#(the sock was in the refrigerator ofc)

[sagesilentfire]

Re read Wayside School again recently and I forgot how deeply and intensely trans-coded Mac and Nancy were

Like, this is a children's book written in the late 1980s, but these two kids have a chapter where they switch names because their birth names don't match their genders. And it's Wayside school, so more attention is paid to the silliness of how they go about changing names, but it still is a deeply trans narrative. And everyone in the class accepts that Mac is Mac now, and they goof off switching names with each other. And the narrative makes it clear who's talking by mentioning their original, "real" name, but it never does that with Mac.

I love this series. It's so good, it captures the experience of being a kid so well.

#very little of it aged poorly #all that is there is one instance of the g slur and maybe a few fatphobic comments (though one of the most athletic characters is also #pointed out to be fat) #even the chapter where one of the kids brings a homeless guy in for show and tell is really kind of cute #he's as goofy as everything else in the story but is shown to be a very intelligent guy #he doesn't sit down and explain income inequality to the class of small children #but he knows where mac's missing sock was and can spell really well #(the sock was in the refrigerator ofc) #wayside school #children's books #everything i aspire to be #queue queue

[middleearthpixie]

Better Days ~ Chapter Sixteen

Summary: Frerin Durin had the perfect life, until he found out his wife was cheating on him. Now, he’s navigating uncharted territory as an about-to-be divorced single dad. Dating is a mess, he’s dealing with the fallout where his kids are concerned, and really, he would just love a vacation away from all of it. 

Elena Madison is new to Sidleburg, and also navigating life as a newly single parent. The last thing she needed was for her daughter to come down sick, when she hasn’t even had time to unpack the moving boxes, never mind find a pediatrician. And the last thing she ever expected was to meet a man like Dr. Frerin Durin…

Neither Elena nor Frerin were looking for anything, but fate has a way of messing up even the best laid plans. However, both have been hurt and both aren't at all sure they trust themselves, never mind trusting someone else...

Pairings:  Modern!Frerin x ofc Elena Madison

Characters: Frerin, Elena, Dan

Warnings: None

Rating: T 

Word Count: 2.8

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketchy-loo6195 @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @buckybarnes-thorin @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @albionscastle @absentmindeduniverse @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep @court-jobi @masterofhounds

If you’d like to be added to (or removed from ) the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here. 

Elena lifted her head and squinted through mole-eyes at the clock on the bookshelf across from Frerin’s bed. Ten after eight. Sun splashed through the windows on the eastern wall, bouncing across the rumpled and disheveled bed, and she smiled as she sank back into the soft pillows. It truly was one of the better Christmases. 

Frerin lay sound asleep behind her, his arm resting along the curve of her waist. Heat from his chest sank into her back, the tips of his fingers brushed her stomach. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so well. Actually, she wasn't sure she’d ever slept as well as she did last night. 

Carefully, she eased out from beneath his arm and slid to the edge of the king sized bed. The master bedroom was at least twice the size of hers, with a small alcove at the front, with a comfy looking gray-upholstered overstuffed armchair and ottoman tucked into it. A pair of jeans and a black hoodie lay draped over the ottoman, and she snagged the hoodie to drag over her head.

It was huge on her, considering he was probably a good foot taller than she was and she stood at not quite five foot three. But, it was cozy and it smelled nice, clean with a hint of cedar. She tugged on her socks and made her way down to the kitchen in search of coffee.

The Keurig was on the counter next to the refrigerator, tucked beneath the cabinets. She powered it up and then tugged open the drawer directly below it in the hopes of finding coffee pods there.

Apparently that was the junk drawer, for it held a tape measure, several screwdrivers of different lengths and heads, a handful of twist ties, a green marble, two rolls of scotch tape, and a bag of what appeared to be glue sticks. 

“So much for that.” She smiled as she moved to the pantry, which on the far side of the refrigerator. Everything in the world but coffee pods could be found there. 

She finally found them in the drawer alongside the junk drawer, in a metal mesh organizer. He had everything from Obsidian dark roast to cinnamon light roast, so she chose something halfway between and slid in into the machine. While it was brewing, she found sugar and half and half and coffee mugs. She took out a Princeton University mug and smiled. Her degree had come out of Rider University, which was located only a town away from Princeton. It was entirely possible that at some point, she had bumped into Frerin or had seen him in Princeton, as the Rider students spent their fair share of time in the town.

When her coffee was ready, she took the cup and moved to the kitchen table, near the French doors that opened out on to a deck. A light coating of snow covered everything, made the parklike landscape behind his house look something out of a Christmas special. A family of deer meandered through the sloping backyard, along the perimeter where it backed woods and she almost sighed at the peacefulness of it all. A hint of of cinnamon hung in the air. The pinecones on the dining room table, no doubt. And combined with that were hints of garlic from dinner. 

She settled into the chair nearest the French doors and smiled at the memory of what happened last night at this very table. There was something so very heady about the sight of Frerin on his knees before her, and her whole body tingled now just thinking about it. It had been too long since any man made her feel like the center of his world, where her pleasure was just as important to him as his own, as it certainly seemed to be to Frerin. Most of the men she’d dated since Dan thought foreplay involved buying dinner then pouncing on her in the front seat of their car in the driveway. It was awful enough that she’d seriously considered just giving up dating altogether.

Then Alyssa caught the flu and Elena found herself in the ER, smiling at a good-looking doctor with beautiful blue-gray eyes, an amazing bedside manner, and who was single to boot. She never would have guessed that same good-looking doctor would make her melt and scream in bed for all the right reasons. She wasn't so sure guys like him actually existed, but that the dating pool was filled with jerkoffs who could populate a thousand Buzzfeed articles on why dating men actually sucked.

She sipped her coffee, completely at peace in Frerin’s kitchen, in his hoodie, her legs tucked up under her, pondering the way life could throw curveballs at you that weren’t quite as curved as they seemed. She’d left Lavallette to get a fresh start on a new life. Never in her wildest imaginings would she have thought just how her life would change. 

But then again, Dan was the perfect guy in the beginning as well and look how that turned out. It seemed every woman he met thought the same thing and he wasn't at all hesitant to let them admire him, or to let them think he was single. She would do well to keep that in mind. All men were Prince Charming when they wanted to fuck you. She really hoped Frerin wasn't that guy as well.

“I thought maybe you’d snuck out on me.”

She smiled at the sleepiness in Frerin’s voice, and twisted to see him, clad only in dark grey sweatpants, coming into the kitchen, absently scratching his chest. “I would never do that. I was just watching the deer. It’s beautiful out here.”

“Yeah, we get a lot of wildlife. Deer. Turkeys. Foxes.” He moved to the Keurig and took out a coffee pod for himself. “Have you been awake long?”

“Maybe half an hour. It took me a while to find everything.”

“You could’ve woken me.” He padded over to her, leaning to press a kiss into the top of her head. “How’d you sleep?”

“Perfectly. Your bed is really comfy.”

“Yeah, it was the first thing I bought after Toni moved out.” He went back to the Keurig, made a cup of coffee, and joined her at the table. “I had an aversion to sleeping in the bed where my wife fucked another guy.”

“Can’t say I blame you.”

“I sound bitter, don't I?”

She raised her cup. “Just a little.”

“I’m sorry, Lena. It’s also kind of shitty to talk about her after a night like last night.” He smiled. “I’m glad you made it over.”

“So am I, Frerin.”

He took a sip of coffee, set the mug down, then rose to come over to where she sat. “What do you have planned for today?”

“Not a damn thing.” She shook her head. “You?”

“Same.” He reached for her hands to draw her up. “I’m off until tomorrow night, so… why don’t we spend the day together?”

Her stomach fluttered at the low growl in his voice. “Doing what?”

“Whatever you want.”

“But what do you want to do?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“Truth?”

“No, Frerin. Lie to me.”

His low chuckle rumbled through her as he slid his arms about her waist and tightened them to pull her flush against him. “I’d like to start by seeing what you look like naked and wet. Although, I’ve kind of already seen that.”

“Frerin!”

“What? I’m being honest. And it was hot as fuck, as my sister in law would say.” He bent toward her, and before his lips met hers, he added in a soft purr, “And so are you.”

Before she could reply, he captured her lips with his. It was so easy to melt against him, to wind her arms about his neck and pull him closer still. In all honesty, she’d had such a wonderful time since arriving at his house, and not only because he was so fucking good in bed, although, that was a plus. She just felt… comfortable with him, as if they’d known each other for years instead of weeks. So, when he swept his hoodie up and off of her… well, what else could she do but just give in to the melt?

“We should probably think about dinner,” Frerin murmured, his lips brushing her ear. “Because it’s dark out.”

Elena smiled into that darkness. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent an entire day in bed, without being sick. She snuggled closer. “We can DoorDash something.”

“Or I can actually take you out.” He pressed a kiss into the top of her head before pulling away to sit up. “That way, you know I’m not just in it for the sex.”

The soft glow of the bathroom nightlight highlighted the swells of muscle along his shoulders and down his back. He definitely used his gym time wisely, and she wondered how many of his patients’ mothers had any idea just how magnificent he looked beneath his sensible clothes? 

She rolled onto her stomach, bunching the pillows beneath her cheek. “So, wait… you’re not just in it for the sex?”

He had just stepped into his boxer briefs and was straightening the waistband when she said this, and he looked up, almost surprised. “Did you think I was?”

“Well, yeah… I mean, what else is there?” 

His hands came to rest on his hips. “I don’t know—I guess I thought there might be more here, but—”

She couldn't hold a straight face any longer. “I’m kidding, Frerin. I didn't think that at all. No guy who’s just in it for the sex asks you spend the night in his home with him. You go to a hotel or you’d suggest going to my place so you have an excuse to leave.”

He sighed, visibly relaxing. “Okay, so I’m an idiot.”

“Nah, I was kind of an ass.” She rolled back to sit up. “And I would love to go to dinner.”

“The Thai food we didn't get last week?”

“Sounds good.”

He smiled and leaned forward to brush her lips with his. As they met, he kept coming toward her, pressing her back into the bed as he flattened against her and his kiss deepened. He obviously enjoyed kissing, as he did so slow and almost leisurely, and when he pulled back, she slid her arms about his waist. “So, you think there might be something more here than just incredible sex?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, nodding. “I do. And I’m kind of hoping you do, too.”

“I normally don’t let myself think that way,” she admitted softly. “Because it always comes back to bite me in the ass.”

“Not this time,” he brushed her lips with his, “I want to introduce you to my kids. To my family.”

“I’ve already met your brother.”

“His wife. My sister. My nephews.”

Her stomach did a slow flip that was equal parts wonderful and nerve-racking. “Are you sure? I mean, we haven’t even really gone out yet.”

“Lena, we talk almost every day. I’ve met your daughter. You’ve met my brother. You’ve slept in my bed and shared my shower with me. Yeah, I’m sure. I want you to meet them.”

She met his gaze and saw no sign of anything insincere in his blue-gray eyes, and smiled up at him. “If you’re sure…”

“I am, honey.” He brushed her lips with his once more. 

“Okay. I have to admit, I am curious about them.”

“I think you’ll like them and I think they’ll like you, too. It might be a bit of a shock to them, since I haven’t dated any woman long enough to want her to meet them, but I think they’ll be okay.”

“I guess we’ll find out, huh?”

The Thai Kitchen was crowded, but they were still seated quickly and while the food was every bit as good as Frerin promised, Elena was just as happy when they were nestled back in his car in the parking lot. 

His hand came to rest on her knee, his fingers tightening about it as he said, “Can I convince you to spend another night with me?”

She looked over at him. “As long as you won’t think I’m easy as a result.”

He chuckled. “What if I like the fact that you’re easy?”

She smacked him in the upper arm. “What a thing to say! You do need to work on your flirting.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he said, leaning over to brush her lips with his. “I don't think you’re easy, Lena.”

“I hope not. You should only know how many people have been told not to call me Lena.”

“Not to call you that? You don’t like it?”

“Not really, no.”

“Why didn't you say something? I’d have stopped—”

“Because I don't mind you doing it,” she interrupted softly, covering his hand with hers. “But, before I agree to spend another night, can we stop by my apartment so I can at least pack a toothbrush? I know it’s weird, but so’s using a guest toothbrush.”

“No problem.” He gave her knee another squeeze and turned over the ignition. Half an hour later, they were back at his house, where it wasn't long before they fell back into bed once more.

****

The apartment seemed so much quieter than usual without Alyssa playing music in her room or playing on her Switch curled up on the sofa. Before she left, Frerin told her he’d give her a call when he had a break, but she had the feeling that a Saturday night, over a holiday weekend, was most likely going to keep him very busy, as he was covering the ER again.

She went through her mail, sorting bills from junk, and poured herself a glass of wine as she tackled said bills. Halfway through, her cell rang, and she smiled.

Until she picked up the phone.

“Hi, Dan, what’s up?”

“Where have you been?”

She rolled her eyes. “Hello to you. What did you need me for?”

“I tried calling Alyssa on Christmas and she didn’t answer. I tried calling her yesterday and she wasn't answering her phone. And each time I tried her, I tried you after and you weren’t answering your phone. What gives? Where were you?”

“I was out, okay?”

“On Christmas? All day? And yesterday?”

“Yes, Dan. I have a life as well. And Alyssa isn’t here. The reason she probably didn't answer her phone is she’s with your parents and they were probably busy.”

Dead silence.

And then…

“Why is Alyssa with my parents?”

“Because they’re her grandparents and they asked her to visit for the holiday. Dan, what do you care? Aren’t you in the Caribbean somewhere? Aruba, I think?”

“Puerto Rico. Carina got sick our first day in port and we haven’t left the ship since.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Sick at Christmas is no fun.”

“Yeah, you sound like you really give a damn.”

Give me strength. “What do you want, Dan? If you want to talk to Lyssa, call your parents.”

“Can’t you just text her and tell her to give me a ring?”

“No. I’m not your secretary. If you want to talk to your daughter, talk to her.”

“Thanks, Elena. You’ve been a huge help.”

“I wasn't aware I was supposed to be.” She sank into one of the kitchen chairs. “Now, did you need me for anything or what?”

“Are you going to tell me where you were all weekend?”

“That’s none of your business. We’re not married anymore, remember?”

He sighed softly. “I didn't call to fight with you, Elena. I just—I wanted to wish her a Merry Christmas.”

“So call your mom and ask her to put Lyssa on the phone. She’ll probably talk to you.”

“Yeah, maybe. Okay, I’m sorry to bother you and I hope I didn't interrupt anything.”

“You didn’t.”

“Good. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Dan. Enjoy what’s left of your trip.”

“Yeah, we’ll be home in a couple days. I was hoping to take Lyssa for New Year’s.”

“She’s not coming home until the second. Maybe next year.”

“Yeah. Okay, good night.”

“‘Night, Dan.” She clicked off and set the phone down. Sometimes she wondered how she had managed to remain married to him for as long as she had, but at the same time, she found much of her anger at him, at what he’d done to cause their marriage to fall apart, faded into the deeper recesses of her mind. Perhaps it was because deep down, she knew their marriage was over long before he’d begun cheating. And if she was really honest, she would admit it was also because of having met Frerin. 

And now he wanted her to meet his kids. That terrified her to no end because what if they hated her on sight? She’d never dated a single dad before and had no idea exactly what would happen or how uncomfortable it might possibly be. 

But, she’d find out soon enough, she supposed. 

#Gerard Butler #Frerin Durin #Frerin x OC #AU #Frerin Fic #Is it hot in here? #Romance #Modern AU #ER AU #Hospital AU #Richard Armitage #The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

[saucy-sassy-sparkly]

Pursuit of Happiness

2: HopeLives Foundation

Pairing: Chris Evans x Kat Littleman (OFC)

Summary: New England political daughter Kat Littleman is constantly showing up for her mother’s campaigns, playing the part of the perfect daughter in the perfect, American family.  When her paths cross with Chris Evans while he canvases DC to build out ASP, she’s forced to face some truths about herself, her family, and her future.  

Word Count: ~6.8k

Warnings: Chris is a bit of a horndog.  Lots of swearing, alcohol, sex talk, politically charged topics, chaotic families

Series Masterlist

2: HopeLives Foundation

“FUCK,” Chris threw the controller on the sofa next to him and stormed out of the room, leaving a dumbfounded Scott behind him.

Scott glanced between the abandoned item, the Mario Kart standings screen, and his brother’s quickly disappearing back before he turned down the TV volume and followed Chris into the kitchen. He watched his brother bang around the room, throwing open the refrigerator and yanking out a beer before slamming it shut. Chris then yanked open a drawer to aggressively push around the utensils in search of a bottle opener. He found it and tried to pull it out, but it got stuck on the vegetable peeler; he yanked harder, and all of that resulted in several items tumbling out onto Chris’s socked foot, eliciting another, “fuck,” from the man who left the mess in favor of opening the beer and taking a swig.

“So,” Scott said, pulling out a kitchen chair and collapsing into it, “you seem great.”

Chris glared at him.

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Chris joined Scott at the table after he gathered the utensils from the floor and shoved them haphazardly back in the drawer.

“You are definitely lying based on that little hissy fit you just threw over losing in Mario Kart.”

Chris shrugged, “I don’t like to lose.”

Scott snorted, “Yeah, okay, that I know, but you don’t normally throw things and storm out of the room. That’s usually Mom.”

Begrudgingly, Chris laughed and took a swig of his beer before leaning back in his seat. “It’s been a rough few weeks I guess,” he picked at the label of the Stella in his hand.

“DC was another bust?”

“Not entirely, we got a few more people interested and I’ve had some meetings go well, but I just didn’t think it would be this hard to convince politicians to talk to their constituents. Every time I spend a few days there, I end up feeling like we took one step forward and two steps back. They agree to talk to us but then they’re just looking for me to support them in some way or help out with one of their causes. Or worse, they ignore us entirely. No actually,” he paused, “the worst is when they just laugh at us. I can handle an ignored email, I can’t handle the assumption it’s a joke. I just want this to work, Scott. I think this could work, I just need them to get it, ya know?”

Scott nodded, pushing away from the table to get his own beer and, far more gratefully, find the bottle opener, “but you knew it would take time.”

“Just not this long,” Chris sighed and looked up at his brother who was walking back towards him. He studied Scott for a moment and then turned to look out the window, biting his lip.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That face you just made? That face you make when you don’t want to tell me something.”

Chris scrubbed his hand down his beard and glanced at Scott in the corner of his eye, debating about telling him. Telling him about Kat. He’d been thinking about Kat since she’d disappeared into her hotel room’s bathroom two weeks ago. At that moment, she hadn’t bothered to lock the door, but he knew that was his dismissal.

She just blew him off, just like that. A quick, slightly dirty, really good fuck, and then she was gone.

At first, it pissed him off.

That was his role; he was the one who quickly dismissed a hook-up and sent them on their way. It had been years since he’d been on the receiving end of a brush-off. Women didn’t walk away from him. He finished and they begged him to stay while he got dressed or while he called them a car. He was used to being the one in control and he was furious she’d gotten the upper hand.

Then, he was embarrassed.

She’d sent him away without so much as a “goodbye” or even a “let me get your number” that they’d both know would never be used. He hated how it felt to put himself back together and quietly leave the room. He hated how much he wanted her to want him, or at least give him ten extra minutes to have a drink.

After the embarrassment came the shame.

He knew he’d done this to women more times than he could count. He knew he’d made them feel beautiful and desired only to give them the boot shortly after. Chris wasn’t awful– he usually hung around for some cuddling and making out… occasionally a sleepover… but even then, he didn’t think twice about sending them on their way. Now that he was on the receiving end, the shame of having made women feel that way crept back through him at the worst moments.

And now, he was curious.

Admittedly, his curiosity was mostly guided by his dick. Chris was familiar with casual hook-ups, but they were usually enough to get him off; he was almost always sure to get his partner to the finish too, but most of them were nothing special. Occasionally he’d find someone who was into something kinky and it would catch his attention for a few weeks, or now and then someone was particularly good and he’d keep her around for a while to text on lonely nights.

But the immediate attraction he’d felt for Kat when she’d sauntered up was new. Hot women were always around him, but few of them exuded a self-assured air that she had. And he wouldn’t admit it out loud yet– or maybe ever– but she was in the top 5 sex he’d ever had. He had yet to figure out what it was about her, but she’d put him in a trance and there wasn’t a shot in hell he would’ve ignored her invitation to her room. When she’d opened the hotel room door and pulled him in, he’d hardened at just the touch of their hands. When he kissed her and she whimpered against his mouth and melted into his touch, he’d started to leak into his shorts. He’d almost finished while she was just petting him, and then almost did again when he watched her finish on his fingers; when he’d finally been inside of her, he’d struggled the whole time not to finish with embarrassing speed.

After he’d spent a few days pissed and moping, not even taking advantage of the advances from a few more aides for their last few days in DC, he’d gone Incognito on his laptop and Googled her. He got a few old hits with her name in articles about her mother, a link to a super private Facebook page, and some photos volunteering with charities and a handful of other politicians. If he really wanted, he could reach out to some people he knew in DC and figure out how to get in touch with her the next time he was in town, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to go that far. That seemed a little too creepy.

So, he’d squashed his feelings down as deep as they could go and had thrown himself into finishing his last stint in DC. Then he’d taken all of his frustrations out playing video games with Scott, hiking with Dodger, and with his hand in the shower after dark.

Scott sat across the kitchen table with his face cradled in his hands, clearly waiting for Chris to spill. Chris played with the label of his beer, avoiding his brother’s penetrating stare, and tried to think of where to start. How to say ‘I slept with a woman and now I can’t stop thinking about her’ without sounding like an episode of a teenage drama?

Saved by his phone vibrating in his pocket, he fished it out to see Mark’s name fill the screen, “hey, man,” he greeted and then took a sip of beer, glancing back at Scott, who rolled his eyes and left the table to go back to the couch.

“So, Elizabeth Warren’s people just called me,” Mark said in place of a greeting. Chris could tell Mark was shuffling papers and could picture him at his desk– the one he’d seen over FaceTime many times. “They tried to call you first since you’re in the area, but said your assistant took a message.”

Ahh, right. Shit. He often gave out his assistant’s phone number instead of his when it was to lower-level staff members, just in case they weren’t calling for ASP reasons. He saved his personal number for the elected officials and their chiefs of staff.

“What does Warren want?”

“Well, sounds like she’s willing to chat with us, but wants to do it this week. Can you make it happen?”

Chris sat up straighter, yanking his laptop across the table and opening it. He clicked quickly to his calendar, scanning through the few phone meetings he had set up for the rest of the week before responding to Mark, “Hell yeah, I can make it happen. I’ll call ‘em.”

“Great, we really need her, Chris. Work your magic.”

“I’ll do my best,” Chris laughed, asking for the phone number to call.

Mark rattled off the contact information to Chris, who typed it quickly onto a sticky note on his screen. They briefly exchanged pleasantries, followed by some more shop talk, and then hung up. Chris immediately dialed the contact, being connected directly to a woman named Maggie. Maggie explained that the senator’s schedule was fairly full this week, but she’d be doing some visits to local nonprofits and he was welcome to choose one and she’d make time for a cup of coffee after.

Chris was accustomed to the “catch” with these politicians. He was careful to avoid showing too much favor to certain causes and leaders, but he had to toe the line between using his celebrity to bolster a politician’s public opinion and actually getting what he, Mark, and Joe so desperately needed to get ASP off the ground.

After hanging up with Maggie, he was surprised to find a list of engagements already in his inbox, along with links to the organizations and the times that Warren would be there this week. He clicked through the four options, loading the websites and scanning the missions– all various causes he liked, but one on the furthest side of downtown, one wasn’t until next Saturday– a week away– and one was at an animal shelter and he couldn’t risk going there and falling in love with another dog… Dodger would be devastated. The last one was on Tuesday, two days from now, and was the closest to his house. He clicked through the link for the HopeLives Foundation, looking at the stock photos of smiling women and children in front of apartment buildings.

Over the next two days, Chris and Maggie exchanged emails about the event and by 10a Tuesday morning, Chris was dressed in a cardigan and dark jeans and on his way to HopeLives. He pulled into the lot of a small strip mall, seeing the vans for a few news crews parked on the opposite side. The end unit had a sign above the entrance that was a cream-colored oval, with the words HopeLives in hot pink.

As he got close, he was surprised to discover that under the name of the foundation, there was a small herd of pink flamingos. An odd choice of mascot for a Boston-based foundation. He hovered at the edge of the sidewalk between a few cars and crew members scrolling their phones and scanned for Maggie. She’d said he would be able to find her because she’d be three steps behind Warren. And sure enough, there she was, a petite woman in– you guessed it, a pantsuit– was standing behind the senator, taking notes on her phone.

He chose to text her, rather than make his way across the center of attention, saying that he’d be at The Bean– the coffee shop a few doors down– waiting until they were finished; he saw the moment she read it and started to scan for him. He waved from his spot and she beckoned him over.

Shit.

He couldn’t say no; he was this close to getting a chance to talk to a huge name in politics and try to get her to agree to help them. But if he said yes, his face would be on the internet in a nanosecond next to the same huge name in politics, making it very difficult to sell the “nonpartisan” angle of ASP… not that his Twitter account did much to help that either.

He didn’t have a choice, he crossed the lot and hesitantly stepped up on the sidewalk as Maggie approached, her hand out to shake.

“Welcome, Senator Warren is just about to go inside,” she turned on her heels and was walking towards Warren without another warning. She waited for a pause in her conversation before gently touching her elbow, “Senator, Chris Evans is here.”

The senator greeted him warmly in front of the flashing cameras, complementing his career and how much her husband enjoyed his Marvel movies, before turning to introduce him to the women she’d just been meeting.

Kira and Monica were introduced first, shaking hands with Chris and grinning at him, “We had no idea you’d be joining the senator!” Kira continued to shake his hand long after it was socially acceptable and blushed fiercely when she realized and dropped his hand.

“We’ll introduce you to our third teammate in a second, she just stepped inside to get the coffee started,” Monica added, gesturing to the double glass doors, “want to warm up?”

The gaggle of people– Kira, Monica, Senator Warren, Maggie, Chris, all the camera crews, and several other Warren staffers, headed into the large lounge of the office space where there were plants scattered between a few sofas, plush chairs, and coffee tables piled with both coloring books, crayons, and magazines, even a few paperbacks novels on one of the bookshelves.

The cream wall in front of them held a picture of a flamingo and Senator Warren laughed, pointing up at it, “I have to know the deal with the flamingos,”

“Hold on, the flamingo enthusiast should explain it herself,” Kira said, walking down the nearest hallway and disappearing, only to return with a second voice following her.

Coming around the corner, a pot of coffee and a collection of mugs, creamer, and sugars on a tray in front of her, was Kat and Chris swore his heart stopped beating for the first full minute she was in view. He felt his face flush and his palms sweat; he was grateful he hadn’t worn a jacket even in the November chill because he would surely sweat through it right now.

Kat was in a tight plaid turtleneck, green suede skirt, navy tights, and knee-high brown leather boots; her hair was up in a high ponytail and, even with her neck covered, Chris remembered what the slope of it looked like and how much he had craved kissing it again in the last weeks.

She hadn’t noticed him yet; she and Kira were too busy setting out refreshments but when she rose to her full height, she looked straight at the senator first, offering her a chair and a coffee. Senator Warren sat, along with Kira and Monica, and finally, finally, her eyes fell on him. They widened immediately and Chris was pleased to see a blush rise in her cheeks too.

He took a step towards her and immediately paused, unsure what kind of greeting this moment called for. He wanted to hug her– his instinct was to hug– but this didn’t feel like the time to be that familiar. He hesitated and settled on shoving his hands in his pockets and nodding at her with a sheepish smile.

“Ch-Chris,” she stuttered, her head snapping back in surprise and she finished processing, “What are– how did–” she glanced around at the people all watching her expectantly. Kira and Monica’s eyebrows were both so high on their foreheads that they were in danger of blending into their hairlines. Senator Warren just continued to wait patiently, mixing cream into her coffee. The camera people and crew members, Maggie included, stared at Kat and Chris, clearly noticing a moment of tension.

Kat finally stuck out her hand and pushed her shoulders back, “Sorry, I’m just a big fan of your work, so I’m a little starstruck I guess,” she forced a laugh and gratefully, much of the room joined her, “I’m Kat Littleman. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

He shook her hand, accepted her coffee, and took a seat on the sofa– leaving Kat the only space left between him and Kira. She perched on the edge of the sofa, pretending to mix coffee for far too long while Monica and Senator Warren discussed the ins and outs of HopeLives. She picked up the cup, put it to her lips, decided she was shaking too hard to take a sip, and set it back down. Kat repeated the same movement three more times before she finally took a drink; she could feel her teammates' eyes flickering to her erratic movements.

Kat fidgeted on the seat, feeling every movement Chris made beside her. It was like his whole body was magnetized and trying to drag her into him. Seeing him here, in her place of work, had thrown off her whole morning and she was struggling to regain composure. Every time he moved and his cologne filled her space, she was pulled right back to the way it felt to kiss him. To have his hands on her hips, her legs, her breasts. To feel him everywhere…

“So Kat,” Senator Warren turned to Kat, who was pressing her knees so tightly together to avoid touching Chris’s that they ached already, “care to explain the flamingos?”

Kat nodded, flashing a genuine grin and angling her body towards the senator. Chris forced himself to look at her shoulder and not at her lower back, where her turtleneck was coming untucked from her skirt and a small stripe of skin was showing. “So a few years ago I saw this documentary about flamingos that said the name is said to reference their crimson wings and relates them to a real embodiment of the mythical phoenix. In lore, a phoenix rises from the ashes and is reborn for a new opportunity. Flamingos can represent beauty but also balance, stability, and potential. That concept really stuck with me and when we were workshopping names and logos and concepts for HopeLives, I kept coming back to the idea of our foundation working to help families find their potential. They come to us from poverty, abusive homes, from drug addictions, and we help connect them to job opportunities, housing, and food when they need it, plus we run several programs that allow families to bring their children and network with other families, building a herd if you will,” she laughed, earning a laugh from Senator Warren and Chris as well; she jumped a little, remembering Chris was seated behind her and she forced herself to lean back in the sofa, pressing into the backrest and allowing him to be part of the conversation again.

“A group of flamingos is actually called a flamboyance, but I learned quickly that some people do not want to be called that. Anyway,” she took a quick sip from her coffee mug that was emblazoned with the same logo that was out front, “our whole mission boils down to supporting people to rise from the ashes of their past and prosper. These two came up with the name, we all came up with the mission and built it together, but I was really insistent that we incorporate flamingos into our image.”

“Love that,” Chris nodded beside her, trying to catch her eye. Kat was focused on Warren, but when she leaned forward to set her mug on the table, Chris caught another glimpse of her shirt rising, exposing more of her back. He adjusted in his seat and averted his eyes back to the conversation just as Kat’s leg brushed lightly against the hand he’d planted on the sofa to get leverage. They pulled apart as if they'd been burned; Kat swore she could feel heat radiating from the spot where the back of his hand skimmed her thigh.

For almost an hour, the five of them chatted, eventually moving for a tour of the building. It housed the large, comfortable lobby, a small kitchen, three mid-sized, neat offices– each with a pull-out couch in case a family needed a place to crash for a night, two full bathrooms with showers, a conference room that looked more like a second lounge area, and a large back storage room filled with donations: everything from Costco sized packages of snack foods and coffee to new towels and sheets and three hanging racks of clothes and crates of shoes and jackets.

When Warren, Kira, and Monica (and most of the journalists and staffers) walked through the storage unit, talking about the wants and needs, Kat hung back and grabbed Chris’s arm, shoving him towards the kitchen.

“What are you doing here,” she hissed at him, checking over her shoulder that no one had followed them.

“I’m here for Warren, I had no idea this was your organization,” he whispered back, also keeping one eye on the door to the storage area.

She stared at him in confusion, “why on earth are you here for Warren?”

“ASP could use her support, I was promised a coffee and conversation with her. I thought it meant after she did her meet and greet, not during.”

Kat blinked, then finally said, “…ASP?”

Had it not been such a precarious moment, Kat would’ve congratulated herself on her acting skills. Of course, she knew what ASP was. After she’d showered and was positive Chris had left her hotel room, she’d started Googling his platform with little luck and then, when that didn’t work, started texting a few of the DC friends she’d made in the political world– thanks to getting dragged around by Mallory– and pretended to be a curious daughter interested in furthering her mother’s political career.

All utter crap… she just wanted to see what she could find out about the buzz surrounding another Hollywood star coming to DC with big ideas. Turned out to be fairly positive, although most were still skeptical.

Regardless, she feigned indifference and even added a cocked eyebrow for effect.

“For fuck sake, Kat, A Starting Point? The start-up I spent all night talking to your mother and every other politician about the night we met.”

“Right, right,” she feigned understanding, “yeah, my mom talked to me some about that…” She trailed off and Chris rolled his eyes.

“Bull shit, she did not.”

“You’re right, but she did talk about you,” Kat shrugged and then immediately regretted it when his eyebrows shot up.

“Me?”

Kat groaned inwardly and was not about to let on the grilling she’d gotten the morning after the gala. On the way back to the airport, her phone lit up with her mother’s face and she knew what was coming– a string of questions about her disappearance (a headache), her refusal to respond to the texts and calls inquiring last night (head hurt looking at the light, then she fell asleep early), and if she had seen that boy who was also mysteriously missing when Tim had gone to hunt down the trio in hopes of more football talk– they seemed to be the only men in the room who’d known who he was.

“You need to go. And don’t bring up my mom with Warren,” Kat changed the subject, hearing the group coming back towards them. She leaned across him and yanked open the fridge. In an effort to avoid close proximity, he tried to step sideways but stumbled on a gigantic box of potato chips and tipped forward, catching himself with a hand on her waist. He fumbled for words– a true apology never really making it all the way out– and quickly moved his hands. Kat tried to ignore the feeling ignited in her whole body with his hands on her and instead, she grabbed two water bottles out of the fridge and shoved one at him. She turned on her heels, expertly missing other boxes of snacks, and moved back to meet the group as they exited the storage area. “Sorry to miss the tour, I went to the restroom and came back to this one raiding our fridge,” she gestured over her shoulder with her thumb at Chris, who stood entirely too close behind her.

Chris shot a glare at Kat before forcing a smile, “needed some water,” he ground out, hoisting the bottle to his lips, and he pushed past her, his chest skimming her back as he moved closer to her to avoid the camera crew, and joined the group exiting the back hallway to the lobby once again. After a long goodbye between all of the people present and the cameras crews dispersing, Chris followed Senator Warren, Maggie, and the rest of her crew out and to the coffee shop down the block for the promised further discussion about ASP.

Kat busied herself putting the mugs in the dishwasher and straightening up while Kira and Monica trailed her, both pretending to straighten piles of magazines or rearrange some pillows. When she was out of things to do, she retreated to her office and slid behind her desk, ready to respond to some emails when the other two appeared in her doorway.

“Soooooo,” Kira started, draping herself across the sofa, “Chris Evans was here today.”

“He was,” Kat didn’t look up from her computer screen but she wasn’t doing anything. She was clicking buttons and hoping neither of them would pick up on her nervous energy… and that the low lighting in her office hid her pink cheeks.

Monica put on a breathy, high-pitched voice to mock Kat’s introduction saying, “Sorry, big fan, I’m a little starstruck,” before both women giggled.

Kira snorted, “Since when are you a big fan of Chris Evans?”

“I’ve seen the Captain America movies, I know who he is.”

“Yeah, but ‘big fan’ is not something I’d call you. Can you name any other movie he’s been in?”

Kat paused and continued to click buttons on her computer, trying to stall for time, and then, realizing she could Google it, she started to when Kira jumped up, “Uhhuh, no Googling. Spill it.”

“Spill what?”

Twice in one day, Kat’s acting performances– in her humble opinion– were stellar. She pretended to have no idea what her friends were referring to when she knew damn fucking well that she’d been out of sorts from the second Kira had come to get her and the tray of coffee supplies.

She was still grateful that she’d made it to the coffee table without noticing him, and she thought she’d pulled herself together quickly, but these two knew her better than that. They would’ve picked up on her posture, the way she’d picked up her coffee and put it back down several times, not knowing what to do with her hands. They certainly would’ve noticed that she was suddenly silent and had little to say in front of Elizabeth Warren, one of her political heroes who she had been relentlessly pestering to come to see their work. After months of phone calls and planning, her connections to the DC world paid off and got Warren in the door, and then, suddenly, gregarious, confident Kat didn’t have two words to say until dragged into the conversation.

The second she’d seen him standing there, managing to make a cardigan from the old man’s department look sexy, she thought she was going to pass out. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be standing in the lobby of one of her two safe spaces looking at her with those incredible blue eyes that were melting her skin into lava.

He was supposed to be a DC moment. A moment of weakness or lust or sexual frustration or some combination of all of those things wouldn’t ever wander into her life and make her knees weak again. When she’d walked away from him and into that bathroom, it had taken all of her willpower not to yank the door back open and ask him to stay the night, to take her number, or to even just shower with her before he left. But she didn’t let herself do it, she forced herself to listen for him to walk out and let it go. She didn’t need it right now…

“The stuttering and avoiding eye contact and acting like he would give you herpes if you sat too close to him,” Monica offered, sharing a look with Kira before they both turned their attention back to Kat.

“I met him a few weeks ago when I went down for that function with Mom,” Kat shrugged, offering a version of the truth.

Her colleagues, business partners, and long-time best friends just stared at her, knowing there was far more. Monica made a show of crossing her arms and popping out her hip. Kira smacked her gum loudly.

Kat pushed back from the desk and squared up to them, “Fine. You want to really know? I invited him to my hotel room.”

Kira’s jaw dropped and said gum fell out, bumping off her chin and onto the carpet. It took her a heartbeat to realize and then reach down to pick it up and throw it at the trash can.

“Kathrine,” Monica’s grin spread slowly, “do you mean to tell me you slept with him weeks ago?”

Kat started to get defensive, “So what, I can sleep with someone. I don’t have to report back every time I do.”

“Fair enough, just thought you might be up for sharing if it was a celebrity. And, ya know… just a little surprised you hooked up at all.”

“All the more reason not to share.”

“Why’s that?” Kira asked, “If I’d slept with that man, I’d make sure people knew. That’s like resume material.”

“Gross,” Kat scrunched up her nose, “look, he’s gorgeous and we had fun, but I don’t need to be fuck buddies with some Hollywood guy. And worse, I don’t need to be falling all over him like I’m sure every other woman he interacts with does. He’s just a guy, he was a good time, and I walked away before there could be fallout. I was just surprised to see him at my workplace, that’s all. It was out of context. I thought I’d never see him again.” Kat turned back to her computer and started to actually open her email to thank Maggie for coordinating Senator Warren’s visit today.

“Sure,” Kira glanced at Monica, whose face gave away all of her skeptical thoughts, but held her tongue. As they both made their way out of Kat’s office and into their own.

Kat finished out her day sending emails and calling families on her case list before finally shrugging into her coat and wishing Kira and Monica goodnight. Somehow she’d kept her mind off of Chris– she’d been more productive in those several hours than she usually was in days to throw herself headfirst into work and not thinking about the way his cologne had made her brain foggy or the way his body heat had radiated off of him and made her feel so cozy.

Her body went through the motions of getting to the car and driving home, but it was one of those drives where she didn’t remember a second of it. Her mind was too busy replaying the day. Should she have hugged Chris instead? Would he have thought that was weird? Had he thought about her as much as she’d thought about him? Did he regret their night together? Was he happy to see her today?

If it had been any other setting, any other moment, she would’ve greeted him much more warmly– or at least not acted like a stranger. But today had been so important for HopeLives, she’d spent the last three months begging Warren’s staff for a visit. She couldn’t have used the senator’s time to have a warm, fuzzy reunion with the man she’d been regretting walking away from. It wasn’t an appropriate time for that.

And now that she’d acted the way she did, there would be no warm, fuzzy reunion. When she’d left DC, she had no intention of seeing him again. Kat knew Chris was a Boston guy from her night of Googling, but she also knew that Boston wasn’t some small town, and running into him wasn’t likely. She’d walked away from that night knowing that there would be no future and there could be no future. She was too busy and she had too much on her plate for anything with anyone, let alone someone with a schedule like his.

But still, she could’ve been nicer to him. It was strange he’d shown up at HopeLives– her photo was on the website; it wasn’t prominently on the first page, but if he’d done even 3 minutes of clicking through and reading, he would’ve seen her name and photo as one of the founders. It seemed far too coincidental that he’d just happened to pick her place to meet with Senator Warren…

By the time she was in her garage, she’d gone through so much emotional whiplash that she swore her neck actually hurt. Her mind was clouded with all of the feelings and frustrations of the day, but still, she staggered out of the car and into the house. She was greeted in the mud room of her comfy cottage by Amelia, her four-year-old mutt, and plopped directly on the doormat to give her a proper hello full of neck rubs and butt scratches. When Amelia trotted around her, through the kitchen, and to the French doors that led to the yard, Kat followed her and unhooked the latch, watching her scamper out into the late afternoon sun.

Kat took a few moments of peace to hang up her coat and bag, walk through the living room putting away items as she passed them, and head up to her bedroom for a change of comfy clothes before she went back out. From her bedroom window, she smiled to herself as she watched Amelia pace the backyard, barking at passing walkers and begging them to approach the fence for a visit.

She checked her watch and slipped into sneakers and her heavy coat, pulling the leash off the wall and setting it on the bench by the door to stoop and tie up one of her laces. Kat glanced up when she heard a string of frantic, excited tips from Amelia. She squinted through the glass and groaned, “No fucking way.”

+++

By the time Chris and the senator finished it was almost 2; their 30 allotted minutes lapping twice before they parted ways. She’s been thrilled with his idea, eager to reach younger citizens and they ended with a future meeting already scheduled for her with the whole team.

He was pulsing with adrenaline and even his less-than-stellar reunion with Kat couldn’t put a damper on his mood. After he’d called Mark and Joe to relay the conversation to both of them, he was pulling down his long driveway and into the garage. When Dodger greeted him with equal excitement, Chris didn’t bother to kick his shoes off and instead grabbed Dodger’s lead and his heavy winter coat and ushered him into the car.

He pulled back out and drove the seven minutes to his favorite local pond that Dodger loved. It had a walking trail around it, a fenced dog run, a playground, and several well-kept docks, and it backed up to a little neighborhood with small, adorable, waterfront homes. Since he was still dressed from his day, he didn’t want a true hike, but he couldn’t stand to be inside. It was too gorgeous out on this bright November day and he was too full of pride. ASP might make it. With someone like Elizabeth Warren signing on, that helped their cause. She’d promised to speak to some of her trusted colleagues, and they were headed back to DC after the new year to continue to work– then in February, Chris was scheduled to start filming a new movie, luckily here in Massachusetts, so he wouldn’t have as much flexibility in his schedule, but Mark and Joe would pick up his slack for a few months.

Dodger trotted along in front of him, just as happy to be outside as Chris was. His head was on a swivel, his nose constantly twitching with the fresh smells, and his tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth in a smile.

Chris nodded politely to several people he passed, most of them more focused on his adorable mutt than him. By the time they were halfway around the path– about a 2-mile loop– they were in the thick of the houses that backed up to the path, several with long sloping yards, some fenced, some with swing sets and sandboxes, others perfectly tended garden beds all closed up for the coming winter.

They approached one of the fenced yards as a black, brown, and white dog came racing to the edge, yipping happily at Chris and Dodger. “Hey, pal,” he cooed, letting Dodger stop to sniff through the fence. The two dogs nosed each other through the pickets, the enclosed one eventually jumping up on its hind legs, tail wagging and lunging for Chris, begging for pets. He stepped closer, Dodger matching the dog’s pose, and Chris obliged both of them with ear scratches. All the while, Chris murmured to both of them, laughing at their contagious energy.

“You have got to be kidding me,” a voice approached and Chris blinked once, then twice, staring at the approaching figure in the yard.

She was now in leggings and a big, red winter coat, a wool hat with a pom pom on her head, but it was, without a doubt, Kat.

“Oh my god,” Chris groaned, still petting the dogs, neither of whom noticed the immediate tension between the two humans.

“This definitely counts as stalking now,” she crossed her arms and reached the edge of the fence, nudging the dog in front of her and saying softly, “Down, Ames.”

“I walk here all the damn time, Kat, it’s a public park and I had no idea that you lived here. In fact, I thought you lived in DC. We’re going,” Chris snapped, pulling Dodger’s leash. Dodger was too busy licking Kat’s outstretched hand and wrist to move. “Dodge, let’s go.”

“Bye sweetie,” Kat whispered to Dodger before pulling away.

Chris was fuming. First, she’d ditched him after sex, then she’d avoided him all morning, then she’d accused him of stealing from their fridge in front of Elizabeth Warren, and now she was acting like he’d sought out her house on purpose. He was a few steps away and wheeled around, “You know what, no. Who do you think you are? Do you think you’re really that special that I’d hunt you down and then stand at your back fence longingly?”

“How should I know? When guys like you don’t get what they want, they can get weird. I wouldn’t put it past you,” she countered, her dog now planted at her feet, still wagging happily.

“Guys like me?”

She gestured to him, “Guys with lots of money and lots of bravado who expect women to fall at their feet and then pout when we don’t.”

Busted.

“I promise you, baby, you were not that memorable.”

Lies. All lies. He’d gotten himself off to her image, the memory of her sounds, the feel of her body more than once.

But she couldn’t know that.

“Next time you walk here, don’t talk to my dog. Amelia, come,” she tapped the dog’s neck and they both walked back across the lawn. Chris stood watching her go, Dodger still pulling to get to Amelia, and his heart tightened in his chest when she glanced back over her shoulder once midway across their journey and then once more at the door. She hesitated at the last step, holding it open for Amelia but not breaking eye contact with Chris.

And then, she stepped into the house. Dodger caught the scent of a bird or a squirrel further down the path and pulled Chris on and away from Kat’s fence.

#chris evans fic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans series #chris evans x original female character #chris evans smut #chris evans angst #chris evans fluff #chris evans story #chris evans fan fiction

[aria-ashryver]

Bursts through the door then neatly fixes it back up again

Any hc’s you can spare us for the Starlight trio? 🫣

MY DOOR!!— oh. Oh, okay, thank youuu here have some trio stuffs 😊

Quickfire HCs!

❤ Cas has the most violent sounding sneezes

❤ Gabe and Luca like to pull silly faces at each other from across the room sometimes (if Cas notices them, they both pretend like nothing happened)

❤ Cas is lowkey scared of moths

❤ A few years down the line, Luca takes up ice skating / figure skating as a hobby

❤ Gabriel’s car is a classic muscle car in a deep burnt orange shade (like a Dodge Charger or something, idk, I don’t speak car), and he knows enough about automotive repair to work on it himself

❤ (Its the one thing Cas could never bring himself to insult when they were in their “enemies” era, bc Cas thought it was just objectively cool)

❤ CAS IS TICKLISH

❤ Gabriel is sometimes hit by an overwhelming urge to go floss his teeth, and if he can’t do it then and there he gets really annoyed and antsy

❤ All three of them grow out their hair at some point (not necessarily at the same time, but Cas keeps a bun for the longest time)

❤ Luca maintains that the single most supernatural thing about Gabriel is that he knows how to fold a fitted sheet

❤ Luca likes snuggling into Gabriel’s lap while Gabe is reading a book (he doesn’t read with Gabe, he just likes vibing in Gabriel’s calm)

❤ In fact, all three of them are HUGE on parallel play/body doubling. Sometimes ya just gotta be near the ones you love, while also quietly doing your own thing, you know?

❤ But that’s not to say they don’t do stuff together too. The next chapter coming up in SICSIG will feature Cas hooking up his PS4 to Gabe’s TV and he and Luca gaming together — there will be a lot of that sort of thing in their future.

❤ They also turn really dumb things into a competition (like who can carry the most grocery bags in one trip)

❤ Gabriel regularly has to put up with coming home to find out Cas and Luca have hatched a plan in their joint idiocy and they’ll have like… idk, bought a paintball gun and they are in the yard taking turns shooting each other with it lol (once Luca is past their trauma ofc)

❤ It takes a loooong time, but Gabriel eventually lets Cas bleach his hair (there are lots of Ken doll/surfer/himbo jokes) (he looks gorgeous bc of course he does)

❤ Cas still insists on doing his own hair for a good decade, he does NOT trust Luca with the bleach (for good reason), but he eventually lets Gabriel touch up the back for him

❤ After a few years Cas learns bass guitar so the three of them can jam together

❤ Luca collects socks with cute patterns and characters and stuff, but doesn’t wear half of them because of sensory issues.

❤ Cas has no such qualms, and will often steal Luca’s socks when he hasn’t got around to doing laundry. Please picture for a moment, if you will, Cas in his standard leather jacket and massive black boots, but secretly underneath all that, he’s wearing a teensy pair of baby blue socks with the Squirtle Squad on them.

Longer, ramblier domestic trio HCs!

✨ Gabriel gets a little particular and fussy about how certain things are done — like, he had been doing things on his own, in his own way for years now. It doesn’t especially matter to him whether certain condiments are left on the second or third shelf in the refrigerator, it’s just force of habit that they go at the top. Cas quickly realises he has an entire household of mundane objects he can use to wind Gabriel up by always leaving them in slightly the wrong place. Making the bed marginally wrong. Not quite drawing the curtains all the way. Leaving a drawer just a teensy bit open. It drives Gabriel mad… but all three of them know they are only bickering for the sake of bickering, and it never gets old. (In fact, they actually look forward to it)

✨ Speaking of kitchens — Gabriel still very much loves to cook, both for a love of cooking itself and the connection it gives him to his father, but he loves taking care of Cas and Luca too! Cas complains a lot that Gabe keeps serving them vegan food now and then, but he’s still the first one to ask when the next time they are having tortilla soup is. There are a bunch of recipes Gabriel’s dad and grandma used to make, and it thrills him to no end that they turn out to be some of Cas and Luca’s favourites out of all the meals he makes.

✨ After living together for a little while, the boys quickly found out that they were all really into the idea of DIY? Gabriel really likes finishing details of interior design, Luca did a lot of little carpentry projects with his grandda in his childhood/teens, and for Cas, getting stuck in to gardening and exterior work is deeply therapeutic, rewarding, and reminds him of his life in South Korea with his grandparents. The Adalhard family home very much turns into a big renovation project (that takes them like a decade to really “complete”, though there’s always little things to be done, a room to be painted here, a window frame to replace there. They start with the garden planter boxes in the front yard —Cas’s initiative— and this is probably something you’ll see in future Starlight chapters!)

Gabriel likes to ogle Cas when he’s out digging in the gardens shirtless in the sun. He brings him iced tea and sliced fruit and stuff, it’s a bit cute :)

...hey this door is still busted FIX MY DOOR NONNY 💖💖💖

#SICSIG #choices immortal desires #immortal desires #cas harlow #gabe adalhard #luca o'rinn

[steele-soulmate]

Tattooed Wings, CHAPTER 480, Peter Steele & OFC, Soulmate AU

SUMMARY: Mary Claire Bradley meets her soulmate- literally- the famous Peter Steele of metal group Type O Negative. But will obstacles including trauma, stalkers, and toxic family members get in the way of their life?

WARNING: mentions of child rape (nothing graphic) PTSD, milk kink, soft smut, grinding, assault, fingering, hand jobs, blow jobs, 69, P in V sex, blood, noncon rape, violence, death, vandalism, graffiti, attempted kidnapping, break-ins, wild animal attacks, terrorist attack (sabotage) consensual impregnation, bareback, impregnation kink, creampies, terrorist attacks (shootings) hit and run pedestrian accident, precipitous labor, neonatal death

WORDS: 1786

“What are you doing, blueberry of my heart?” Peter laughed when he found me repacking my hospital bag. Packed with comfy pajamas, a nursing bra, a sleep mask, moisturizing lip balm, postpartum panties, warm socks, and a pillow for me and four onesies in various shades of greens and purples, green hand crocheted socks and a purple handknitted hat, a knitted baby blankie in green ombre and diapers for Baby Violet Marie. I also had a backpack packed with a book, a spare phone changer, my milk pump, a puzzle book, my toiletries, nipple cream, my hairbrush and hair ties, a giant sized gallon water bottle, my prescription medications, and a little tub where I could place my wedding band for a just in case moment.

“Just keeping busy until Baby Violet Marie decides to yeet herself out through my hoohaw,” I muttered as I refolded my pajamas. “My love, my anxiety is absolutely fucking horrible right now.”

“I can’t imagine the sheer level of stress that you’re feeling right now,” he chuckled, crossing into the room to hold open the pink and blue floral duffle bag that was the designated hospital bag.

I only let out an anxious hum as I shook out a onesie before placing it back into the duffle bag, my hand fluttering about my tummy, where Baby Violet Marie was practicing her solo for Swan Lake.

KICK KICK KICK PUNCH PUNCH PUNCH KICK PUNCH

“Baby Violet Marie is thirty seven weeks along and is currently the size of a winter melon,” I fretted as I perched myself onto the bed. “My love, do you want another Ratajczyk baby after Baby Violet Marie?”

“Honestly sweetheart?” Peter took to a knee to look me in the eye as he reached up to gently caress my cheek with his knuckles. “I would really like one or two more Ratajczyk babies with you, but if you would rather Baby Violet Marie be our last baby together, I’m not going to argue with you.”

“Why?” I meeped, in utter awe of this man who I was privileged to call mine.

“Sweetheart, I can see how traumatizing it is for you to carry a baby to full term before bringing them into the world,” he validated me with a sweet kiss. “I love you sweetheart- you are so fucking brave.”

“I think I can do one more Ratajczyk baby,” I shrugged, twisting my head to place a tender kiss to his thumb. “One more.”

“One more?” he breathed, smiling down at me.

“One more,” I smiled. “But please, can we wait a few more years before we think of conceiving Baby Ratajczyk number three?”

“Of course,” he smiled down at my physically smaller frame.

“If you give me another Irish twin, I will gut you from you dick to your Adam’s apple,” I grumbled.

“Yes sweetheart.”

~xoXox~

I was eating leftover pizza cold out of the fridge when Peter found me once more. I wore a pair of pale blue panties and an oversized green t-shirt of my husband’s, and nothing more, currently feeling too lazy to bother with much.

“Hey there sweetheart,” he greeted me with a smile as he opened the refrigerator and grabbed a green Gatorade. “I would have bought food up for you.”“I wanted to get up and walk around some,” I shrugged after swallowing. “Ya prosto goloden papochka.” “I can tell, sweetheart,” he said as he reopened the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of freshly washed blueberries. “You need to eat more- after all, you are growing an amazing new life in your womb.” 

“Yes daddy,” I meeped as I finished up my slice of pepperoni pizza and reaching for another slice in the half full pizza box.

Peter smiled as he hoisted me up onto the counter and stepped in closely to me, providing me with his manly chest to lean up against.

“Daddy, can we discuss the birthing plan again?” I asked in a soft voice as he plucked the half-eaten slice of cold pizza from my hands and held it out for me. “Please?”

“As my woman commands of me,” he answered me, the corners of his eyes crinkling upwards, indicating that he was smiling at me. “What do you want to discuss?”

“Ebrithang,” I mumbled through a mouth full of food. I swallowed and reclarified, “Everything.”

“I will call Ryley while we’re on our way to the hospital and she will spring load your plan to have a team of all female nurses and a female doctor to tend to you,” he repeated in a gentle tone of voice. “When we get to the hospital, you will go up at once for an ultrasound to determine whether or not you need a C-section. If you do, you will be prepped for surgery and taken to an operating room. If not, you will be taken to the maternity ward, where you will be tended to by an all-female team. An epidural block will be administrated to you when you are at four centimeters dilated and you can walk around some if needed.”

“Wow, you remembered all that?” I blinked owlishly at this man with his intimidating size, brutish fangs, long dyed waves and heart of pure gold.

“I read over your birthing plan when I can’t sleep,” he shrugged sheepishly. “I will not allow for anything to go wrong.”

“My love, nothing will go wrong,” I hummed, pressing an opened mouthed kiss to the side of his jawbone. “Trust me.”

Ya prosto goloden papochka, I’m just hungry daddy, Russian

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE it only costs $3!!!

PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@rock-a-noodle

@ch3rry-c01a

#Real person fiction (RPF) #Tattooed Wings #Peter Thomas Ratajczyk #Type O Negative #Vanessa Rose Pickings/ little girl #Special needs baby #Aria Bradley #Evie Bradley #Deaf #American Sign Language (ASL) #Elizabeth Ratajczyk #Alopecia #Thomas Joseph Ratajczyk/ Baby Tommy #Autism #Katie Ratajczyk #Down’s Syndrome #Baby Violet Marie #Neonatal death #Matching tattoos soulmate AU

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Messed Up, part 4

I think this one is done! Kinda angst but not as angst as the previous parts which you can find:

one two three

Pairing: Daniel Garcia x OFC

Word count: 2,815

Content advisory: graphic sexual content

You retreat to the hotel like you’re running from an advancing army, rushing to your room and balling yourself up on the armchair that overlooks the courtyard and swimming pool like you’re hiding from certain death. Red Death.

Thinking about all the things Daniel Garcia has done to you when you hadn’t provoked him, you can’t imagine what viciousness and cruelty he’ll pull out now that he feels you’ve actually wronged him. Is he going to get you fired and make sure you can never get a refereeing gig again? Or will he see that you’re kept on so that he can make your life a living hell on an ongoing basis? Either option is terrifying and you don’t know how you can possibly avoid your fate.

This is why you never stand up for yourself. It can only make things worse.

Your whole body feels like it’s stretched over barbecue coals, burning slowly and you’re unable to escape the fire. It’s enough that you go to collect some ice from the machine but then you give in to the urge to do more and you go all the way downstairs, out to the pool that’s drained for the winter, out into the icy night air.

You take a seat on one of the chaise lounges that have been left out and give yourself over to the sensation of being refrigerated, of being chilled all the way to your bones. The flames of fear and humiliation are gradually extinguished by the freeze of reluctance. There’s nothing you can do. You can just sit here and let yourself go numb alone in the dark.

“What are you doing out here?”

That frightening, familiar voice cuts right through you as his shadow looms in front of you, blocking all the lights from the hotel.

“Nothing,” you choke. “Leave me alone.”

“Don’t be crazy. It’s freezing out here. You’re not even wearing shoes.”

It’s true. You came out here in your sock feet because you’d been that desperate to get out of the heat. So what if Daniel knows you’re a weirdo? He’s known that for years. He knows that more than anyone you have in your life now.

“I’m fine,” you grunt, kicking out at him. “Go away.”

“No, come on, I’m not leaving you out here. You’re going to get sick.”

He bends over you, his bulky winter jacket blocking your view so that he’s the only thing you can see.

“Just go,” you insist. “I don’t want to be around you. How the hell did you even know I was here?”

He waves an arm towards the building behind you.

“All the rooms look out on the pool. They even advertise it. I could spot you anywhere.”

He grabs hold of your arms and pulls you to your feet even as you try to resist.

“You have to come inside. You’re going to freeze to death out here.”

It’s humiliating to be bundled away like you’re a recalcitrant child, wrapped close to his body to keep you from escaping. But there’s more than enough strength in his wiry frame to hold you in place and pull you along after him, even as you drag your feet and try to twist away.

He crowds you into the elevator, holding you close as he pushes the button for the third floor.

“What the hell are you doing?” you whine. “I’m on the eighth floor. Where are you taking me?”

He doesn’t say anything. He just continues to pull you along until you reach a room, not your room, and ushers you inside. He lets go of you in order to pull the covers of the bed down and you could run away but you don’t. You stand there and watch, dumbly, as he crawls onto the bed and motions you forward.

“Get in. You’re half-frozen and you need to warm up.”

You should run away but you don’t. Instead, you climb into the bed with him and let him pull the covers over both of you as he pulls you against him. You are half-frozen and you haven’t even realized exactly how cold you are until you’re pressed against his warm body, your arms bent against his chest, his hands resting against the back of your head and the base of your spine. Reluctantly, you feel yourself thawing.

He doesn’t speak for a long time and when he does, it’s barely more than a whisper.

“You make me feel insecure. You always did.”

You try to pull back to look him in the eye but he holds you tight.

“Doesn’t change anything,” you grumble.

“I know. It’s an explanation, not an excuse. I just needed you to hear it.”

His arms tighten around you and you feel his lips press down on the crown of your head.

“I feel uncomfortable,” is all you can manage.

“Would you rather be on the other side?”

“No,” you whine, “not that kind of uncomfortable. I’m uncomfortable because I’m next to you.”

“I know,” he murmurs, rubbing your back a little. “Try to sleep.”

Improbably, you feel yourself drift off, even though every part of you is on alert. It feels strangely comforting to have him hold you like this. Even stranger, it feels natural.

*

You’ve no idea how long you doze for, although it doesn’t seem like it’s terribly long. You don’t fall deeply asleep because you feel aware of where you are and who you're with the whole time but you also feel like you’re floating in another universe, a parallel universe where Daniel Garcia is your lover and not your nemesis and you ride that wave as long as your mind will let you, until it breaks and you open your eyes to find yourself face to face with Daniel, trying to process what’s been going on.

At first, you think he’s asleep, but then you see his eyes move a little and you realize that he’s just awake and trying not to stare at you. It’s like he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable and it’s such a nice gesture, so unexpected, that when he finally does look at you just for a second, you lean forward and press your lips against his. It’s not a kiss, just a touch, but when you pull back, you stare at him long enough to gauge his reaction. His breathing quickens and he looks down like he’s trying to compose himself and before he can, you kiss him again, playfully capturing his bottom lip between yours before pulling back with a little grin.

This time, he looks you right in the eye with an excited expression and he kisses you, pulling you flush against him and softly easing his tongue between your lips, intensifying the kiss and pulling your leg around his waist. The two of you are making out like you were still in high school, hands hesitantly slicing under each other’s clothing, forbidden parts grinding together, needy sounds coming from both of you.

He pulls back for a second and gasps. “You think I’m-”

You cut him off with a kiss, spurred on by the moan he gives when you roll yourself on top of him. Gently, he pushes your face back, holding it in one hand while he locks eyes with you.

“What’s this about?” He murmurs.

“You were nice to me, coming to get me by the pool. I want to be nice to you.”

Honestly, you’re not sure why you’re doing this. Yes, there is that part of you that’s still nursing the same awkward teenage attraction to Daniel, the feeling that you’ve always been ashamed to admit to because you should hate him for the way he’s treated you. And you do feel a little pathetic for jumping at the opportunity, even though you’ve resisted a little in recent weeks. But there is undeniably something you love about knowing he wants you, that he wants you enough to keep arranging these opportunities to be with you, even if he acts like an ass through most of them.

You help him out of his clothes and although you see him without much on every week and although you’ve had your hands on his member before, it’s still sort of shocking to see him lying naked in front of you and you giggle a little, raising your hand to your face in case he thinks you’re laughing at him.

He’s clearly aware that his body is something to be proud of but he still moves a little on the bed like he wants to make sure that you’re impressed. You run one hand down his chest, letting your fingers trail over the lean muscle, giggling once again when he jumps.

“You’re ticklish?” you laugh. “In your line of work?”

“A little. Most of the time, the guys aren’t tickling me, you know.”

You press your lips softly against the skin of his abdomen, flicking your tongue over the hollows near his hip bones and enjoying the shivers it sends through his whole body. At the same time, you run your hand over his cock, already partly erect, and feel it grow harder under your touch. You edge your face closer, letting your breath condense on the head of his prick as you stroke it a little more firmly.

“Hey, get undressed. Let me see you.”

You give him a wink and shake your head, ending the discussion by sliding him into your mouth, humming in satisfaction at the sharp cry this elicits. Back when the two of you first met, when you’d first had thoughts about what it would feel like to be with him, this wasn’t something you even knew how to do. So perhaps it’s just as well that he’s getting this version of you, not that he seemed to mind what he had gotten from you before.

“Oh my god, Carrie!”

You catch yourself starting to crack up and you have to pull back for a second, hardly able to believe what you’ve just heard.

“Oh finally, you’re laughing about it.” He shakes his head and gives you a little smile. “About time.”

“Was it supposed to be funny?”

“Well I was an asshole about it but, I mean, it’s kind of our little joke now, right?”

Not once when he’s called you that have you ever thought of it as “our little joke” and yet hearing it put that way, it feels harmless. You had an accident once at a high school wrestling meet. He made fun of you but now… that’s in the past?

“Not so sure you want to be nice to me anymore?” he chides.

But you do. You return to what you were doing, basking in the cascade of praises and compliments he unleashes on you, the increasingly desperate and needy sounds you’re drawing from him as you slide and stroke and lick until he finally erupts in your mouth and falls silent.

As you pull away a little, you feel his fingers weaving their way through your hair, gently stroking your scalp.

“That was…” He’s breathing heavily, his torso slightly damp with sweat. “That was every bit as good as I’d imagined.”

“You’d imagined that?” you chuckle.

“Yeah. A lot.” He tugs your hair a little. “Get up here.”

You slide so that you’re next to him but still a little removed, suddenly feeling nervous about what will happen if you get too close. He gives you an impish look for a few moments before he slides one hand over your hips, under your skirt, pushing your tights and underwear down in one motion.

“Hey!” you wiggle a little but you’re already half undressed, so you let him finish what he’s doing.

Having dealt with what’s underneath, he tugs at the top of your skirt.

“This too. Off.”

You feel like resisting but you’re not sure why. It’s silly. You can still taste him and yet you’re hesitating about letting him see you from the waist down. So you push your skirt off a little awkwardly, feeling your cheeks run hot as you do.

“Up here.” He pats his chest, then, when he sees your confused expression, “Sit on my face.”

“No.” You shake your head to drive home the point.

“Come on, you’re 2 and 0 with me. Let me at least try to give you something.” Seeing that you’re still hesitating, he leans forward, cupping your face in his hand. “Please, Carrie?”

“Again with that? I still don’t know if I think it’s funny.”

He grins and lays flat on his back. “Ok, so shut me up then.”

That does make you laugh and so, when he gives an exaggerated gesture to encourage you, you do crawl on top of him, although you’re still feeling a little ill at ease.

“Relax,” he says softly, kissing the inside of your thigh.

“I’m worried I’m going to slip and suffocate you or something.”

He laughs and slowly runs his tongue all the way along your slit.

“Ok, first of all, you ask any heterosexual guy how he’d like to die and that’s pretty much going to be at the top of the list.” He pauses to suckle you clit for a second. “Second, I’m more than strong enough to push you off me and I really, really want to do this so don’t worry about what could go wrong.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond because he thrusts his tongue up into you, pinning your hips in place and going at you like he’s acting out some wild fantasy he’s had until you feel yourself reach that unmistakable tipping point. Realizing that you’re about to lose control of yourself, you try to move away but he holds you exactly where he wants you, until you reflexively grind against him, giving in. Your palms are pressed against the wall so hard that you think you might push through to the next room but it holds steady as you feel yourself break apart for him, a near-sob escaping as you reach your peak.

He turns his head a little and kisses your thigh, and you can feel him smiling when he does it. It takes you a few seconds to feel stable enough to climb off him and even then, you can’t do much but pant and smile when you look at him. He stares back like there’s something wrong with you.

“What?” you laugh. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He rolls his eyes and leans over, grabbing hold of your shirt. You twist away.

“You still won’t let me see you?” He gives an exaggerated pout.

“I don’t know.” Self-consciously, you fold your arms so that you’re pinning your top in place. “I should get going anyway.”

At that, he looks legitimately saddened. “You don’t want to stay?”

“If I leave in the morning, there are going to be more people around. Someone could see me.”

“Didn’t realize I was something to be so ashamed of.”

“What?”

“Would it be that fucking terrible if someone saw you coming out of my room? People at this company pair off every other day.”

“But… you’d…” You can’t find the words to say what’s going through your mind, or at least you can’t figure out how to arrange them to do what you want.

“Yeah, I was a shit to you in high school. Yeah, I’ve been a shit to you since I got here, probably even earlier tonight. I get nervous around you and I act like an idiot because it’s just… it’s a way of feeling less nervous.” He takes hold of one of your arms and tries to pull you a little closer. “Let me try to make it up to you.”

“You really don’t care if someone sees me coming out of this room in the morning?” You raise an eyebrow.

“I don’t care if someone walks into this room and sees you here right now, sitting there naked from the waist down but for some reason insisting on keeping everything on the top half totally covered like you’re some kind of perverted news anchor.”

You laugh and he uses the opportunity to push you down on the bed.

“Fine, keep your shirt and whatever else on, but stay here.”

Slowly, you slide the rest of your clothing off, avoiding his eyes although you can’t help but notice the pleased expression he has. As much as the two of you have gotten up to, you still feel self-conscious being naked with him but it helps when he wraps his arms around you and runs his hands over the parts of your body he hasn’t become acquainted with yet.

“See?” he whispers. “This is nice, right?”

You’re not sure you’d say “nice” exactly, but whatever it is, it does seem to feel good.

#wayward wrestle writing #wrestling fanfiction #aew imagine #aew fanfiction #daniel garcia imagine

[sif-the-tsunami]

But Baby it’s cold outside

Just some Winter fluff, for @cavillsthighs​ writing challenge.  

Sy and an unnamed OFC

PG 13, just some spicy language, no smut

Word count: 1300ish

It had been a cold, miserable day. The snow was turning into slush, graying with dirt and grit from the street. The retired Army captain sighed as he hopped out of his old beat up Jeep. The damn cold made his old bones hurt. The chill felt like it was seeping in as he carefully walked to the front of the porch attached to a bungalow. Sy took his gloved hand and brushed the snow off of the banister. Before he made it to the door, he heard the familiar happy barking of the little dog who lived there. The lock clicked open, there before him stood a woman wrapped in a big sweater and fuzzy socks up to her knees.

“Come in, come in, its so cold.” She said, ushering him inside her home. “Thank you for coming, I have no idea how to fix my stupid heater but the fireplace is working well.”

Sy just grunted a little, and kissed his favorite human on her cheek. She smiled at the cranky man, knowing that once he warmed up his disposition would thaw out a little as well. The woman went back to her laptop on the kitchen table and worked on the novel she had been writing. Sy went to the furnace and started tinkering with the machinery. About forty-five minutes, he came back up the front of the house and witnessed the human burrito swaddled in her fuzzy blanket.

“Baby, I got to go get a couple pieces from the store to finish fixing the furnace. Do you want me to bring you back some coffee or something else to heat you up?”

She said softly. “If you want to being me back anything though, I would love a cold brew.”

“A cold brew? One of those iced coffees?”

“Yeah.”

“You shiver every time you walk out of the range of the fire place, and you want an iced coffee?”

“I’m asserting my dominance over this damn cold front, don’t you judge me, Sy.”

“You are so lucky I love you as much as I do,” he chuckled, “Because, my hand to Jesus, you are the most stubborn woman I have ever met.”

He watched as she stuck her tongue out at him over the top of her computer. She might have also playfully given him the finger.

A quick trip to the local hardware store and a stop by their favorite coffeehouse later, Sy made it back to the house and let himself back in. His beautiful companion was napping on the couch near the fireplace with her tiny dog snuggled by her feet, her laptop was still open. She must have just drifted off. Worried that she might drop the expensive equipment, Sy moved the laptop to the coffee table next to her. He then placed the cold brew in the refrigerator and went back to work. The small dog would wag his tail whenever the grump Captain would look over at them. He eventually hopped down and walked over to the large man.

When the first met, he had told the pup while teasing him that “Dogs under fifty pounds were essentially cats, and cats are worthless.” However, the dog never seemed to hold his prejudice against small animals against him. After a short while of being together, Sy would have no problem with sitting down on the couch with the ten pound pooch sitting in the crook of his arm like they had been best friends for years.

The little dog laid down with tiny crossed paws, and kept a watchful eye on the man doing the repairs on the house’s furnace.  Sy, who was not one for useless words, started telling the little dog what he was doing the same way a dad would explain to a child. He would occasionally reach down and give the small animal a little scratch or some love. The two of them spent the next hour getting the furnace up and running.

After getting it repaired, Sy set the temperature to a wonderful cozy setting and then leaned over the sleeping woman and kissed her forehead to wake her up. He waited until she woke up before he stopped rubbing the back of her hand. She smiled as soon as she saw him.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

“It’s okay baby, I fixed the furnace. We will be nice and warm here in no time.”

“How long have I been out?”

“I’ve been back for maybe an hour, so you have a nice little nap. Did you get any writing done while I was gone?” “Yeah, I got some proof reading done and made some adjustments. My editor is happy with my progress. Once I wake up all the way, I’ll start working on dinner.”

Sy decided that he was going to help her in the kitchen. He had a feeling that between the joking, the kissing and general shenanigans it probably took longer to make their meal than it would have if he lover had just made things by herself. Once they where able to settle down with bowls full of steaming chicken soup with biscuits swimming in broth. They sat down on the couch in the back room with the fire place and watched a silly action movie. As the sun set, Sy didn’t notice that outside of the cozy home, the snow had started coming down in earnest.

“Well, baby, I think it’s time for me to get going.” He said as he put his hoodie back on.

“I’m glad you came over today, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You could have with the right tools, I believe in you.” He looked out the window on the front door and sighed deeply. He pulled on a knitted hat that she had made for him.

“Sy, it’s really coming down out there. You have some clothes here, stay here for the night. Its nice and warm in here.”

“I don’t know, you know my roommate will have some opinions about me staying out all night. I told him I would help him in the morning.”

“Its cold outside, I don’t think they will mind.”

Sy smirked for a moment, “But what will your neighbors think?”

“That I saved your life, now you won’t catch pneumonia. I’ll be a hero. They will throw me a parade.”

“Oh yeah? I think they will all be talking tomorrow. I can’t besmirch your honor.” Sy teased.

This made his love laugh so hard she snorted. He felt like he won just a little bit. “Tell them you slept on my couch if it makes you feel more noble. It’s up to your knees, and I know how this makes you hurt. Stay with me, we’ll have some more wine or some cocoa and go to bed. Tomorrow you are free to do whatever you want.”

“What if your mother comes over in the morning, what will we tell her?” Sy said thinking this was it. This would make her crack.

“My mother is wondering when we are planning on giving her grandkids, not if we are ever going to move in together, or get married. She wants to know when you plan on knocking me up. So… there’s that.” She made a face that said she wasn’t joking.

Sy’s eyes almost popped out of his skull and he choked on his own saliva. He couldn’t think of a comeback. He looked off into the distance for a moment like he was doing the mental math. “Well shit, sugar, I can’t think of another reason to leave.”

“What can I say, I can be very convincing.” She said as Sy leaned in to give her deep kiss. “You aren’t any obligations to get me pregnant thought. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Hun, I thought your mama hated me, so I’m just excited she doesn’t. Now, let’s get to making that cocoa. You have the marshmallows I like so much?”

#my apologies to henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #captain syverson #captain sy x reader #fluffy mcfluff fluff

[disgruntledspacedad]

The Rules of Engagement (4/5)

part of the The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do. 

words: 3.7k

warnings: 18+ for alcohol, language, smut, violence, general trauma. 

a/n: unbeta’d. Yeah, I know - I can’t count. This is gonna be five chapters. 

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Murphy nearly bowls you over on his way down stairs, pulling up short when he sees you. 

“Shit!”

You glance down at yourself. Your clothes are rumpled and covered in ash and bile. You don’t even want to know what your face looks like. There’s rubble in your hair.

Murphy is still staring open-mouthed.

“The pharmacy below my apartment got bombed,” you explain hollowly. “I’m fine, I just need a shower.”

“You look like you need a hospital,” Murphy counters, eyeballing you with something akin to worry. “Fucking Christ, Ears, if Javi -”

You snap your eyes up at the mention of Javi. “Have you heard anything?”

For the first time since you’ve met him, Steve Murphy cracks a grin at you. “On his way home now.” He looks as relieved as you feel. “We got him.”

You manage to smirk back. “Good.”

“Congratulations, by the way. This one’s on you as much as anybody.”

“Thanks.” You sag against the side rail, trying to be subtle about it. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, your legs are shaking, and you think it’s only a matter of time before you fall over.

Murphy notices, because he reaches for your shoulder to steady you. “I really think-”

“No.” You cut him off forcefully, glaring at him with all the energy you have left. “No, Steve. I’m tired, that’s all.”

He sighs. Narrows his eyes. Frowns. “You’re bleeding.”

What?

Murphy gesturers to your temple with a finger that you have to stop yourself from flinching away from. “You’re bleeding, Ears,” he repeats, as if he’s expending a great amount of patience by pointing it out to you.

You reach up, wincing as you notice for the first time that your head hurts. When you draw your fingers back, they are coated in blood.

Murphy moves closer to get a better look.

“It’s just a scratch, Murph,” you tell him wearily. As far as you can tell, that’s true. There’s no gaping hole or giant gash, just a stinging little cut right at your hairline. “You know how head wounds are.”

He’s still glaring suspiciously at you, and you let him, meeting his gaze in silent challenge.

Eventually he sighs. “Okay, your funeral, I guess. Gimme a minute.”

Before you can retort, he ducks back inside, leaving you standing awkwardly on the front step. The walls are thin - you can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen. He’s back seconds later, key in one hand, a slip of paper in the other.

He hands you the paper first. “This is my pager number. Javi’ll be back soon, but I want you to contact me if anything crazy happens.” He motions to your head with his thumb.

“Okay,” you promise.

“And here’s this.” He presses the key into your hand.

You look up at him wide-eyed. “Murphy, you can’t just give me Peña’s key.”

“What, you think it would be any different if I stepped across the landing and did the honors for you? I’m already late.” He runs a hand through his hair with a huff. “Besides, he’d want you to have it.”

Somehow, you seriously doubt that.

Murphy fixes you with a stare. “Trust me.”

“Hardly,” you mutter, taking the key from his hand anyway. You hold it up for emphasis. “But you’re taking the fall for this one, alright?”

Murphy rolls his eyes. “I think I can live with that. Stay safe, Ears, and page me if you need anything.”

♠

You resist the urge to flop down on Javi’s sofa and sleep for a thousand years, instead making your way to the shower. Peeling away your dusty clothes feels so incredibly good. So does the hot water. You take your time, exploring the lingering aches and pains in your body as you scrub them with Javi’s little sliver of Irish Spring. Aside from a few bruises and that one little slice on your temple that won’t quit oozing, you’re not injured anywhere. You think you might be a little sore from being thrown backward tomorrow, and your lungs still feel funny and raw from having the air knocked from them, but otherwise, the bombing of your apartment is more inconvenient than anything.

You try very, very hard not to think about Emilio.

You step out of the shower only when the water runs tepid, the cold jarring you awake. Javi only has two towels, it seems - one left out to dry on the towel rack, the other crumpled in the corner with a pair of boxers. Nice. You opt for the one that’s on the rack, wiping yourself down then wrapping up your dripping hair.

There’s something deliciously deviant about sneaking naked through Javier Peña’s apartment when he’s not home. You shake away your guilt, trying hard not to be too weirded out or too turned on as you rifle through his dresser drawers. You’ve got to wear something.

Eventually, you come away with the green t-shirt and the only pair of sweats the man owns. You eye yourself in the mirror, considering. Javi’s clothes are ridiculous on you - you have to roll the sweats three times at the waist just to keep from tripping - but hell, at least you aren’t naked. Looks like that cut finally stopped bleeding, too.

Carefully, you pull your hair into a sloppy braid and gather your dirty clothes, doing a cursory sweep of the apartment to see if Javi has anything else that needs washing. Other than the little pile in the bathroom, you find a t-shirt and a pair of mis-matched socks in the corner by the nightstand. Not bad for a single guy living alone, you decide.

You make the trip downstairs to the communal laundry room quickly, noting the time on the kitchen clock when you return. You don’t feel like waiting beside the machine today. Flopping on the sofa has lost it’s appeal - you’re bone weary, but every time you close your eyes, you see fireballs and charred bodies.

Sleep is not on the agenda.

Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, glancing at the clock for the umpteenth time. 9:42. You put the water on, then shuffle downstairs to switch the laundry to the dryer. 40 more minutes, and then you can get out of here.

And then what?

You examine your options and find that the list is short. You aren’t going to stay here any longer than necessary - you’ve intruded on Javi’s privacy enough. Your only friend in Colombia is Ana, and that’s off the table for obvious reasons. Murphy isn’t at home, and Connie had left for the States just weeks after you’d arrived. Back to work, then.

You decide that’s best anyway. Somebody fucking bombed your apartment. Well, the mark was probably Emilio’s drug store, but still. Bombings don’t happen in Bogotá - that’s a Medellín thing. Especially a civilian target.

The rush of anger that consumes you is staggering. Who did this, and why?  Bombing a business is a very Pablo Escobar thing to do, but a small pharmacy? In Bogotá?

Ana and her father are good people. You know deep in your bones that they aren’t involved in the drug trade. You also have major doubts that this was an accident. So, what the fuck?

The injustice of it all makes you feel small and cold and helpless.

You’re missing something big.

Javi doesn’t have a television in his apartment. Even if you did have access the news, the information that you’re seeking is hardly going to be broadcast on live television, and certainly not so soon.

Work really is the best option, then. Between the bombing and Verdugo’s arrest, the sicarios must be on red alert. Maybe you can pick up on some chatter. 

Besides, you probably need to let Stechner know about your situation as soon as possible.

You glance at the clock. 10:07.

Ugh. You rise up on your tiptoes, bouncing in frustration. Caffeine and adrenaline have made you jittery. There’s something really cringe-worthy, too, about being alone in Javi’s apartment without his knowledge, especially given the way things ended between you.

The memory chafes, and you shake your head hard enough that it throbs.

Goddamn this day.

A shrill beeping jerks you from your thoughts, and you barely manage to stifle a shriek. Your pager!  You’d forgotten all about it. Your stomach swoops as you pick it up.

The number that flits across the screen belongs to Javi.

You take a breath. Weird. Aside from that one brief conversation yesterday, you haven’t spoken to him in weeks. It probably has something to do with Verdugo, you decide. Maybe he wants to inform you personally. That would be nice of him. After all, this was a pretty big arrest for you, too.

You locate the phone in the kitchen, dialing the number with trembling fingers. Damned coffee.

“Peña.” His voice is terse, clipped.

“Got your page,” you say warily. He sounds like he’s in a mood. “Is there -”

“Where are you?” he demands, cutting you off harshly.

You blink, startled. Forget ‘a mood,’ Javi sounds fucking livid. You’d assumed he’d be pretty relaxed, considering. “Umm, I’m actually at your place,” you speak slowly to hide the shakiness of your voice. Fuck, of all the times to get emotional. “Listen, my apartment was bombed. I just needed -”

You’re interrupted again by a sharp sigh. “Stay there,” Javi grinds out, and then there’s nothing but dial tone.

Slowly, you place the phone back in its cradle, processing the conversation.

What. The. Fuck.  

Bits of plastic clatter to the floor as the pager smashes into the refrigerator - you’re hardly even aware of throwing it. You sink to the kitchen floor, cradling your head in your hands and doing your damnedest to just breathe.

It’s not fucking fair. He was the one who stormed out slamming doors. You haven’t pressed him, haven’t been a nuisance. Well, aside from basically breaking into his apartment and borrowing his shower.

But fucking hell, somebody - probably Pablo Escobar -  just bombed your fucking apartment. You’re living in a foreign country and you don’t even speak the fucking language. There’s nowhere for you to go, and your clothes were a mess, and goddamn, you are just tired.

What were you supposed to do?

Footsteps thunder up the stairs. God, that was quick. You manage to leap to your feet just as the front door slams open with a bang.

Javi stops dead when he sees you, and your tirade dies in your throat.

“Hey.” It’s awkward, but it’s all you can manage.

He’s just staring at you, standing stalk still in the open doorway. He’s breathing heavily, like he’s been running. His expression is tight, carefully closed off. One fist is clenched at his side, the other still gripping the doorknob.

“Murphy let me in,” you babble. You knew he was on his way, but still, his sudden appearance startled you. “My place, I mean, the drugstore -”

“I know.” He’s toneless, expressionless, frozen except for his eyes. They rove over your face and body, and you’re reminded suddenly of watching him read reports - quick, efficient, and exacting, like he’s taking in every detail in an instant.

Fuck. Heat rushes you as you remember that you’re still wearing his clothes. “Okay,” you breathe shakily, hardly aware of speaking aloud. This is getting weird, and you really don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with Javier Peña’s shit today.

Your laundry is probably dry anyway.

“Where are you going?” Javi demands, resting a hand on your shoulder as you attempt to push past him.

That does it. “To get the laundry!” you bite back, twisting away from his touch with a lot more drama than is really necessary. “My clothes are dry!”

He pulls away as if burned, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

You stand there like that for a long moment, just assessing each other. You’re glaring up at him warily, sizing him up, while he watches you with an expression that you don’t recognize.

“I’ll go,” he says softly. There’s something quiet, almost regretful in his tone, and it shatters your defenses. You bit your lip and nod shakily, and then he’s gone, descending down the stairs without another word.

Jesus.

You exhale another shaking breath - everything you do seems shaky, today - and pour another cup of coffee.

♠

You feel like you’ve got a little more control of yourself once you’re back in your own clothes. Javi is lighting a cigarette at the kitchen table when you exit the bathroom, a fresh butt still hot in the ashtray next to him.

“Rough night?” you ask, dropping his half-folded t-shirt and sweats onto the counter.

He huffs sarcastically.

You sigh. Your patience is wearing very, very thin, but you decide to try one more time, just for the hell of it. “Congratulations, by the way. Murphy told me about Verdugo.”

He blinks up at you, like you’ve pulled him from deep thought. “Yeah,” he says slowly, still staring at you with an intensity that’s starting to really freak you out. He pulls hard at the cigarette, and the moment breaks. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

You nod, suddenly tired.

He notices. “Ears?”

“I need to go back in,” you cut him off before he can ask whatever he was going to ask.

He frowns. “Didn’t you just leave this morning?”

Frazzled as you are, it doesn’t occur to you to ask how he knows that. “Yeah, Peña, I did,” you snap. “But then some fucker bombed my apartment, and I’ve got a nasty feeling that it has something to do with Pablo Escobar. I can’t go home, and I can’t get any sleep, so I might as well make myself useful and see if there’s anything worth listening to today.”

His gaze had drifted during your speech. He’s resting his jaw on his his palm, staring off into the middle distance.

Ugh.

“So, will you drive me, Peña, or am I calling a cab?”

“Sorry,” he says softly, breaking himself out of whatever stupor he’d been in. He stands and extends a hand like he might like to reach for you before deciding against it and grabbing his gun instead. “Of course I’ll drive you, if you feel like going in.” He catches your eye as he tucks the gun into his belt, serious now. “I really am sorry about your home, Ears.”

God. All Javier Peña has to do is throw you a tiny bone, and you fucking melt. The relief you feel is palpable. “Thank you,” you whisper, closing your eyes for a long second.

You hear him rustling around with keys. “Let’s go, then.”

♠

The car ride to headquarters is silent. Javi smokes three more cigarettes, tossing the butts out the open window before you even hit the parking lot, one after the other. You wonder what the fuck is going on with him.

He makes a point to let you out of the passenger side door, a little quirk that had been hit or miss before, depending on his mood. You walk together up the embassy steps, him hanging close to your shoulder but not quite touching you, and you wonder if this is his strange way of apologizing for the weirdness before.

You’re halfway to Stechner’s office when you realize that Javi is still following you. You arch a curious brow in his direction. He pointedly ignores it.

Okay, seriously. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” The question comes out a lot harsher than you intend, but hell, it’s been a terrible day.

He glances down at you, almost apologetic. “It can wait a minute.”

“Ears!”

Oh, fuck. Steve Murphy is running up the hallway, gaze zeroed in on you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, just whirls on Javi. “Javi, what the fuck is she doing here?”

You bite the inside of your cheek in an effort to keep from screaming. “I’m trying to go do my job, Murphy, if the fucking DEA will let me.” Thankfully, your voice comes out pretty level.

Javi’s looking at Murphy with a narrowed gaze, head cocked, hands on hips. “What do you mean, Murphy?” he asks in a low voice.

Murphy throws his hands up in consternation. “I mean she should be in bed, or at a fucking hospital. You should have seen her this morning, Javi. Looked like she’d come straight from a war zone!”

Javi whips around to stare wide-eyed at you. “Wait. You didn’t say…” All of the color is draining from his face. “You were there?” 

Something about the breathlessness the words, like they’d been punched out of him, sends little shocks of electricity zinging across your skin. “I’m fine,” you manage. As protests go, it’s pretty weak.

“God, Ears, you’re still bleeding.” Goddamn Steve Murphy and his fucking preoccupation with your blood. “Now get out of here, please, before I call you an ambulance. Jesus.”

Javi’s face is a storm cloud of emotions as the pieces continue to click into place. “Ears,” he growls, more horrified than angry. He grips you carefully by the shoulders, looking you over again. This time, he brings his fingers gently to your temple. They come away bloody.

He sucks a sharp breath, glancing up at Murphy. “You’ll handle Verdugo?”

Murphy’s lips are pressed into a fine line. “Absolutely, Javi. Get her out of here.”

♠

He escorts you from the building with a hand pressed firmly against the small of your back. It would be sweet, if not for the blistering pace and the stony expression that’s frozen on his face. People take notice, leaping out of your way, craning their necks to watch as you storm by. By the time you reach the doors, your cheeks are flaming.

“Agent Peña!”

Oh shit. You hadn’t even noticed Martinez and his entourage milling around the entrance.

“Yeah?” Javi bites out.

Martinez raises a brow at the scene the two of you make - you, bleeding and shamefaced, Javi damned near parading you into the parking lot with all the subtly of a thunderclap.

God, there’s no way this ends well for either of you.

“Verdugo is in interrogation room three,” Martinzes says, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Javi doesn’t even slow. “Stick Murphy on it,” he snaps over his shoulder. “I’m busy.”

Nobody dares argue with him.

♠

Instead of getting into the car, Javi leans heavily against the door.

You pause, opening your mouth to question him, but he reaches for your jaw before you can speak, carefully tilting your face up into the sunlight.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is soft, but he’s looking at you in undisguised concern, eyes roving over you with an intensity that tempts you to drop your gaze.

You shiver. You can’t help it - you’re exhausted and emotional, and things with Javi have been so weird for so long, and now he’s staring at you, sharp and worried, running his thumbs across your scalp to gently assess for injuries.

No, you are not okay.

He notices the little tremor that darts through your body and rests one hand on your shoulder, leaning in to look you straight in the eye. “How far were you from the explosion?”

“Across the street,” you tell him, breathless for all of the wrong reasons. It’s only half-way true, you’d been crossing the street when the bomb had gone off, far closer to the blast zone than you’re leading him to believe. But he’s so close, cupping your cheeks in his hands, leaning forward to shield you from the traffic-side of the parking spot with his body as he continues to draw his fingers across your skin, gently assessing for more damage.

“It just knocked me off my feet,” you continue. Your throat is suddenly so dry. “Startled me, more than anything.”

Javi reaches with one finger to expose the wound on your temple. It’s still oozing.

“And this?” he asks, pinning you with another piercing stare.

You reach up, catching his hand as his fingers begin to drift down your cheek. He twitches reflexively. “Just a little scratch,” you promise him. “Falling glass, or shrapnel, I guess. Something grazed me. I never hit my head.”

This is not a lie. You never blacked out; you’re not hurt.

He blusters a sigh, scrubbing his face with his palm for a brief second. “I should really take you to the hospital.” His jaw tightens as he speaks.

“I just said I didn’t hit my head. I’m fine.” You indicate the wound on your temple. “This is nothing. You know how head wounds like to bleed.” You look up at him, projecting as much wide-eyed, awake, vibrant woman as you possibly can after walking away from a fucking bomb, and squeeze his hand in reassurance. “Please, Peña. I just want to go -”

Home, you almost say.

You stop yourself just in time. There is no home, not anymore. And you won’t make the mistake of referencing Peña’s place as anything other than ‘Peña’s place.’ That would be supremely stupid, given all of the recent drama.

“To bed,” you manage instead. “I’m just tired.”

And god, that is the truth.

If Javi notices your faux pax, he doesn’t mention it. He’s hardly taken his eyes off you. He’s near enough that you can feel the heat of his skin, one hand still twined in yours.

It’s all you can do to avoid resting your head on his chest.

“Okay,” he mutters begrudgingly, and then shakes his head like he hadn’t meant to agree. “I’ll take you home.”

You smile wanly at him. “Thanks.”

♠

author’s notes/confessions

I know you still have questions. I promise you, I will answer them.

Steve Murphy is a good bro.

Y’all hit me up if you want a little Javi one-shot after this next chapter. I wrote it for my own reference, but it might be a fun read, if you’re wondering what’s happening inside his head right now.

@tiffdawg​, look what you made me do. ;)

#Javier Peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena x reader #narcos #pedro pascal #narcos fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña imagine #javi x you #javi x reader #reader insert #angst #hurt/comfort #slowburn #friends to lovers #the rules of engagement #better love #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction

[ttbarrz]

Always Meant to Be Winchester

Summary: Dean’s not alone when he returns from Hell.  Who is this strange young woman? Where is she from? Why does she have no memories? (Not too sure how to summarize without giving away too much, at least to start!)

Pairings: Dean x OFC

Warnings: angst, fluff, future smut, canon level violence

Author’s Note: My first posted fic, this will follow the series from Season 4 onward, it’s also a slow burn. There will also be slight deviations from canon as one might expect with a character insert. 

Prologue

   With both mind and body exhausted from a typical shift as an EMT for the Lawrence, Kansas Fire Department, Aurora Mackenzie Winchester stumbled into her empty apartment. Dropping her bags haphazardly just inside the door, she closed her eyes and absorbed the silence. The one bedroom apartment was spotless, tiny and modern.  He would have hated it, she thought not for the first time with a sad smile.  It was cheap, close to the fire hall and there were no ghosts from the past to haunt her. Rubbing violet colored eyes that burned with exhaustion, she studied her tiny home from the doorway. If she did not know better, she would have thought ti was a staged area, as if no one truly lived here.  The only personal affects seen in the kitchen/living area combo was some framed pictures sitting on a side table that held her phone and answering machine.  The space felt impersonal, cold far from anything like a home.

   Not for the first time, she contemplated getting a pet of some kind as she bent over to unlace and remove her heavy boots.  Given her solitary lifestyle and long work hours, a dog made little sense. And as much as the loneliness was hard to take at times, she was not ready to be labelled a crazy cat lady. Nor was she able to forget that he had been highly allergic to cats. “Maybe a fish,” she muttered to herself, shedding her heavy cargo pants.  Dumping them by the bedroom door, she padded into the living room in heavy woolen socks  despite the warm September weather.

   Her movements were automatic, without need of thought, from the practical routine of a thousand repeats. Hitting the message button on her answering machine, she moved deeper into the room. Closing the blinds against the bright sun creeping over the horizon, she started to unbutton her dark blue uniform shirt, revealing a plain, white t-shirt.

   “Aurora Marie Mackenzie!!” the shrill female voice made her groan and bow her head. “Will you stop avoiding me and answer your damn phone!?!” her mother’s voice slowly raised in octaves and sharpness as she continued.  She went on to chastise Aurora on how she had been desperately trying to reach her and that she call her back immediately.  Her second cousin’s wedding was in three months and it was an embarrassment that she had yet to respond to the RSVP. She needed to stop shirking her family duties, stop playing doctor and…

   Skipping to the next message before her mother’s tirade was over she shuffled to the kitchen. Nothing but drama and disappointment seemed to come from her family on the best of days. Always finding fault in her every choice, she had purposely shifted away from her family. As much as her mother would allow her to any rate.

   “Rory-Mack!!” the next voice that greeted her instantly relieved the sudden tension she had gained from her mother’s message. “Look, I know you just got off work but you have got to call me Chickie!” Opening the stainless steel refrigerator, she listened to her long time friend and co-worker Maggie chatting a if they had not spoken earlier in the day when their paths crossed at work.  Pulling a bottle out, her good humor restored by her good friend quickly evaporated with her next words. “I know you have the next few days booked off work.  I will not let you sit and stew and mope this year.  It’s been two years already girl! You’re too young to do this to yourself. Mikey’s got a friend coming over this weekend.  You will come out with us, and you will have fun.  Seriously girl, it’s time to move on already!”

   Placing the unopened beer on the breakfast bar, she absently began playing with the plain silver band on her left ring finger.  However briefly, she had momentarily forgotten the anniversary and her requested time from work.  A heaviness filled her, pierced by a mind numbing heartache.  “Two years already,” she muttered as her eyes welled.  Even after two years the pain had not lessened in the slightest.  The next message slammed home the sudden sadness and depression that enveloped her.

   A familiar deep male voice spoke with gentle compassion. She smiled sadly as she imagined the hazel puppy eyes of the speaker.  “Hey Mack,” he started, the hesitance clear in his voice, like he knew each word was a blade in her heart. “Jess and I will probably be at Mom and Dad’s by the time you get this message. I’m going to give you a couple hours to catch some sleep then we’ll be by to pick you up. So pack a bag and be ready  No arguments. Mom, Dad and us, we want you here.  You shouldn’t be alone, you should be with your family.”

   A stuttering exhale escaped her as tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks. She felt as if her heart was breaking all over again.  The gentle giant on the phone and his family proving once again the true definition of family. Closer and more understanding then her own, knowing exactly how hard the next few days would prove to be for her. Doing everything in their power to protect her and help her through the pain that was consuming her..

   Moving to the phone, she picked up the carefully placed silver frame beside it.  The two years had felt like a lifetime ago in some ways and yet in others, only yesterday.  Tomorrow should have seen the mark of her six year anniversary.  Studying the handsome,green eyed man who stood next to her in the wedding photo, she wondered yet again.  Her job as an EMT, and her stints in the military had shown her on many occasions that fate and life could be exceedingly cruel. But who could have possibly foreseen a perfectly healthy twenty-seven year old man suddenly dropping from a heart attack.

   Harshly pulled from her grieving, she felt a sudden presence behind her at the same time a shadow fall over her.  Spinning quickly, the framed picture fell from her hand, lifting her hands into defensive fists. “Hullo Mrs. Winchester,” a British accent greeted her.  Catching a vague impression of blonde hair and blue eyes in a craggily handsome face with a roguish smile.  Before she could react, two fingers tap her forehead and then nothing.

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x female reader #dean x ofc #spn fandom

[jamesbarnesappreciationsociety]

Picture Perfect

Summary: Y/N has a Valentine’s Day surprise Bucky will never forget.

Word Count: 1,157

Characters: Bucky x Reader. OFC: Brayden Grant Barnes, Nat, Steve, and Wanda

Warning: None!

A/N: I’m feeling warm and fuzzy inside. So, my fics are teeth rotting fluff!

Feedback appreciated!

Bucky didn’t think much about holidays. His past haunted him to distraction. But, when he married Y/N, everything changed. Vibrant hues of yellow, blue, and green replaced black and gray days.

Brayden Grant Rogers, 5 years old, was Bucky’s clone. Hair, eyes, and chubby cheeks. Yep, a pint size James Buchanan Barnes.

Valentine’s Day meant a homemade card, breakfast in bed, and a hot, hot make out session AFTER Brayden goes to sleep!

This year though was different because Y/N is 8 weeks pregnant. Nat and Wanda were her Steve “Chatterbox” Rogers reminded everyone of an old refrigerator; can’t keep anything!

Nat concocted an extravagant way to tell Bucky of the impending birth of baby #2. Brayden would present his homemade card to daddy. Y/N decorated an empty room on the 8th floor. This would knock Bucky’s socks off.

VALENTINE’S DAY

Brayden left for school. Dragging himself into the kitchen, the smell of fresh brewed coffee greeted him. No pancakes, bacon, eggs, or biscuits. Just coffee.

Hearing footsteps, Y/N peeped over the sofa. “Good morning sweetheart. Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, slept like a log.” Bucky decided against confronting his wife about breakfast.

“Good, baby. Brayden’s at school. He was excited about today’s arts and crafts!!”

Grabbing an energy bar, Bucky trudged to the door. “M’gonna go. Stevie’s waiting for me in the gym.”

Still playing along, Y/N told Bucky to have a good training session.

Bucky turned back to Y/N, “Thanks Doll.”

Grabbing her phone from the table, Y/N phoned Nat. “Nattie, ‘Operation Picture Perfect’ is a go! James thought I’d forgotten Valentine’s Day.”

“Good. I’ll pick-up Brayden from school, while you get everything ready for tonight.”

“Thanks sweetie. You and Wanda are the best.”

“Yeah, we know. Ttyl.”

After an intense workout, Bucky went home, calling Y/N. “Hey Doll, I’m home.” Silence.

“Brayden, are ya here?”

Running down the hall yelling, “Stevie!!! Y/N and Brayden are missing!!!!” Reaching the common room, giggling erupted.

He followed the laughing. Steve, Nat, and Brayden were engaging in a rousing game of Mario Kart Deluxe.

“Hey Daddy. I’m not missing. I have something for you.”

Brayden jumped in Bucky’s lap. Pulling out a crumpled Valentine’s Day card. “Sorry it’s ugly daddy.” The word ‘happy’ had two backward ‘P’s,’ Valentine’s misspelled Valentime, a crooked cut heart colored outside the line, on pink construction paper.

“Nah buddy, it’s perfect!! Thank you so much. M’gonna hang it on the fridge right now!!”

“Okay daddy, I love you so much!”

Bucky returned the sentiment, “Love you too buddy.”

Still clueless, Bucky asked Wanda about Y/N. “Hey Wanda, have ya seen my beautiful wife?”

Wanda smirked, “Um, I haven’t seen her. Did you check your bedroom?”

Bucky shook his head ‘no.’ “I forgot. I’ll go look now. See ya later Brayden.”

“Bye daddy!!!” Brayden, Nat, and Steve continued playing Mario Kart.

Master Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes,

Your presence is requested tonight at 2000 hours to The Old Neighborhood Room 813.

Do you remember the first time we met? You and Steve were jogging in Central Park. I walked into you, dropping my coffee. You told me, “A dame ain’t ‘spose to walk and talk on a cell phone!” 

My answer to you, “Big, sweaty oafs should watch where they’re going!” You offered to replace the coffee and I told you to go to hell!! 

We ran into each other, literally, a week later. This time, you dropped your hot dog.  I called you a clumsy jerk! That was the first time I knew you were my forever love.

Here we are 9 years later, two crazy kids still in love. When you  found out I was pregnant with Brayden, your solemn promise was “I’ll never go back in the field. You and Brayden are my life and I refuse to do anything to mess that up.”

And speaking of Brayden. He’s so much like you. The way you guys sit with your feet on the coffee table reading. Well you have your feet on the table; his legs aren’t long enough! That little boy loves you to the moon and beyond.

So, I wanted you to know James Buchanan Barnes, this stubborn woman is yours for all eternity. I’m yours in life, health, love, tears till the end of my life and beyond.

Your best girl,

Y/N Y/M/N Barnes

P.S. I GOTCHA!!!!! Your outfit is in the closet. See you soon!

BROOKLYN, NEW YORK, 1942

Opening the door of Room 813,  Bucky was blown away!. On each wall was a blown up picture of his old neighborhood.

He touched the walls, fondly thinking of times gone by. One wall sported Ebbits Field. “Me and Stevie would sneak in and watch a game. Didn’t have much money back then.”

“How did’ya do all of this?” Bucky still couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Steve and Tony found pictures online and worked their magic.”

Keeping with the 1940’s theme,  Y/N wore a navy blue sailor dress, white hat and red shoes. “Wow, you’re the prettiest dame I ever laid eyes on. Are ya seeing anyone?”

“Not at the moment. Did you have something in mind, soldier?”

“Yeah, how ‘bout we grab a hot dog and Coke?

“Sure, I know just the place. C’mon.”

Near “Downtown Brooklyn” was an old hot dog stand and soda stand. “May I fix ya a dog ma’am?”

“Why thank you sir. I’ll have chili, mustard and ketchup.” Bucky assisted Y/N with her food, preparing 3 hot dogs for himself.

Clearing her throat,  Y/N placed a foil wrapped red/pink/white embroidered card on the table.

As if it were glass, Bucky slowly opened the card: a picture fell to the floor. Bucky leaned over picking it up by the corner. There, in black and white, an ultrasound image of baby Barnes #2.

Bucky rubbed his callous finger over the front, unable to form an audible sentence.

Whispering, “I-is this real? How far along are ya?”

“Yes my love. I’m 10 weeks.”

“M’gonna be a daddy again?”

Sitting on his lap, Bucky broke down. Y/N tilted his head up so she could look him in the eyes, “James, you deserve all the happiness life can give. I love you.”

“Ya know. Our hot dogs are getting cold.”

“James Buchanan Barnes, I don’t care.”

Desi Arnaz’s “We’re Having A Baby” blared from the speakers. Extending her hand, Y/N faced Bucky. “May I have this dance?”

Waltzing around ‘Brooklyn’, Y/N and Bucky laughed, dined on hot dogs, cola, chocolate chip cookies, making plans for the future. 

Yes, this Valentine’s Day was picture perfect.

@rebelslicious @goodnightwife @supersoldierslover @stars8melanin @wxntersoldiers @ek823 @yknott81 @redqueen1221 @crazy-little-thing-called-buck @theunsweetenedtruth @buckywintersoldierbarnes2017

#bucky x reader #bucky imagine #fluffy goodness #mcu #my little fics #repost #can't trust my own queue #starting over is hard

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Picture Perfect Valentine’s Day

Summary: Y/N has a Valentine’s Day surprise Bucky will never forget.

Word Count: 1,135

Characters: Bucky x Reader OFC: Brayden Grant Barnes, Nat, Steve, and Wanda

Warning: None!

A/N: Bucky ALWAYS deserves happiness. Hope you like it. Feedback is welcome!

Bucky didn’t think much about holidays. His past haunted him to distraction. So, when he married Y/N, everything changed. Vibrant hues of yellow, blue, and green replaced black and gray days.

Brayden Grant Barnes, 5 years old, was Bucky’s clone. Hair, eyes, and chubby cheeks. Yep, a pint size James Buchanan Barnes.

Valentine’s Day meant a homemade card, breakfast in bed, and a hot, hot make out session AFTER Brayden goes to sleep!

This year though was different because Y/N is 8 weeks pregnant. Nat and Wanda were her “partners in crime.” They especially kept it from “Chatterbox Rogers.” Steve reminded everyone of an old refrigerator; can’t keep anything!

Nat concocted an extravagant way to tell Bucky of the impending birth of baby #2. Brayden would present his homemade card to daddy. Y/N decorated an empty room on the 8th floor. This would knock Bucky’s socks off.

VALENTINE’S DAY

Brayden left for school. Bucky dragged himself into the kitchen. No pancakes, bacon, eggs, or biscuits; simply fresh brewed coffee.

Hearing footsteps, Y/N peeped over the sofa. “Good morning sweetheart. Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, slept like a log.” Bucky decided against confronting his wife about breakfast.

“Good baby. Brayden’s at school. He was excited about today’s arts and crafts!!”

Grabbing an energy bar, Bucky trudged to the door. “M’gonna go. Stevie’s waiting for me in the gym.”

Still playing along, Y/N told Bucky to have a good training session.

Bucky turned back to Y/N, “Thanks Doll.”

Grabbing her phone from the table, Y/N phoned Nat. “Nattie, ‘Operation Picture Perfect’ is a go! James thought I’d forgotten  Valentine’s Day.”

“Good. I’ll pick-up Brayden from school, while you get everything ready for tonight.”

“Thanks sweetie. You and Wanda are the best.”

“Yeah, we know. Ttyl.”

After an intense workout, Bucky went home, calling Y/N. “Hey Doll, I’m home.” Silence! “Brayden are ya here?”

Running down the hall yelling, “Stevie!!! Y/N and Brayden are missing!!!!” Reaching the common room, giggling erupted.

He followed the laughing. Steve, Nat, and Brayden were engaging in a rousing game of Mario Kart Deluxe. “Hey Daddy. I’m not missing. I have something for you.”

Brayden jumped in Bucky’s lap. Pulling out a crumpled Valentine’s Day card. “Sorry it’s ugly daddy.” The word ‘happy’ had two backward ‘P’s,’ Valentine’s misspelled Valentime, a crooked cut heart colored outside the line, on pink construction paper.

“Nah buddy, it’s perfect!! Thank you so much.. M’gonna hang it on the fridge right now!!”

“Okay daddy, I love you so much!”

Bucky returned the sentiment, “Love you too buddy.”

Still clueless, Bucky asked Wanda about Y/N. “Hey Wanda, have ya seen my beautiful wife?”

Wanda smirked, “Um, I haven’t seen her. Did you check your bedroom?”

Bucky nodded ‘no.’ “I forgot. I’ll go look now. See ya later Brayden.”

“Bye daddy!!!” Brayden, Nat, and Steve continued playing Mario Kart.

Opening the bedroom door, Bucky noticed an invitation written in Y/N’s pristene handwriting.

      💗 💖       💗 💖         💗 💖     💗 💖       💗 💖       💗 💖

                       Master Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes,

Your presence is requested tonight at 2000 hours in Room 813! 

Dress code: SNAZZY!!!

Do you remember the first time we met? You and Steve were jogging in Central Park; I walked into you, dropping my coffee. You told me, “A dame ain’t ‘spose to walk and talk on a cell phone!” My answer to you, “Big, sweaty oafs should watch where they’re going!” You offered to replace the coffee and I told you to go to hell!! We ran into each other, literally, a week later. This time, you dropped your hot dog.  I called you a clumsy jerk! That was the first time I knew you were my forever love.

Here we are 9 years later, two crazy kids still in love. When you found out I was pregnant with Brayden, your solemn promise was “I’ll never go back in the field. You and Brayden are my life and I refuse to do anything to mess that up.”

And speaking of Brayden. He’s so much like you. The way you guys sit with your feet on the coffee table reading. Well you have your feet on the table; his legs aren’t long enough! That little boy loves you to the moon and beyond.

So, I wanted you to know, this stubborn woman is yours for all eternity, in life, health, love, tears till the end of my life and beyond.

Your best girl,

Y/N Y/M/N Barnes

P.S. I GOTCHA!!!!! See you soon!

💗 💖 💗 💖 💗 💖 💗 💖 💗 💖

BROOKLYN, NEW YORK, 1942

Opening the door of Room 813,  Bucky was blown away!. On each wall was a blown up picture of his old neighborhood.

He touched the walls, fondly thinking of times gone by. One wall sported Ebbits Field. “Me and Stevie would sneak in and watch a game. Didn’t have much money back then.”

“How did’ya do all of this?” Bucky still couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Steve and Tony found pictures online and worked their magic.”

Keeping with the 1940’s theme,  Y/N wore a navy blue sailor dress, white hat and red shoes. “Wow, you’re the prettiest dame I ever laid eyes on. Are ya seeing anyone?”

“Not at the moment. Did you have something in mind, soldier?”

“Yeah, how ‘bout we grab a hot dog and Coke?

“Sure, I know just the place. C’mon.”

Near “Downtown Brooklyn” was an old hot dog stand and soda stand. “May I fix ya a dog ma’am?”

“Why thank you sir. I’ll have chili, mustard and ketchup.” Bucky assisted Y/N with her food, preparing 3 hot dogs for himself.

Clearing her throat,  Y/N placed a foil wrapped red/pink/white embroidered card on the table.

As if it were glass, Bucky slowly opened the card: a picture fell to the floor. Bucky leaned over picking it up by the corner. There, in black and white, an ultrasound image of baby Barnes #2.

Bucky rubbed his callous finger over the front, unable to form an audible sentence.

Whispering, “I-is this real? How far along are ya?”

“Yes my love. I’m 8 weeks.”

“M’gonna be a daddy again?”

Sitting on his lap, Bucky broke down. Y/N tilted his head up so she could look him in the eyes, “James, you deserve all the happiness life can give. I love you.”

  “Ya know. Our hot dogs are getting cold.” “James Buchanan Barnes, I don’t care.”

Desi Arnaz’s“We’re Having A Baby” blared from the speakers. Extending her hand, Y/N faced Bucky. “May I have this dance?”

Waltzing around ‘Brooklyn’, Y/N and Bucky laughed, dined on hot dogs, cola, chocolate chip cookies, making plans for the future. Yes, this Valentine’s Day was picture perfect.

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#bucky x reader #brayden grant barnes #valentine's day 2018 #love ain't dead #bucky imagine #nat #wanda #steve #baby barnes 2