh.

I hear him howl with laughter "They're new ones"

"OK pass me them" He wanders over and hands me the socks.

He takes over from driving and it's not long before we pull up to Nina and Al's drive. Nina runs over to the car as we get out "Ellie!!!" She wraps me up tight.

"Hi, Nina! I....I can't breath" I wave to Al who's coming down the path.

"Hi Mum! Your son is right here!" Adam says sarcastically.

"Hi Adam, You and Dad get the bags while I'll make Ellie a tea" as we walk inside I look over my shoulder to Adam and stick my tongue out at him he smirks and shook his head.

~*~*~*~

They have booked a table at a pub 20 minutes drive away. We are less than a few minutes away "So, new car? Do you like it?" Al asks.

"Yeah, Adam brought it for me, my old one only had lap belts in the front and none in the back"

"I like the screen you can see behind you when you reserve! Al can we get one?"

He runs his hands down his face "We just got a new car Nina!"

She huffs "A year ago!"

I laugh, "Looks like we are here!" (Saved by the bell there, Al!)

Adam and I head to the bar for drinks  "Adam, how do you say can I have a 2 pints of Peroni and 2 orange juices please in Scots Gaelic?"

"So repeat after me A bheil thu nad fhìor Albannach fon fhèileadh sin?"

"A bheil thu nad fhìor Albannach fon fhèileadh sin?"

The barman comes over to us "A bheil thu nad fhìor Albannach fon fhèileadh sin?" he smiles then goes to lift his kilt.

"Whoa!!!! What are you doing?!" I screech.

Adam cracks and starts laughing "Adam, What did you make me say?"

"Ellie, you said are you a real scotsman under that kilt? Sorry she's sassenach" he apologies to the Barman.

I shove him, the barman laugh "Let me teach you a very English word! You are a twat!"

He pulls me towards him "I'm only messing beautiful! Can we get 2 pints of Peroni and 2 orange juices please" he asks.

"Do you forgive me!"

"No! And you can bring the drinks over by yourself!" I huff and head back to the table.

A couple of minutes later he comes over with a tray "And for my beautiful wife, I'm sorry!" He puts down 2 pint glasses full of ice on the table.

I break into a smile "Am I forgiven now?"

I roll my eyes at him "Fine, but you're still a twat!"

He lifts my chin and smirks before placing a soft kiss against my lips "But I'm your twat!"

"I'm going to get you back by the way!"

He chuckles "Bring it on, beautiful"

~*~*~*~

The next day I know exactly how to get my revenge. Adam wanders into the bedroom after a shower. I'm purposely standing in front of the mirror in some lacy underwear.

"Fuck!" I hear him mutter under his breath as his footsteps get closer. Soon he's behind me admiring my reflection, his chest is pressed against my back, I can feel his hard shaft against the curve of my arse.

"You look stunning! You amaze me! How you can make being pregnant look so sexy!" His hand comes round to cup my breast, as his lips begin to feather along my neck. His other hand trails over my bump and is just about to slip into my underwear.

I pull away and move to where our suitcases are "I better get dressed. I need to meet your mum downstairs in 5 minutes"

"What? I thought.."

I smirk "You also thought I was a good idea to prank me yesterday. Well, Adam revenge is a dish best served..." I look down at him hard member "Hard!" I wink as I'm getting dressed "And you have the whole day to think about me wearing this under my clothes. While your mum and I are heading out to get our nails done. Bye"

I make my way to to the door "Oh and Adam! You might want to do something about that! Maybe a cold shower!" I wink as I leave him in our room.

Continue reading this story here - Chapter 9.

@lem-20​ @aussieez​ @khoicesbyk​ @shewillreadyou​ @txemrn​ @irisofpurple​

[scullydubois]

Only the Light Ch. 14

14/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: early 1995 (Humbug adjacent) | T | 5k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic <3

As the new year beckons Scully to put her life back together, she and Mulder share a Valentine's 'anti-date' on the Hoover Building rooftop.

TW for brief discussion of disordered eating.

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

The new year struck Scully with a particular melancholy. 1994 was, to put it plainly, one of the worst--if not the worst--year of her life. Even without her disappearance, it would earn that title. Her father’s untimely passing and the brief but brutal closure of the X-Files wrenched the few good things left from her fingers. Factor in the four weeks in late summer that she has no memory nor knowledge of, and you’ll understand why Scully has taken to calling it her year on the dark side of the moon.

Of course, the aftershocks of her abduction are still felt every day. Flipping the calendar does nothing to remedy that. At her last appointment, Dr. Zapolsky noticed that Scully’s weight had decreased rather sharply from previous visits and made the point that “rapid weight loss can stop ovulation,” which Scully interpreted as kicking her while she was down. That’s not exactly fair, after all. Technically, her period stopped well before she decided to restrict herself. 

It’s odd how it happened. Her weight was fine before her abduction; slender but within the healthy range for her height. Even when she was returned, it had only dropped a couple pounds, as if they fed her...as if they cared. She found that hard to believe. In the months afterward, she sought a physical representation of her mental anguish, and since she and food were never on the best terms to begin with, the choice was simple.

The other day, she had to punch an extra hole in all her belts to hold them steady on her hips. She knows the consequences of this; she’ll live them and accept it. 

There has been some beneficial progress. Dr. Zapolsky started Scully on low-dose birth control around Thanksgiving, hoping that it would balance her hormones and regulate her periods. It has, in fact, brought back her cycle, something that Scully did not expect. She gave Melissa her leftover tampons in October. Now Melissa buys enough for the two of them and insists that Scully doesn’t owe her a dime. Scully is too grateful for this to speak about it.

Her downward spiral reached a snag when she realized that smoking would make her birth control ineffective, shortly after her and Mulder’s Christmas Eve smoke break. She ditched the cigarettes, mad at herself for taking a month to read the disclaimer (she’s a doctor for god’s sake, she should know better!), yet glad to have an out. Smoking was a habit she exercised because she could. It won’t hurt her anytime soon, and millions of others do it, so where’s the harm? That was her thinking. As soon as she had a reason to stop, she did, and it felt a bit like jumping from a runaway train just before it skids off the tracks. 

So she is better, and she is worse. Which really means she is the same as she was. That is the conclusion she carries into 1995’s frosts and thaws. 

There is one thing she is certain of, something that she hadn’t given much thought to until the one year anniversary of her father’s death. She needs her faith back. She’s always practiced in a cyclical pattern, her devoutness orbiting in and out like the moon around the Earth. Sometimes closer and brighter, sometimes farther away, sometimes nowhere to be found.

She has to believe it will come back; it always does. She was made in God’s image, and her father’s. This is both a blessing and a curse.

But no one can be God, and she can’t be her father either. His faith never wavered. If hers was the moon--fickle and subject to doubt--his was the sun, steady and warming everything around it. This was a quality she was envious of, and then guilty in her blasphemy. She has never managed to feel completely content inside the bounds of piety like he could. She’s constantly shaking the devil off her back, then repenting for it, then wondering if it were all worth it. What if...what if...what if...she isn’t fully persuaded in her beliefs, and she knows that this is the worst sin of all. Like Mulder though, she wants to believe, and shouldn’t that count for something?

Imperfection is allowed. Understood, even. Doubt is not as permissible. “He who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind,” the Bible says. Sometimes Scully takes that to mean she should walk into the ocean. Then she realizes that would be blasphemous too. 

Some people believe without trying. Her father was one of those. Mulder too, in a different way. She used to think that she was too. Now she’s not so sure. “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” How many times has she read that line? Has she ever lived up to it? She’s seen and still not believed. Certainly that means she’s going to Hell.

Or is she already there?...She wonders that sometimes. Maybe she didn’t make it back from the other side. Maybe the devil just wanted her to believe that she had, and so he’d constructed some kind of diorama of Scully’s life that would go wrong bit by bit, boiling her like a gradually heated bathtub. No resting in peace for the unbeliever.

She can’t imagine a worse punishment than all the potentially good things in her life getting dismantled beyond her control. She’d rather never experience them at all than know their joy then watch them fall apart. Missy would kill her if she heard this, but you can’t please everybody.

It is at this point that Scully embarks on her chosen method of religious self-flagellation: going through the Ten Commandments and determining whether she’s violated them. Count up your sins and God won’t have to; practically the tagline of the Catholic faith.

She thinks she does okay with the first few. She has no idols, she honors her mother and father, and Mulder knows not to call her on Sunday mornings. Of course, the part about not taking the Lord’s name in vain can be tricky, but she’s working on it. 

Number five is where it gets dicey. Thou shalt not kill. She imagines that she wouldn’t, not on purpose, but the circumstances of her job worry her. God makes no exceptions for self-defense. And what if she were ever to be a true doctor? If she couldn’t save a patient, does that mean she killed them? 

Her father was in the Navy. He never killed anyone.

Number six...well, she doesn’t mention that often. Few people know about Daniel. Missy is one. Scully harbors a genuine shame regarding that time in her life, not so much because of Daniel, but because she was complicit in hurting his wife and daughter. It was a young, foolish mistake that she never wants to make again. 

She feels pretty good about number seven. The only thing she has ever stolen is one of Charlie’s matchbox cars when they were kids. She was uninterested in Missy’s hand-me-down Barbies and Raggedy Ann dolls. The boys’ toys were much cooler. She trusted the Lord enough to know that He wouldn’t hold something she did when she was seven against her. Besides, she gave it back when Charlie figured out it was missing. She just wishes he had let her play with him after that.

Number eight: thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. She considers honesty one of her best qualities. She sure hopes God does too. She’s not the most open person, but that’s different from lying…

Nine is a lost cause, considering six had been broken. This was her least favorite part of her family’s religion: the power it had to cause her shame about her own body, her own desires. She had her first crisis of faith over this at age 14. Missy comforted her with something she has never forgotten: “The original sin was the serpent’s deception, not Eve’s desire. Even God pins it on the woman.” She knew her sister could only say that because she didn’t truly believe and wasn’t trying to, but it had stuck with Scully through many moments when she needed it. 

And finally, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s goods. She supposes she did this with the matchbox cars when she was seven, but in literal terms that’s about it. Metaphorically, she does this all the time and struggles with why she feels so inadequate. Her sister’s confidence, Mulder’s tenacity, her father’s faith...The ideal Dana Scully would have all of these. The real one is a work in progress.

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

So it goes that she finds herself prepping a case in the office on Valentine’s Day. Mulder’s scheduled to fly to Florida the next morning to investigate attacks in a community of circus performers. He’s convinced it’s the Fiji Mermaid, she’s convinced he needs to get his head checked; the usual. This is one comfort Scully can always rely on. No matter how utterly twisted her life gets, she will always think Mulder is crazy, and he will always go along with it. 

The occasion of the day goes unmentioned until what Mulder lovingly refers to as “closing time,” which is not a specific time but rather the point that he finally gives up for the day, usually hastened by his partner’s prodding. Scully has learned the signs of his dwindling tenacity by now. She glances at the clock as he pulls his glasses off his head and tosses a sunflower seed in the wastebasket, pleasantly surprised that it reads only 5:15. He catches her checking, his eyes--amber today--meeting hers.

His lips curl in amusement. “You got a date or something?” 

“No,” she blinks, feeling like a child caught taking a cookie from the jar. Her cheeks grow hot, threatening to make a scene. “I figured you did, since you’re finishing up so early.”

Mulder straightens his stack of papers, clinking them against the desk obnoxiously. “Think again, buckaroo.”

He’s taken to calling her that lately. Neither one of them is sure why, it just popped into his mind one day and stuck. It makes her feel like a heroine in some 70s Western shoot-out flick who wrangles all the bad guys and locks’em in the county jail. She’s thankful that someone can see her for what she could be rather than what she is. It helps her see that too. 

He stuffs his papers in a manila folder, then rises from behind the desk and stoops toward the backpack he prefers to a briefcase. (She called him a kindergartener once because of it and he remarked that he’d ‘rather be a kindergartener than an adult.’ She couldn’t argue with that.) “Valentine’s Day isn’t really observed under the Fox Mulder calendar,” he says, unzipping the bag and putting the folder in. “Halloween and Thanksgiving, those are my holy days.” 

“You worship at the shrine of the food pyramid,” Scully smirks. 

“Yes indeed. Wait--” Scully’s gaze flicks to him, genuinely concerned. He dissolves her uncertainty with a boyish grin. “--does the food pyramid include candy?”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s not deeply felt. She misses these flat-lining comedic routines of his, usually at their best when they’re putzing through some tumble-weed town where the bathroom stalls at the gas station don’t lock. He loves being the funniest person in a ten-mile radius, and that’s not a satisfaction he can have in DC. She wonders if he tells these lame jokes to strangers now, or if they were just for her. 

“Speaking of food,” he says, brushing a hand through his hair, “you wanna grab dinner?”

Scully’s forehead creases. “Like, in a restaurant?”

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna be that forward, but I guess we could take it to yours or mine...”

Scully laughs lightly, wrapping her arms around herself, fingers caressing her bony elbows. “We’ve already covered what day it is,” she demures. “Everyone having dinner is going to be on a date.”

“You’re right...the restaurant probably won’t let us in unless we make out in front of the hostess,” he deadpans. 

“Not to mention that we don’t have any reservations…”

“Well, making out might remedy that, depending on the hostess.”

She gives him her ‘last straw’ look--crossed arms, arched eyebrow, stinging glare--and he raises his hands in surrender. “I’ll stick to slipping a twenty, then.”

Scully uncrosses her arms and slinks toward her purse rather languishly. “No restaurants, Mulder. It’s too much trouble on a holiday.”

“I sure hope you didn’t mistake my suggestion as an invitation to Mulder’s Downhome Country Kitchen, cause that place is not Michelin star rated.”

“I’m well aware. I’ve seen the menu.”

“Is Chateau de Scully open tonight?” he asks with an eyebrow raise that his partner couldn’t have missed if she tried--and she did. 

“Well, the chef is celebrating Valentine’s Day with her girlfriend in Oregon, so you’d be waiting awhile for your meal.”

“There’s no back-up chef? I don’t know, someone who may need to feed herself while the chef is away?”

“Yes, but she doesn’t serve the public.”

“Ouch.”

He plucks their respective coats off the rack, folding his own over his arm and throwing his partner’s over her shoulders. She jumps just the tiniest bit--she probably thinks he didn’t notice, so he’ll pretend he didn’t--then slips her arms in the sleeves and pulls it on properly.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, avoiding eye contact.

After he’s put his own jacket on, he hoists up his backpack, fielding off his partner’s near swerve into laughter. She’s barely maintaining a straight face, and even if it’s at his expense, he loves it because unadulterated joy is something she deserves so much. 

“You know what, I’ve got just the solution,” he says as he strolls out the doorway, flipping the light switch as he goes, leaving Scully scrambling in the dark. 

“Hey!” 

He hears her petulant voice, followed quickly by the laugh he was looking for. When she turns to him after locking the office door, her eyes are still shining from the momentary euphoria. He is so happy to know her.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this place is the Smithsonian of vending machines.”

“Mm-hm.”

“And I know a door to the rooftop that never gets locked.” He flashes her a sly look, his intentions pure despite himself. 

“It’s 40 degrees outside,” she counters before he can even voice his proposal.

“Sure, but we can make some fresh coffee, and there’s gotta be blankets in that storage closet of ours.” Ours. Very few things are theirs. She wishes he would say it again.

As much as her instinct is to protest, she can’t quite muster the resolve to. I mean, it checks all the boxes. It’s not a restaurant, she’d only have to eat a snack from the vending machine, and she wouldn’t have to spend Valentine’s night alone, which is a sneaky sadness that had been pressing at the back of her mind.

“Fine,” she bluffs, as if it were a great inconvenience to her. She enjoys the cat-and-mouse game, what can she say? “You find the blankets, I’ll get the coffee.”

Mulder smiles, his lips edging over his teeth in an aesthetically pleasing way that makes Scully feel like he missed his calling as a male model. Of course, this smile isn’t posed. The constant in his life is his partner’s unpredictability. Everyone thinks she’s a stone-cold skeptic, but he knows she’s an uncertain believer, and there’s no one harder to pin down than that. Her yes to his Valentine plans may as well be an admission that Bigfoot exists. 

“Let’s meet by the sixth floor stairwell, okay?” he prompts, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Flashes of Christmas Eve sabotage her thoughts--her mother’s kitchen, her untidy tipsiness, Mulder just trying to iron things out. He’d touched her, and she’d lashed out at him. Reaction formation, that was the term for the defense mechanism she’d used. He knew it, probably studied it extensively. Concealing an impulse by acting out its opposite.

Instead of mentioning this, she looks him in the eyes and says, “Okay, I’ll use the coffee machine on the sixth floor then,” as if his touch hadn’t brought forth both memory and desire. 

“Great. See you there.” He pulls finger guns, and she thinks that maybe this is already her best Valentine’s Day yet.

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

Five stories of stairs is a long way to go with two hot mugs of coffee. Scully had hoped there would be some styrofoam cups--something she could put a lid on--but the Bureau is stingy, so she had to go all the way back to the basement, grab their coffee mugs, take the elevator back to the sixth floor, brew some dark roast (to Mulder’s probable discontent), then hope that by some miracle, they could make it to the roof. 

Ever the idealist, Mulder takes the challenge in stride. Though his arms are already bundled with some comforters he found tucked away in storage (he shudders to think how old they must be), he takes the handle of his mug, squeezing the blankets snug against his chest. 

“Are you sure about this?” his partner asks with her usual uneven tone. “What if we get all the way up there and the door is locked?”

“We knock and get the snipers to open the door for us,” he answers matter-of-factly.

Scully’s eyebrows shoot up. “Snipers?”

“Oh yeah, did I forget to mention? There’s a longstanding rumor about snipers on the roof that I’d like to get to the bottom of.”

His demeanor is just loose enough to make Scully question whether he is in fact kidding. A conversational casualness permeates all of his sensational soliloquies because to him, the phenomena he’s discussing should be regarded as a fact of the world. If he ever launched into an indifferent lecture on the subject, she’d know he was bluffing.

Having never heard the rumor herself, she decides this is simply a figment of his overactive imagination. She’ll play along. “Well, if it’s anything like the talk of you being spooky, then it doesn’t look good for us…” she teases, her own smirk eliciting an identical one from her partner. 

Masking his impatience by embodying the role of the gentleman, Mulder uses his free hand to prop open the stairwell door, ushering his partner through. The landing of each story has one stray light bulb, there for show more than anything. Most of them are either flickering or burned out, the agents discover as they inch their way up, one slowly taken step at a time. Step, pause for the coffee to settle, hope it doesn’t breach its container, step: that’s the process they adopt for approximately 100 steps in the cold Hoover stairwell. There are many ways to show love; Mulder bets that you wouldn’t find this in any lame self-help book. 

“Do you think Romeo would have done this for Juliet?” he muses.

“Depends on what he was expecting once they made it to the top,” Scully quips, the edges of her lips turning up slightly.

Mulder nods, perpetually amused by her (too) infrequent jaunts into suggestive territory. “My man really got ahead of himself with the whole ‘dying for her’ schtick.” 

“You’re one to talk.” 

Mulder eyes her. “Actually, I think it was you who was going to die for me.”

“Not for you, because of you.” Her statement is neither packed with malice nor free of blame. “There’s a difference.”

She may as well have shot him at point blank range; then at least she could see the bleeding. She didn’t mean to be so blunt, but he gave her the perfect setup. Mulder cauterizes his own wound, disguising his pain as a joke. “Damn, I was finally moving past that!”

“At least one of us was,” she says, her voice fluttering, and he knows she’s just teasing, but god, what if she’s cauterizing her own hidden wounds?

They reach the door labelled ‘roof,’ and Mulder can’t decipher what happens first, him putting his hand on the door handle or her placing a chilly hand on his cheek. Playing it back in his head later on he won’t even be able to figure it out-- it cut time loose from its axes in such a way. 

“Are you okay, Scully?” He’s not sure why this is the first question out of his mouth, but it is.

“I need a hand warmer,” she murmurs. “The coffee’s already cooling off.”

All the while, Mulder is acutely aware that her hand’s still on his cheek and she’s got him propped against the door, and what does she want him to do with that information?

Her thumb grazes his mole, and it becomes clear to him that there are two ways this scenario could go, and if she doesn’t want the second one it’s imperative that she stop rubbing rhythmic circles into his skin.

He clears his throat. “Do you want to...do you want me to check for snipers?” Her touch continues, uninterrupted. 

“Is the door unlocked?” Her voice sounds airy and far away. She probably didn’t even hear his question. 

He pushes on the handle, confirming their freedom. “Yes ma’am,” he answers, fear of a sort edging him into total politeness. He is twelve tiptoeing through the too empty halls of his house, again.

“Let’s have a picnic,” she says, still light and airy, as if that weren’t the plan the entire time. Then, she breaks into sudden laughter, pulling her hand away from Mulder’s cheek in her fit. “We forgot the food!” 

She is back to normal now, his steadfast Scully with a side of joy. 

Half of him mourning for the otherworldly Scully and the moment that could have been, he laughs too. “There may have been some lapses in planning.”

“We can make do, can’t we?” There’s a glimmer in her eyes that suggests the moment is not as far gone as he believed.

“Cold coffee sounds like an enduring Valentine’s tradition,” he affirms.

They choose not to dwell on words like “enduring” and “tradition,” entering the chill of the Hoover Building rooftop on Valentine’s night. 

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

They’re not that far above the city really--the Hoover’s no NYC skyscraper--but their heads are in the clouds, that’s for sure. It’s not the typical dinner date complete with melted candles and overpriced dessert and overly attentive waiters, but as it turns out, they would both hate that. After all, this is not a date, it’s a casual hangout between two coworkers who don’t have dates on Valentine’s Day. If anything, it’s an anti-date. That’s what they tell themselves.

February’s unrelenting chill swirls around them, catching Scully’s hair in playful tantrums and turning the two of them into life-size paperweights atop the blankets. More sensible people may call the night a bust, but not the Prince of Halloweentown and his esteemed guest. This unconventional adventure is exactly what they bargained for.

Scully looks to Mulder, who’s holding his coffee like it’s a beer. She smiles. That is so him.

She exhales, and her breath spells itself out on the air. She tilts her face to the sky, as if the sun might suddenly rise and bask her in its heat. Mulder notices and fixes his attention there too, happy to have an excuse to look skyward. It’s his outlet, like hers is the sea her father dedicated his life to. His preferred escape method is to fly away; hers is to drift off.

He forces himself back into the moment, here, with her, and the expanse of the sky. “I once spent fifty bucks on one of those ‘name a star’ certificates, and I can’t even see it because of the goddamn light pollution.”

“I think that’s really more about the gesture than anything else,” Scully replies, trying to soothe him as if this were actually a pressing problem. “Unless you bought it for yourself...?”

Mulder chuckles. “No, no. It was for an old girlfriend.”

Scully raises her eyebrows in amusement. “Did you name it after her?”

“No, we named it the Rhine star.”

A puzzled look passes between them. It gives him a twinge of joy that his partner is not the encyclopedia she seems to be. 

“After Joseph Banks Rhine, the founder of parapsychology,” he clarifies. “We were both fascinated by the field.”

“Oh.” She turns her face back toward the sky with the feeling of a kid who missed the winning word of the spelling bee. There are times when she is grateful she does not know everything, and times when she is not. Somehow, this is both. 

“I’ve thought about buying another one and naming it after Samantha,” Mulder continues, “but it feels too much like a grave marker.”

“I’d consider it a lovely tribute,” Scully counters, used to doing so. “But I’m thirty and I own my own gravestone, so take that with a grain of salt.”

It’s true--once Dana was returned, her mother couldn’t bear to look at the gravestone she’d had engraved in memory of her missing daughter, so she gave it to Mulder, who saw no logical place for it to go except the woman whose name it bore. Margaret hadn’t wanted her to know that it existed, that they’d gotten so far as considering her gone. While it brought Mulder no joy to present it to his partner, it served as a reminder of the miracle her survival was, and in such bleak times, they had both needed that. 

“It doesn’t scare me--the thought of dying,” Scully says to the stars. Mulder wonders if she meant for him to hear it. He wishes he hadn’t, but he’s met with the realization that she is trying to start a conversation when her eyes look into his.

He doesn’t know where to go with this, so he toes the line between deep and sarcastic. “I thought Catholics were all about that heaven and hell stuff.”

“Yes, but…” where is the line between truth and blasphemy, she wonders? Settling herself, she starts over. “I’ve lived both on Earth, so what have I got to fear?” She turns her glance to the blanket, as if shrinking out of the Lord’s sight. “Besides, sometimes I think I’m already there.” 

“Heaven?”

“No, Hell.”

He should have known. He grips the edge of his blanket, wondering why his parents had prioritized the sex talk but never explained what to do in a situation like this. He has a psychology degree, sure, but he’s as much a psychologist as she’s a physicist. 

“There are periods of life, I think, where everyone feels like that,” he says in the most earnest voice he can conjure. “It’s just that nobody ever talks about it.”

“Did you feel like that with Samantha?” 

Leave it to Scully to turn a personal conversation back on him.

He bites his lip. “Yeah, yeah, I did. Still do, if I think about it too long.”

“How did you...move past it?” The lights of nearby buildings reflect off her blue eyes, galaxies to his black holes. He’d give anything to sluice the pain right from her heart. 

He’ll rely on his words instead, despite knowing there are depths they cannot touch. “I, uh, I didn’t really move past it, I just moved. Kept moving, I guess. I found a place where I could make progress out of my pain. Here--the X-Files.”

Scully swallows hard, knocking back tears. "That’s the issue. I feel stuck. Just completely unable to go forward. There’s a current in my brain that keeps pushing me backward.”

Mulder lets out a deep breath, trying to take both their pain with it. “Have you considered seeing a therapist?” he asks delicately. “It sounds like you may have PTSD.”

“Over what?” she practically snaps. “I don’t remember a thing.”

“That doesn’t mean you have no memories. Regression hypnosis could help recover repressed or unconscious memories, so you could understand exactly what’s bothering you.”

“You think I haven’t heard this spiel from Melissa?”

“I bet Melissa doesn’t have first-hand experience with it.”

“No, she doesn’t,” she murmurs in the tone of an apology. She knew that he had it, she had listened to the tapes. How could she let it slip her mind? It is uncouth of her to look down on his chosen method of healing.

Mulder isn’t bothered. He continues, “It helped me. Both in recalling the details of the experience, and in having a recorded recollection of it. It helped me feel less...insane.”

“Mmm.” If he were just a bit closer, she’d reach out and touch his hand.

“If anything, I wish I did it earlier.”

Scully’s understanding of him sharpens, like an ophthalmologist flipping the lens, making her vision clearer. Her gaze probes him, mutual souls recognizing mutual pain. 

“Hey.” He uses his extended wingspan to touch her shoulder with the care an older sibling would show holding their baby brother for the first time. She turns her head, their faces mere inches away from each other. His eyes are a dopey brown, his breath scented with coffee.

“Yes?” she says with a coquettish flitting of her eyelashes. 

“You should come back out on the road. I could use someone to shoot down all my wild whims.”

She can’t help but smile, though she keeps her mouth closed. “Tired of telling jokes to strangers who don’t laugh, are you?”

He smirks. “Well, yeah, that too.” He leans back a bit, putting enough distance between them to keep the sparks in check. “Of course, if you’re not ready, there’s no pressure. I just think you could use the change of scenery and--you know--companionship.”

She nods, looks out into the night. He’s got the pulse of her problems and the salve that could soothe them. “You’re right.” How often does he get to hear those beautiful words come out of her mouth? “I need to get out of my cocoon, and I think I’m okay enough to do that now.”

“Yeah?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, something like hope.

She laughs--catharsis manifest--and it’s like a sheen of light coming through a crack in her jagged surface. “Yeah, Mulder. I’ll make the arrangements with Skinner.”

He pumps his fists in the air. “Hallelujah!” 

She hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her. Any stray thoughts she had of him being lonely she chalked up to her own delusions. 

“Florida is probably a lost cause,” she notes, “but after that…”

He nods, pats her shoulder. “After that.”

To have her back meant something like freedom. The X-Files had never been anything without her. He had never been anything without her. 

[221castiel]

Yesterday - Chapter One

Master Post // AO3

-

He isn't exactly sure why he wants it so badly, his own parents were only married for five years before Mary had died and even then it was only a year later when John had stopped wearing his ring. Opting to instead leave it some drawer filled with other forgotten items; pennies and keys with no purpose other than to collect dust. Cas's parents had divorced when he was nineteen. Something that had become a long legal battle over every little thing, the house, the kids, every single piece of silverware that filled the kitchen.

Marriage had never been a permanent thing in either of their lives, and yet, Dean wanted it. He wanted it the same way he wanted the sun to set every night and rise every morning. He wanted to whisper each vow as he stared into Cas's vibrant eyes, to feel the other's lips as they kissed for the first time as a married couple. Dean wouldn't consider himself a romantic, he was just as happy to stay at home and watch Game of Thrones as he would be going on an over planned date, and yet, he wanted every sappy moment he would roll his eyes at growing up. The first dance, shoving cake in each other's faces, the perfect ring, which Dean had quickly learned is something far easier said than done.

It had taken months of stopping at the mall's jewelry store, sorting through each shipment of new rings before he'd finally found the perfect one.

"Holy shit," Charlie cries, her nose only inches from the glass case that she'd lent over, "that's a lot of bling." Dean nods, a grin tugging at his lips. Charlie's excitement was contagious, warming his chest as she continued to study the ring. He had a ring. He was going to propose. It was happening. "Seriously dude," Charlie continues in the same raised voice, "Marline Monroe would be jealous of this."

"Well could you keep it down," Dean teases, as one of the workers behind the counter gives them a side glance that he's frankly too excited to care about. "Or at least let me buy the ring before you get us kicked out."

Charlie looks up, a wide smile across her face. Her bright hair had been pulled back in a ponytail though through the workday it had begun to fall out and now framed her face in small strands. "Sorry," Charlie whispers, a grin still spread across her lips. She stands up properly and adjusts her walmart vest that she'd draped over her arm. "I'm just so excited for you- and jealous of Cas."

"I'll buy you one next."

"I'm holding you to that," Charlie teases, causing Dean to roll his eyes.

She looks back to the glass case and Dean steps forward looking over her shoulder at the rings that fill it, his gaze immediately finding the ring he'd spent the past weeks looking at. The band itself is silver, the center lined with small diamonds, while the edges were carved with a leaf like pattern. In the center a large diamond sat, catching the store's bright light and reflecting it in small shimmers. "Do you think he's going to like it?" Dean whispers. He'd been sure Cas would, but now he couldn't kick the tug in his stomach, the thought that maybe he's better off saving for a little longer, buying one a little bit more expensive or with a bigger diamond.

"He's going to love it," Charlie replies.

Dean looks up as Charlie goes silent, meeting her concerned gaze. Her lips pressed in a tight line, eyes darting over Dean's face, eyebrows knit together, her whole expression weighs on him. He already knows he doesn't want to hear whatever she has to say. Is it too late to walk away?

Despite the sudden dread that weighs on his shoulders, Charlie continues speaking. "Look," she begins, "I want to be all supportive and stuff, I really do, but how the hell can you afford this, it's gotta be more than you and Cas make in a month."

"I've been savin'"

"For what the past century?"

"Three years and just under ten months," Dean corrects. He shrugs his shoulders looking back down to the ring. "But who really keeps track of that crap."

Dean shoves his hand into his jean pockets, pressing his lips together as he looks across the rings. He can feel Charlie's eyes burning against the side of his head, but he refuses to meet them, he already knows the expression that would sit across her face, concentrated and curious, trying to figure out Dean's exact thoughts.

Charlie takes a small step closer, and Dean doesn't move, continuing to study a rose gold ring that holds a dark blue jewel in the center. "Dean," Charlie says, her voice low and gentle. "You know Cas would be just as happy with a cheaper ring, something you can actually afford."

"Cas would be happy with a fuckin' ring pop," Dean grumbles. "Doesn't mean I can't buy him something better."

"Could you push a side your prince charming complex for five minutes, and not make the most financially stupid decision of your life?"

Dean looks back to the silver ring. He knows Charlie's right, hell the thought has been in the back of his mind since he'd begun saving, putting every extra penny or dollar won during a game of pool, aside. They could pay off almost two months of their health insurance, fix their bathroom sink, save the money for if an emergency came. Dean could think of a million different things the money could go towards. Things Cas, who was far too selfless for his own good, would want the money to go towards, yet Dean couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Charlie-"

"You can't-"

"No," Dean insists, looking back to the other. "I'm going to do it."

Charlie's expression softens her lips tugging into a gentle smile. A gesture that's so simple yet seems to lift whatever weight that'd been resting across Dean's shoulders, easing his breathing, and allowing him to return the smile. "He's going to love it," Charlie says.

"I hope so."

-

His feet ache as he doesn't so much as walk down the apartment building's hallway but drag himself, the dim lights above casting shadows over the dingy hallway walls. Stopping at his apartment Dean pulls the keys from his pocket, the sound of fighting from the neighbours clear through the thin walls.

Fuck people. After a six hour morning shift at Walmart followed by a five hour shift at McDonald's filled with bitchy people and forced smiles, Dean was done with people. Especially loud neighbours that spent nights fighting until they broke up, only to get back together a few days later. If he had to listen to make up sex even once that night he was complaining to the landlord.

A loud crash comes from their neighbours and Dean sighs. Maybe he'd prefer the makeup sex over hate sex.

He finally manages to unlock the door and step into his apartment where he's immediately met by silence, the main room of the apartment -a small joint living room and kitchen- dimly lit by the living room table lamp. Though other than the lamp and a few dirty dishes there was no sign of anyone else. Not that Dean minds, it gives him a moment to breath. A moment to catch his thoughts and relax.

After dropping his things onto the kitchen chair Dean goes to get a glass of water, though his attention quickly changes as he stops at the kitchen counter where papers were spread out. A mix of bills and lined papers that were covered in Cas's neat writing.

Across the top of one page the words, Next Month's Budget, had been printed. Various numbers were printed underneath as Cas balanced out their income, trying to figure out how they could buy new light bulbs while saving money for Jack's birthday. He feels sick just looking at the numbers.

He already knew everything on the page. There were no surprises, medical insurance took out most of his income, car insurance took what was left. Everything Cas made was spent on food and rent, making sure the heat stayed on the months they really needed it and that water came when they stepped in the shower. There was close to nothing left.

He already knew that.

And yet he feels sick.

He flips the page over to read the back, though he doesn't get more than a glance before the sound of footsteps comes, followed by Jack's voice, "dad!"

Dean turns at the sound, forcing a smile across his face as Jack comes running towards him, a wide smile across the child's and his arms out for Dean to pick him up. "Hey kid," Dean hums, picking Jack and resting him against his hip. "Did you have a good day?"

"So good!" Jack cries, wrapping his arms around Dean's neck in an awkward half hug, causing a genuine smile to tug at Dean's lips. A warmth spreading across his chest that has him gripping Jack together as the child buries his face into Dean's neck.

"So good, huh?"

"So so good!"

Dean laughs, smiling down at Jack. "What made it so good?"

"We goed to the park," Jack says, burying his face further into the crook of Dean's neck where he rubbed his nose much to Dean's disgust, then made a soft sniffle. "And- and drawed."

"All while you're sick?"

"I'm not sick!"

"He's been refusing to take the cold medication," Cas says, Dean's gaze immediately darting up at the sound of Cas's low voice. He stood at the entrance of their hallway wearing one of Dean's AC/DC shirts, his dark hair tousled with strands overlapping one another or simply sticking out in random directions as a small smile rests across his face that Dean returns. How couldn't he. When his boyfriend was standing there looking gorgeous even with his messy hair and slightly darkened eyes from lack of sleep. Boyfriend- hopefully soon to be fiance.

"I don't want it," Jack grumbles. Dean looks back down to the pouty expression that now rests across Jack's face, his bottom lip puckered out, and eyes pleading. Something that only makes Dean's smile grow. "It's bad, I want ice cream!"

"How about you take the medicine," Dean offers, "and I'll get you some ice cream, deal?"

Jack stares back for a moment, bottom lip still puckered out as he gives a firm nod. "Deal."

After Jack runs off to the bathroom, Dean grabs a bowl from the cabinet filling it up with a few spoonfuls of vanilla ice cream before he walks out of the kitchen. He makes his way down the small hallway and into Jack's room where he finds Jack standing on his bed while Cas helps him get into his superman pajamas.

"Superman?" Dean hums as he steps into the room, careful not to break any of the toys that scatter the floor. "Batman's way cooler."

"See Daddy," Jack cries to Cas, "I telled you! I telled you!"

"I know Bee," Cas replies as he helps Jack slide his arms through the shirt's holes. "But they need to be washed."

"I want them now!"

"You can have them tomorrow night."

"Tonight you'll just have to be lame Superman," Dean teases as he takes a seat on Jack's bed. He knows it's not a good time, Cas is obviously tired, and Jack is starting to get sick, something that always leaves him a little more sensitive, but he can't help himself. He knows it's worth it when Cas sends him a glare, an expression that Dean finds far cuter than he ever should.

"Daddy!" Jack cries, Burying his face into Cas's chest as Cas wraps his arms around the child and rubs small circles into his back.

Cas leans down pressing a kiss to Jack's head. "It's okay Bee," He whispers gently, though when he looks back up the glare he gives Dean is anything but that. "You're provoking him," Cas whispers.

He definitely was.

"Am not," Dean replies in a similar low tone. Cas's eyes narrow, and Dean sighs. "Let me fix it."

It takes a few minutes for Dean to calm Jack down, between a mix of apologies and promises that Superman was in fact a very cool super hero, and in fact almost as cool as Batman. By the time he does, Jack is more than happy to eat his almost melted ice cream, then receive a piggy back ride to the bathroom where he brushes his teeth, and continues to tell Dean about his day. Specifically about the squirrel he'd seen at the park and the tv shows he'd watched in the morning. Finally after a long conversation about a show Dean's never even heard of, Dean manages to get Jack into bed, whispering a goodnight before he goes to flick off the lights.

He reaches out to the light switch, his finger grazing it before he hesitates, looking back at Jack.

Even in the single bed Jack looks small, far too small for a four year old. The doctors had insisted it was fine, a common side effect to a chronic illness, nothing anyone could fix, and yet Dean couldn't help but feel guilty. A weight in his stomach as if he'd swallowed lead, he wanted to fix it so bad, wanted to make sure Jack was never going to be anything but okay. He wanted to fix it no matter how many times he was told he couldn't, and he knew Cas felt the same way.

Jack made a small sniffle then his eyes fluttered open, meeting Dean's stare. "Dad?" Jack whispers, his voice sounding more nasally than before.

"Yah?"

"I love you."

"I love you too," Dean whispers back, a small smile tugging at his lips as he flips the light switch.

After stepping out of Jack's room, Dean takes a deep breath allowing himself a second to calm his heart before he walks into his own bedroom, finding it empty. The living room and kitchen is exactly the same as when he first got home, the lamp still dimly glowing, dirty dishes and papers still scattering the surfaces. The only difference is that the porch door had been propped open, letting the night air linger through the living room

Dean walks across the livingroom and to the porch doorway, where he leans his shoulder. An easy smile spreads across his face as he watches Cas stand over one of the many plant pots that cover their tiny porch.

With a pair of scissors in hand Cas carefully looks over the pot of Marigolds, cutting off any leaves that had begun to wither and letting them fall off the porch and onto the street below. A concentrated expression rests across Cas's features as inspects the plants, his lips pressed in a tight line and eyes narrowed, his fingers working carefully. How Cas had the patience to watch something grow, to care for something so frequently, Dean would never know.

"It's cold," Dean finally says, stepping onto the deck. Cas doesn't look up and instead picks up his watering can, tilting it over to let the water soak the marigolds. "Do you need a coat?"

"I'm fine."

"You won't be saying that when you're sick."

"I won't get sick."

"Just cause you don't get cold doesn't mean you can't get sick," Dean mumbles.

Cas looks up, the smallest smile tugging at his lips as he tilts his head to right, a small action that always brings a warmth to Dean's chest. A comforting feeling that leaves him wanting more, one more look of Cas's eyes, one more touch of his fingers that were surely frozen from the chilled wind, one more second of just being with the other.

"Dean," Cas insists in his usual gravelly, monotone voice. "I am fine."

Despite Cas's arguments Dean tugs the first sleeve of his jacket off and then the second, the evening air immediately freezing against his bare arms. "Comeon angel," Dean says, offering his jacket. "Humor me."

Cas narrows his eyes, but still takes the jacket from Dean's hand and pulls it around himself before turning back to the plants. Dean leans against the deck railing no longer trying to speak and instead watches as Cas works his way from plant to plant, trimming leaves, and drizzling them with water. He can hear the distant sound of voices in the streets below, some kind of fight that could be just heard over the ambulance sirens from a few blocks away, both noises that occur far more frequently than Dean would ever like.

Maybe it wasn't a good time to buy an engagement ring, maybe they'd be better off saving to move to a different apartment. Somewhere nicer, where kids didn't walk in the middle of the streets because it was safer than walking near the alleyways, or near parks that weren't filled with used needles and other things that had Dean caring Jack rather then letting the child walk (though honestly Dean wasn't sure if Chicago had any parks not like that). Maybe they'd be better off buying light bulbs or saving for the over the top birthday Dean knew Cas wanted Jack to have.

Saving it would be the best choice, yet Dean couldn't bring himself to not picture the ring. To not imagine how Cas's eyes would light up as Dean opened the box, he'd say yes, Dean had never been so certain of anything in his life. Cas would say yes, and then they'd kiss, holding onto one another as if it was their last moments alive.

"Do you regret anything?" Dean suddenly says, his mind spinning with too many what ifs to stop himself.

Cas pauses for a second, before he continues inspecting the small tomato plant that had just begun to sprout. "No," Cas replies, his voice steady, though Dean can hear something else in it, hesitation, maybe worry, "do you?"

"No- yah- I mean, I don't know," Dean shoves his hands into his jeans pocket, trying to warm them from the numb feeling that had quickly begun to grow. The fighting down below had stopped though the ambulance's sirens continues to blare and for a moment Dean let's that fill the silence as he tries to sort his thoughts. "I think I'd've liked to try harder at school, maybe got a degree in mechanics, something that'd make us money." He pauses, looking down to his shoes, it's easier than looking at Cas as he admits his defeats. "We could have a nicer apartment."

"I like our apartment," Cas replies.

"The neighbors suck," Dean says, "We've got the Joker and Harley Quinn on one side and a fuckin' hooker on the other."

"Meg is a respectable woman."

A smile tugs at Dean's lips. "Yah well most apartments have nice chicks."

"Dean," at the sudden softness in Cas's voice, Dean looks up, his eyes meeting the other's. Cas places his watering can down and steps forward. "Are you alright?"

"Yah." Cas gives the smallest tilt of his head, a crease forming between his eyebrows as his gaze darts down Dean. Dean pushes himself from the railing and raises his arm, lacing his fingers with Cas's. "Really, angel," Dean continues, pulling Cas into his arms, "I'm fine."

Cas wraps his arms around Dean's neck, resting his chin against Dean's shoulder. Even with the help of his jacket Cas feels frozen as Dean wraps his arms around the other's waist, Dean's fingers grazing the frozen skin from under Cas's t-shirt. "Dean," Cas says, his voice louder in the suddenly silent night. "You are allowed to talk to me."

"I'm just thinkin'" Dean replies. He holds Cas closer to his chest hoping that it will keep the other warm, and rests his chin against Cas's shoulder. "Worryin' about Jack, money, the future, that kind've crap," Dean says. "Things are just goin' to get more expensive."

"I understand your concerns," Cas replies. Dean tilts his head as the other talks, pressing a kiss to Cas's neck, followed by a second, the kiss so soft and gentle Dean's lips just ghost the frozen skin. "But Jack will be starting school soon and when that happens I'll discuss working more hours with Crowley. We will figure it out."

"I'm worried about you," Dean whispers, something which was only half true.

He was worried with every beat of his heart that he could never give Cas what he deserved. That one day Cas would realize he deserved better and walk out. Dean wasn't worried about Cas, Cas could handle himself, he was worried the day Cas would realize he was worth more.

Dean was worried that one day he would be left with nothing but a broken heart for memories, and the feeling of sorrow to wash it out.

"Dean," Cas whispers, "there's no reason to worry about me." Dean presses another kiss to Cas's neck and slowly let's his fingers travel down the other's back, tracing the curve of Cas's spine. "Please don't worry about me." The thought of arguing crosses Dean's mind but instead of trying he buries his nose into the crook of Cas's neck as Cas's grip around him tightens.

It was moments like this that left Dean holding Cas closer, clinging onto every second as if it would be his last with the other. When they were alone in the dark, only lit by the decks faded orange light, and the world around them had gone silent as if to give them one moment alone. It was simple moments like this that left Dean out of breath, and at a complete loss of words, unable to describe just how in love he was with Castiel Novak.

Slowly, humming softly, Dean removes one hand from Cas's back and laces the fingers of his right hand with Cas's left. "Here comes the sun," Dean begins barely above a whisper, swaying softly, an action Cas mimics.

"And I say," Dean sings softly, "it's alright."

"Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter," Dean continues, his voice hanging through the silent night, only broken by their footsteps as they move across the deck. "Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here." Cas's lips press lightly to Dean's neck and he replies by giving Cas's hand a gentle squeeze, it's all he can manage. Any words would ruin the moment, nothing he could say would be as gentle as them swaying, sharing one another's warmth as the wind continues to blow.

"Here comes the sun, do, do, do. Here comes the sun, and I say," Dean sings, "it's alright."

They continue to dance as the song goes on, footsteps heavy, and their swaying half a beat off. Cas's fingers are still frozen against his, and Dean's own arms had long ago become numb, and yet it's perfect.

Dean wouldn't trade it for a second of perfection. The breathless feeling leaving him light, his heart pounding constantly in his chest yet always one beat not enough. It's impossible to breathe properly when all his senses are heightened on one thing.

Cas.

By the time the song comes to an end and their slow dance has stopped, Cas's eyes were on Dean's, the normally vivid blue casted in shadows by the deck's light. Cas's hand moves from where it rests on Dean's shoulder and to his cheek, the contact so light Cas's fingers barely grazes Dean's skin. "I love you," Dean whispers, because he isn't good with words, he never has been, and that's the only thing he can think of that can even remotely describe how he feels.

"I love you too," Cas replies. He leans forwards pressing his lips to Dean's for a slow kiss that has Dean's heart somewhere between racing and stopping, tearing all the air from his lungs. When they pull away, their lips still grazing, there's only one thing Dean's sure of; he's going to marry the love of his life.

[amarienne]

It’s been two days. My blood still boils when I think of all the lost potential. (ramblings regarding how out of character the finale was)

Never before has an episode of any show, or a chapter of any book, or a scene of any movie has made me so upset. There is rage inside of me and the question of ‘how can a writer betray his own characters like this’.

(huge post following.)

I was not a hardcore destiel shipper. When I first started watching SPN a few years ago I knew of the ship but I thought that there was no chance in Hell a show like this would make it canon. And if we had never gotten 15x18 and some parts of 15x20 maybe I would be a tiny bit happier with how the finale went.

But the biggest mistake they did was give us the confession scene and not only that but echo it in Dean's actions in 15x19.

'That's not who I am'

This line keeps coming back to me because literally two episodes ago we saw Dean willing to sacrifice himself, Jack and even Sam so Chuck would disappear. He was red with rage and he didn't care for anything else apart winning. Let's not forget the thing that made him stop for a minute was Cas questioning Sam on why they should not go ahead with the plan. [Oh, there are plenty to be said for the only angel in all the universes that didn't just 'follow orders' after 'gripping him tight and raising him from perdition' but I won't go into that here.]

And sure, all that was Chuck's writing, but wasn't everything?

So what I am trying to say is that in three consecutive episodes we see:

-Dean full of anger and rage and ready to do anything to win -Dean giving up, losing hope after being cornered -Dean and TFW (minus Cas) finally overpower Chuck and walk away peacefully

So what changed? What made Dean walk away redifining himself as something different than the 'ultimate killer'?

Castiel. Of course, Castiel. The confession was so precious not only because Cas professed his love for Dean. No. It was vital to the plot of the next episode. And that was because before Cas utterred 'I love you' he spoke of how he sees Dean. How the way he sees himself is not the way Cas and the rest of the world sees him. How everything he has ever done, good and bad, was for love. Only for love. Not winning, not gaining power or wealth or recognition. But for love. At that moment Dean sees himself as Cas sees him, and it leaves him struck, speechless. Dean, who always had a snarky line ready is in awe trying to understand the words he is hearing.

And then, after everything is done and dusted we see Dean say 'That's not who I am' mirroring Cas' final words. The words he spent I don't know how much time sitting on the floor against the wall thinking about and crying. Noone else had gotten across to Dean like that, not even Sam. And we see that he started adopting Cas' image of him, believing it to be true. Or starting to.

Dean Winchester overpowered the ultimate villain and chose to stay true to Cas' image of him instead of taking revenge for Chuck screwing him over all his life.

This is poetic and heartbreaking, especially knowing Cas is gone. Not having Dean talk about the confession in 15x19 makes sense. We see glimpses of him numb at the loss, mourning Cas, wanting him back. We see the hope in his face when he thinks he is back. All these things make sense for 15x19, and even though we were sad we had to wait for the next episode hoping to see something tangible (aka the week we all clowned) I was content. The battle was done, the main plot was wrapped up. All was left was to see where all this last minute huge (especially for Dean) character progression and self acceptance would end up.

And then fucking 15x20 happens. It is like the writers threw in a cardboard box all the above points and details and threw it in the ocean. Nothing, absolutely nothing after the first 5 minutes makes sense in this fucking episode!

The montage at the beginning filled me with warmth and happiness. Dean (and Sam) are having a normal morning. Dean looks happy, he is eating, not depicted as overly drinking and most of all he has Miracle. He is focusing his love and affection on another living being. Sweet and warm. He plans to spend the afternoon eating pie with his brother. Goofy and light. The man deserves it for a bit.

But then we get the mention of Cas from Sam and we see how Dean reacts. How can Dean, who was sobbing on the floor and was demanding Cas to be brought back basically an episode ago keep an emotionless face and brush it off. We get the line 'If we don't keep living all that sacrifice was for nothing'. So we are meant to believe that right now Dean is not particularly bothered with Cas' death because it was a sacrifice to save the world. At this point a dread is starting to fill me.

Um, if it was the first time Cas was dying I would understand this. We have seen Dean broken over Cas' death before multiple times under more peaceful circumstances. Dean wouldn't leave Purgatory without Cas and you are trying to convince me after gaining true free will and finally writing his own story Dean would not break every cosmic rule to bring Cas back? Even if he did not reciprocate romantic feelings? This is the textbook definition of out of character in my eyes. Screw the romantic aspect because we ship it. Strip all the glances, touches and sexy lines we enjoy to gif and think back to feed the good ship Destiel, forget about it.

Keep the core of their relationship- the '3rd Winchester brother' who has stuck through thin and thick with them for the past 12 years. You mean to tell me Dean would be happy leaving Cas in the Empty and continue living his life? How is that possible? How is that Dean? How is it possible that we would not see Dean at least trying?

And then 20 minutes later comes the complete opposite of the line Dean wants to stick by. 'If we don't keep living all that sacrifice was for nothing'

But Dean does not keep living, does he? He doesn't grow happy or old. He doesn't start a family or open a bar or learn to dance. He doesn't honour Cas' sacrifice. He dies in the most unimaginitive way. And it is cruel. So cruel.

Dean went from having the strong belief that he would die young on a hunt fighting a monster, saving someone, machete and gun in his hand to starting to accept there is more to him than killing things.

And this fucking episode did a full backtrack and what did it give us?

Dean dying young on a hunt fighting a monster, saving two kids, machete and gun in his hand.

We got Dean dying in a way that gave us a 10 minute speech on how much he loves Sam. We got Dean dying in pain, scared and terrified. We got Dean getting a hunter's funeral with only Sam attending. We saw at Mary's funeral how a hunter's goodbye should look like. Room full of friends, mementos and alcohol. And Dean doesn't get any of that to honour his life.

How can he deserve that? How is it possible?

Even with Heaven 2.0 now being this trully idyllic place how can this be what Dean deserves?

And Sam... Sam gets to grow old in pain and regret. One foot on Earth with his family, one foot ready to follow Dean. Did anyone think Sam looked happy in that montage? Leaving the only home he shared with Dean? Presumably giving up his hunter friends, not even playing a 'Bobby' kind of role? Keeping the Impala in a dusty garage?

Jack... Jack who said he would be hands off, but how am I supposed to believe this would include his family? And even if he didn't heal/save Dean you mean to tell me he wouldn't be there for Sam? I am thinking of Jack appearing after Dean dies, supporting Sam's weight as he collapses, explaining why he can't bring him back. Standing next to Sam as Dean's body is burning.

And Cas... Cas who finally told Dean his truth and then sacrificed himself, content. Cas was saved from the Empty. No longer in eternal sleep sufferring. Working with Jack to rebuild Heaven. And... what? Cas who made Earth his true home, who was talking through tears how he loved the whole world through loving Dean, chose to stay in Heaven? Not stepping in Earth? Not getting in contact with the brothers? Waiting for them to die to talk to them again? And even when Dean dies he is not there to welcome him along with Jack? How is that possible?

We had gotten to know these characters so well over the past 15 seasons. How can the writers give us such a finale, so OOC for all three of them?

How can we not get a scene with Dean and Cas after the last two episodes?

Why have the confession, why have this be Cas' true moment of happines?

Why have the prayer in Purgatory a few episodes back?

Why have Dean break down in a way he has never broken down before?

What is the point of all this if there will be no climax? Even if it is the tiniest nudge, a couple words and a hug.

It makes absolutely no fucking sense. Up until now it felt like all roads, all plot points were converging to one- happiness, peace, love and family.

But no. We got a finale that would make sense 15 years ago. 15 seasons worth of character development and relationship building (not just Destiel, but Sam + Eileen, Jody, Donna and the girls, Charlie and so many others) and we got a finale that basically had Dean die so Sam could have a family.

As others have said here in tumblr Dean and Sam's lives on Earth would end up being exactly the same they ended up being if Dean did not go to get Sam that night.

How can a writer choose this fate for their characters? Why explore everything we watched on our screens, if on the last episode you decide to press delete on 15 seasons and basically deliver episode 1 if something had gone wrong and Dean died?

It makes no sense! It makes no sense regressing your characters 15 years and taking out of them all the experiences, especially those of the past few episodes.

You strip them into their season 1 selves. You strip them from all the layers of friendships, relationships, pain, experience and wisdom they went through and you strip them down to just two broken brothers, sticking together hunting things and saving people til the end. Which yes, they were.

But that was not all they were. Supernatural was a show about the family you make, not the family you get dealt with. Sam and Dean MADE the choice of sticking together. Yes they were brothers, but we know how easy it would have been to lead very different lives which would resulted in never seeing each other. They chose to stick together and they chose to build a family based on love, not blood.

And we got nothing of that legacy.

Is is unfair and it betrays not us, the fans, but the characters.

And that's what's hurting most.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Ashes”

After The Joker’s daughter accidentally drowned, his relationship with Y/N fell apart: they were guilty of failing to protect what they loved, blaming each other and themselves to the point of no return. The sole palpable proof of Emma existence is her ashes encapsulated in glass pendants her parents wear and that’s hardly a memento able to help in such a difficult situation. Ashes are not meant to bring people together.

“Happy Birthday, Pumpkin Pie,” The Joker grumbles. “Here’s Charlie: I thought you would like to see him,” he places the purple hippo on Emma’s headstone.

Today his daughter would have been 4 years old. Instead of the usual party filled with laughter and presents he’s at “Eternal Peace” cemetery early in the morning for a different kind of festivity.

J never celebrated birthdays before yet once she showed up in his life the anniversary got a fresh new meaning: Y/N ensured that The King of Gotham was aware of how lucky they both were to have her. And he did learn to care about that tiny being he created who first called him something similar to “dada”, then a cute “da’y” and finally the word he craved to hear every single day until she was gone: “daddy.”

Being a father thought him a couple of things, but the most important was quite stunning: the index finger from his right hand wasn’t only meant for using a trigger; it was also his child’s soother.

Emma would keep it prisoner when she slept from an early age; of course all babies do it although in this case it didn’t go away once she got older.

And he misses that…

A lot.

Actually, he would give up on a robbery or anything that involves him holding a gun if she could clutch to his finger one more time.

That’s how much he misses The Princess.

“Sir, sorry to interrupt,” Frost gets him out of trance. “There’s movement at the South gate. We have to go…”

J snatches the plush animal and follows Jonny on a path behind the crypts when a woman walking on the alley leading to Emma’s grave catches his attention: although she has a red wig and sunglasses on, her disguise doesn’t fool him. It’s Y/N.

She’s carrying a small cake and intensely stares at the pavement, unaware of her surroundings.

The Joker can’t really tell what she’s doing once in front of the tomb, nevertheless he guesses she’s singing “Happy Birthday” while wiping the tears strolling down her cheeks.

He didn’t see Y/N in about 4 months. They went to the cabin by Moon Lake after Emma’s drowning and things were so rough he left immediately. She never followed, called or texted.

J didn’t either.

Why bother? They were guilty of failing to protect what they loved, blaming each other and themselves to the point of no return.

Today is extremely difficult to deal with, especially since the catalyst binding them vanished forever.

The sole palpable proof of Emma existence is her ashes encapsulated in glass pendants her parents wear and that’s hardly a memento able to help in such a difficult situation.

Ashes are not meant to bring people together.

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

After 2 Hours

“Hi,” The King of Gotham drags his feet on the porch and takes a sit on the chair next to yours.

“Hi…” you whisper, surprised to spot him after such a long absence.

Complete silence, then he utters:

“I’m here for the cake,” he points at the sweet treat resting on the wood table: vanilla- strawberry combo, your daughter’s favorite.

“Are you?”

“Yeah, I crave the taste…”

You lean over and cut two slices, sharing Emma’s birthday cake with her dad. It’s really painful to swallow the morsels knowing your baby can’t; it seems J is in the same boat.

“I can’t make anybody happy…” The Clown mumbles under his breath and the randomness of his statement makes you wonder what’s going on in his mind.

“Me neither… Sweet Pea was happy, wasn’t she? She was a happy kid…”

The Joker moves his plate towards you, hissing:

“She was and she would still be with us if instead of flirting you would have watched her!”  

“… … W- what?!...” you glare at him, astonished he has the nerve to pop up and hurt you in such a manner. “Since when talking to somebody is flirting?! Where were you, huh? Where were you??? In your goddamn office plotting more schemes in order to get more money because nothing is enough!” you raise your voice and burst out crying in the next second. “She was ours to protect, the only treasure that mattered! I just… I just took my eyes off her for a few moments, I had no idea my baby was drowning in that pool …” you keep sobbing at the horrible memory, heartbroken. “I could have save her…Why didn’t I…?…”

The Joker can’t understand what you’re saying anymore, yet he doesn’t reply to your accusations or remorseful confessions.

How could he?

He’s equally responsible for Emma’s demise but it’s easier to attack her mother.

You abruptly get up and rush inside the cottage, abandoning J to his own demons. He doesn’t know if he should bail or stay, thus he continues to gaze at the lake numb to everything.

Still… The quietness is becoming unbearable so he finally gathers the strength to stand up and search for you.

“Y/N?...” he shouts. “Where are you?”

Silly question since the cabin is a little area with a kitchen/living room combo, one bedroom and bathroom: easy to find what you’re looking for.

No response but the shower is on which queues him Y/N must be there.

The Joker approaches the bathtub, unwilling to remove the curtain and talk to you face to face.

“It was my fault too…” he admits a fact that tormented him since the accident. “I should have kept an eye on her… I couldn’t predict she’ll sneak out to play by the swimming pool… I would give away a fortune if I could fix it… Do you believe me?...”

You sniffle and cover your mouth, trying to avoid his trap: if you engage, he will probably bite more and that’s the last thing you need.

“I have Charlie in the car; I thought you might want him tonight,” J reveals the true purpose of his visit. “Drop him off tomorrow at 3pm, I’ll be at the warehouse on 17Th Street. You can’t have the toy, it belongs in her room…”

You hear his steps receding and gasp for air, completely crushed by despair: the agony of grief is stronger than any consolation a stupid purple hippo could offer.

But it was Emma’s favorite and The Joker is willing to share a token of what you both lost; now that you think about it… you really missed Charlie…

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

Next Day, 2:05pm

“Where’s everybody?” you mutter whilst entering the code at the gates. Usually there are at least 8 henchmen guarding the fence and no sign of them so far. You drive up the unpaved alley, curiously checking out the landscape: same trees, bushes and trucks you’re familiar with, except you can’t discern a single goon patrolling the perimeter.

You honk to get the crew’s assistance without any success and you wonder if The Joker tricked you; I mean, you should have seen it coming: he is probably attempting one of his convoluted strategies to punish you for the tragic past.

You stop in front of the building, intrigued to notice it appears deserted.

Suddenly, a powerful blast shakes the ground and you watch part of the roof collapsing on the north side; a few windows shatter also.

You jump out of the car, totally confused at the strange occurrence.

“Hello?” you yell. “J???”

There’s smoke coming out of the opened metal door and you hesitantly walk in the warehouse, coughing at the suffocating odor.

“J?...” you scream. “J!!!!!”

A faint knock in the distance prompts your attention.

“Y/N!!”

“J??” you run towards the source of the noise only to find him under rubble next to the south entrance. “Oh my God!” you kneel by his feet buried under bricks. “What happened?!” The Queen frantically removes debris as he groans in pain.

“Explosives, that’s what happened. Shit, I think I fucked up my legs!”

“Where are the guys??!!” you inquire, managing to free his feet enough for him to move.

“I gave them the day off,” The Joker’s explanation puzzles Y/N. “Hurry up, please!! Another detonation will follow shortly!”

“Jesus Christ!” you quicken the pace and push the last bricks out of the way. “Can you stand?”

J rolls on his side, unable to comply.

“No, you’ll have to haul me out of here!”

“Come on!” you place your hands under his underarms and start pulling. “The exit is right there!”

You huff while straining to get to safety as The Clown aims to aid by lifting his body off the ground as much as he can.

“Behind the truck!” he urges once you’re out of the premises and you barely have time to hide behind the vehicle when a second bang levels half of the construction.

“This didn’t go according to plan,” J admits in a low tone, panting a storm after the ordeal.

You asses his wounds, pressing on the ankle and he immediately growls.

“The bone’s fractured,” you wipe your sweaty forehead.  “What plan?”

“It’s actually your fault for all of this; I told you to swing by at 3 o’clock. You’re early!”

“Huh?”

“You were supposed to come when I told you then boom! Before you reached the building it would go up in flames: you would flip thinking that I’m dead and then I’ll show up and ask you to come back home. You would be so excited to see I’m alive you couldn’t refuse. Yet you ruined everything: you appeared out of nowhere, I panicked and messed up: you know I’m not good with this stuff!!”

You can’t even process the plot he’s throwing your way.

“What kind of plan…”

“I just told you I’m not good at this stuff,” he interrupts. “You know I’m not.”

You touch your chest, baffled at the ridiculous story.

“My pendant!” you exclaim when you realize the chain is not around your neck anymore. “It’s gone!” Y/N desperately searches the grass. “My baby, where’s my baby?” you part the green lawn on the verge of crying. “I can’t find my pendant! Maybe I dropped it the building,” you whimper and prepare to flee when J grabs your jeans, firmly holding on.

“Don’t go; the poles might cave in and whatever is left standing will squash you!!”

You don’t comprehend why he’s so worked up and his plea catches you off guard:

“Don’t go! I’ll give you half my ashes, ok?”

The Queen debates on The King’s proposal, conflicted by his candid offer.

After all, if ashes tear people apart, how come they can’t bring them back together?

Also read: MASTERLIST

https://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

You can also follow me on Ao3 and wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[buckleyirondad]

No. 14. Is Something Burning? “Fire”

When a night out goes drastically wrong, Pepper realizes that she and Michelle lead a similar life.

AO3 Link

Pepper adored Peter.

She had since the day she met him.

She constantly thanked him, silently, and sometimes, to his face, for being a part of their lives.

Even when he was gone, for those five years, his impact, lived on.

They wouldn’t have Morgan, if Peter hadn’t taught Tony, at the right moment, that he could step out of Howard’s shadow and be a good dad.

Having Peter back, made everything fall together, perfectly, for the first time.

Hand-in-hand, with Peter, came Michelle.

Peter’s everything, his partner in crime, and somebody for him, to effortlessly tease Tony with.

Pepper loved her too, and the influence she had on Peter, she seemed to be helping him overcome hurdles that no one else could.

A double date sounded far fetch, at first, but Michelle proposed it, and Pepper finalized it.

They made quite a team.

An old theater was showing a highlight of Charlie Chaplin’s movies.

All four of them liked old movies, which made for the perfect night out, where superheroing duties took a backbench.

Pepper skipped through the foyer, leaving Tony at the desk, to check in their coats “Hey.” She laid her hands on Peter and Michelle’s shoulders, “If I were you two, I would have asked to sit far far away from us.”

Michelle snorted a laugh, “Why?”

Peter frowned, tilting his head, to his shoulder, “Is this about the Charlie Chaplin look-alike competition?”

Michelle grinned, ear-to-ear, “The what now?”

Pepper waved her hand dismissively, “My husband claims that he won a Charlie Chaplin lookalike competition.”

Tony appeared beside her, “I didn’t claim anything,” He chipped in, “It’s true.”

“Oh, my God,” Peter inclined his head, pressing his hands together, gesturing them towards Tony, “You literally wouldn’t shut up about it last night, it’s why I volunteered to carry Morgan to bed.”

Tony’s jaw dropped, he made an act of raising his hand, to his chest, “I’m offended, kid.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, “Also, I looked it up last night, and there were zero results.”

“Nobody knew it was me,” Tony raised his shoulder in half-shrug, “I used a pseudonym.”

Pepper pulled on his arm, “Oh, look, we can sit down now.”

They all started walking into the theater, in an orderly fashion.

Tony leaned forward, “I’m gonna find the photos later.”

Peter turned, keeping his arm linked with Michelle’s, “So, Friday—"

“Friday has nothing,” Tony sang, “Like, I said, nobody knew it was me.”

Pepper shook her head, with a laugh, “We get it.”

“Should we get—” Michelle and Peter spoke in unison, “—Popcorn?”

They acted normal because it happened all the time.

They were the definition of cute, Pepper was sure.

Tony leaned in, whispering in her ear, “How adorable.”

She gently nudged his foot, with hers, “Leave them alone.”

Tony clapped his hands together, “I’ll pick us up some popcorn, you lot can go and find our seats.” He shuffled away, quick on his feet.

Pepper took a seat, on their aisle, leaving the space between her and Peter free, for Tony. She buried her hand in her pocket, to check if May had messaged her with any questions about Morgan.

All she'd been sent was a selfie of the pair watching Finding Nemo.

She sent back a couple of heart emojis.

Peter and Michelle’s gentle chuckles caught Pepper’s attention. The duo were holding hands, muttering among themselves, desperately trying to conceal their laughter; Peter was red in the face, and whatever they were discussing, had brought tears to Michelle’s eyes.

Pepper smiled, they were truly infectious, and she couldn’t get enough of them.

Michelle had become a vital part of their everyday lives, rather fast, but Pepper would have it no other way.

She saw the way they looked at one another, the longing stares, and the soft smiles.

They’d fallen hard.

Something, Pepper once did, twice a day, with Tony.

It took them a while, to make it work, but it did.

Pepper saw herself, in Michelle, which was good, on some days, but heart-breaking on others.

Peter and Tony’s lives weren’t exactly normal or easy. 

Pepper kept Michelle as close as possible because she understood the hardship of being hopelessly in love, with someone who laid down their lives, for the greater good, every other month.

They were on the same page.

Tony tiptoed over, holding two buckets of popcorn, “Here we go.”

Peter and Michelle sang, through a laugh, “Thank you.”

When the movies started playing, the audience went silent, but Pepper still caught the pair sharing little anecdotes, trying not to burst into hysterics.

An hour in, Michelle sat up, looking around.

Tony spoke, in a hushed tone, “What’s up?”

She turned, “I’m trying to work out where the toilets are.”

Tony pointed, “By the entrance, on your left.”

“Thanks, Stark,” She kissed Peter’s cheek and hopped up, “I’ll be back.”

Tony leaned over, whispering something in Peter’s ear, the kid’s cheeks turned a new shade of red.

He jokingly slapped Tony’s arm away, “Shut up.”

Pepper rolled her eyes, “Stop messing with him.”

Tony held out his hands, with a shrug, “May said I can.”

Pepper looked past him, to Peter, “Don’t worry, honey. He’s got no leg to stand on.” She chuckled, “I’ve got plenty of embarrassing date night stories.”

Tony sighed, head in his hands, “Pep…”

She winked, “I’ll tell you later.”

Peter laughed quietly, hanging his head.

A few minutes passed, and Pepper allowed herself to be drawn back into the movie.

She didn’t notice something was up until Tony’s tone switched.

“Kiddo, you okay?”

She spun her head, fast.

Peter was sat up straight, his eyes wide, and his leg mindlessly bouncing.

She raised her voice, “Sweetheart?”

Before Peter could answer, the piercing sound of a fire alarm filled the room, and the movie was stopped.

The lights came on, and an usher shouted, “Everybody make your way to the fire exits, as fast as you possibly can. Thank you.”

Everybody shot to their feet.

Tony tapped his watch, “Friday, report?”

“A fire has started, in the attic, and is spreading quickly.”

The usher yelled again, this time, more panicked, “Quickly, please.”

“MJ—” Peter shot up, looking around, “Can you see her?”

“The toilets are right next to the exit, buddy,” Tony reassured him, “She’s probably already outside.”

“I’m not sure—"

Somebody screamed, “Get out now!”

“That escalated—" Tony reached back, grabbing Pepper’s hand while gripping tight onto Peter’s shoulder, he pushed, making sure Peter didn’t freeze.

Pepper knew, for a fact, that Tony made contrasting promises.

It was an issue, with him.

He made one, to Peter, that basically meant that if it ever came down to it, Tony would have to save May, Ned, or Michelle, before Peter.

The other was one he made to Michelle, promising that he’d pull Peter, out of a fight he couldn’t win, even if Michelle’s life was on the line.

Tony could never win.

Peter kept shouting, over the chaos, “MJ!”

A crowd swarmed, at the exit.

Somehow, they were pushed to the front of it.

Peter held up his arms, screaming, at the top of his lungs, “Stop!” He waved his hands, signaling nearby people, “Stop moving!”

The urgency, in his voice, seemed to resonate with everyone.

A support beam, from the ceiling above them, collapsed, crashing to the floor.

Tony pulled on Peter’s shoulder, “Holy shit.”

The crowd moved again, leaping over it, as smoke started to envelop them.

A lady, in her forties, tripped, landing among the stampede.

“Hey,” Peter helped her onto her feet, “You okay?”

“Yes, thank you.” She rushed, into the bustle, that was moving outside.

Pepper lost sight of everything while moving from the building to the street. 

The sounds of sirens were already echoing, in the distance.

She shouted, squeezing Tony’s hand, “Tony, you got Peter?”

“Yeah,” Tony breathed, “I’ve got him.”

The crowd began to separate, giving Pepper room to see.

Peter was leaning up, to look across the herd, “MJ?!” He yelled, “MJ?”

Nothing.

Peter turned, eyes filled with tears, “She’s not here.”

Tony’s face fell, “Pete-“

Peter rested a hand on his chest, “I know she’s not..." 

“Kid—"

“I gotta—” He pulled his hand free, and before any more words were spoken, he sprinted back, into the burning building.

Tony shrieked, “Peter!” He spun to meet Pepper’s gaze, “What do—”

There was a deafening creak from inside.

Pepper’s lower lip trembled, “Oh, God—"

“Hey!”

Tony snapped his head back, a momentary look of relief, on his face, “Jones—”

Michelle charged, out from the side alley, “Hey, I’m—”

“MJ!” Pepper wrapped an arm around her, “We were so—” It dawned on her, she shot a look to Tony, “If you’re here, then Peter—”

Tony titled his head to his shoulder, a silent apology, as he let go of her hand and charged inside.

Michelle yelped, “Oh—”

Pepper held her tight, muttering under her breath, “Come on, come on—”

Another spine-chilling thud, came from inside, as the building fell apart.

“I—” Michelle cried, “He—”

Pepper whispered, “It’s okay…”

A figure emerged through the entrance.

It was Tony.

His face was covered, in patches of soot, and his hair, full of ash.

Dangled over his shoulder, was Peter.

Pepper’s stomach leaped into her throat, as she tightened her hand around Michelle’s hand.

She breathed a sigh of relief, when Tony smiled, with a nod.

Michelle pulled free, rushing over, “Peter!”

Tony lowered Peter onto his knees, rubbing circles against the teen’s back, “There you go.”

Peter coughed, “I need to find—MJ is—”

Michelle knelt, pressing a hand, to his cheek, “Right here, loser.”

He wheezed a laugh, “MJ—"

She leaned up, kissing his curls, “You’re an idiot.”

No, he’s your idiot.

He smiled, “You’d do it for me.”

“Yeah,” She tugged him into a hug, nestling her head, on his shoulder.

Tony moved over, locking an arm around Pepper, “Hey.”

She pulled him close, “Hey.”

Pepper knew it wasn’t normal, to be so accepting of these situations, but after fighting aliens, it was a walk in the park.

Michelle helped Peter to his feet.

Peter rubbed a hand, over his cheek, “That was fun.”

Michelle barked a laugh, pressing her head against his bicep, “Same time next week?”

Tony inhaled a cackle, “I’m thinking takeaway?”

Pepper nodded, “Sounds like a plan.”

Tony motioned aside, “We should get going.” He took out his phone, “Everybody is probably freaking out already.”

Pepper looked up.

Peter was whispering in Michelle’s ear again, and they were giggling to themselves like nothing had changed.

Say what you want about young love, Pepper knew that Peter and Michelle were the real deal.

[we-are-inevitable]

modern art // javid (ch. 1)

A/N: hi !! so some of you may remember an old songfic i did in march of last year, titled ‘modern art’ after the song “IDK You Yet” by Alexander 23. well, i’ve always thought that that one shot would work great as a stand alone fic, and here we are! i have ch. 1 edited and SO MUCH of it as changed- like, for example, the fic is a chapter fic now !! regardless, i hope you guys like this !!

WARNINGS: depression, anxiety, self-deprecation, past addiction, mentions of addiction, just general Bad Times- pls be mindful when reading !! it’s just very Not Happy rn ADDITIONAL INFO: all characters are in their mid-twenties in the fic. oh also this is probably important but it’s a soulmate au !!

Read On AO3!

tag list: @bound-for-santa-fe @wannabecowboypunk @shippingcannons @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside @smallsies @deliciouspeachpirate @newsies-is-my-erster 

Jack doesn't know what’s going on with himself, but he knows that he could really use his soulmate right about now.

They’ve communicated before. Never verbally, and never enough to reveal who they were. Perhaps they are both just... dealing with some unspoken fears, dealing with the worry of rejection sitting heavy in their chests. Perhaps they both like this mystery- the uncertainty that came with the notes scrawled across their bodies in a handwriting that isn’t their own.

Or perhaps they just aren’t ready to take the plunge. To grow up and face the harsh fact that, as soon as they meet, wherever and whenever that may be, a new chapter of their life will unfold. Consume them. Change anything and everything they’ve ever known or held dear.

They had been braver when they were children, that much was true. Jack remembers staying up late often, writing notes on his skin and watching in awe as the replies appeared. He remembers the giddy rush of trying to quickly wash off the ink on his wrist when they ran out of space to talk, and, oh, how they talked. There were school days when Jack would go to class exhausted, feeling like he’d been walking through quicksand for miles on end, but all of it had been worth it. The exhaustion he felt had been worth being able to talk to them until two, three, four in the morning. Sometimes he regretted it, of course, but only because it was harder for him to focus in class. Never because he was upset at them.

He could never be upset with them.

Even now, Jack remembers a lot about his soulmate. They liked music. They knew how to play the piano. They were into a few video games, even some that Jack had never played, and said that they always tried carrying a book with them wherever they went. Jack remembers that, as a younger kid, they liked Harry Potter and Percy Jackson, but also liked analyzing Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe and a bunch of other fancy authors that Jack had never even heard of. They were intimidatingly smart, and sometimes, would carefully correct Jack’s grammar whenever he misspelled a word or something- but they were never mean about it, they were just… there. A steady presence that he could count on.

Fifteen year old Jack dreamed of finding them one day. But now, twenty-five year old Jack is losing hope.

He can’t exactly help it. For starters, he and his soulmate haven’t communicated in… well, shit, it had to be nearly a year. Maybe nine months or so, but there’s no way to tell for sure, and even then, their conversations since reaching adulthood have been dull, for lack of a better word. A few positive comments here, a ‘have a good day’ there- it’s all so mundane, and neither of them can be blamed for it. They both have busy lives- or, well, Jack does, at least. His job as a graphic designer is hard enough on its own, but the added pressure of doing freelance work and commissions on the side has been eating away at him for weeks, coupled with debilitating self-doubt and lack of motivation for… anything.

Saying that he’s overwhelmed is the understatement of the century.

There is always another design, another client, another meeting, another deadline, another sleepless night as he stares at a blank canvas and prays for a spark of inspiration from whatever God is listening. Usually his inspiration comes from the world around him- his friends, city life, even the quiet confines of his apartment, but right now... Jack is stuck. He had holed himself up in his room days ago, trying and failing to get out of bed every morning when the time came to work- and thank God that the majority of his work could be done from home. His boss was understanding, too, to an extent.

Still, though, there’s a constant heavy weight on his chest that prevents him from moving most days, and he’s lucky if he even gets up long enough to shower or eat or do literally anything aside from lie in silence and count the cracks in his ceiling.

Nothing had happened to him recently to bring this on, from what he can tell. Jack has always been the happy-go-lucky leader, the man with a plan, the guy who always knew just what to say to motivate others into doing the best thing for themselves, but when that responsibility is reflected back onto himself, Jack feels helpless. There are words waiting to be said, sketches waiting to be drawn, designs waiting to be sent to clients… yet Jack lies there, motionless in his room for three days before he even has the energy, the willpower, to pull back his curtains and allow the sunlight to shine through. There is so much he wants to do, so much he needs to do, but he can't bring himself to do any of it.

In all twenty-five years of his life, through all of the things he’s been through, the ups and downs and foster homes and graduations and birthdays and funerals and therapists and rehab facilities and whatever the fuck else life decided to throw at him, Jack has never felt so worthless, so… lonely. His closest friends are all moving on with their lives. Many have already found their soulmate, have settled down and hidden their rowdy, rambunctious pasts behind skeletons in a closet. They’d all gotten their adventures done and over with in high school and college, and most are moving onto bigger and better things in life. They have careers. Families. Some have children, others have pets, a few have an insane amount of plants to care for.

All have seemingly left Jack behind in the dust.

No one told him when to flip the switch.

No one told him when he had aged out of adventure.

Now, they would never say it, but Jack knows. He knows. Saturday hangouts and trips to the bar had been replaced by Sunday church services and playdates for the kids. Rather than hearing yelling from his living room after his friends had all been teetering just on the edge between tipsy and fucked up, Jack hears the news, and documentaries, and podcasts, and the ghosts of a past life that he still seemed to be desperately clinging on to.

Katherine had been the one to tell him that he needed to grow up, though she didn’t put it in such a blunt manner. No, she’s just.... gently urging him to find a bigger apartment, or buy matching furniture from a place that is not a thrift store, or purchase dishes that weren’t of the plastic Walmart brand. She says it was because she wants to see him in a more professional, "adulty" lifestyle, but he knows it’s really because she can see that he’s a mess.

Deep down, Jack knows she’s right. She’s always right.

He just can’t help but feel cemented in place, dreaming of the past while dreading the new future ahead of him.

Jack never asked to feel so broken for no reason. All of the hope and optimism he had felt as a teenager was gone, lost in a sea of uncertain plans and shitty jobs and bill extensions and canvases dropped onto the floor with no rhyme or reason. And, yes, maybe Jack would look dramatic to someone who didn’t know his situation, but Jack knows what dramatic feels like. Dramatic feels like watching his best friend, Charlie, belt onstage in front of a backdrop that he helped create for the school play. Dramatic feels like laughing at the top of his lungs while walking through a random gas station at two in the morning, joined by Race and Al, all while higher than a kite. Dramatic feels like driving to the outskirts of the city with Katherine, climbing onto the roof of an old building and screaming about all of their stress, their anxiety, their insecurities, just to have some form of emotional release.

Dramatic doesn’t feel like sadness. It’s not supposed to.

Not for Jack.

He had been so… so happy, as a teenager. Proud and defiant and carefree. He was the kind of guy to skate and smoke weed in Central Park until midnight and take a math test at eight in the morning the next day. He was the kid who stood on a table in the cafeteria and came out as bisexual to everyone around him, just because of a dumbass bet that he didn’t even get paid for. He was the boy who wasn’t at all good in an academic sense, but who always knew how to talk himself out of trouble, who always came up with the most ridiculous- or most believable- lies to cover his ass when he needed it, who was always the class favorite, the teacher’s pet without meaning to be.

Jack had felt on top of the world back then, but now he’s struggling to even get off of the ground. The longer time goes on, the more lost Jack feels inside his own life. He feels like something was missing, something big. Something bigger than himself.

When his mother was alive, which now felt like lifetimes ago, she would often echo this old wives’ tale about how it’s best to find your soulmate while you’re younger, just to save them- and yourself- the pain of being alone for a long time. Jack had always kind of believed her; logically, he knew it was true, but he had always told himself that it wouldn’t happen to him. That he would be fine alone, though it wouldn’t be ideal, and that he would have plenty of time for soulmates after he got out and made a name for himself.

He’s starting to think, though, that maybe she was right. Maybe Jack had waited too long to make a move, to make contact again, because now, he just feels nauseous even thinking about it.

Don’t get him wrong, he knows the negative effects of self deprecation and not taking his own mental health seriously, he’s been to rehab before, blah, blah, blah, but, fuck, how could he put his soulmate through something like this? This fucked up state of mind he has now. Jack can’t even imagine talking to Katherine about this, and Katherine had been his best friend for over a decade. He can’t just meet his soulmate now- it’s been too long, he’s too messed up, they won’t like him, they’ll hate him for not trying hard enough, and Jack will just end up alone again, wasting away in his bedroom because no one fucking cares. No one cares. He has nobody.

That’s not true. He has Medda, his mom, his savior, his impulse control, but the thought of telling her that everything is acting up again makes him want to scream. He has Tony, but Tony has Al, and Tony and Al have a kid- a sweet little five year old girl who calls Jack ‘Uncle Jackie’ and takes no shit from anyone. He has Katherine, but Katherine has her soulmate- this dude named Darcy, who Jack doesn’t have much of an opinion on because they just met, like, a month ago, and Jack hasn’t exactly been emotionally ready for a hangout session between the three of them. He also has Charlie, and Charlie has certainly seen him in worse times- like when Jack was kind of hooked on pills for the entirety their freshman year of college- but Charlie has grad school to worry about and Charlie would hate him if he bothered him with this.

Still, there are other people who would listen, probably. He could easily talk to Elmer, or Romeo, or Specs, or Jojo or Finch or Sean or a fucking therapist but that’s just it, isn’t it? If he talks, he burdens, and Jack Francisco Kelly would rather run himself into the ground than be a burden anyone.

So, he makes a vow.

He makes eye contact with his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He’s gripping onto the sink, holding on for dear life, as he stares into his own sunken eyes. He takes in his appearance. Damp, messy hair, falling down to cover his forehead. Pale skin, which isn’t normal at all. Dark circles have taken their place around his eyes, and his smile- one of his favorite things about himself- is… nonexistent.

Distantly, Jack registers himself dumping a full bottle of ibuprofen into the sink. And then, he does the same thing with the bottle of melatonin from his medicine cabinet. The valium follows. He lets the water run for a long time. It's not that he doesn't trust himself- he'd done so, so good in rehab, and he doesn't even feel urges that often anymore- but it's better safe than sorry, especially since he's like... this.

This is not the Jack Kelly he’s used to anymore. This is not the Jack Kelly he wants to be.

But this Jack Kelly is the one who vows not to reach out. The one who vows to only answer when his soulmate is ready, and maybe not even then.

He doesn’t have to wait long, though.

Not when a heart appears on the back of his hand the next morning.

It’s there when Jack wakes up, and, honestly, it almost brings Jack to tears- but not necessarily for happy reasons. Sure, Jack wants to be happy. Who wouldn’t be happy after seeing something like this? A lopsided heart drawn in red ink, right on the back of his left hand- it was the definition of a symbol, of a romantic gesture, and Jack wants so badly to write back, to strike up conversation, to draw a goddamn heart, but… he can’t.

He can’t, and that’s horrible of him, and he knows it.

Right now, though… Jack can’t even work up the courage, the energy, to call his mom.

His soulmate, whoever they are, is going to have to wait.

[shakespeareanwannabe]

Heartbeats

Santiago Pope Garcia x F!OC/Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Rebecca Cooke

Summary: A first date at a Beer Garden shouldn’t be difficult to manage, especially with his team at his side, but Santi still has doubts.

Warnings: Drinking/Alcohol Consumption, Swearing, Benny being Benny, references to war time injuries, references to Anxiety if you squint

A/N: Hey y’all. Sorry it’s been a while. Some stuff came up, but I am so happy to finally have this chapter out to you all! Anyway, this is chapter 3. Please enjoy!

**********

Listening to his own heartbeat had become something that Santi was pretty comfortable with. When the Humvee had hit a landmine during his first deployment, sending him, Frankie, and Will sky high, he’d woken up in a military hospital in Germany, with only the steady beeping of his heart monitor to keep him company. Well, it kept him company until Will wandered in with a cup of coffee. The youngest member of the team had somehow managed to walk away with a couple of cracked ribs and some scarring on his back, whereas Pope had fractured his knee and given himself a pretty nasty concussion. At that point, Frankie was still out. He had broken a rib, punctured a lung, and fractured his hip, all on top of a nastier concussion than Pope’s. There was a harried moment when they thought he wouldn’t make it, but Fish was the toughest bastard out of any of them, and within nine months he was patrolling the desert with Santi once more.

After various near-misses, his multiple knee surgeries, and his so-called miracle neck surgery, Santi woke up to that same sound of his heart beating. It reminded him that he was alive. It was a comfort.

Now, his heart was beating so loudly in his ears he couldn’t think straight. And, the kicker was, he wasn’t even in country or recovering from a near miss. He wasn’t getting shot at or sneaking around an enemy compound. He wasn’t even sitting in the back of a helicopter while Fish tried to fly it over the fucking Andes while carrying too much weight and, fuck, he was an idiot. He hadn’t even been able to pull off a ‘sure thing’ mission. He hadn’t been able to pull of a relationship with a girl that everyone thought he was fucking anyway. Why the fuck did he think he would be able to pull off impressing this much younger woman who, for some god forsaken reason, thought he was worth her time?

Rebecca was a professional. She had a fucking Masters of Fine Arts that she used to lead tours and co-curate the art museum while also teaching art lessons to kids all across the state. And then there was him. Santiago Garcia. A washed up, beaten down, half-broken retired soldier who was living off his (not unsubstantial) savings and the kindness of friends, who had almost no prospects other than signing another damn contract and going off to shoot questionable people under the orders of even more questionable people until his knees gave out or he broke his fucking neck running around on favela rooftops. She was so far out of his league, he had no clue how to even find her league.

And yet, he found himself sitting outside her apartment in his truck, about to go and buzz up to let her know that he was there. Early. To pick her up. For their date. What was he thinking?

He was shaken out of his negative reverie when his phone buzzed four times in quick succession.

“I swear to god, if you’re sitting outside her apartment deliberating over actually picking her up or standing her up, I will drive there myself and beat some sense into you.”

“Hey man, Charlie’s had a little too much to drink (first weekend alone without Mateo) and she’s threatening your manhood if you stand up your date. Do not show up here alone, cabrón.”

“Dude, you’re bringing a date? Why haven’t I heard about this lovely lady?”

“Ignore him. He’s drunk.”

Pope could imagine his friends, his team, sitting around their reserved table at the beer garden, acting like millennials with their phones out, texting him and ignoring each other for a moment. They were insane…He loved them.

“Keep your shirts on, I’m coming.” He copied and pasted the message into the four separate threads and sent them off, ignoring when his phone buzzed again with what could only be a “That’s what she said” reply from Benny as he exited his truck and made his way to her lobby door.

He pressed the small white button next to her name and waited impatiently for her response.

“Hello?” the tinny machine garbled, but he had become accustomed to her voice. It was quickly becoming one of his favourite sounds, like the sound of the waves at the beach or the sound of his own heartbeat. Soothing.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hey, c’mon up! I’ll be ready to go in five!”

Santi gulped then shook his head and pulled the door open when the lock clicked, signalling that she had unlocked it for him. What was he nervous about? He was god damn Delta Force. Some girl should not be shaking him up this bad.

Santi took the short elevator ride up to the fifth floor, trying to calm his hammering heart, and knocked on her door.

When the door creaked open, he was reminded that Rebecca Cooke wasn’t just ‘some girl’. He had taken one look at her, sweaty and red faced and face distorted from pressing into a massage table and been smitten. Every conversation he had with her dragged him further in, until he was hooked.

Now, standing in front of him, dressed in a sapphire blue lace dress that swished around her knees, he was smacked in the face with the fact that she was, in fact, the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. The short sleeves showed off the smoothness of her arms and the V-neck had him having to drag his eyes away from her décolletage.

“Hey Santi,” she smiled gently at him, moving in to place her hands on his shoulders as she placed a hesitant kiss on his cheek.

“Um…hey,” he replied, mentally kicking himself for being so lame. “Uh, these are for you.” He handed her the bouquet of wildflowers he had bought on a whim on his drive over.

Rebecca smiled up at him, a slight glimmer in her eyes as though he had just made her the happiest person on the planet. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” he blurted. She giggled, turning her back to him and he grimaced at the stupid cornball line.

“Let me put these in some water and grab my shoes, and we can go, okay?” she called back. He looked towards her retreating form and gulped at the sight of her bare back. Fuck, this was going to be a long night if he couldn’t get himself under control. If he was going to actively pursue Rebecca, he was going to do it properly.

“Uh, yeah. No worries.” He followed her a few steps into her home and peered around at the small space. It was a small apartment, cozy and warm. A suede sectional sofa overtook most of the living room, a soft looking throw blanket tossed over the side and brightly coloured patterned pillows were piled up on one end as though she had been searching for something. A variety of prints and pictures decorated her walls, everything from the infamous Kissing on VJ Day photo to a print of San Giorgio Maggiore at Dusk by Monet, drawing his eye from one frame to another in rapid succession, drinking in the little details of the life she lived that he so desperately hoped to be a part of.

“Ready to go?”

His eyes were drawn back to her like magnets as she exited the small but spacious kitchen, glass vase in hand. She deposited the vase with the wildflowers on the side table next to the sofa, picked up her purse and held up her other hand, a pair of strappy sandals hanging from her finger.

“Uh…yeah. Sorry. It’s a, uh…it’s a nice place you’ve got here,” he managed to get out, cursing himself internally at his stupidity.

She smiled sweetly at him, that starry-eyed look still in her eyes as she clutched his arm to slide her sandals on.

“Thanks. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

She didn’t release his arm as they exited the apartment, clutching him close as she locked the door, as they rode the elevator, and exited the building. He shifted carefully to grip her hand and help her into his truck, closing the door softly behind her as he paced over to his door, silently coaching himself to not be a total idiot on this date.

She was into him. Holding onto his arm, looking at him the way she was. She liked him. All he had to do was not screw it up…and not let his friends screw it up.

He hauled himself up into the driver’s seat of the truck and let it idle for a minute as he double checked his mirrors. Finally, he pulled out of the parking lot and began the ten-minute drive to the Beer Garden.

“I, uh, I meant what I said. About your apartment. And about how beautiful you look. Because you do. Look beautiful, I mean. That dress is…nice.”

“Thanks.” An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, and Santi fidgeted with the wheel. He was halfway to convincing himself that this whole thing had been a bad idea when she turned to him. “Are you as nervous as I am?”

“Fuck yes,” he breathed, causing her to giggle. “I swear to god, I’m not normally like this.”

“I know, that’s why I asked! I thought you were either really nervous or completely regretting asking me out,” she sighed, leaning back in her seat as the tension began to slowly dissipate.

He waited until he pulled up to a red light to turn and meet her gaze. “The only regret I’d have is if I didn’t ask you out at all and was left wondering what might have happened if I’d just gotten my balls up and asked.”

He watched her eyes widen as she looked down at her lap, jerking the car back into motion as someone honked behind him.

“Can I confess something to you?” She waited for his nod. “I had a shot before you got to my place to try to calm my nerves, but I don’t think it worked. I just…why are we nervous? We’ve been friends for a couple of months now, right?”

“Right!” he exclaimed, laughing as he risked another look at her. “I don’t know, Bex. Maybe that’s why we’re nervous?”

She shrugged delicately, pulling her legs up into the seat as she twisted to watch him drive. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just…I really want this to go well, you know?”

Santi took a hand off the wheel and reached out to squeeze her hand. “I know. I really know.”

She sighed, twisting her hand in his grip until she could interlace their fingers. “Okay. So. We’re two friends. Going on a date. We’ll just…see how it goes, okay? At the end of the night, if we decide we’re better off as friends, you drop me off, give me a high five, and we’ll see each other on Monday at the clinic.”

“But?” he asked anxiously because, like he said, he knew. He knew how badly she wanted things to go well because he desperately wanted the same thing. He’d been drowning in her for months, and he felt like he was just now being taught how to swim.

“But…” he heard her take a shuddery breath. “But if things do go well, and I really hope they do, Santi…If things go well, we agree to go on that coffee date before our sessions on Monday. Deal?”

He squeezed her hand again. “Deal.”

**********

The Beer Garden was a nice place. A solid first date choice. There was liquor to settle the nerves, incredible food to snack on over conversation, a live band to dance along to, mood lighting, and an outdoor patio with fairy lights that was pretty fucking magical, if Santi was allowed to say so.

He and the team had been there once or twice, usually after completing a room at Santi’s house, but this was the first time both Charlie and Frankie would be joining them, since Mateo was off for a sleepover at Grandma’s house. In a way, Santi was grateful. Rebecca knew Charlie, and Charlie was very protective of her patients both inside and outside of the clinic. Santi knew that Charlie and Frankie would help make her feel welcome. Will wouldn’t be an issue. But Benny…when the kid drank, he drank hard, and he was a loudmouth stone cold sober. Hopefully, Will would be able to keep his kid brother in line.

Santi slowed as he felt the distance between him and Rebecca grow, their arms growing taut until he was forced to stop and turn around, lest he let go of her hand.

“Hey, you okay?” he moved to stand in front of her, shielding her from the busy wait staff and slightly drunken customers who were milling around the door to the outdoor patio.

She offered him a distracted nod, her free hand coming up to smooth her hair behind her ear. “Uh, I’m just gonna…” her eyes widened slightly as she caught sight of Charlie sitting at a long picnic style table with a bunch of large men. She met his eyes urgently. “I’ll be right back. Bathroom.”

Again, Santi found himself watching her retreating form as he cursed his own actions. He thought that having a group hangout would be a good idea for a first date. It kept things loose and informal and, after their conversation in the truck, he thought it couldn’t hurt to have some people there to help things continue moving in the right direction. Besides, so many people had group first dates. It kept things light. Only, now Pope was seeing his mistake. He wasn’t just introducing Rebecca to his friends. He was introducing her to the most important people in his life. His closest friends. His team.

“Fuck…” he mumbled to himself as he watched her duck into the bathroom before nearly sprinting outside to the table. He dodged a few waiters and barbacks before slamming his hands down on the table, causing Benny to jump. “She’s in the bathroom, Chuck, don’t start,” he quickly stated, watching as Charlie’s eyes went from murderous to understanding in the space of a blink. He slowly met each and every one of their eyes. “If any one of you motherfuckers ruin this for me, I swear to god I’ll find a way to end you.”

“Hey, I like her already,” Charlie shrugged, tipping her glass back to swallow the last of the foam. “If you ruin this with her, I’ll be the one ending you.”

“Noted. Fish?” His best friend cocked an eyebrow at him and Santi nodded, communicating in that way that only best friends can. “Fair enough. Will?”

“Hey man, I just came out for a drink.”

“Yeah, I know,” he conceded, before fixing his eyes on the youngest member of the group. “Benny?”

“What? What am I gonna do?”

“Considering you’ve stared at every waitress’ ass as they walk by, and commented on two of the barbacks’ butts, I’d say you’re definitely the problem here, Ben,” Charlie commented lightly, leaning over to rest her head gently on Frankie’s shoulder, smiling softly when he planted a sweet kiss on her temple.

“Hey, I—”

“Shut up, she’s right,” Will growled into his glass.

“Fine, I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Happy?”

“Ecstatic. Charlie, did you collect on your little workplace bet?” She offered him a slightly drunken thumbs-up. “Good, you’re buying.” Pope considered the table before him before straightening and taking a few steps back towards the door. “Please, just be nice?”

“Hey, I’m always nice!” countered Benny, a cocksure grin on his face.

“Yeah, that’s what he’s afraid of, dipshit.”

The din of another Miller argument faded as Santi returned to his post just in time for Rebecca to emerge from the bathroom.

“Uh, sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” Santi wrapped his arm around her shoulder as he led her out onto the raised wooden patio. “You’re still nervous, huh?”

She nodded hesitantly. “Charlie’s fine, but the rest of your friends…”

Santi tugged her gently to the side and pulled her to a stop.

“Don’t worry about them, okay?”

She rolled her eyes. “Santi, you fought a war with them. That’s not something I can just not worry about.”

“Look, they’re gonna love you. Trust me…” he looked over his shoulder to peer at his friends, who were all surreptitiously trying to both look at them and look natural. “They’re idiots, but they’re my idiots. Look…see that blond guy? That’s Will. You could set a bomb off next to him and he wouldn’t flinch.”

“Oh, so that’s Will the Wise?” Santi smiled at the moniker. He’d found himself dropping some of Will’s more memorable motivational quotes during physio, and she had come up with the name for his quiet but forceful friend. “And the one who hasn’t stopped staring at my ass is Benny, I assume?” Santi whipped his head around to see Benny subtly trying to peer around him to get a glance at Bex’s profile. He quickly moved into his field of view and turned his back on him. Benny wanted to check out a nice ass? He could feel free. “And I know Charlie, which makes the quiet one…?”

Santi smiled softly. “That’s Frankie.”

“I like him already.”

His smile grew at the pronouncement. “I figured you would. Frankie’s good people. Easy to get along with. Now, please don’t worry?” he gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze before running his hands up and down her arms soothingly. “They’re gonna see exactly what I see.”

“Which is?”

He smiled. “A stunningly beautiful, intelligent woman who I somehow suckered into going out with me. Ready?”

She gripped his hand again and smiled up at him. “Ready.”

**********

Things were going…well. Better than Santi had dared to hope. He didn’t know what Will had said, but Benny was being a real gentleman and keeping his mouth shut other than asking polite and interested questions about Bex’s work. Bex and Frankie had taken off like two peas in a pod, which gave him a warm feeling in his chest that he dared not name. Not now, anyway. Instead of examining his feelings, he decided to go get another drink.

He stood slowly, squeezing her hand when the angle got too awkward to maintain contact, and leaned down to ask, “You want another one, Bex?”

She smiled and nodded, “Yeah, would you mind getting me a pale ale this time?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up!” Benny interrupted, leaning across the table towards them. “She got a nickname?”

Santi shot Will a look, but the older Miller just held his hands up in surrender, as if to say, “You brought it on yourself”.

“I-is that a problem?” Rebecca asked, looking around confused.

Frankie leaned forward, resting his free arm against the table and adjusting his grip around Charlie’s waist. “Every one of us has a nickname,” he explained quietly. “For us,” he gestured to the men. “It’s a military thing. Kind of like a right of passage.”

“I earned ‘Charlie’ after three months of seriously dating Frankie,” Charlie added, her voice only slightly muffled from her cheek resting on Frankie’s chest. “Chuck came three months after that, and then only Santi gets to call me that.”

“Oh…” Rebecca murmured, wrapping her arms around herself and looking around the table at the demolished plates of nachos, chicken wings, sliders, poutine, and potato wedges. Santi quickly retook his seat, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

It had been instinct, giving her a nickname. Rebecca was too formal for the spitfire who made him laugh so hard his abs hurt more than his knees after a physio session. Becca was cute but she had grimaced at the name, citing overuse in popular culture for her dislike. Rebbie made her snort, and Becky made him want to go find Douchebag Derek and give him a swift kick so there was no way his DNA would be reproduced.

She had loved the name Bex. It was rare, it was quick, it denoted her spark and her wit, and, best of all, he was the only one who used it. Now, it looked like she was feeling insecure in it.

“Frankie’s nickname is Catfish,” he piped up, not wanting her to think too much on the subject of him giving her a cute moniker so early in their relationship (week 3 to be exact).

It worked. Her head whipped around so quickly both Charlie and Santi winced.

“Really? Why?” she asked the man sitting next to her.

Frankie’s quick glare and microscope cock of the eyebrow went unnoticed by the entire table, except Santi, who gave him an apologetic half shrug.

“When we were in basic,” he began with a good-natured grumble. “We were all swapping stories one night, and the only good one I had was the one where my old man and I went out fishing together.” Rebecca watched as Charlie placed a small kiss on Frankie’s chest, just above the third highest button, where Frankie had evidently decided to quit, not that his fiancée was complaining about the excess skin on display. Clearly a sore subject, Rebecca filed away for later. “We went all day without catching a single fish, but just as we were about to call it quits, there’s a tug on my line. And I ended up reeling in a 17-pound catfish.”

“Last time you told the story it was 15 pounds,” Will muttered.

“I always heard 13,” Benny laughed.

“Eh, whatever. It was a big fish to 10-year-old me, okay?” Frankie downed the last of his beer. “Besides, it’s not as stupid as how Ironhead got his name.”

Santi laughed. “Oh, that’s a good one.” Will glared at him. “Hey man, Frankie told his story, now you’ve gotta tell yours.”

Will sighed as he sat forward, leaning in towards Rebecca. “So…I was probably the clumsiest private in basic training. Now, I could do push ups and sit ups like a champion, but the more complicated exercises…Well, let’s just say our drill sergeant didn’t know what the hell to do with me. Climbing a rope ladder? I’d get my foot twisted and end up hanging there like three-day old laundry on the line. Going on a march through the woods? I’d find the only rock in the road and trip over it. Field striping a rifle? I’d yank on something too quickly and give myself a black eye.” Rebecca giggled, bringing a smile to Santi’s face. “And inevitably, every time I screwed up, I’d end up smacking my head. One day, we were doing this exercise and I really got my bell rung. Our drill sergeant sent me to the infirmary because he knew there was no way in hell that I didn’t have a concussion. But I didn’t. Hell, I didn’t even pass out. When he found out, he was shocked. Said I must have the hardest skull on earth. Thus, Ironhead was born.”

“Pfft…” Benny snorted loudly, the sound breaking through Bex’s giggles and Charlie’s muffled chuckles. “It’s not even a good story, man! I coulda told your drill sergeant that you were clumsy as fuck the day you enlisted! Now, Pope’s…that’s a good fucking story,” he guffawed, leaning back as far as the bench seat would let him.

“Benny…” Will put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, which was quickly shrugged off. Santi fixed him with a glare, and Frankie was subtly drawing his hand over his neck, but Benny was too drunk to care.

“Pope?” Bex looked up at Santi confusedly, but he didn’t get the chance to explain before Benny’s crowing laughter boomed out once more.

“‘Oh god, oh god! Yes god! Yes! Please, god. Por favor, mi dios! Oh my god, oh my god!’,” Benny’s voice rang out in a poor imitation of a girlish squeal. He threw his head back and laughed drunkenly, almost falling off the bench seat. “We thought for sure that Corporal had to have the Pope himself in her room for her to be screaming for God that loudly. But no. Turned out to only be Santiago Garcia, known almost exclusively as Pope from then on out.”

Bex looked between the two men, eyes wide, before standing and squeezing out into the crowd, heading back towards the bathrooms.

“At least I got a nickname, jackass,” Santi hissed, kicking away from the table. “I didn’t spend my whole military career known only as ‘Will’s Little Brother Benny’.”

Santi turned and chased after Rebecca, praying she hadn’t gone too far.

“What? What did I say?” Benny asked, half a potato skin hanging out of his mouth.

“If this fucks them up, I’ll kick your ass for both of them,” Charlie groaned, unable to take her eyes away from where her two friends had just disappeared.

**********

He found her standing under the strings of lights that hung above the front door.

“Y-you weren’t thinking of leaving, were you?” he asked in a slightly trembling voice.

She turned to him, eyes bright, and chuckled. “No…I just needed some air. Well,” she looked around the darkened city street. “Some different air. Front fresh air instead of back fresh air. Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“It’s okay,” he shrugged out of his jacket and gently placed it over her shoulders as she shivered. “I…I’m sorry about Benny. He’s an idiot most of the time, but when he drinks…”

“He could win the Nobel Prize for Darwinism?”

He chuckled, a soft smirk appearing on his face. “Yeah, something like that.” They stared up at the dark sky for a long moment, a hesitant peace falling between them. “That story he told…I’m not exactly proud of the way I used to be. I hope you know that.”

Rebecca shrugged delicately. “We all have a past. We all have things we’re not proud of. What matters is who we are today. And you want to know something?” she looked up at him with those eyes, and he pressed down the urge to kiss her.

“What?”

“I really like who you are today,” she whispered, bringing a smile to his face.

“I really like who you are every day,” he whispered back, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, his smile growing even larger when she leaned into him. “You ready to get out of here?”

She wrapped his jacket tighter around her body. “Yeah, it’s getting a little chilly.”

He nodded in agreement, gave her a quick squeeze and released her. “I’ll go grab my wallet and we can get going.”

Santi wove his way back through the crowded Beer Garden until he reached the table, quietly scooping up his wallet.

“Everything okay?” Frankie asked quietly as Charlie dozed on his chest.

“Yeah, tell your firecracker that she doesn’t have to kick any asses. See you tomorrow?” Frankie nodded as Santi pulled out a crisp twenty and threw it on the table. “Adios, hermano,” he murmured, bringing his hand gently down upon Frankie’s cap and giving his head a slight jiggle. “Will, can you get me that info on that electrician?” Will nodded as Santi clapped a hand down on his shoulder, bringing his hand up to gently clasp his buddy’s forearm before Santi removed it to give Benny a quick swat on the back of the head.

“Hey!” Santi fixed him with a glare. “Yeah, okay. I deserved that. Night man.”

Santi strolled out of the restaurant, a smile tugging at his lips when he saw Rebecca, wrapped in his jacket, staring at the restaurant doors, waiting for him. That warm feeling in the pit of his stomach came back full force, and, for the first time, he didn’t want it to go away.

**********

His truck quietly slid into a parking spot out front of her apartment building.

“Well…” she murmured. “I guess this is me.”

Santi nodded, a sigh building in his chest. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t want a simple dinner date to end, but he wanted it to continue. He wanted to keep talking to her, keep listening to her, keep touching her.

“I’ll, uh…I’ll walk you to the front door,” he stated, desperate to stretch their remaining few seconds as long as he could.

She smiled and waited as he made his way around the front of the truck, opening her door and offering her his hand. They strolled the maybe twenty paces to the front door and stopped, turning to face each other while their free hands sought each other out.

“I had a really nice time. Your friends are great. Frankie’s awesome.”

“He really is.”

“Well…uh…good night, Santi.”

“Bex?” he tugged slightly on her hands, so she remained facing him. “I…” That warm feeling in his stomach burst. “Oh, fuck it,” he pressed forward, planting his lips on hers the way he had been imaging since he had picked her up four hours previous. Sweet and tender, raw and full of something that would go unnamed for a while but had so much potential. He pulled back for the space of a breath, taking in her closed eyes and slightly parted lips. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.”

Finally, her eyes opened. “Don’t stop,” she quietly pled, freeing her hands to place them on either side of his face, tugging him back to her lips.

They stood there for what could have been minutes or hours, neither knew nor cared. It was like every moment of their friendship had been leading them to this moment, and they wanted to live in it forever.

It wasn’t until the nearby sound of a fire truck siren starting up broke the serene quiet that they broke apart.

“So, uh…coffee on Monday?” she asked, eyes slightly glazed over and lips plump.

“Definitely.”

**********

Tags list: @darksideofclarke, @writefightandflightclub, @eternallyvenus, @rae-rae-patcha, @himbopoes, @sophoclese, @phoenixhalliwell, @buckstaposition, @who-talks-first

[imaginingsoftly]

Uncle Gryz - Matt Grzelcyk

Type: angsty, best friends, really fluffy ending

Requested: No

Warnings: a couple of swears, pregnancy

A/N: I started this and had no idea where it was going, so here’s some angsty shit with a fluffy best friend ending! 

Rain pounded on your hood as you walked across the city, breathing in the smell of wet cement and rain as you tried to hold back your tears. The streets of North End were nearly empty thanks to the rain and the late hour, and you managed to recognize the peace around you despite the exhaustion threatening to take over. Times like these were the ones where it was so easy to love the history of the city, to appreciate the cobblestones and how old the city felt. Matt’s building appeared to your left, and you slipped inside with one more glance at the rain and the moon. The front desk receptionist waved as you slipped past, familiar with your face after so many years of visits. 

The trek from the elevator to Matt’s door felt like it took years, and you were practically hanging on the door for support by the time Matt opened it. He was still dressed from the plane ride home from Winnipeg, his tie hanging loose around his neck and his shirt partially unbuttoned. “Y/N?” He was tired, you could tell, his eyes a little less bright than they normally were. Maybe you should have waited until morning.

“Matty, I,” you stopped, pressing your lips together to suppress a sob. Matt swore, gently tugging you into the condo. He closed and locked the door with one hand while simultaneously pulling you tightly into his chest with the other. You shook from your tears and the cold damp that felt like it had settled into your bones, and Matt somehow pulled you even closer. Neither of you spoke as you cried. Matt tangled a hand in your hair. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?” You cried harder. “Okay, sweetheart, okay. You don’t have to tell me.” 

Slowly your tears stopped and the exhaustion settled in with a new vengeance. Matt caught you as your legs gave out, smoothly scooping you up into his arms. “Let’s get you warm, yeah?” You nodded wearily against his shoulder, struggling to keep your eyes open. It had been a long couple of days, and your body was just now relaxing enough to sleep. Matt set you gently on his bed, cupping your cheek with a concerned look on his face before retrieving sweatpants and one of his shirts. 

“Get into some dry clothes, and I’ll make you a snack.” You opened your mouth to feebly protest, but Matt held up a hand. He had his captain face on, and you knew better than to argue with that. “You look like you haven’t eaten in days. I’ve got some of mom’s chicken parm in the fridge. You’re eating it.” Even in your half-conscious state you knew better than to turn down a Momma Grzelcyk meal. You nodded tiredly, and were rewarded with one of Matt’s smiles. 

His clothes were warm, and smelled like him. Matt had been a constant in your life since you’d moved to Boston for college, your first and favorite lab partner, and the smell of his laundry detergent and cologne smelled safe. You’d suffered through Biology together, and somehow the hotshot local hockey player had adopted you as his new best friend. You were both older now, college long gone, but your friendship had remained, especially since you’d remained in the area for med school and then as a doctor at Brigham and Womens. 

You were in Matt’s bed by the time he returned, changed and snuggling under his covers. Matt smiled gently at the sight. He balanced two plates of food in his hands as he climbed in next to you, handing a plate off so that he could slip under the covers as well. “We haven’t done this in a while,” he remarked, gesturing at the food and where your legs were fighting for space further down on the bed. 

“Kyle didn’t like it.” Your voice broke as you mentioned your now ex-fiance, and Matt’s mouth tightened as you mentioned him. They’d never gotten along, Kyle assuming that Matt wanted you for himself and Matt stuck on Kyle’s trust fund and general distaste for anyone who hadn’t gone to medical school. 

You’d just taken a bite of the chicken parm when Matt spoke again. “Do I need to gather a few of the boys and go kick his ass?” You choked on the food. Of course he went the violent route. You fiddled with your now ring-less left hand, and Matt noticed immediately. His voice was considerably more gentle when he spoke again. “What happened, Y/N?”

He reached out to squeeze your right hand, and you stared at your joined hands as you tried to summon the strength to speak again. “He doesn’t want kids. Like ever. Says he doesn’t want my body ruined by childbirth.” You shook your head and stared up at the ceiling so you didn’t have to look at Matt’s face. You knew he was approximately two seconds away from storming down to Kyle’s apartment to do god-knows what, so you squeezed his hand back and continued. “I’m pregnant, Matty. He was so pissed. He started throwing things, accusing me of doing it on purpose.” Matt was barely breathing by the time you were done talking, and his face was unrecognizable. It was blank, the kind of rage you had never seen from him. 

It took a lot of effort for you to turn away from his face and resume eating, giving Matt a chance to process everything you’d said. It had taken you days to process that you were pregnant at all, and then the fight with Kyle tonight had been a few hours ago. Honestly, you were still processing everything yourself. You were almost finished eating by the time Matt picked up his fork again, but he didn’t eat. He pushed the food around his plate until you were finished, and then he wordlessly took both of your plates back to the kitchen. He didn’t bother to wash them, and he was back in the room almost immediately, sliding back into the bed with the same cold look on his face. It was honestly starting to scare you. 

“Matty,” you said gently, touching his cheek. He jerked, snapping back into himself with a shake of his head. “Please say something.” Matt bit his lip before pulling you into his chest again. He didn’t speak for a while, and neither did you as you began to let sleep overtake you.

“I’ve got your back, sweetheart. No matter what.” You were fully alert again as he spoke the words you’d been dying to hear from someone. “This baby is gonna have an entire team’s worth of good attractive male role models to look up to.” He pulled back enough to look at your face. “I mean, if you’re gonna keep the baby. Which, you know, if you aren’t I’ll go with you to get everything taken care of.” You choked out another sob at his words, gently kissing his cheek. 

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m gonna keep it. I’ve got enough vacation time saved up just in case, and I’m monetarily stable, and I’ve got you guys.”

Matt’s eyes lit up in excitement. “You’re gonna be such a good momma, Y/N. And I’m gonna be the best uncle. Uncle Gryz sounds pretty good, yeah?” His excitement had you giggling through your tears, and you nodded in agreement. 

The two of you slid down the bed frame until Matt had you cuddled into his chest, and he only let go of you long enough to turn off the light. It had been a long time since you’d done this, at least two or three years. Since Kyle. It felt right, a reminder of the all-nighters the two of you had endured together as students and then that Matt had been there for as you survived med school. 

He was the brother you’d always wanted, the best friend you knew you deserved. There really wasn’t a better word to describe him to your baby than uncle, because he was family.

“I like Uncle Gryz, but only if Charlie can be Uncle Cheeks.” 

Matt’s laugh rumbled through his chest.

“Obviously.”