#All in the family | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zepskies · 5 months

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Smoke Eater - Part 12

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

AN: Thank you everyone for your kind words on Part 11! 🥰 It really meant so much to me.

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,800 Tags/Warnings: 18+ just to be safe on this one. Angst, hurt/comfort, minor violence and tension, fluff with a tinge of spice.~

Part 12: “All in the Family”

You didn’t realize until the funeral just how well loved your grandfather had been.

So many of his friends, along with your grandmother’s, came up to you personally to express their condolences even before the church service began. Some were more heartfelt and broken up than that of your extended family members, many of whom hardly checked on him when he was alive, even before his cancer returned.

You had no mascara left by the time the service started. Yet it wasn’t until you had to get up and speak that you noticed something else when you stared out into the crowd.

Almost all of Dean’s friends (and now yours) had come to support you. Meg and Cas, Sam and Eileen, Benny and Andréa, Jo and Ellen…they all sat in the row behind him, even though very few of them had even met your grandfather in person.

“George was born in Lebanon, Kansas in the early ‘40s,” you began. “At the time, its population was about 600. Now, it’s less than 200…and that’s why he left, he told me. I didn’t want to be the last relic left standin’ with the tumbleweeds.”

That bit earned you some laughs. You paused, smiling slightly. With a shaking breath, you managed to continue.

Though it was hard for you to even look at Andréa. It was with a mixture of lingering resentment, tempered only by your guilt at the last words you’d levied at your best friend. A large part of you still felt justified, even today, to hold your grudge. Maybe you were wrong for it, but that was just how you felt.

And right now, you were shaking. You barely managed to get through the speech you wrote down on a notepad. After you were done, you couldn’t force yourself to pry your fingers off the podium. You glanced over at the closed casket behind you, to your right.

The pastor was standing to your left, waiting on you to go back to your seat so he could resume the service. You could sense him watching you, and distantly you heard him call your name. You couldn’t respond. Your voice was stuck in your throat.

Both anxious and panicked, you looked up at the sea of people watching you. Your gaze darted from face to face, until you landed on Dean. He was staring up at you in thinly veiled concern.

You okay? he mouthed.

You shook your head subtly. You had the undeniable conviction that if you let go of the podium, you would fall into a heap. You’d make an embarrassing scene at your grandpa’s funeral—something George definitely would’ve gotten a kick out of, if he was here.

My granddaughter, ladies and gentlemen. She can talk real well, but apparently she can’t walk at the same time.

Before you could choke out a laugh, followed shortly by hyperventilating, Dean got out of his seat and went up to the stage.

His supportive hand came to rest on the small of your back, while the other was offered to you palm facing up, next to where you had a death grip on the podium. You met his eyes, and he gave you a steady look.

“You got this,” he said in a lowered voice.

You took his hand. He guided you off the stage and back into your seat. His lips pressed to your cheek.

“You did great,” Dean said quietly in your ear. “He’d be proud of you.”

You held onto his hand for the rest of the service.

Your big house was good for one thing: it made for a roomy reception.

Thank God you hadn’t had to cook yourself. Ellen had brought everything you might’ve wanted or needed by way of food and drinks, and true to Dean’s word, she’d given you what you suspected was a heavily discounted price. You’d tried to give her an extra tip earlier, but she’d folded the envelop and stuck it behind the neckline of your dress.

“We already covered payment, and I don’t wanna hear about it again,” Ellen said. “Now help me unwrap these chicken strips.”

You gave a tremulous smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

Later, while Ellen went to grab the utensils and plates, you found yourself side by side with Jo in your kitchen. She gave you a smile that was both kind and reserved.

“I’m sorry about your grandpa,” she said, pausing on uncasing a container of sandwiches. Her blue eyes looked sincere.

“Thank you,” you replied. Your small smile was genuine as well. Until Andréa and Benny came in, with Dean right behind.

“Can we help?” Andréa asked. Her question was pointed, and filled with double meaning as her eyes met yours.

After a moment, you decided to swallow your pride for now. It was only a few more hours, and then your house would be empty.

“Can you get the dining table set up?” you asked.

Andréa nodded, but you stopped her before she could venture out into the dining room.

“Where’re you going?” you asked.

She shot you a frown. “To do what you asked.”

“Tablecloths are in the linen closet,” you reminded her. “You can grab the beige one.”

“Oh, I thought you would’ve taken that out already,” she said. As if you didn’t have a million other things to remember to do today.

“Well, it’s there,” you said, trying to be patient.

Andréa’s lips pursed. “In the linen closet? The one in the hall?”

You sighed as you finished unwrapping the second package of potato salad. Your patience thinned.

“No, the one in the attic,” you snipped dryly. You knew you were kind of being a bitch, but you could’ve grabbed the damn tablecloth yourself in this time.

Andréa agreed wordlessly and left the kitchen with clipped heels.

Meanwhile, Dean surveyed the scene between you and your friend, and sensed that something was off there. Even Jo shot him a subtle brow raise. Dean’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t want to say anything to you just yet. He knew you had a lot on your mind.

Instead, he glanced at Benny, who gave his friend a telling look.

Dean took in a breath. “Okay, uh. What else do you need, babe?”

You looked up at him, softening. “Maybe help Ellen bring in the drinks and stuff? She just went out to her car.”

Dean nodded. “Sure.”

He and Benny left the kitchen, giving Dean a chance to get the scoop.

“Something going on between Thelma and Louise? That was downright frosty back there,” he remarked.

Benny scoffed. “What, you didn’t know?”

“Know what?” Dean asked.

“They had a big blow out a couple weeks ago.”

“Seriously? I didn’t hear a word about it.”

“Well that’s confoundin’,” Benny said, rubbing at his beard. “‘Cause I certainly did. In excruciating detail.”

Dean’s lips flickered at a smirk, but it soon faded.

After the lasts guests left the house, and the cleanup was done for the night, it got down to you and Dean alone in the house. Your family had never been a large one. Just you and your grandparents. And then, it had been just you and your grandfather for so long…

You now dreaded the moment that it would finally be just you.

At least tonight, you had your boyfriend. The two of you were watching a movie on the couch with another slice of leftover cake split between you. For once, you didn’t have the stomach for it. You let Dean polish off the plate.

He tossed it onto the coffee table and then paused the movie for a moment. He knew you weren’t really watching anyway. He rested a hand on your thigh, earning your attention.

“You given any more thought to a new car?” he asked. Yours had been totaled in the accident last month. Between Dean and Meg and Ellen bringing in food and supplies, you hadn’t needed to venture out of your house much ever since the accident.

Now, however, you heaved a sigh. You leveled him with honesty.

“Even with the insurance money left over, I’m not sure I can afford one after the funeral expenses.”

Dean inclined his head. “Okay, hear me out…Bobby owns a salvage yard.”

Your brows rose. “A junkyard?”

“Salvage yard,” he corrected. “He occasionally gets some good finds. I’ll comb through and look for something I can fix up for you.”

“Thanks, but…” You were grateful for him trying to help, but you still weren’t sure about adopting a “salvage yard” rescue car.

“You think I’m gonna put you in something that isn’t safe?” Dean asked, squeezing your thigh. The weight in his eyes sobered you.

“Okay, thanks. Let me know what you find,” you agreed. He nodded, but before he put the movie back on, he decided to broach something else.

“So, Benny filled me in on your little fight club moment with Andréa,” he said.

You sighed and leaned back on the couch, crossing your arms. “It wasn’t fight club.”

But an awkward silence fell between you and Dean as you didn’t offer anything more. He sighed and rubbed your knee with his thumb.

“You guys had a falling out?” he asked.

Your brows knitted together. “You want to hear about my girl drama?”

Ordinarily? Not really, Dean could admit. He liked “tea” as much as the next person, but he wasn’t angling for drama so much as for your trust. He was still new to this whole “boyfriend” thing. But still, this felt like something you could’ve come to him with.

“Look, if you’re upset…for any reason, you can tell me,” he said. “Thinking that’s my job as the boyfriend.”

…Well, shit, you thought, as guilt sunk heavy in your chest. How could you argue with that?

You sighed and threw your hands up, before they landed on his. You took his hand with both of yours.

“Well,” you said, “I broke up with my best friend.”

Dean blinked at that. That would definitely make it awkward to double date.

“Aw, you didn’t break up, did you?”

When you merely gave him a look, he nodded. “All right. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

You sighed, but you explained it to him. You told him about your ongoing frustrations with your friend’s self-centeredness, and her lack of self-awareness at times. And while you took responsibility for the way you’d gone off on her that day on your porch, a large part of you still felt justified. Even if that made you the “bitch.”

“Well, look. If this is something that you can’t get past, then I get it. Sometimes you needa cut people out,” Dean said eventually. “But I’m thinking, right now, you need support. Maybe she didn’t give it when you needed her, but maybe she’s hurtin’ about this too… At least, that’s what Benny says.”

At first, you frowned. Your throat was tight with emotion, probably from today, but maybe because he was saying things you had already been thinking, deep down. You just didn’t want to admit it.

“You just want us to smooth things over so it won’t make it awkward for you with your friend,” you shot back.

Dean frowned, raising placating hands. “That’s not what I said.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Come on. You know that’s not it.”

You wiped at your eyes, as they were starting to sting with unshed tears. You knew you weren’t being fair. He was just trying to help.

“Sorry,” you said, in a calmer voice. “…I’ll think about it, okay? Because you’re right. It’s not just her…I also just can’t shake this feeling. Like my world is getting smaller, and someday I’m going to be the only one left.”

And there it was. Yet another fear you didn’t want to admit. It was your worst fear: being alone.

You were hesitant to let your gaze leave your lap, to meet Dean’s. When you did, you were met by his softened look. He went for your hand again.

“Listen. You still have people,” he said. “Doesn’t matter if they’re related to you by blood or not. Real family’s gonna fight and bitch. But they’re also gonna be there, like your friend was today.”

You sighed heavily. Once again, you knew he was right. Despite the awfulness of your fight, Andréa had come to your grandfather’s funeral. She helped you set up for the reception, and she stayed until the last hour helping with the cleanup, along with Benny, Sam, Eileen, and the rest of Dean’s friends. They were now your friends too.

You nodded. “By the way, it was nice of Sam and Eileen to come. And Meg and Cas.”

Dean smiled.

“They can be your people too,” he said. “If you want ‘em to be.”

You couldn’t help it. Your tears brewed and bubbled over. And you moved slowly across the couch to twine your arms around his neck. Dean’s lips tugged at a smile, and he welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

Both of you were still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing all day; you in your black dress and Dean in his slacks and white buttoned-down shirt, though by now without the jacket, and the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You were infinitely exhausted. But one thing had become clear to you over the past few weeks.

“Thank you. Thank you for today, and for every day since we met,” you said shakily. “Dean, I love you. I love you so damn much.”

Dean’s fingers tangled in your hair. A sigh expelled through his nose as he pressed a lingering kiss into your neck.

Warm. It felt warm in his chest. Almost overwhelming.

He’d been letting instinct guide him since the day he met you. So even though he hesitated to answer at first, he knew.

“I love you too,” he admitted. You held onto him that much tighter.

In hindsight, he’d already known. The day of the car accident, when you’d called him in tears and asked for his help, he realized just how much he’d do for you. The lengths he would go to make sure you were okay.

That you were safe, and his.

Nick Savage was an opportunist at heart.

Sure, he’d flunked out of college. Big fucking whoop.

Now he stood at the literal head of a multimillion-dollar company. He ruled in the very same office where he once sat on the floor as a ten-year-old kid, playing with his Batman action figure. Out of the corner of his eye, he’d watched his father hook new “clients” between glasses of scotch.

Now, Nick was the one making deals.

He stared out of the immense window of his office as he practiced his putting swing. These golf clubs had been a gift (to himself), and he thought he could’ve pursued it harder when he was younger, if he hadn’t lost focus in high school.

Maybe if his dad had attended even one of his games, he would’ve pursued sports past the varsity level. He had the talent. He could’ve gotten scouted…

Nick blew out a breath.

“Well, this is what I like to see,” a droll voice said from the doorway. “A man hard at work.”

Nick’s head raised slowly. His brows twitched with surprise, but he soon covered it up with a hint of a dry smile.

“Welcome back, Dad,” Nick drawled. “Where were you? Venice? Greece?”

Daniel Savage was only slightly taller than his son. His build was broader, his blonde hair graying at the temples, but his blue eyes were sharp.

He dressed the part of a wealthy mogul: brown slacks, smart shoes, dark green turtleneck, with sleeves bunched up on his forearms, and a black Rolex on his wrist. Its watch face flashed in the afternoon light as he smoked a cigarette indoors.

He stepped inside the office, letting Nick’s assistant close the door.

“The hottest fucking country known to man,” said Daniel. He cocked his head as he took in all the changes to his office. He noted the untidy bar area with a critical eye.

“It was fun,” he added. “Got a nice tan. But it was starting to chafe…you know why?”

Nick rolled his eyes and straightened from his putting. He leaned on his club.

“I have everything under control,” he said.

“You see, if that were true,” Daniel said. His slow but measured gait drew him closer to his son. He flicked a bit of ash from his cigarette onto Nick’s shoe. “I wouldn’t be here, now would I?”

“You didn’t have to come,” Nick said, subtly shaking off his shoe. He tried to maintain his nonchalance, but even now, his father’s gaze pinned his feet to the floor. “Everything’s fine. I’m handling it.”

Daniel paused for a moment. The cigarette was poised between two fingers while his arm crossed beneath his elbow. He stared at his son like he was trying to figure out where the hell he went wrong.

“You know how I know you’re lying?” Daniel asked.

He then smacked his son so hard up the head, it made Nick trip over his golf club. It skittered to the floor, and he had to catch himself on the nearby couch. His arm chafed against the brown leather.

“Fuck,” he yelped.

Daniel grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him around, until he was leaning against the couch arm.

“Because you’re single-handedly driving my empire into the ground with stupid. Fucking. Mistakes,” Daniel said. His tone was calm and even, but deep in his eyes was hellfire. “Alastair can only do so much to clean up after you.”

Nick swallowed. “I thought…using your brand would send a message. Remind people that our name still has power.”

By that, of course, he meant the various kills he’d ordered in the past six months. Each marked with a burn on their body—a symbol that even now was etched on his father’s ring: two snakes devouring one another.

“My name,” Daniel corrected. “The problem is, you use my mark, people think you’re me. And…well, you’re not, are you?”

Nick’s gaze cut away.

“And I was on sabbatical for a reason,” Daniel reminded. “I was kinda supposed to be dead.”

He took a long drag of his cigarette. When he blew out the smoke, the smell reminded Nick of nights he spent in the back rooms of old bars and clubs as a kid, watching his father play cards with old “friends of the family.”

But sometimes, family friends shot one another over money owed and disrespected protocols.

“Never kill your accountant, you idiot,” Daniel said. He punctuated this by tapping Nick hard on the chest, with the same two fingers that held his smoke. “The devil’s in the details. In this case, the numbers.”

Daniel shook his head and blew more smoke. “The cops are onto you…one in particular, in fact, who’s a few steps shy of pinning your ass against the wall.”

And one step away from mine, his tone implied. Hence why he’d returned from sabbatical, Nick realized, with a sinking feeling.

Okay, maybe he’d fucked up putting the hit on Jerry Stillwell, but the grubby little man had been demanding a bigger cut for his “continuing silence.”

Daniel sighed and raised a hand to rub between his eyes. He turned towards the desk and put out his cigarette on an ashtray.

“Technology’s gotten too good, Nicholas. It’s not like it was 30 years ago. Nowadays, when you start a damn fire, the cops tend to look at that shit a bit harder.”

Nick straightened up onto his feet. His hands clenched into fists with the same fire that always drove him: the desire to be useful. To be seen by his father. To matter.

“The cop, I know who he is. It’s the same one that tried to burn you last time,” Nick said. “John Winchester.”

Daniel scoffed, giving a short nod. “I know. The man’s fucking obsessed.”

Nick smiled. “I’ve already been working on a plan with Alastair—”

“You’ll do nothing,” Daniel snapped. He glanced at his son over his shoulder. “From now on, I’m back in the saddle. Nothing happens without my word. That includes this company.”

Nick frowned at that. A trill of anger made his nails bite into his palms.

“Savage & Co. is mine,” he argued. “You gave it to me.”

“That’s right. I’m correcting that bit of oversight.”

“We’ve been margining the best profits we’ve ever had,” Nick said. He mentally scoured your latest sales report in his brain. “Our projections—”

“Don’t mean shit,” Daniel said. He turned on his heel, with a hand in his pocket. “You do realize that this building? It’s just a pretty face. The real magic happens behind the curtain.”

He took note of the gold pen showcased on Nick’s desk. He picked it up…and threw it as hard as he could towards the bar. Nick flinched as glass bottles of fine liquor shattered.

“As we speak, there are deals closing all over the world,” Daniel continued. “Shipments being made back and forth through customs, all perfectly legal, as long as it has this company’s stamp…but that’s all about to unravel. And evidently, the only one who can keep the entire goddamn operation from crumbling into nothing, is ME!”

Nick tried not to flinch again at his father’s raised voice. That brought back memories too.

His gaze lowered. Meanwhile, Daniel took pains to inhale deeply, taking more even breaths. His hand brushed back his hair, as if smoothing down proverbial ruffled feathers.

“It’s all right, son,” he said with a slippery smile. “Azazel’s back in town.”

The next morning marked your official first day back in the office. After a little over a month of working from home, it felt odd to actually get dressed in the “workwear” side of your closet, complete with slacks, blouse, flat shoes, and a blazer.

No more making yourself a nice breakfast at home. No more Dean dropping in on his off days to hang out during the day, making you feel like you weren’t completely alone in your old, too-big house.

Back to the office, where you had to be completely and 100% on your game. Or else you wouldn’t be taken seriously by the would-be Jon Hamms of your office.

However, for every floor that Betsy the elevator climbed, the more your stomach churned. For once, it wasn’t just because you didn’t want to deal with Nick. You genuinely just didn’t want to be here.

“Buck up sweetheart,” as your grandfather would often say, when he watched you pause at the front door, taking a breath before you left for the day.

“Give it your very best, and no matter what crap happens afterwards, you can’t be disappointed in yourself.”

You remembered his encouragements. His smile. The way he subtly reminded you not to be so hard on yourself. The way he always knew how to make you laugh when you were at your most exhausted, or discouraged. The way he’d been your best friend and your father all at once.

You let out a shaky sigh, and you stopped the elevator three floors before the 22nd.

Before you fully realized what you were doing, you found yourself standing in the doorway of Andréa’s cubicle. She looked up at you a bit startled at first. Her brows drew together, but then, she seemed to soften.

You must’ve looked like hell.

“Hey…is it your first day back to the office?” she asked.

You nodded, because you weren’t sure what would come out if you spoke. Your hands were shaking, you also realized.

Andréa’s hazel eyes gentled. She stood and went over to you, resting a hand on your arm. After a beat, she just took your hand. You bit your lip, and your eyes watered, meeting hers.

“You’re not ready to be here, are you?” she asked.

After a beat, you made a negative sound and shook your head.

“Okay. Let’s get you back to your office so you can put in your PTO. I know you’ve got days racked up, since you’re a workaholic.”

You gave a tremulous smile. You let her lead you out of her cubicle and back towards the elevators.

“Nick is going to be an asshole about it,” you said weakly.

Andréa threw her head back and scoffed. “Nick can suck my dick twice on a Tuesday.”

She had you laughing through your tears. Then laughing until your stomach hurt.

She chortled, though she shushed you when you two walked out into the main hallway. A couple of guys from Legal shot you strange looks, but you ignored them. The lawyers at your company were starch-pressed assholes.

“Wanna grab brunch?” Andréa asked, when the elevator opened up for you two.

I’m sorry, her gaze said. You gave her a softer smile, accompanied by a nod.

Me too. You squeezed her hand. You two could talk the rest out later, but for now, you just wanted peace.

“Yeah, but for the love of God, not Geraldo’s,” you replied. “Last time, I think I got food poisoning just from the salad bar.”

Andréa laughed and pressed the floor for your office.

“Oh, hun. That’s what you get for eating rabbit food.”

Bit by bit, you started to pick up the pieces of yourself.

You ended up at Dean’s apartment more often than not, as being at home made your skin crawl with loneliness most nights.

He and Sam always welcomed you. In fact, Dean got a kick out of trading off cooking dinner with you. And you had to admit, he made a damn good burger.

So you decided to do something you hadn’t done in months. You grabbed every pan the brothers had, flour, eggs, sugar, salt, and the two leftover apples that looked like they were just about to turn. You started peeling them.

Meanwhile, Dean watched you spark to life as you baked in his kitchen. He sat from his corner at the dining table, still able to see you with his iPad in hand. A slow smile grew across his face.

“Apple pie?” he asked.

You looked up at him. “Apple cake. I don’t think I can compete with your mom’s recipe.”

“Damn, I really wish we had it,” he said. “I’d trust you do to it right.”

You tossed him a smile back. “Well, that’s high praise. Maybe one day I’ll give it a try…I don’t think I’ve made pie in a while.”

Dean watched you mix ingredients, whipping up a storm with the wooden spoon in the bowl. You dearly missed your Kitchen Aid mixer.

“You guys really need a better arsenal up in here,” you muttered. “Feel like I’m a damn Quaker churning butter over here.”

Your boyfriend burst out laughing. You looked up at him, your lips tugging back into a smile. You hadn’t even meant to make him laugh, but at least someone thought you were funny.

Dean tilted his head thoughtfully while he scrolled through football highlights on the small screen.

“Well, if you’re going to be over here more often, guess I’m gonna have to step up my game,” he said, “hit up a Homegoods.”

Your smile started to fall, as something occurred to you. “Oh, you don’t have to do all that.”

Dean noticed the shift in you, with a frown of his own.

“What?” he asked. You glanced over at him.

“Nothing, just…” You sighed. Hands on your hips, you paused in your churning to turn towards him. “It’s okay that I’ve been hanging out here more often, right? I mean…you’ll tell me if you need space. Or if Sam—”

Dean held up a hand. “Hold up. I’m gonna stop you right there.”

He set down his iPad on the table and got up from his seat. He joined you in the kitchen, letting his hand skim the counter as he drew into your personal space. You looked up at him and unconsciously held your breath.

Dean stroked your cheek with his thumb. “Have I said or done something to make you think I don’t want you here? Has Sam?”

You frowned, but you shook your head. “No, baby. I just want to make sure I’m not…I don’t know, overstaying my welcome.”

His eyes met yours frankly. “You’re not.”

His hand fell from your face, just to bring you in close by your waist. He dropped a kiss onto your forehead.

“I’d just be worrying about you over there anyway. Alone in that big house,” he admitted.

You blew out a breath and leaned into him, resting your hands against his chest.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Grandpa told me to sell it, but…I don’t know if I can do that.”

Dean didn’t want to tell you what to do here. Personally, he thought you’d be better off selling it, both for practical reasons and for your own wellbeing. But he could also understand the sentimental side of it too.

“Well, you’ve got time to figure it out,” he said.

You nodded. A smile returned to your face, and you looked up at him.

“But first, cake,” you said.

Dean smiled down at you. He could certainly live with that.

He later moaned while sampling said confection. The apple and spices were the perfect ratio of sweetness to softness. The cake was buttery and delicious. And you really were talented, he thought.

“I’m telling you, babe, you really need to get back into this,” he said around another bite. “I mean professionally. Who needs corporate assholes when you’ve got cinnamon apples?”

Sitting across from him at the dining table, you giggled at the sight of this massive man child with his mouth full. Though he might’ve had a point…maybe it was time to revisit your “pipe dream.” Or at least the very thing you went to school for.

If only working at a bakery slinging pastry dough paid the same as your sales job.

“This was my grandma’s recipe,” you told him. “She’s the one who taught me how to cook, how to bake.”

Dean made a “top notch” symbol with his hand. “She sure knew what she was doin’.”

Your good humor soon faded, though you tried to hide it. You were tired of bringing down the people around you. You wanted to just be yourself again…but it seemed your heavy heart wouldn’t let you.

You realized you hadn’t succeeded when Dean’s hand fell over yours. You looked up and met his eyes. They asked a question without speaking as his thumb rubbed over the back of your hand.

“My family’s gone, Dean,” you said wearily, fighting the tears stinging in your eyes.

You still technically had extended family members, but most of them had always looked down at your grandparents, after seeing how they’d “failed” with your mother, then raised the daughter she’d had from a one-night stand she’d met in a bar. Those same people had pitied you when you were young, and barely looked you in the eyes at both of your grandparents’ funerals.

So in your mind, the only real family you had was gone.

But Dean squeezed your hand.

“No,” he said. “They’re right here. In these hands.”

Once again his thumb swept across the back of your knuckles. “You’ve still got what they gave you. Your mind, your spirit, and a lot of other things that make you, you…”

His lips pulled at a smile.

“And you’ve still got me,” he added.

Slowly, you smiled back. You leaned over and held his face in your hands, stroking his stubble covered cheeks.

“That I do,” you said, and your voice only shook a little. “Thank God for that.”

When you kissed him, it felt as natural as taking a breath. You two had shared tender moments in the past few weeks, born of pain and comfort. But this time had a spark of hunger as your hand drifted down his neck.

Dean kissed you back, pleasantly surprised by the demand of your tongue. He hummed in question, though he gripped your arms to keep you close.

You answered him by licking further into his mouth, kissing him deeper. You broke for a moment, just to meet his eyes. The heat in his was familiar, prickling delightful sensations across your skin. Especially when he dragged you into his lap and continued to devour you against the kitchen table.

Your hands slipped under his black Henley and between the muscles in his back. Some of them twitched under your touch, and you let your nails drag slowly back down his spine.

Fuck, he shuddered. It felt nice (and arousing), but it reminded him of other times your nails had raked across his back.

He gripped your thighs tight, and he contemplated laying you out right here on the dining table, for all he cared. Matter of fact, he’d eat apple cake off your body, if you were down for it.

Unfortunately, that was when Sam finally unlocked the door and got home from work. He caught you and Dean breathless and pupils wide, your hair frizzy and your shirt halfway up over your bra. You hastily tugged it down, while he did the same for himself.

Meanwhile, Sam just rolled his eyes.

“You do have a room, you know,” he said wryly.

Dean cleared his throat and shot you a meaningful look. You nodded, slipping off his lap. But you grabbed his hand and pulled him up with you.

Dean shot his brother a wink over his shoulder. “When the room’s a rockin’, don’t come a knockin’.”

Sam scoffed. “As if I’d give myself that kind of family trauma.”

“Leftovers are in the fridge, Sam!” you called, even though you were halfway down the hall with Dean on your heels.

Sam huffed as he heard your squeal, followed by a door slamming shut. And yet, he smiled. His brother might’ve become part of the “happily committed,” but some things just didn’t change.

Afterwards, you really felt nothing but peace.

Your head rested on your arms, across Dean’s lap. You were comfortable and naked and tangled in his sheets, while he soothed a hand through your wild hair. Ace Ventura played on the TV, and you enjoyed listening to him laugh.

You were too tired, physically and emotionally, to be as vocal. Your body shook in silent laughter, goaded on by his. And that was enough for Dean.

It was enough for you too.

AN: 🥹 I hope you enjoyed that bit of hurt/comfort at the end there, but really throughout this. Dean's really proved himself, hasn't he? But let's talk about "Azazel"...

Did you like the reveal? It changes how you look at Nick, huh?

Well, he's about to get worse.

(Don't worry too much though. There will be protective!Dean.)

Next Time:

He grabbed your arm. “Hey, we didn’t get a chance to catch up tonight.”

You shoved his hand off of you.

“Don’t you ever in your life touch me again,” you warned him. Your eyes were as hard as your voice. “I don’t think there’s anyone on the planet—no. In the whole damn universe who sickens me more than you, Nick Savage.”

Nick straightened a little, frowning at you. Whatever he saw in your gaze, he didn’t seem to like the challenge.

Keep Reading: PART 13

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

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#All in the Family #Smoke Eater #Part 12 #dean winchester #Firefighter!Dean Winchester #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x you #firefighter AU #dean winchester AU #Castiel #spn #supernatural #benny lafitte #jo harvelle #ellen harvelle #zepskies writes

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

Text

Stuck in the Middle

Sequel to All in the Family

Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, age gap, cheating, cutting, blood, boring sex, fuckboy energy.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your return to campus brings some unexpected changes.

Characters: silverfox!Loki, glimpses of Heimdall, shades of Victor Shade (Vision)

Note: Well, I decided to get messy so expect at least a third part.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Mario loves pipes. Take care. 💖

"Has anyone been to the Nornheim Museum?" The professor asks as he pokes his slender glasses up his nose.

You're of the few to murmur and raise your hand in affirmation. You shift in your seat, leaning your elbow heavy on the foldout desk as the memories tingle in your core.

"Not many have this privilege, darling," Loki's long finger tapped on the glass above the forged buckle, "it is said to have belonged to the great Ragnar but often those of the same name are confused for one another and few names were rare in those days."

The echo of his voice in your head distracts your from the lesson as the slide flips and you sink down in your chair, crossing a leg over the other as you fight the other memories. The tickle of wandering fingers and intonation of less informative words in your ear. The way Loki strode confidently in the barren museum as if luring you into his maze of tricks and traps.

'It is a pity my son was too enamoured with his video games to join us,' Loki nudged his office door open, his name etched into the golden placard mounted on the wood, 'he surely is missing out, though he never does seem to see the whole picture.'

You sniff and tap your pen on the desk. You squeeze your thighs together and push the end to your lips, biting down as your skin spatters with heat.

'Darling,' his words rumbled against your thigh as you lay across his desk, your jeans on the floor and your sweat pushed above your chest. 'Mm, I have been thinking of the taste of you and nothing else.'

His teeth clasped around the top pf your panties and he urged them down slowly with a snarl. You quivered as he dragged them lower, hands on your knees as he felt your flesh cloyingly. You moaned as your body responded, as the warmth seeped in anticipation.

"...I recommend you invest in this trip, it will be vital to much of this course and invaluable to you as an aspiring historian…" the dull voice of the lecturer drones on.

You gripped the sides of desk, knuckles aching as you curled your fingers tighter with each thrust. Your legs stretched up Loki's torso, your feet at his shoulders as he kneaded your thighs and he stared at the way he slid in and out, the wet noises filling his office. You admired the grey hairs along his chest, curly and soft.

'Touch yourself,' he puffed, 'let me see what makes you cum.'

You were quick to obey, fingers gliding easily along your wet cunt and flicking around your clit. You pushed an elbow into the wood and raised yourself as you arched your spine and whined. He did not let up as he kept his motion rampant.

'A creature like you should never be so neglected,' he bent his head to kiss the top of your foot, his rhythm turning rough and ragged, 'cum for me, darling, for you have me at the cusp.'

You clear your throat and shrug off the thoughts though they tug at the nape of your neck. You need to focus. That was a mistake. Regrettable. Messy.

You lean your chin and your hand and make yourself focus on the image projected across the front of the lecture hall. That's what youth is for, isn't it? Mistakes.

Another hour slogs by as you fight the holiday hangover. Finally free from the introductory monologue, you pack up and slip your phone free from the side pocket of your bag. You drag your feet down the centre aisle as you light up the screen with your thumb.

Finn, again. He didn't take the news well. It was the only thing you could do. Breaking up was inevitable. You just didn't mesh. And his father…

No, that didn't happen. Nor will it happen again. By cutting ties with Finn, you'll make sure of it.

You ignore his messages and swipe away the missed calls. You know he's a man baby but this is a bit much. He didn't care before, not when you were fucking. He reminded you constantly how much better he could do, well so could you.

The winter perseveres into the new year, hardly making for a fresh start as the snow is stained grey with dirt. Your boots crunch along the pathway across the campus courtyard and you send up a cloud of breath into the crisp air. The library furnace chugs a steady billow of smoke into the sky and adds to the mid-afternoon dim.

You shuffle into the lobby of your building with the beep of your fob and the door catches behind you. You don't think much of it, assuming it's another resident as you cross the floor littered with slush and water dripped off of boots. You're pulled back by your arm before you can reach the stairs.

"You think you can just ignore me?" Finn spins you to hit the wall and you let out a low oomph.

"What the fuck–"

He startles you as he slaps the wall on either side of your head and looms over you, "you won't even give me a chance. We could talk this out, babe."

"Finn, please, it wouldn't have worked out, we're just too different."

"That's what makes it work," he pouts, "please–"

"Don't act like it was more than it was. I shouldn't have agreed to go all the way to Jotun with you."

"Then why did you?"

"Because… I don't know."

"What changed?"

"Nothing," you take a breath, "it was never that good to begin with. Please, Finn, go to a party, find another girl."

"I want to know why," he snarls and leans in, "tell me."

Your throat constricts. You could tell him. You could confess. No, that's stupid because you forgot. It didn't happen. It can't have happened. His parents are married and you and him are done.

"Just… you really want to know?"

"I have to know," he balls his right hand hits the wall, "how can someone like you dump me?"

You frown at the backhanded question and shake your head, "the sex was awful and dry.

He snorts and pushes away from you, pivoting on his heel as he laughs, "sure, and you were all that."

"Finn, let it go. It was two months–"

"You're lying. The sex was great," he rambles as he prowls back and forth in front of you, "so there's something else. Or… someone else."

You clamp your lips guiltily and fight to keep your cool, "no, just you. Finn, you spent the whole visit with other people. Let's not make it more than it was."

He rolls his eyes and screeches to halt as he faces you, "fine, I'll go hit up Samantha. She always was a good time. You know–" he points a finger in your face as he steps closer, "she tried to fuck me at her little birthday bash and I said no. For you."

You glower and look at the door, "so what? You've obviously been thinking of it ever since. You're free, go fuck Samantha."

“You don’t mean that,” he whines.

You flick your eyes in his direction and he scowls. Your face says it all. He curls his lip and kicks his foot over the floor in frustration.

“You always were so fucking stubborn,” he snaps and stomps to the door, “have fun. Alone.”

He swings open the door and storms into the lobby, the door falling heavy behind him. You flinch and part from the wall as you shake off the encounter. Being alone can’t be so bad if he’s the alternative.

🐍

“I see Finn is pulling out all the stops,” Neve remarks as you blindly wander into the front room, rubbing your eyes with the fraying cuffs of the oversized sweatshirt.

“What–” You cross your arms in the chill of the dorm and check the window. It’s closed, “why is it so goddamn cold?”

“Apparently, the water heater is broke for this entire block,” she shrugs and you notice the layers of turtleneck, hoodie, and robe around her, “lucky us.”

“Fuck,” you sneer, “just what we needed.”

“Not like the water ever gets hot anyway,” she says as she scrolls on her phone, sipping from a tall porcelain mug, “whatever, you got a surprise in the kitchen.”

“Surprise?” You shiver and drag your feet across the cramped front room and enter the boxy kitchen with its half-sized appliances.

A plinthed vase with two branches of orchids stands on the only counter space left, the white petals tipped with a deep purple. Flowers? Really? Not what you expect from your ex, especially after your last conversation. It makes you wonder if he did fuck Samantha after all. Is this guilty planted in stone?

There’s a card perched on a plastic stick dug into the dirt. You’re ready to tear it up already. Two months and now he cares. You don’t think for a moment that some flowers will cure his selfishness. You take the envelope and tear the flap carelessly. You slip the card up and flip it open.

‘Thinking of you, L.’

Ohhhhh.

Oh.

Shit.

“So, you gonna forgive him?” Neve frightens you as she shuffles in and brushes by to rinse her coffee cup.

“Um,” you quickly push the card back in the envelope and hide it up your sleeve, “I don’t think so.”

“They’re pretty flowers. Didn’t think he had taste beyond labels.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t,” you scoff, “I’ll get these out of the way.”

“Still, I’ve never had anyone send me flowers. Guess girls don’t work like that,” she chuckles, “not the ones I’ve dated, at least.”

You give a small snort as you lift the vase and nearly drop it. It’s heavier than you expect. You carry it back into your room and push an empty container out of the way to set it on your dresser. You really need to start throwing away your shit.

You grab the empty cardboard and the half-finished cup of soda and go to dump it out in the kitchen. Never hovers in the front room, her slippers scuffing on the floor as she chatters.

“I was gonna take a shower,” she bemoan as she rubs her hands together, “fuck this building.”

“Did you talk to the building manager?”

“I talked to Ariel across the hall. She called. Maintenance is three days out.”

“What? Three days?”

“I guess that’s what we get for being poor as fuck,” she scoffs, “not the first time I’ve had a cold shower.”

“Me either,” you resign as another shiver crawls up your back.

“Well… you could call Finn, go on the rebound for a few days and get us access to that nice condo shower–”

“No,” you huff and she laughs at your scrunched expression.

“I’m kidding, but a girl can dream,” she chimes.

“I got class,” you grumble.

“I’ll probably chill at the library, they always got the heat cranked to hellfire.”

“Good idea, I’ll meet you there after,” you turn on your heel as the envelope chafes in your sleeve, “fuck, things just keep getting better, don’t they?”

🐍

Professor Shade nods at another student as you wait anxiously. Two weeks into classes and you feel as if you’re running from behind already. You step up when the path is clear, your nerves pinging off each other. Talking about money is never an enjoyable experience.

“Professor,” you say as he gathers up the pile of proposals handed in at the beginning of class. He glances at you with pale blue eyes as you shift on your feet.

“Yes?” He says evenly. His mood is always placid, always measured, and entirely hard to read. You can’t tell if he’s bothered or interested.

“About the trip to Jotun, um, my work study was only just confirmed so I won’t have the money by next class. I can bring a deposit though–”

“Very well,�� he agrees easily, “I’m no debt collector.” He stands straight, the silver woven into his yellow hair catching the bright lights of the lecture hall, “As long as you can have it all by the day of.”

“Alright,” you say with a sigh of relief, “thanks, professor.”

You smile and turn to scurry away, “I believe you are of the few who’ve seen Nornheim before?”

You pause and face him again, “yes, I went… last month. Over the holiday.”

“Ah, it must’ve been busy.”

Your neck burns as you swallow, “um, yeah, not too bad.”

“Are you from Jotun then? Visiting family?”

Despite his words, you find it hard to gauge his interest as his tone remains unaffected.

“Yeah,” you lie, well, not entirely.

“And did you enjoy the museum?”

“Yeah, it was nice,” you say as you struggle to recall any of the actual displays. You were too distracted.

“They are opening a special exhibit on Norse mythos for our visit, we’ll be there upon the first day,” he explains as he shoves away the papers in his bag, “so it won’t be all old hat to you.”

“Great,” you say sheepishly, “sorry, I gotta go. My work study–”

“Ah, yes, good luck, where is it?”

“The library,” you answer breezily.

“Oh, very good. When I was your age, I ended up in the Economic office. What a miserable plight that was.” He shoulders his bag, “anyhow, I’ll let you go.”

“Thanks, professor,” you force a smile and quickly flit out behind the last of the stragglers.

You button up your coat and wind your scarf around your neck as you head out into the crisp winter welcome. You carefully plod down the icy steps and your boots crack through the already shattered sheets across the campus pathway. The library bustles with activity as you approach, the cafe visible through the front windows is crowded with bodies waiting for their warm treats.

You push inside through one of several heavy doors and pull out your student card to scan through the gates into the main floor. You dust off your shoulders and head to the counter where a librarian works at filling a cart with returns. You pick at the edge of your pocket as you clear your throat.

“Excuse me, um, I’m a work-study student.”

She peeks over at you through her thick lenses, “which one?”

“Uh,” you give your name, “I’m supposed to be working with–”

“Heimdall,” she finishes for you, “so not mine.”

“Yeah, that’s right, I… where would I find him.”

“Well, you’re working in a library, you’ll have to figure out how to find things, won’t you?” She says tersely as she continues her labour, “they always send me the worst…” she mutters, “always late.”

You bite your lip and frown. How in the heck are you supposed to find your supervisor? You can’t just walk behind the desk. Are you just supposed to stand her and hover like a moth?

“Lorelai,” a deep voice underlines the silence of the library, “must you be so adverse?”

You glance over as a man with bright hazel eyes appears from around the other end of the desk. His irises almost look golden as they reflect the lights above. He is tall with straight shoulders and a calm gait. His dark hair is marked with a single streak of silver.

“Heimdall, you must be…” he introduces himself as he lifts the door of the desk and steps through, “early. Good start.”

“Oh, hi,” you say as he keeps the door up on its hinges.

“First thing, let’s get your stuff away,” he gestures to the bag bulging against your hip, “then we’ll have a tour.”

“Oh, sure, thanks.”

“Try not to track that muck everywhere,” Lorelai warns.

“Ignore her. Bad break up,” he beckons you through and follows you, directing you away from the prickly woman.

“Her? I can’t imagine why,” you say under your breath. He chuckles and you regret the careless comment.

“Complicated, I hear,” he remarks, “right, in my office here.” He points you into a doorway, “coat racks in the corner, I’ll be out here.”

You step into the office, the scent of sandalwood laced with vanilla greets you warmly. A desk lamp glows amber over an open book and a deep red carpet sprawls over the worn wooden floor. It’s cozy and makes you want to linger. Despite the maintenance coming in every other day, the heat in your apartment still lingers between entirely kaput and boiling hot. You could spend a week here, nice and warm.

You hang your coat on the rack beside a dark brown coat with a blue scarf slung over it. You leave your bag at the base and reluctantly retreat. Heimdall stands at the desk, scribbling on a scrap of paper before handing it over to a student. He gives a nod as the freshman blinks up at him and slowly leaves. He is rather intimidating.

“Lorelai, how about we do the returns so I can show her around?” Heimdall turns to his coworker coolly.

“And what about me?” She whines.

“When do you ever leave the desk?” He challenges smoothly and she winces.

“Yes, I suppose, Heim,” she quickly backs down, “damn kid is late anyhow.”

“It’s not even five yet. He’s not late, you’re just impatient.”

Heimdall gets behind the cart as Lorelai backs away with a scowl. You hurry forward to lift the door for him and he thanks you as he rolls through. You follow at his heels, though he keeps his pace slow but steady.

“Don’t let her bother you. It’s just her nature,” he says, “truly, nothing is so complicated here.”

“Yeah, no worries,” you say.

“Just do your work, listen, be helpful where you can,” he says as he leans on the cart, somehow even hunching he seems massive, “and never hesitate to ask questions.”

“Sounds good,” you turn your hands out plaintively.

“Oh, and feel free to use the kettle in my office, the one in the breakroom is dangerous.”

“Er, alright,” you say lightly, “thanks.”

“Right, now, here’s your first lesson, from our pleasant Lorelai, don’t do this,” he turns to cart and points along the spine, “the easiest thing to do I find is to follow the decimal system. You want to arrange these…” he starts moving books and shifting the rows, “so that as you’re putting them back, you’re not going back and forth.”

“Makes sense,” you nod as you watch him.

He steps back and looks at you, “why don’t you finish this and we’ll see how you do?”

“Right,” you step forward, “sure thing.”

🐍

You take your tea latte off the counter and barely save it from being splashed across your coat as you stop short of the body behind you.

“I heard you were working in here now,” Samantha trills as she sweeps her fingers through a bouncy blonde wave, “good idea since you dropped Finn, I guess.”

“Hmm, hi Sam, what’s up?” You blow over the lid and sidle out of the way of another waiting customer.

“Oh, you know, same as usual,” she gives a trite smirk.

“Mhmm,” you’re put off by her tone and abrupt greeting. Her name is called and she takes her latte with a derisive flick of her lashes, “so,” she moves with you as you try to avoid blocking others from the order shelf, “this is what you’ve been doing? Counting books?”

“Well, uh–”

“You really hurt Finn.”

You frown and swallow back confusion, “yeah, we broke up after Christmas. Just wasn’t working–”

“Oh, I heard all about it,” she sneers, “he doesn’t shut up about you.”

“I don’t– did I do something wrong?”

“Well, let’s start with you dating him. You knew I was into him.”

“No, I didn’t,” you tilt your head.

“Come on, you knew,” she whines.

“You never said anything–”

“Don’t act so stupid,” she huffs, “now he won’t stop going on about you. About what you did to him.”

“Well I’m sorry but I can’t do anything about that. I broke up with him. It’s done. If he won’t let go–”

“You cheated on him. That’s disgusting.”

“What…” you wince, “what do you mean?”

“He told me. He said there’s no other reason for you to break up with him. And we both know how much he talks in bed. So who was it?”

You give a look of revulsion and shake your head, “you’re getting one side of the story, alright? We dated for two months, it’s not that dee–”

You step back as she raises her cup but not quick enough as she dumps it over your head. The foam and hot coffee soaks through your hair and waterfalls down your shoulders and chest. You barely keep hold of your own cup as you gape and exclaim at the nip of heat that scalds the nap of your neck.

“What the fuck–”

“You really fucked him up and now I have to pick up the pieces,” she snarls and throws the cup in your face, “I always knew you were trash.”

You hold out your arms as you drip with espresso and the foam melts into your hair and coat. She shoulders past you and marches out on her heeled boots. You turn and a dozen other students stare back, some laughing, some whispering about the scene.

Horrified, you put your drink on the counter full of sweetener and dairy and take a handful of napkins. You leave the cup and rush out as you try futilely to dry yourself off with the three-ply. You’ll just go home and call Heimdall to let him know–

Too late. You hear your name as you try to rush by the end of the desk that overlooks the front lobby. You stop and cringe before you force yourself to run back. You near as you pat your face with the napkins.

“Um, yeah, I was gonna call and say–”

“What happened to you?” He asks.

“Just… ran into someone by accident,” you lie.

“Yeah, looks like quite the accident.”

“I should probably run and get changed,” you say, “I’m sorry.”

“Sure, probably,” he says, “if you don’t feel up to coming back tonight, I won’t dock the hours.”

“No, it’s fine,” you sniff as the embarrassment swells behind your eyes, “I’ll just… go and be back soon. Okay?”

“Take your time,” he gives a pitiful smile, “you know where to find me.”

“Yep,” you nod and quickly spin away, “see ya soon.”

You slip as you cross the lobby, barely keeping afoot as your steps are hampered by the slush left by those entering and the drink leaking down your body. The overwhelming scent of vanilla chokes you and curdles in your stomach. It feels an awful lot like guilt.

🐍

You block Finn’s number, his TikTok, Insta, everything you can think of. Sam too. You just want to forget about it all.

The task is made all the harder as the day of the trip to Nornheim approaches. You have the last of your fee ready, a few meals sacrificed towards it, and you arrive early to meet the bus and Professor Shade. The other students are barely awake as they shuffle towards the door.

“Sir,” you approach the professor as he folds up the collar of his red coat, “here.”

He takes the envelope and doesn’t bother to look inside. “Thank you. Excited?” He tucks away the money inside his jacket and buttons it back up, patting his chest firmly.

“Yeah, pretty excited,” you say as you move to join the line waiting to board the bus.

“And the library, how is that?”

You’re surprised he’s remembered. You haven’t seen or spoke to him much aside from counting out your pennies for the bus ride. “It’s not bad. I mostly deal with library services like the computers and printers and stuff.”

As you get to the doors, you climb up the steps and pass the driver as you watch the bodies shambling into the seats. He trails you, almost too close as he assures the driver that all are present and ready to depart.

“Ah, looks like you’re stuck with me,” he waves to the only remaining row of seats, “do you prefer the window?”

“Either is fine,” you answer.

“Go on,” he directs you and you turn to shimmy into the far seat. He sits beside you at the front, his long legs confined in the tight row, “so, you said you have family in Jotun?”

“I know some people there,” you say evasively as you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. You ignore it.

“As do I,” he says as he opens his scarf and lets it hang down his chest as he unbuttons his coat. The engine rumbles on as the driver calls for all to sit down. “At Nornheim, actually. The curator is a friend of mine, he was the one who offered us this privilege. Clever man, I usually run into him at conferences and the like.”

“The curator?” You try not to show your alarm, “wow.”

“Yes, well, I will admit, he did prevail over me in acquiring that position. Maybe friends is a strong word for us,” he gives a light chuckle.

Your phone buzzes several times and you try to ignore it but it’s heard in the lull. He glances down towards the noise and you push your bag against the wall of the bus to pull off your mitts. He rests his elbow on the armrest between you.

“Someone calling?” He wonders.

“No, just those dumb automated reminders, you know?” You are getting way too comfortable with lying.

“Ah, well, as we are on the subject, the museum is hosting a conference in the spring. I’ve yet to announce it so I must caution secrecy, but there will be some papers selected from the class to present there.”

“Oh,” you look at him in surprise, “that’s… big.”

“Yes, it would be a great opportunity,” he nods, “during today’s visit, perhaps we might run into the curator. He would have more details. Right now everything is a bit tenuous.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” you promise.

“I do appreciate the discretion,” he smiles.

Your phone vibes again and you sigh, “sorry, let me just turn this one silent.”

You lift yourself slightly as you dig your hand in your pocket and pull out your phone. He distracts himself as he bends one leg over the other and attempts to get comfortable. Your screen is filled with notifications. You unlock it and pull down the menu to hit the mute button, but another deluge of alerts come in.

You click on the first one and find yourself tagged on an Insta page. At the top, you’re declared as a slut and nothing else. Your chest sinks as your photo is top and center below the nasty title. You should just block and close but the dread-filled curiosity urges you on.

You drag your thumb down and reveal several photos. Several stupid moments you wish you could take back in the moment. Images of you in your panties, some topless, others not, dumb decisions made at the behest of a pleading man child. Finn said he deleted them. He promised.

“Everything alright?” Shade asks and you quickly hide your phone.

“Yeah, yeah, missed a call from my mom but it’s fine,” you keep your screen tilted away as you hit the report button. Hopefully, it’s taken down before it gets any more traction.

“You look… upset. Is she okay?”

“Who?”

“Your mother?” He prompts.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I’m sorry. I’m just–” you put your phone in your purse, “I just want to enjoy the museum. I’m really excited.”

He smiles and his arm shifts on the rest, for a moment, you think he might touch your hand but he draws away, “I rarely see such enthusiasm in my pupils. I hope you do find it an enriching experience.”

“Yeah, thanks, I’m sure it will be,” you say as you look out the window, “it really is awesome we get to go.”

🐍

As you arrive at the museum, you free yourself from the professor and keep to the edge of the group. He directs the lot of sleepy sophomores up the vaunted steps of the Nornheim and speaks briefly with the front desk before proceeding. You follow and try to ignore the odd glance of judgment sent in your direction. Phones are to be kept muted but not prohibited completely.

You’re led on a basic tour of the main wing and you find yourself slipping into reverie at your last visit, desperately trying to ignore the spattering heat as Loki’s ghost lingers there. The familiarity reminds you of what you did, of his office, of his goading words...

At the end of the curated part, you are led to a new wing where the Norse exhibit is set up. There, the silver-haired man awaits you. You hide in the back as Loki welcomes you to the Halls of the Nine Realms.

“Thank you all for coming,” Loki’s timbre sinks into you and you squirming. You close your eyes and try not to think. Just listen. “As a favour to your professor, I’ve allowed you a special preview of this exhibit. Your tour will be unguided but you can find staff as defined by their lanyards. They will be more than happy to assist.

“Without further ado, welcome. And I hope you enjoy this as it has been an especially dear labour to my heart.”

With his final words, the students slowly disperse, aimless at first as the hall dims and spectral lights cast across the walls. You make an effort to keep yourself close to another pair, to try to lose yourself in the crowd. With any luck, he’ll never know you were there.

You stop at the family tree of the legendary gods and keep your chin down. Before you can move on, you’re trapped by the voices that come not too far away.

“Victor,” Loki greets, “you’ve brought quite the rabble.”

“Laufeyson,” Shade replies, “you’ve outdone yourself.”

“Don’t give me all the credit, your help was much appreciated,” the response comes lithely, the men parrying in a sort of verbal fencing.

You sidles along, careful not to cause too much disturbance as you find a display of the World’s Tree to skirt around. Their voices fade as you drift into the background. You shouldn’t have come. The cost alone should’ve been enough to deter you. This is a mistake, you feel it in your core. If you have to face Loki…

“Oh, pardon,” the voice startles you as much as the wall you collide with. Not a wall at all, but another person. Professor Shade gently touches your shoulder as he takes a step back, “I should look where I’m going.”

“No, no, I should,” you say, “sorry, I–”

“It’s easy to get carried away in here,” he coaxes, “don’t you think?”

“Yeah, it’s so… elaborate,” you peer around, “I’m really happy I could come.”

“Me too,” he smiles and quickly turns to look at the placard on the side of the World’s Tree, “what I mean is…I think it is a worthy experience for all my students.”

“Oh sure, in Carfrae, we don’t have a museum anymore.”

“Carfrae,” he toys with the word, “ah, my hometown.”

“You’re from Carfrae?” You utter in disbelief, his accent would hardly betray his origin.

“Oh yes, not many who would guess but I do carry that chip on my shoulder,” he pushes back his jacket as he tucks his hands in his pockets, “let me say, you cannot let that place hold you back.”

“I try not to.”

“You haven’t. You’re here. You’re a smart girl,” he bows his head, “you’ll go far.”

“Thanks, uh, we’ll see,” you see Loki’s shoulders as he hovers along a cluster of students, watching as they gather around a display.

“Don’t let me distract you, sorry,” he steps away, “I too prefer to take things in on my own.”

“It’s not that–”

“Truly, it isn’t an issue, I would rather you get what you can of it, however you must,” he slips his hands from his pocket and pivots on his heel, “I am meant to be overseeing this lot as it is.”

He strides off, greeting Gavin brightly and you tiptoe further around the tree. You slouch and edge along the far wall, digging in your purse for your phone. You check the time. There’s at least an hour left. You can’t help but note the endless notifications stacking up beneath the bold digits.

You open your phone and check the page again. Still there. Sixty comments on the most recent post, more and more as you swipe lower. Your chest fills with terror. What do you do? What can you do?

You fumble and quickly dial Finn’s number. You wait for an answer but none comes. You’ve been blocked as well. You try Sam and the same. You swear and rip your phone away from your ear as you flip back to Insta.

“Excuse me, but I must ask that you make any calls–” Loki’s voice startles you and you spin to face him as your cell slides out of your hand. You try to catch it but only send it to his feet. He looks down then back at you, “darling.”

“Shit,” you hiss and bend to snatch your phone but he’s first to get to it. He holds it out of your grasp as he straightens and steps closer.

“Why didn’t you say hello?”

You swallow, “I… I broke up with Finn.”

“As I expected. My own son, I must admit, never deserved you.”

“Please. Don’t,” you plead, “I feel rotten enough.”

“Why? Because we had some fun? Because I treated you as you should be?”

“Can I just have my phone back?”

“Darling, what’ve I done? Did you not get my gift?”

“Oh… the flowers? Yeah, they’re nice but–”

“Is it someone else? I wouldn’t hold that against you, darling, you’re young and I hope I’ve shown you how much more you deserve–”

“Please, just–”

“It is rather improper to have one’s phone out in the museum,” he intones as he looks at your cell, “rather insulting to–” He pauses and blinks at your screen. You grab for the phone and try to cover it. He angles it away from you as his thumb scrolls, “ah, yes, my son. He does always make me proud.”

“He’s just upset. That’s it. But he doesn’t know about us, I promise.”

“Us?” He relents and holds out your cell. You take it.

“About what happened. Not us. There is no us.”

“There isn’t?” He asks flatly.

“I don’t… know?”

“I think about it every day. Don’t you?” He lowers his voice.

“You’re married.”

“And?”

“I dated your son. Your son who hates me.”

“And?”

“And?” You echo in exasperation. “We can’t do this.”

“Tell me, darling, it will not bother me if there is another. Does he treat you well?”

“There isn’t anyone else, okay? This is too much already. It’s messy and we never should have– ever–” You struggle to keep from hyperventilating, “you can’t just–”

“Do you not look fondly back at how I made you purr, darling? Of the feel of my lips? On yours? Elsewhere? Of how you fit me perfectly–”

“Please.”

“Please. I am consumed by you, darling, I must confess it. And I remain as chaste in my marriage as before. My wife will not have me and I would only have you.”

“No, it’s wrong.”

“You are young, mistakes are the gift of youth,” he slithers and you flinch as he reaches to your collar, he tugs down your sweater and traces the scar left by the knife, “stay. I can drive you back to campus in the morning. You can help close up again. Just you and I.”

“I can’t,” you draw back and look around. You see Professor Shade as he chats with Anna and he notices your gaze over her head. He gives a small wave before you turn back to Loki, “I have classes.”

“How do you like Professor Shade? Helpful?”

“I guess–”

“Handsome?”

“What?”

“He does have a certain allure, doesn’t he?”

“No, Loki, please–”

“Let us not pretend, you have very particular tastes, don’t you, darling?”

“You–”

“Stay,” he insists, “I’ll have you back for classes. We’ll get a suite and catch up.”

“Loki…”

“Do you really want to go back there? With all that has transpired? The chaos my son has sewn for you.”

“But–”

“Tell him you have family here. That you are staying to take in the sights and visit.”

“What?”

“The professor that does dote on you,” he intones, “I cannot blame him and I do not. Let him down easy.”

You rub your cheek and sigh. He’s not wrong, you don’t want to go back. Not yet. You’re not ready to face all the shit coming your way. And that twinge deep inside you won’t let you go.

You have to be honest, at least with yourself. You came knowing he would be there, that you would more than likely run into him. You came because of him, no matter how much you deny it.

“You’re wrong about him,” you say, “not everyone is you.”

“No they are not,” he agrees with a smirk.

“I’ll skip the bus,” you resign, “but not my classes.”

“Good girl, as always,” he winks and steps away, “I can suffer a few more hours for you.”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #all in the family #silverfox #heimdall #vision #victor shade #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor #au

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