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like-a-bag-of-potatoes · 4 years

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Then and Now - Smells Like Home

AN: It's been a while since I’ve written Supernatural, or Dean, but I'm back now with a new Series. Gonna be 10 parts in total with a lot of feels and fluffs. I've been toying with this idea since I started re-watching spn earlier this year (thank you quarantine) and then after reading a series by the amazing @percywinchester27 I got inspired and started writing. Shout out to my awesome beta @thorne93, you da bees knees.

AN2: I'm doing a thing where I raffle off a personalised drabble every month. How do you join? Easy, just hammer that reblog button. Reblog is one entry, reblog with comment is two entries. So you help spread my work and you might get a little sumpthin’ in return. Win Win

Pairing: AUDean x Reader

Warnings: None I think.

Wordcount: 2494

Summary: It's 2010 and you’re back in Lawrence to settle your family’s affairs after your mom passed. You hope to be in and out of town before anyone really knows you’re there, but that doesn't go as plan. Will a certain green eyed mechanic convince you to come back to the life you once had in Lawrence? Or are you going to return to the real world as soon everything is settled?

The small town air in Lawrence was so much different than the polluted, exhaust filled air in New York. Here, you could actually breathe and not feel as though your mouth and lungs filled with whirled up dust and fumes from the constant traffic. It was something that you had gotten used to doing as the first thing when you reached a new place, to draw a deep breath through your nose and smell the town. It sounds weird, but every town and city had its unique smell, and Lawrence? Well… Lawrence smelled like home.

It had been a long time since you called Lawrence home though, and now, considering the circumstances, you didn't know if this place would ever feel like home again. Even though it smelled like it.

The town passed by the window as your cab made its way through it, some of the small businesses that you remember going to as a kid had been replaced by others, but some remained just as you remembered them. Like Rufus’ Hardware, where your dad got all his tools and things like that, and Harvelle’s Scoops where you used to hang out after school. The memories made in that place brought a smile to your lips. It had little to do with the fantastic ice cream sundaes they served, and all to do with the group of friends you used to hang out with. At the edge of town, you passed the Winchester Auto Shop, and again you smiled. The facade hadn't changed since you were here last, and neither had the clutter that surrounded it. Dean Winchester ran it now, your mom had told you not to long ago. John had passed away about a year earlier, in his sleep of all things. You had thought then about picking up and calling Dean, to offer your condolences, but it didn't seem appropriate after all this time.

A knot started to form in your stomach as the cab turned from the main road and started down the gravel path that led to your childhood home. This place would never be the same again to you, not now that you were the only one left. The words your father had preached so many times echoed in your ears as the house came into view, and all of a sudden you felt the familiar sting of tears behind your eyes. ‘A home is not created by four walls and a roof, it's the family inside that makes a home’, but there was no family left in that house, and therefore it was no longer a home.

It smelled like home though, moreso out here than it did in town. It smelled of freshly cut grass and flowers, and somehow it still smelled of the livestock that hadn't lived in the barn in many years. When your father had died about six years ago, your mom had discontinued the run of the farm, she just wasn't up for the task anymore and you weren't willing then to come back and help her. It was a huge mistake you had made back then, something you'd have to carry the guilt of for the rest of your life.

As you climbed the few steps up to the front porch of the house, the planks creaked just the way they had always done, and a weird feeling of comfort crept upon you. It was soon washed away though, as you saw the wilted flowers in the pots on each side of the door. Memories of planting the flowers every spring with your mom played in your mind, bringing with them a hollow sadness that you couldt allow yourself to feel right now. The flowers before you had wilted away, just like your mom had done, alone on this farm without anything or anyone breathing life into them.

You had abandoned her when she needed you the most, and that was something you could never take back. And for what exactly? Your career? The illusion of love from a man that turned out to be something else entirely? The starry eyed dream that a city like New York promised to make true? No. It was all for nothing, and it was too late to make things right now, you could never fix this mistake.

Pushing away your emotions wasn't easy, especially as you walked through the old house that hadn't changed much and the memories from your childhood threatened to bring you to your knees. No, you had to push it all away. You were here to get things in order so that you could sell the place and then haul your ass out of town again. A week. Two at the most, and then you could return to the messy life you had left back in New York.

***

It was early in the morning when the sun crept through the curtains of your room, making you groan in displeasure. Back in New York, tall buildings surrounded yours making it so the sun didn't reach your window until 11am. Something that suited your lifestyle perfectly. You were a night owl, always had been.

As you opened your eyes, you saw the five members of Backstreet Boys smiling down at you and you couldn't help but laugh. The poster you had once hung in the ceiling had been long forgotten, as had the girl that hung it up there. It was barely past six am as you begrudgingly dragged yourself out of bed, but the sooner you got started, the sooner you could get out of here and back to the big city where you belonged. Nothing had changed in your room in the past - what- 13 years since you lived here. Your parents hadn't touched it, and whenever you visited, you never stayed long enough to bother changing anything.

In your closet you found your old flannel shirt, the one that a certain green eyed boy had given you one night when it was cold. You took it from the hanger and ran the rough fabric through your fingers before you, as on instinct, brought it up to your nose. It didn't smell like him anymore, but you hadn't expected it to either. You threw it on over a white tank top and shimmied into a basic pair of jeans, and then you spotted them. The brown cowboy boots your dad had gotten you as a going away present when you left. The boots that you had left behind because they didn't fit into the style of life you were pursuing in the big city. Unused and filled with guilt they stood there and basically mocked you. With mixed emotions you slid your feet into them, like if it was an effort to make up for past behavior or something. Nothing changed, your dad would never know how much you appreciate them in this moment, but you still wore them, completing the farm girl look as you set out to start the day.

It was nearly noon before you took a break, the scorching sun forcing you to find some shade to hide in for a little while. Tomorrow you had a meeting with a realtor, she would help you with everything that came to selling the place, what you would have to get rid of beforehand, and what could be sold with the property. So until then, you just went around and cleaned things up a bit. Now it was lunch time, but you hadn't done any shopping yesterday, and there was a limit to how many granola bars one could have.

Inside you found the keys to your old truck, and with a nostalgic giddiness you practically skipped outside to the garage to find it. It was an old Ford pickup truck, blue with a white trim around it. Your father had kept it running for as long as he was alive, but now it probably hadn't even been started since you were last here. Two years had passed, but you had unrelenting faith in this truck. “Come on, baby. Show me what you’re made of,” you gently coaxed as you slid the key in the ignition. As you turned it, you closed your eyes and prayed to a higher power you didn't believe in. A meek noise came from the engine, but the engine didn't turn at all. “It was a long shot,” you conceded.

There was a greater chance of getting your mom's car to start, a shaggy, old Volvo that she had had forever, but it was well kept so you had a home there. But no such luck.

You thought for a moment, but it was abundantly clear what your next move had to be, and you didn't really look forward to it.

As you waited on the front porch, you looked at the hammock chair that hung there. The ropes that came with it had been exchanged with chains that had started rusting. Visions of your mom reading while she rocked back and forth flashed across your eyes, remembering how the creak of the chains had reverberated and amplified up to your room and annoyed the shit out of you. How you had yelled out the window and how she had apologized. You also remembered how your dad had caught you and Dean there one night, way past either of your bedtimes. That particular memory brought a smile to your face. If your dad only had known where Dean's hand was a minute before he came crashing through the front door. Oh to be young and in love again. Or young. Or in love.

The roar of an engine pulled you from your little trip down memory lane, and as you got to your feet the sleek black car came into view. Part of you wished he would just send someone else out here, but somehow you knew that he would be the one to come.

As he excited his car, you ascended the few steps from the porch, a weary smile on your lips. “The allusive YN YLN,” he said with that cheeky grin of his.

“In the flesh,” you responded before you gave him a hug hello. “It's good to see you, Dean,” you offered. So good in fact that your heart skipped a beat as you laid eyes on him. He looked exactly the same as he had done all those years ago, the only difference was that his leather jacket had been discarded somewhere in exchange for a simple black t-shirt. Knowing Dean, though, and you did, the jacket was still somewhere waiting for the summer heat to ease up so that it could be used again.

Five years had passed since Dean saw you last, but you hadn't changed much, if at all. “I was starting to think I’d never see you again,” he half joked.

“Well…” you started, but let your words trail off. “Thanks for coming so soon,” you said to change the subject.

“You kidding? I haven't seen you in forever, couldn't let that chance go to waste,” he noted. “The old Ford?” he wondered, pointing to the open garage.

“Yeah. The engine’s not turning, so I'm pretty sure it's the battery. I probably just need a jump,” you explained. You weren't an expert in any way, but growing up on a farm you learned a thing or two about engines.

“The battery?” he asked with a chuckle. “YN, this thing was old as sin back when you got it. I'm not sure it has any more miles on it.”

You tried really hard not to notice the freckles across his nose, or the bright green of his eyes, or the scruff on his jaw, or how his muscles moved under the shirt as he opened the hood. “She might be old, but I know that she has more in her. She's younger than yours,” you retorted. Trying really, really, really hard not to notice the crinkle of his eyes as he smiled.

Dean didn't respond to your comment, he just made his way to the driverside to get in and try starting the car. He listened intently as he turned the key, and then he jumped back out. “We can try jumping her, but from the looks of this battery you’re gonna need a new one,” he noted.

It took a few tries, but it finally started. It wasn't the confident engine roar you were used to from this car though, it was more like a cough and a stutter before it settled into its idle rhythm.

“Can I drive it into town like this?” you asked, looking up at Dean who was still listening to the engine sounds to make sure it was alright.

“I wouldn't stop it though. I'm not sure if you'll get it started again if you do.” He looked up at you as he wiped his hand on a rag he pulled from his back pocket. “I'll get you a new battery. Might be good to let her sit until then.”

You sighed and ran your hand through your hair, holding it away from your face for a moment. “But it’ll be fine if I don't cut the engine off, right?” you asked, a hopeful look in your eyes. “I need to go shopping,” you explained before he could discourage you.

Dean sighed. “You have my number if you get stuck in town,” he offered.

“Can I ask you something? If you’re not in a hurry, that is?”

Dean checked his watch and then motioned for you to go on.

“I'm here to settle the property,” you started to explain. “And I'm not sure if this is in your wheelhouse or not, but I wondered if you could check out the farming equipment that we have, the tractors and such? I just want to know what I can sell and what's a good price.”

“You’re selling the place?” he asked, eyes widening in surprise.

“Yeah. I get that it might be out of your expertise, but maybe you can recommend someone who knows about these things?”

“I can take a look,” he offered. “But not right now, I'm already late for something. Can I come back later tonight?”

“Of course,” you said eagerly. “How about I make us some dinner… as a thank you?”

Dean furrowed his brows. “Are you gonna cook?” He thought back to all the meals you had prepared for him over the years. It was sweet and all, but you could hardly call it food.

“I know what you’re thinking, but I took some classes and I'm actually a pretty decent cook now,” you said proudly, but Dean's face was full of scepticism. “Okay. I know how to cook a few things.” He still looked right through you after all these years. “Alright. One thing. I know how to cook one thing. I hope you like chicken parm.”

“Can't wait,” he said with a chuckle.

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inspired-by-the-music · 4 years

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For You: Stand By Me

Taglist: @jineunwootrash

If you would like to be added to the taglist of any of this blog’s works, please ask!

Note: special thanks to @teahyungangel for beta reading this! your support with 4 O’Clock and Stand By Me is such an inspiration!

Recommended Reading: For You: 4 O’Clock; these works have separate, independent, but deeply interwoven timelines.

Chapter 1: The Girl with the Gappy Smile

Sehun’s POV She was weird from the very beginning, but I guess I always liked her.

She was always sitting there at that table by the vending machine outside of the dance studio. As a trainee, I passed by her every day on the way to and from practice. The first time I caught her looking up at me from her little book, I pretended not to notice. I didn’t say anything. After buying my chips, I dashed back to practice because— really— what could I have said to this kid?

I could have asked who she was and what she was doing there. I did, eventually, after weeks passed and she hadn’t budged from her place at the table.

“I’m Lei.” Her smile was too big for her face, and it made her look much younger than her solemn studying expression. Before I saw her, I didn’t know that kids could have laugh lines. She spoke through the gap in her front teeth, “I’m Super Junior’s kid!”

Because I was still new to the agency, I didn’t know then that Super Junior was managed by the idol who never debuted. I didn’t understand that I was talking to a controversial kid who would grow up to be something like royalty at S.M.

To tell you the truth, I almost didn’t expect her to understand me; I had never really talked to a foreigner before. Eventually, I would learn that she was American, and that’s why she spoke with a funny accent. That’s why she spoke to me without considering our age difference like every other person in Korea.

At first, it was startling— talking to somebody so different— but it didn’t offend me or anything. Because I finished practice for the day, and I had nothing better to do, I sat across from her and dropped my backpack at my feet.

If she was Super Junior’s kid, I thought, it was pretty irresponsible for them to leave her alone so often. “Do you just sit here by yourself all day?” I felt my eyebrows pinching together in concern. Maybe that’s why I liked her. She was the first person I ever looked after. “Don’t you go to school or something?”

“I’m not by myself,” she responded brightly. Just as I was about to ask if she had an imaginary friend or something, she pulled from the seat next to her a doll with dark hair, brown eyes, and warm-toned skin. From a glance, I knew it was expensive— one of those porcelain dolls that adults collect. It looked like her, just without the gap between the teeth because it’s red-painted lips were pressed into a closed-mouth smile. “Marisol is studying Mandarin with me.”

It’s normal for little kids to cling to their toys and live in their imaginations, I guess. I don’t know if they usually understand the difference between dreams and reality, but I'm almost certain Lei didn't. She spoke as if her doll were a real girl sitting and reading with her. Remembering this is kind of weird because I now understand that Lei never had friends her age because she didn’t go to a real school. At the time, I guess, that doll was as close as she could get to a real friend.

I say that I understand, but I guess I don’t. It’s more like I can imagine. Nothing about Lei ever made sense to me at first, so I could only blink at her because I didn’t know what to say. She didn’t act like other kids (not that I knew anybody else her age) so I didn’t know whether to talk to her as a kid or as an equal. It was weird. Uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” she nodded suddenly as if answering a question I hadn’t asked. “You’re the handsomest.”

“What?” I raised my eyebrows at her. My mouth fell open. Were all kids so direct?

She closed her book and told me, “I’ve seen a lot of people come through here—” she must have meant the S.M. building— “and most of them are pretty cute, but there has never been anyone as handsome as you.”

It was weird. I was only about fourteen years old, and I kind of had this embarrassing habit of stuttering around girls, so I avoided them. so nobody had ever said anything like that to me before. So it was weird because it was my first time receiving a compliment like that, and it was weird because she was a kid, and it was weird because she spoke matter-of-factly— without a blush, a bashful smile, any hesitation, and any expectation that I would return her praise.

“How old are you?” I asked, but maybe it didn’t really matter. She was obviously younger than me, so it’s not like her answer would have made me feel less uncomfortable.

“Technically,” she said, pronouncing every syllable carefully, “I’m nine years old, but I’ll be ten in April.”

‘When in April?’ I almost asked, thinking that it would have been kind of funny to share a birthday. I shook the question from my mind once I decided that somebody had to teach this innocent little kid not to be so forward with boys. “Isn’t nine a little young to call boys handsome?”

At that, her face burned red, and I felt kind of bad. “No,” she argued instead of quietly accepting the criticism. “Heechul said that if you think something about somebody, you should tell them. I think you’re the handsomest, and that’s why I told you.” To her, it was as simple as that.

It was embarrassing to be around somebody so honest. I hoped that she would grow out of that habit of saying things so bluntly; it made me squirm. “Heechul gave you dangerous advice,” I told her mostly because I didn’t want to hear everything she thought about me. This concern was secondary: “You can’t tell everyone everything you think. That can get you hurt.”

She blinked at me, uncomprehending. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Why couldn’t she just accept that I was right? I didn’t want her to understand; I just wanted her to obey. “Don’t tell every boy you meet that they’re the handsomest.”

“I don’t!” She scowled at me. “You’re the only person I’ve ever said that to!” I guess I could have thanked her and let the compliment slide once, but I was too stubborn to abandon the principle of the argument. “You can’t just flirt with boys like that— especially boys who are older than you.”

“I’m not flirting. I’m only saying what I think.”

“Well,” I bossed, “stop it.”

Glaring, she asked, “Why?”

And I squirmed because I didn’t know how to answer. ‘Why?’ is the worst question because no answer is ever good enough; ‘Why?’ happened to be Lei’s favorite question. I didn’t really want to tell her about the kind of people who would take advantage of her pure admiration. I didn’t want her to keep looking at me like that, and I didn’t want to keep wasting my breath telling her what to do.

Deciding with the roll of my eyes that if I couldn’t keep her from saying the wrong thing to the wrong person, I would have to stand by to protect her, I huffed, “It’s just not proper.”

Frowning, she positioned the doll between us on the table, I guess, to act as a sort of barrier. She flung open the cover of her book and, maybe to hide what little bit of her face I could still see, she raised the book to be her shield. Apparently, she didn’t want to look at me anymore.

I shouldn’t have cared. It would have been easy to stand up and walk out the door were it not for the sudden sinking weight in my stomach. There’s nothing worse than upsetting a kid— especially one who hadn’t meant any harm. Even before I turned into a stupid teenager, I didn’t know how to apologize, so I just sat there, drumming my fingers on the table and wishing that she would say something or smile that gappy smile again so I wouldn’t have to say sorry.

I might have sat there all night had two members of Super Junior not shown up to return the stars to her eyes. “Donghae! Yesung!” She dropped the book flat onto the table to reach for their embrace.

“Here’s lunch!” Yesung grinned as he placed a McDonald’s bag before her. “And here’s your strawberry milkshake!” Donghae set before her a cup that was far too large for a child.

They were pretty doting, I guess, ruffling her hair and asking about her day, which she spent studying. This must have been a part of her daily routine that I had never seen before. When she smiled at them— the people she claimed as her family— she didn’t look so lonely, but there was something about Lei— there was something about that everyday image of her sitting alone with her doll and learning from some book— that made me wish someone could be with her always.

It wasn’t my place to tell anyone how to take care of her. At fourteen years old, I was practically a kid myself even if I didn’t want to believe it. Still, I thought that Lei deserved to be playing outside in the sun. She deserved to meet people with the same gappy smile. She deserved to have the joys of a normal nine-year-old even if she was extraordinary. I don’t know why I cared so much, but I did. Yesung noticed me staring at their scene first. He eyed me curiously— almost suspiciously— before Donghae noticed me and asked Lei with a smile, “Did you make a friend today?”

Without looking at me, her face turned red. “No,” she mumbled, the corners of her mouth twitching downward. So quietly that I shouldn’t have been able to hear, she said, “I don’t think Sehun likes me very much.”

I shifted in my seat, reacting partially to the shock that she knew my name although I hadn’t given it to her, but reacting mostly to Yesung’s and Donghae’s stares sharpened to pierce through me. Obviously, because I was a trainee, being the target of glares from senior artists was a nightmare, but I didn’t speak up merely to lessen their grudge against me. I spoke up because it was kind of heartbreaking— the way she hid her face in the crook of her elbow after she crossed her arms on the table.

It was never a mystery: Lei had a crush on me for whatever reason. While I didn’t know what to do with her nine-year-old feelings, I knew that I didn’t want to crush them. I wasn’t the most sensitive guy on earth or anything, but I didn’t want to hurt her. I never wanted to hurt her.

Pain is inevitable when you care too much about what somebody says, so I crossed my fingers and prayed that she would grow out of listening to me. Resolving to use my power over her emotions for good— just once— I said, “I do like you.”

It was true. There’s no point in acknowledging that we didn’t like each other the same way. I don’t think any two people ever feel the same way at the same time, so that idea of ‘mutual feelings’ never appealed to me. I don’t know why people make such a big fuss about feelings when they rarely have any rhyme or reason. Don’t think I’m intentionally insensitive; I just don’t get it.

“Really?” Lei looked up at me skeptically.

Was there any way to satisfy this kid? Had I said the wrong thing again? I hated situations like that. The longer she looked at me to say what she wanted to hear, the longer I would disappoint her. I couldn’t tell her to look away, though. She wouldn’t have obeyed me anyway.

Still aware of Yesung’s and Donghae’s eyes fixed on me, I nodded. “Yeah. We’re friends, so stop—” I had an epiphany: if she wouldn’t look away from me, I could look away from her. I did. “Stop looking at me like that.”

I didn’t have to look at her to see the return of her bright smile. It was blinding. Somehow, I could feel it. Maybe this is selfish, but I remember just feeling glad that I could breathe again.

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sugarnospice · 3 years

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Welcome to my world!

Hi! Up until recently it's just been me here but it’s time you all live in it too with me. By you all I guess I mean whoever takes a second to read this blog post. I want to take a second to give you a little introduction to me, myself and I and also touch on what I hope to get out of this Tumblr page. On paper this is what I look like most: I’m a 20 year old Latina studying at James Madison University. I will be graduating in May 2022 with a B.S in Organizational Communications and a minor in Human Resource Development. I'm newly elected Chapter President for the Gamma Phi Beta chapter on campus & I was born January 19, 2000 in Haverhill, Massachusetts. Like most may be able to relate, paper me isn’t the final version of myself in this world. In fact, paper me is my least favorite of my avatars.

I grew up in Lawrence, MA but went to school 15 minutes away in Haverhill where the kids were all white and the same kids you went to school with in kindergarten had a great chance at still being in your homeroom when you graduated from Haverhill High School. My mom always told me she and my father could be as “ghetto” as they wanted but I wasn't allowed to be… I guess that's how I landed myself with this weird double life... My parents were not the conventional kind, young and still hitting the clubs but nonetheless they worked hard to sign me up for every team I wanted to be on. Though my primary sport was cheerleading, I tried soccer, lacrosse, band, theater, track, basketball (Being 5’1 made this a short-lived dream). My mom may not have been at every game and growing up this confused me, but the reality is someone had to make the money for all the athletic fees, equipment, traveling and uniforms. My amazing mother did all of that and more for me. I tribute some of my best qualities to that woman because I am a product of striving to be just like her. I always wanted to be a daddy's girl but, in our household, it was a matriarchy, and no one messed with the woman in charge and for that I idolize her.

I guess since I told you my least favorite version of myself, I should also share my favorite parts. I was born on January 19 so that makes me a Capricorn. I love checking off to-do lists and adding things that have already been done just to check them off and make me feel more accomplished. I love to be in charge. I take pride in my ability to influence and lead others and I’m thankful to have people who are willing to trust me. I’m 420 friendly & I think I'm a better person for this. My love languages are words of affirmation & quality time. I have a sense for people's energy, and I know how to control the energy that I give off to others. I have a bad habit of absorbing other people’s feelings and becoming a shell of myself to help them work through their pain. I’m good with my words but getting me to use them is sometimes another challenge. I believe in mind over matter but sometimes my mind works 15 steps ahead of me. I prefer paper calendars over online ones because I work in IT and I know that if there's one thing certain in this world it's that technology will always find a new way to fail. I’m hardworking, I love hip-hop and rap music and I love a good car ride as long as I’m in the passenger seat with my feet up on the dash.

I will stand in any line for coffee no matter how long and even if it's below freezing, I will still get a large iced coffee. I prefer the mountains over the beach. I pretend to be stronger than I am in hope someone sees right through me. I love hugs and I love trying new things. I believe in love at first sight. I believe in people's words. I believe in energy and magic and I believe the universe gives back to those that give to it.

Some of you reading may know me and some of you may not and I want to say there's not much to know about me, but I know better than to sell myself short. I don't intend on using this as another online diary for myself. That’s what my twitter is for. But I do hope that one day someone stumbles across my writing and they find the words they have been looking for this whole time. I hope I can inspire someone to keep going for what they want or turn away from something they don't need in their life anymore. I’m 20 years old but I think soon you will find that I know a little too much for my age. I’m ready to open up about the things that have happened to me and how my growth, especially in the last year, has put me in a good place to finally start this blog that until recently only existed as half thoughts and poems in my notes app.

Thank you for giving me a chance to share myself with you. I hope you find comfort in my words and warmth in my intentions. It is a scary time to be alive but at least you are.

Talk to you soon…

Shi

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jasntodds · 7 years

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Pretty Wreck

Pairing: Theo Raeken x Reader Warnings: Angst, smut, oral (m on f), teasing, sexual content (all towards the end) Summary: Theo’s convinced he’s nothing but damaged goods and you show him differently A/N: 100% inspired by the song Pretty Wreck by Former Vandal and also a little bit by an interview Cody did about Theo (if I find it again, I’ll link it). Let me know what you guys think though. It always makes my day! Any feedback is good feedback. Also, shoutout to anyone that gets the Neck Deep reference. Masterlist Prompt list

Pack meetings used to be fun for you. You'd be able to hang out with your friends and find out what supernatural business was creeping around Beacon Hills, if anything at all. But, since Theo redeemed himself, Scott's let him into the pack meetings. It's not that you hated Theo, it's that he always seemed to hate you. Before Hell, after Hell, he was always mean to you while you were nothing but nice to him until he tried to kill Scott but even then, you just kept your distance.

"Move." Theo spoke harshly, looking down at you with annoyance etched on his face.

You moved out of his way so he could enter the kitchen. You sit between Liam and Mason, making yourself comfortable between the beta and human.

"Why is he so damn rude?" You ask the both of them.

"It's Theo?" Mason shrugs, his tone saying you should known the answer.

"He's nice to you guys." The boys look between each other and shrug. "Do I smell weird or something?" Sarcasm consumes your words but Liam answers anyway.

"You smell fine. It's just Theo. Don't let it get to you." You and Mason stare at Liam through squinted eyes. "Yeah, and that's coming from me." He finishes knowing you and Mason were about to point all the times Liam couldn't let anything go.

The three of you fall silent as Scott, Stiles, and Theo make their way into the living room, all taking seats in different places. Stiles with Lydia, Scott with Malia, and Theo sitting in the chair beside Liam. The pack meeting started and throughout the discussions being had, you could feel Theo glaring at you every now and then. You always squirmed in your seat, trying to hold your stare on whoever was talking.

Once the pack meeting comes to a close, the McCall house starts to empty, you leaving with Mason and Liam. "Are you seriously that fucking bothered by him?" Liam groans from the front seat of his car, able to smell the annoyance radiating from you.

"I didn't do anything but be nice to him and he's mean! Yes, I'm that bothered by it." You lean forward to rest your elbows on the center console between Mason and Liam.

"Why don't you confront him on it then?"

"I don't like confrontation." You scrunch your nose in response. Liam scoffs in response while just chuckles.

"You shouldn't complain if you aren't willing to at least find out why he's being mean." Mason looks down to you, his words much calmer than Liam's.

"Why don't you guys find out?" You smile between them, hoping to play the sweet and innocent card.

"It's not our problem." They say simultaneously.

"You guys aren't much help." You roll your eyes, sitting back with crossed arms.

The boys drop you off at your house a few minutes later. You shake off the thought of Theo as you make yourself comfortable by switching out of your jeans and into a pair of sweatpants and just a hoodie. Time ticks by with you watching your favorite show and you grow hungry only to realize you hadn't gone shopping yet. You grab your things, not bothering to change since you knew you'd only be going through a drive-thru, and head out to get the closest fast food.

The drive-thru of McDonald's was backed with cars, probably due to it being Saturday night just before closing. Regardless, you were growing bored and just wanted your food. Hell, you just wanted to be able to order your food but there were still two cars in front of you. Your mood picked up when your ringtone started coming through the car speakers as Scott's name came across your phone.

"Hey, Scott. What's up?" You ask after hitting the answer button on your steering wheel.

"Where are you?" Scott asks, his voice low but curious.

"McDonald's drive-thru, why?" You put your car back in drive as one of the cars moves forward to place their order.

"Have you talked to Theo?"

"Uh, no? Why?" You stare at the screen in your car as if Scott could see you through it.

"You should probably stop by his house." Scott suggests but his voice slightly changes, a tad bit higher pitched and his words were spoken in a melodic rhythm. Everyone has ticks for certain things and this was Scott's for when anyone got into trouble that wasn't 'everyone might die' trouble.

"What'd you guys do?" You roll your eyes now watching the car in front of you.

"He got hurt." Scott trails off and you immediately start to worry.

"How did he get hurt?"

"He'll be fine but ya know, just maybe you should make sure. He was pretty pissed when we dropped him off."

"You didn't answer my question." The brake lights of the car in front of you start to dim, indicating they were about to move forward.

"Underground fighting."

"Scott! You're not supposed to tell her!" Stiles yells in the background.

"Like a fucking fight club?" You question.

"Not exactly but kind of." Scott says and you can hear Stiles sighing in the background. "It's for werewolves and other supernaturals."

"Hold on." You sigh and pull forward. You place your usual order and follow it with Theo's knowing food always cheers him up and cools his boiled blood, something you picked up from the pack meetings. "So, he got hurt in an underground supernatural fight?"

"Basically." Scott answers. "And he lost." Scott's voice drops quickly, ashamed of what he was saying.

"Oh, so you losers bet, too?"

"That is kind of how it works, y/n." Stiles chimes in through the background. Scott just has you on speaker at this point.

"I'll swing by. I'm not sure why you're asking me to though?"

"You're a girl. Maybe he'll talk to you. He's had a stick up his ass...well, he always a has a stick up his ass so if you could take care of that." Stiles continues. Somethings don't change and Stiles and Theo's rivalry is one of those things.

"You could pull that stick from his ass. Maybe you two would get along better if you were better acquainted." You snap back as you pull up to the window. You dig through your wallet and hand the worker your debit card. Your card is swiped and handed back quickly, allowing you to roll your window back up and continue your conversation.

"I would rather-"

"Beat him with a barbed wire bat wrapped in wolfsbane." You and Scott cut Stiles off simultaneously.

"Exactly."

"He's not gonna tell me shit but whatever. In case you haven't noticed, he hates me."

The both of let out laughs at your words. "He doesn't hate you." Scott says between laughs.

"Sure seems like it."

"Trust me, he doesn't hate you." Scott reassures.

"Yeah, whatever.

"Let us...okay, me," Scott starts, "know how it goes."

"Yep." You pop the 'p' before hanging up.

You're able to pull up to the next window and get your food. You make the short drive to Theo's apartment with the radio playing softly. He always made you nervous but not the bad nervous. It's the kind where your stomach fills with butterflies and your face turns a soft shade of pink, your head fogs and you have to stumble for words for the first few minutes of being around him. However, this time was a little different. First off, Theo hates losing when it comes to anything and everything. He has to win otherwise he'll be in a pissy mood until something better comes along. But he doesn't drop it until maybe the next day. Second, he's injured. Theo's self destructive and puts himself in harm's way all the time even when he doesn't have to but you're going to walk into his apartment and make sure he's okay, care for him and that's what's going to set him off. You can't help but make sure he's okay and it bothers him.

Your stomach swirls with anxiety as you stand outside of his door, waiting for him to answer. The fast food was gripped in your closed fist, hanging by your side. Theo opens the door with the chain still latched.

His eyes roll before he starts. "What?" His voice is cold and your heart plummets into the pit of your stomach.

"Uh, I have food." You bite your lip and hold up the bag of food.

He sighs but closes the door and unlatches the chain. The door opens and Theo allows you inside. It's then that you're able to see the damage that's been done to his upper body. "What'd you get?" He asks, looking to the bag.

"Uh, got you a Big Mac." You furrow your brows and shake your head, looking away from his clawed chest. "Are you okay?"

"Yep." Theo answers shortly. He motions for you to follow him into the kitchen.

"W-what happened?"

"Beer? Water? Rootbeer?" He ignores your question as he grabs his own bottle of beer from the fridge.

"Rootbeer." You shake your head and rest the bag on the table. He slides the can of pop to you and opens the bag of warm food. "Those looks pretty deep." You tap the top of your can, staring at the bloody mess.

"Werebears have claws with toxins. It'll heal, eventually." Theo pulls out his box and hands you your box of chicken nuggets.

"Does it hurt?" You quirk a brow, asking the question carefully.

He looks up from his eyelashes, already annoyed by your questions. "Does it look like it hurts?"

"I'll be back." You roll your eyes and leave your things in the kitchen.

You make your way to Theo's bathroom and finding a washrag. You went it with cool water and ring it out so it wouldn't drip on the way back to the kitchen. You move back into the kitchen only to see Theo halfway through his burger, still standing beside the table with a frown, almost lost in his thoughts.

"Sit." You demand as you walk up to him.

"You've got to be kidding." He rolls his eyes and wipes the small bit of BigMac sauce from the corner of his mouth.

"Sit the fuck down." You widen your eyes and grit your teeth. "You're bloody and it's gross."

Theo doesn't argue with you anymore. He takes a seat and allows you to dab the rag across the cuts on his chest. Blood starts to turn the blue rag a darker shade and you wince at the sight. He acts cold towards you and you still find yourself caring so deeply for him, it hurts. His toned chest moves up and down with his breath while his arms are rested on the table and across the back of the chair, keeping their distance from you as you stood between his thighs.

The silence between the two of you was horrendous. Theo wanted to be left alone and you wanted to punch Scott for asking you to come by. It's awkward and full of tension. The both of you wanting to talk but not wanting to completely start an argument. But, you couldn't take it any longer.

"So," You bite your lip, keeping your eyes on the cuts. "why don't you like me?"

"Why don't I like you?" Theo's chest vibrates with the snickered words. "Why do you think I don't like you?"

"You're not very nice to me and the only other girl you've been mean to has been Lydia." You avoid mentioning Tracey seeing as mentioning the murder of his own pack member wouldn't earn you any points with him. "But, she's with Stiles and you were basically only mean to her to get to Scott." You shrug, still avoiding his perfectly two-toned colored eyes.

"Doesn't mean I don't like you." You feel his eyes peering at you, waiting for you to look at him. "Why the fuck do you care so damn much?"

You glance to him with the quick shrug of your shoulders. "I don't know. I just do."

"Well, stop." He demands but the tone of his voice cracks. His voice should be hard, stone cold and full of venom. But, it's not. It's etched in hints of concern.

"Why?" You finally lock eyes with him, stopping your dabbing.

"Because, alright? I don't need your sympathy."

"It's not sympathy." You shake your head and wrinkle your chin.

"What is then, huh?"

"You're distant from the world and self-destructive." You glance him over, noticing other scrapes that were healing. "It's dangerous."

"Not like I'm really worth the time." Theo smirks but it's not a fun or teasing smirk. Self-hatred.

"I think you are." You keep your voice quiet as you go back to cleaning up the blood. Theo stares at you taken back by your words and allowing silence to creep between the two of you for a few seconds.

"Why?" Theo's voice hangs with the word, and his chest almost stops moving as if he were holding his breath. "Why do you like me?"

"How do you know I like you?"

"I can smell it on you." His arms relax a little showing that he was growing more comfortable with the conversation and your delicate touch. "You don't look at me like other people do, like I'm damaged goods or something."

"Right." You nod, partially hating that part of your supernatural friends. "But, you're not damaged goods." You shrug again.

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, I mean, you're not the best person in the world and you did some fucked up things. But, you're not damaged goods. You just had a fucked up life."

Theo's chest stops moving again which only makes you look to him, wondering why he stopped breathing. His eyes glossed over as his forehead was wrinkled with honesty and a new feeling admiration for you. You were telling him things no one ever bothered to. You weren't the only one that thought Theo wasn't just damaged goods waiting to be thrown out. Liam knew better and so did Corey. That only made Mason realize it, too. People change and if Theo were damaged, he wouldn't be the person sitting in front of you.

"So, why don't you like me? You didn't answer my question." You break the silence once more, growing slightly confused by how much silence kept coming up.

"I don't dislike you." Theo chuckles as he drops his arm from the table and rests it beside him.

"Why are you so cold towards me then?"

"You deserve better." He shrugs but with his words, your eyes snap up to stare him.

"I deserve better?" You quirk a brow, stopping your movements and putting your hand on the table to lean against.

"Yeah," The corner of his mouth tugs up just barely. "You don't deserve someone who's 'distant from the world and self-destructive'." He quotes you, almost mocking your description of him.

"You don't deserve to be alone." You come right back, your head telling you to just wrap your arms around him and hug him, feeling horrible Theo thinks so lowly of himself when it comes to other people. He's confident when it comes to his appearance or just messing around with people but when it comes to people who might stick around, all of that confidence just evaporates.

Theo's mouth tugs into a full grin as he scoffs. "You're something else."

"I hope that's a compliment." You let out a shy laugh as the once tension filled air becomes filled with ease.

"It is." He nods, his hand he had rested beside himself, snaking around your thigh and pulling you as close to him as the chair would allow.

"So, are you saying you've been less than nice to me all this time because you didn't want to care about me?" You cock a brow, moving your hand to trace up the arm he had rested on the back of your thigh.

"Pretty much." He nods, snaking the hand that was rested on the chair to the back of your other thigh. "Didn't wanna to hurt you."

"I wouldn't mind." You shake head with your whispered words, placing the rag on the back of the chair.

"Start over?" Theo's hands rub slowly up and down the back of your thighs.

"Start over." You nod in agreement, a smile stretching your lips.

"You wanna know the best way to start over?" Theo's hands make their way to your hips, gracing over the fabric of your sweatpants smoothly.

"How's that?" You question but knowing exactly where he was going.

Theo's hands slide smoothly over your hips and his thumbs slide beneath the hem of your shirt, rubbing the bare skin with ease. His hands squeeze you tightly as he jerks you forward so you'd lean against him. His lips crash into yours causing you to completely forget how to breathe.

"That." Theo just pulls away to speak, your foreheads resting against each other and when you open your eyes, his eyes are shining are vibrant yellow.

A smirk replaces the smile on your face as your hand grab Theo's face and pull his mouth to yours. Theo's hands cup your ass giving it an aggressive squeeze, earning him a squeal from you. You kiss down his jawline and to his neck, nipping at the excessive skin as low growls rumble in his chest. His large arms wrapped completely around you as his chest met yours, him standing up from the table. In seconds, he had you laid on your back on the table, leaving hot kisses all the way down your neck while you kissed down his arm.

Soft moans escape your lips as your hands trail beneath his shirt, lightly scraping his back. The arm holding himself up nearly buckled with your touch, his chest already heaving. Your hands found the hem of his shirt again and tugged it over his head, your neck pleasurably aching from the bites.

"In a rush are we?" Theo's eyes lock with yours as his brows wiggle with the taunting remark.

"Are you complaining?" You question, giving him the same lust-filled look.

"Fuck no." He bites his lip with the crooked smirk before gripping the hem of your pants.

His lips grace your stomach as he starts to pull your pants down. You squirm under him, helping him remove the warm fabric from beneath your butt. He places hungry kisses around the elastic of your panties, carefully pulling at the hem with his teeth as your hands find his hair. His mouth moves over your center and to your inner thigh as he finishes pulling your pants off.

As Theo's hands start tracing up your calves and back up your thighs to reach your panties, a snicker falls from his lips. "You're already wet."

"Mhm." You hum with your cheeks turning a shade of crimson.

He takes your hum as a key to remove your panties, slowly and sliding your legs open to give his mouth access. His tongue slides teasing slow around your folds, never entering you. Your heart skips beat after beat with his teasing and your fingers tug at his hair. A devilish smirk becomes plastered on his face at the sight of you squirming.

"Theo." You whine, lifting your head from the table to meet his sinister stare.

"What?" His hot breath hits your center, sending a shiver down your spine.

"You know what." You squirm, growing more impatient with every passing second.

He bites his lip with a shit-eating grin before going back to your center. His tongue slowly licks between your folds, your head falling back on the table as the wave of pleasure flows through you. Every tug of his hair and soft moan you make encourages him to start going faster until he decides that's not enough. Theo's tongue circles your clit as he pulls a hand up to start fingering your core. As the circular motions close in, your breathing intensifies until his mouth is wrapped around the bundle of nerves and you're letting out loud moans in response.

Theo's fingers pump inside of you, curling up to hit to your g-spot as his mouth sucks around your clit. Your walls to clench around his fingers as you feel your high building with the knot in your stomach. Your breathing hitches in your throat with every movement Theo makes, your hands tugging on his hair to pull him as close to you as possible.He pulls his mouth and hand away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as a rush of cold air hits your center, making you whine.

"Not so fast." He chuckles, placing both hands on either side of you.

"Theo, please." You plea as he hovers over you.

"Please what?" His eyes darken as he knows exactly what you want.

"Fuck me, for fuck's sake." You roll your eyes as your hands find his belt, tugging him forward against the table.

"You're really impatient." He licks his lips but allows you start undoing his belt.

"You're such a fucking tease, Raeken." You get his belt undone and start working on the button of his jeans.

Once you start tugging his pants down, Theo takes the initiative to pull your hoodie off, your back resting back on the table. A smug smile crosses his face with you not bothering to wear a bra. Theo's right hand quickly cups your breast while his other hand starts teasing your center, his mouth connecting with yours. You pull the hem of his boxer briefs down, finally allowing his bulge to come free. A sigh falls from his lips and onto yours with the release.

"C'me 'ere." Theo growls, his hands gripping your thighs and dragging you to the very edge of the table.

He slides his cock over your slit, teasing you before poking the tip just barely inside of you. You wrap your legs around his to try and get him to go deeper but he just chuckles at your attempt. He bends down to start kissing around your ribcage. Theo nibs at the skin leading up your bare breasts, closing his mouth around one of your nipples while his other hand tugs at the other. Your breathing heavies with every suck and tug, the knot building in your stomach.

"Please." Your whined whisper hits his ears and your nails claw into his sides. "Stop teasing."

"Like this?" He pulls his mouth away as he rocks his hips into you, but careful not to bottom out.

"Uh-huh." Your words get stuck in your throat with his movement.

"Tell me what you want, princess." A smug smile etches itself across his face as he moves to your neck, nipping the already bruising skin. You try to form words but the swirling in your stomach and head is making you incapable. He was larger than you thought and just the small rocking he was doing was getting you closer to your high. He comes to a sudden halt, leaving the tip dipped inside of you. A whimper escapes you as he stops. "Sorry, didn't hear what you said?" He squints his eyes but the smug smirk doesn't even budge.

"Fuck me." You whine, tugging at his skin. His arms flex, keeping him in place. "Fuck me until we break the damn table." You spit the words out with frustration and that's all Theo needed.

He lunges into you, bottoming out. A loud moan leaves your lips while Theo's head falls in the crook of your neck, quickly picking back up as he starts thrusting his hips into you. His arms slide under your back, his hands sliding over your shoulders so his fingers can dig into you, helping him keep you still. The rhythm is steady and hard at first but quickly, Theo starts picking up his pace and grunts leave him as he starts to lose his own control. Your nails scrape on his back, pleading for more contact but every scratch you make seems to just get Theo going even more.

Soon, the both of you are glistening with sweat and your walls start to clench around Theo. He rests his forehead against yours, placing a harsh kiss on your lips before slipping his tongue into your mouth. He pulls one hand from your shoulder and allows his thumb to find your clit, flicking it to get you closer to your edge. Your heart pounds against your chest while moans fall from your mouth and into Theo's.

"I'm-I'm close." You mumble, feeling yourself stumble.

"Cum for me." Theo's husky voice fills your ears as he leans solely on his forearm, giving himself more leverage.

He thrusts into you harder and faster, his thumb doing its magic on your clit and before you know it, the knot in your stomach explodes with your walls clenching around Theo, while you yell his name loud enough the neighbors were surely able to hear you. It was just enough to push Theo over the edge. With a loud groan, he spills inside of you while his fingers dug deep into your shoulder causing pain you didn't even mind from the intensity of your high.

Theo pulls out of you and rests his head in the crook of your neck while you both try and catch your breath.

"Great new start." You mumble with a lazy smile.

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#theo raeken #theo raeken imagine #theo imagine #theo x reader #theo raeken smut #imagine #imagines #teen wolf #teen wolf smut #teen wolf imagine #cody christian #theo raeken x reader

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rainystripe · 7 years

Text

[fic] when things go bump and grind at night

when things go bump and grind at night

pairing: Jughead Jones/Betty Cooper fandom: Riverdale 5,156k words Summary: It’s starts off with Betty knocking on the old wooden door. Her knocks are light enough to travel throughout the entire trailer. The echos of her presence alerting him in the kitchen. Putting the butter knife down, Jughead turns towards the door and it’s Betty alright, her tall shadow and ponytail give her away.

The sandwich can wait.

ao3

or betty dresses up and jughead is her slave.

here’s a short on guys! sorry for the delay, but life happens!! i want to thank the ever, so AMAZING @createandconstruct for continuing to help me out with her beta skills. seriously, THANK YOU!!

ANYWAY, enjoy!!

It’s starts off with Betty knocking on the old wooden door. Her knocks are light enough to travel throughout the entire trailer. The echos of her presence alerting him in the kitchen. Putting the butter knife down, Jughead turns towards the door and it’s Betty alright, her tall shadow and ponytail give her away.

The sandwich can wait.

In nothing but deep navy sweats that trail on the brown carpet as he walks and a white muscle shirt, Jughead opens the door, not at all worried about his current appearance. The youngest Cooper greets him on the other side, a smile instantly forming on her face the moment they meet eyes. Her’s, soft green with long dark lashes that sparkle under the lamp above his door. It’s still a strange concept to get used to. The fact that there’s someone besides his kid sister who gets excited about being around him, let alone seeing him is weird because he’s weird. Jughead smiles at her reaction and steps aside, one arm stretched out dramatically towards the tiny living room.

“Betts, to what do I owe this pleasure?” It’s silly, but Betty makes him silly. He’s noticed how he does things or acts in ways no other person would ever catch him acting now - besides Archie of course. But for a female of the opposite sex to be graced by something besides his sardonic personality? That was reserved for the important women in his life: Forsythia ‘Jellybean’ Jones and now, Elizabeth ‘Betty’ Cooper.

Betty hops forward, palms flat against his warm chest. A chill runs down his spine at the feel of her cool hands and his skin instantly raises in goosebumps. The blonde leans forward, lips first against his own in a chaste kiss.

“Hello to you too, Jug,” she scoffs playfully.

“Have you forgotten today’s Halloween?” continues Betty.

He blinks, shrugs, and then let’s his hands travel to rest against her waist.

“Can’t really forget when the entirety of Riverdale is decorated in orange.” Tilting his chin, Jughead motions past the open door.

Sunnyside is glowing with an orange hue. Almost every door has some sort of pumpkin creation resting on the small stoop leading into the mobile homes.

“Sunnyside isn’t the richest place, but with community outreach programs comes free pumpkins and decorations. You forget that you helped hand out those pumpkins already?” He teases and Betty tilts her head sideways and grins widely.

“Of course not but,“ Betty’s finger jabs him against his chest. “Where’s your pumpkin?” It’s then that both teens turn to look at the empty stoop. There was a pumpkin, until the accident.

“To be fair, I carved one out but the neighbors’ kids kicked their soccer ball into it. I doubt a morbidly smashed pumpkin would look pleasing on the Jones doorstep.” he shrugs and Betty smacks his chest.

“You could have told me! Dad carved an extra one that’s now just resting in the backyard to ‘ward’ off any stray cats.” Jughead snickers and pulls Betty closer to him as he shuts the door.

“Oh well, the trailer is creepy enough seeing as who owns it.” He adds, shrugging, before taking Betty’s pink coat and watches as she sets the duffel bag on the couch. Curiosity peeks an all time high then.

And so do his brows.

Betty notices and pats the sky blue bag. “It’s my costume,” she says.

Again, his brows raise to new heights. There were no underaged parties to attend this Halloween and Veronica was nowhere to be seen, so as far as he had known, there were no planned costumes for the night either.

Now he’s worried by the prospect of walking around all night, surrounded by rascals dressed in bulky costumes who’d be crying and fighting over candy.

“I thought we weren’t go—“ Betty cuts him off before he can even finish. There’s a finger on his lips, and it smells sweet. What lotion was she using today?

“It’s not for an outing. It’s...” green eyes shyly flick back and forth between him and the old television.

“It’s for...?” He urges, noticing then how nervous she looks. Betty chews at the corner of her lip for a few moments and shuffles on her feet. She looks cutt when she thinks, he muses.

“It’s for you,” Betty blurts out suddenly, cheeks visibly red.

Like the girl before him, his cheeks mimic her own. “What do you mean ‘it’s for me’?” He asks the question, even though he already knows what she means.

For a week leading up to the haunted night, Betty had been joking about showing up in a full costume that was sure to ‘knock his socks off,’ and when asked on whether or not said costume was PG or not Betty would always shrug with a sly smile. With his interest piqued, Betty only shrugs and and sports a the tiniest of smirks.

“You’ll see.”

With that there’s another poke to his chest and then she’s waltzing towards the couch, flopping down with a satisfied sigh. As curious as he was for what was in store for him as the night went on, he was still hungry. Food was of must utter importance. The bread, mayonnaise and condiments for the sandwich still sat out, waiting to be tended to and his stomach reminded him then. An audible rumbling filters through the compact living room and Betty notices. With an arched brow, Betty follows his gaze towards the kitchen. “Oh! You were eating? Can I have one too? Mom won’t let us have white bread.” She stands and heads towards the kitchen sink where she washes her hands. “She sticks to that seven grain, wheat bread...” Betty trails off and picks up the butter knife, continuing to spread the mayonnaise onto his slice.

What an angel, he thinks. Not only does she come into his home unannounced (not that he minds), she also has the nerve to tease him when he’s starving. Both food and curiosity burn into his mind. He needed both now, one to eat and one to figure out.

“Your mom needs to go to a regular market,” he remarks.“Swaper Joey’s is selling your mom expensive stuff that anyone can get for a few dollars at Malmart.”

They make their sandwiches then. Jughead’s glad that Betty is here to make him something that doesn’t just include a slice of ham and processed cheese. And what she does end up making is a pretty monster of a sandwich that can’t even fit in her mouth without them laughing at her attempts.

It ends up with two attempts at taking a chunk, only to have the tomatoes flop out the sandwich (two of those slices which land on his toe). Laughter ensues and Betty ends up slicing her sandwich instead.

“Maybe it’s just me, but I swear these always taste better when you make them,” Jughead muses. Betty, rolling her eyes at his comment, snickers. “Yeah, because there’s actual condiments in them this time.” He takes another mouthful and moans in the process.

Betty, the sandwich goddess.

They eat their food in peace, opting to watch a rerun of the Charlie Brown Halloween special on the television. Jughead comments on the animated film which he’s watched since he could remember. Betty on the other hand, reveals that she’s never seen it which causes him to gasp out loud. Another hour passes just as the credits are rolling when the blonde excuses herself to the use the restroom. It’s dark out by the time the film ends and Jughead checks his phone for the time. It’s late, but not late enough to garner the attention of Alice Cooper.

With a yawn, Jughead leans back against the couch, one bare foot propping against the empty spot left by Betty. It’s still warm and his eyes begin to droop. Water echoes from the bathroom faucet. It’s raining again and the droplets fill the home with a calming drumming that easily puts him to sleep. Comfortable and with a stomach full of chips and sandwiches, Jughead dozes off.

When when he wakes, it’s not from him waking himself up. Instead, it’s from a nudge against his ankle. He snorts and blinks, allowing this vision to clear up. He doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep for, it doesn't seem like a drastic change from when he first dozed off. This time the television is off and there is soft music coming from somewhere to his right. Now more alert he sits up, his blue eyes come face to face with shiny black fabric. One that glows orange in the dark. He notes the sudden appearance of an orange form resting on the coffee table.

A pumpkin.

It’s lit up and smiling back at him - those empty triangular eyes and smile are creeping him out. Where did it come from?

There’s another nudge on his fallen foot by something cool. It’s relatively dark in the living room, the only light source coming from the pumpkin’s candle. Jughead looks up, his dark gaze travels up the coldness that comes from a shiny black heel, all the way up to a shiny black leg.

“Wha-”

Confused as ever, Jughead blinks in surprise, rubbing his eyes in return as the figure comes into view. It’s Betty, in all black. Not only is she in all black, but he’s certain that she’s dressed exactly like the Sandy Olsson from Grease.

Or at least, a heavily inspired version of the iconic blonde.

“Holy, shit.”

Betty’s giggle is short and her leg bends flirtatiously, a move that accentuates her long toned legs. They shimmer under the orange light and the belt around her waist enhances her skin tight look. There’s barely anything to hide her chest with, the fabric cuts and sweeps around her breasts, pushing them together in two soft mounds.

“Betts, wh- how?” Too stunned for words, Jughead swallows thickly.

It’s hard to remember to breathe for a second. Seeing such a thing was out of this world, his girlfriend in full costume is something he was not expecting to see...ever.

But Betty looks good, that he can say with confidence, and he does. She smiles at him and does a spin, his eyes can’t help but trail down her backside.

Skin-tight pants are awesome, he thinks. The blonde notices the lingering, heavy lidded gaze and swallows coming from her boyfriend. With a slight turn from her head, she faces Jughead and shifts her hips. The sudden confidence boosting the waves of excitement and lust. It’s a strange feeling, she muses, but Jughead reacting to her body is something that she enjoys. Years upon years of her mother's scorning comments about her weight fade away the moment her blue eyed boy worships her.

“Just a little something I put together. You know, my mom has a lot of really good clothes up in the attic.” Betty fluffs up her hair, it’s not as teased up or radically shaped as Sandy’s, in the film, but she’d managed to sweep part of it to one side. The teasing from the comb had only made contact with the ends of her hair. Another difference to the actual costume is the red bandana coming up from under the blonde puff, but Betty tops the look off with mascara, the brightest red lipstick that she could find at the drugstore, and the heels - which she’s been tapping against Jughead’s bare toes - they were taken from Polly, a pair she hadn’t worn since her prom days.

“Well...never thought I’d say this-“ He starts. “But thank god for Alice Cooper.” Betty giggles and sucks her bottom lip in between her teeth.

“Right?” Jughead nods, suddenly aware of the heeled foot rubbing against his bare toes. The material is cold against his skin and it causes a shock to travel from his foot all the way up his spine. The rubbing grows and Betty steps forward. When shuffling her arms, the familiar jacket around her shoulders alerts him of it’s presence.

It’s his jacket.

The thick leather with a two headed snake protects the woman from the chill of the trailer. A jacket that once belonged to his father, a jacket that’s been his for almost a year. The Southside Serpents logo shields Betty from everyone and everything. The two headed snake wards away any ill intentions towards her, like a prayer casted upon her. It’s sinful, unlawful and wrong for her to wear, but it suits her. She looks stunning, her large green eyes watching with curiosity as her foot travels past his ankles and upwards his leg. There’s a silence that falls within the thin walls of the trailer. Both teens share looks of curious lust. Jughead’s pupils are blown wide and his breath hitches the higher the black heels goes.

Betty stands across from him, her body rigid with excitement and fear of the unknown. She wasn’t one to spring foreplay out of nowhere, but apparently Halloween night was an exception. Knowing that they’d wanted to stay home and enjoy the spooky night, there had been thoughts brewing in her head for a week until deciding what to do. The plan was simple: punish Jughead for no other reason than for being in the same room as her.

As the heel travels higher and her foot lifts past the carpet, Betty has to channel the cheerleader in her. Finding the right posture to stay still while balancing on one foot proves to be a challenge while in four inch heels. She wobbles slightly, a gesture that causes Jughead to lean forward in worry, but before he can move any closer, the bottom of the heel makes contact with his chest. In confusion, the boy looks down at her foot, the pointy tip flat against his beating heart.

There are no words exchanged between both teens, the only thing audible are Jughead’s ragged breaths. The heel that pushes against him makes Jughead lean back slowly, but not before a slight push from Betty sends him falling back. The couch creeks against the impact and so does he with a grunt. He doesn’t complain though. He never does.

“Good boy,” encourages Betty, her voice but a dominant whisper. Her eyes are no longer wide and haunting, instead they’re low: menacing. A smirk graces the corner of her lips and a single brow arches impossibly high.Jughead gulps. Shouldn’t there aren’t any warning bells going off in his head?

He listens like an obedient child and nods. His hands try to find his knees, wanting to grip onto something for support but Betty is faster and her heel nudges his hands away. He watches in mild horror as Betty sucks a cherry colored lip into her mouth, suppressing a giggle.

That’s hot, he thinks.

“You’re so obedient, Juggie.”

“Well, what can-oomph!”

Betty’s heels make contact with his chest again, pushing him back against the cushion, an act which makes him stare up at her with his big stormy blue eyes. At the sight of him, Betty resists the urge to groan. Jughead looks so good then, his hair is messy from the movements caused by her foot. A few loose strands of curly black hair block his eyesight.

“Nuh-uh. Not until I say so,” She sings.

Betty is something else, he muses.

With a smirk forming on his lips, he questions her sudden authority, something which she doesn’t like in the moment because the next thing he notices is the same foot traveling down his stomach. “All you have to do is listen, Jug. That’s it, but since...well-“ his heart rate speeds up when he notices where the destination for the heel is headed. “-it’s hard for you to listen. I’ll just make you feel my commands.”

A groan escapes his lips as the heel gently presses against his crotch. Soft twists against his member and applied pressure make his head fall forwards.

What’s up with her tonight? He wonders. Betty had an affinity for getting randomly predatory at times, bossy even, but even then, Jughead had never once felt put off by her attitude swap. Good girl Betty existed by day and sometimes by night...with him a much more lucrative woman came out. A certain woman that liked to mess with his being, sexually and mentally.

It’s not bad, she’s never done anything out of malice. Betty is sexy in her swap, so much so that Jughead finds himself feeling glee the moment this Betty makes an appearance. This version of his girlfriend doesn’t go away easily, she’s always around. Sometimes appearing at school, the Bijou, home (both his and anyone else’s) - Elizabeth Cooper has a way of showing her dominant side, one which thrills him to the core so much so that bullies be damned, but if those green eyes want to push him around, then he’s all for it.

He’s sure to get hard the minute they do.

The heel continues to grind down on him and Jughead tilts his gaze up at her behind his loose curls.

“Jesus, Betty.” His groan is guttural, deep, filled with arousal only Betty can decipher.

He wants more.

A hiss comes from him this time. The heel presses upward against the hardening muscle, following its direction towards his thigh. With rhythmic strokes, Betty stands with both hands on her hips, enjoying the way her boy writhes under her touch. Jughead’s dark head slumps back against the armrest, grunting at the sensation. The view is beyond erotic and though Betty debates her actions, as she always does, it’s only for a split second. She likes what she does, it feels empowering: sexually thrilling. She never does know what comes over her, but as if on autopilot, a voice in the back of her head begs her to punish Jughead. The voice slowly wraps around her from neck to toe, squeezing her in a pleasurable way. Her mouth pools with saliva, aroused beyond normal means and the hairs on her skin raise at the rush of lust. Knowing that Jughead enjoys her actions as much as she does makes her shudder.

Jughead groans and shifts his hips against the heel, seeking more friction. They were both past the point of embarrassment, an act like grinding against her foot was nothing out of the ordinary for the young couple.

“Oh, Juggie, I think you’re enjoying this a bit too much now.” She stops all movement and her foot makes contact with the carpet again. Jughead, in return frowns, huffing out loud.

“Come on, Betty.”

“Hush,” comes her command. Jughead’s mouth comes to a complete close right before attempting to say more. The action causes her heart to swell. Oh, how she loved the boy that was nothing but putty in her hands. There's a visible tent formed at the space between his legs, and Jughead stares up at Betty. The need and want in his baby blues shine orange under the candle light.

Betty looks delicious enough to eat, skin tight 50’s inspired garb with dark, smoky makeup. It’s not overly dramatic, but for Betty to sport a sharp cat eye with long mascara coated lashes? It’s new for him and he’s enjoying the end result. Her eyes are predatory and he’s the prey. A shudder breaks through him. The arousal at his core jerks, now impossibly hard.

Betty could eat him alive and he would die a happy man.

Except, she doesn’t eat him, let alone taste him. Instead, she takes two steps forward, leans down to eye level and tilts her head. Those huge Bambi eyes filled with something akin to childish curiosity mock him. Jughead gulps again and pushes forward with shaky hands. Suddenly, he’s jerked forward and upwards: sitting. Betty’s long legs trap him on each side. Her body is flush against his as she cradles his face. Jughead shudders at the feeling of nails digging into his scalp. His throbbing erection screams for attention, but Betty doesn’t sit on him. Instead, her ass hovers above, teasing him. She’s warm to the touch and her breath caresses his face. She smells good and all he wants is to hide his face between her breasts.

“Since you refused to go out for the night, I thought I’d have some fun with you. How does that sound? ” It's not a question, rather an already set fact.

He nods.

Jughead winces when his dark locks are tugged at, forcing him to tilt his head back. “Good boy.” mutters Betty. Tilting her head downwards, her breath ghosts against his own.

God, she smells good. All the candy that she’s consumed during the movie is mixed in with her breath and it makes his mouth water. She smells like cherries.

“Good boy, Juggie. You’re such a good boy.” Betty whispers against his lips before crushing hers against his waiting mouth.

The groan that tears through his throat is deep, filled with raw need. Betty tastes exactly how he’d imagined: fruity. He shuts his eyes and allows the girl to tongue him, her own tongue gliding against his own. It curls around his for a second, sucking greedily. It’s as if he’s drunk suddenly. The taste of Betty is a high that he can never get enough of. It’s soft and sweet, raw and hungry. Jughead moans into her mouth, their teeth clicking against one another. The pain from having his hair tugged and the erection within his sweats are enough to drive him into insanity. His hands are smacked away when attempting to settle them at her hips.

Breaking the kiss, the blonde takes him by the wrists, planting both hands to each side of his face. Jughead watches with heavy eyes as Betty secures him by her will. It’s something he won’t fight. The act alone causes all available blood left to travel down south and he whines at the reaction. The hardness is beginning to become unbearable and Betty still refuses to sit on him. In fact, she’s still on her knees, leaning against his chest.

“Betty, please,” pleads Jughead.

Still recovering from the lack of oxygen, both teens pant into each other’s waiting mouths. When leaning forward for more of her lips the blonde reacts by squeezing his wrists against the worn cushions. The wooden frame beneath the thin material digs into Jughead’s skin and causes him to wince. Pain courses from his arm down to his groin. This mixture of pain and pleasure prompts a groan from him and then Betty finally settles on his lap.

The weight on his member is excruciatingly delicious and it doesn’t help when she lifts her ass back up, only to make sure to rub down against his length once more.

“Can’t help you there, Jug. Sorry,” she mumbles into his mouth, before kissing him again. Her eyes flutter close, as do his. Betty’s tongue is hot against his own and their kissing fills the air with raunchy sounds. Curling her tongue against his, Betty pushes against his lips, seeking more of him in her mouth. Lips mold and crush against one another and Betty moans. His lap is hot, the blondes core emanating her arousal through the thin material of her skin tight pants. Grinding against him, her ass pushes back and forth against the hardened member.

“Shit, Betty,” manages Jughead in between messy kisses. Wishing that he could remove the annoying material trapping him within he foolishly attempts to move his arms, but Betty’s firm grip is impossible to escape. Betty kisses him again, this time raising her bottom to move behind the tent, his member nestled right in front of her and her scalding core.

“Oh…” Betty moans, her hips beginning to push against his cock. The friction is divine and with a few experimental strokes of her hips, both Jughead and Betty are dropping their heads. Foreheads collide and the grip against his wrists tighten as Betty lets out a mewl dangerous that’s enough for him to want to throw her on the coffee table. He chooses not to and instead sits through her antics.

“Yes.” Her quick whisper sits between them as her hips continue to grind against his hardness. Groaning, he shudders when she speeds up. The old couch groans under the sudden movement.

“Oh my god...yes.”

Jughead’s mind is clouded by pleasure. His member is being attended to in ways he didn’t expect. With Betty’s tight pants, it’s as if she’s wearing nothing. The part between her legs could be felt on him, and Betty feels it too, adjusting to how well she’s applying pressure on him. Her center is exposed enough to elicit a moan that vibrates throughout the tiny trailer.

The creaking continues and Betty slumps forward, slowing down. This time, her hips circle his hips in slow motion, one that Jughead can't stand. Missing the friction, he nestles his mouth and nose against the pulse of her neck. He gets to kiss the area he knows she loves only once before Betty pulls away with a growl

“No.”

Huffing, he nods and looks down at where they’re connected for the time being. There’s a visible stain coming through his navy sweats. Precum has begun seeping through and Jughead feels his ears warm up. Sensing his stare, green eyes follow and a giggle burst through Betty’s matte cherry red lips.

“What a messy boy.”

She grinds against him again, setting a slow pace that eases into something quick once again. The couch begins to move along with their movements and Jughead groans. His neck is attacked then. Betty suckles on his pulse, biting into the supple skin like a vampire on their human prey. Her warm tongue soothes the area where she sucks greedily at, alerting him of the hickey that she’d just left him. It stings but it feels good. The combination of pain and Betty’s silky tongue on him pricks the back of his neck causing the hairs to raise.

Cursing, Jughead is left to endure the ministrations of his girlfriend. Her hips violently grinding down against his own. A shudder runs through them both and Betty is practically bouncing down on him, hips slamming down on his cock while seeking friction.

“Shit, shit. I’m gonna come, Jug,” she hisses in a hurry, her voice light and desperate. Betty’s eyes are wide and facing the ceilings while continuing to ride him. Jughead, on the other hand, is resting his face against her chest. His hot breath causes her skin to collect a dewy sheen of sweat, mixed with the condensation of his breath. Supple breasts cradle his face while fingers grip onto his wrists. Like a prisoner, he’s unable to escape the grip of his master.

There’s a familiar sensation bubbling in his stomach, twisting and churning. The feeling shoots throughout his body in less than a millisecond and before he can register his own actions, the back of Jughead’s head is being gripped once more.

Betty holds onto the dark locks of hair, gripping him tightly against her chest as her orgasm tears through her body in a violent spasms. Beneath her, Jughead joins her as her hips jab at his cock, milking an orgasm from him. Like Betty, his hips jerk upwards, meeting her shaky thrusts. Immediately after coming, Betty’s nails claw at his back, gripping onto the thin material of his shirt. Her hips continue to buck against him in leftover pleasure and she moans, shaking.

Jughead pants for air, sucking in greedy amounts of the stuffy trailer air that manages its way through his face and Betty’s breasts. He’d started groaning the moment cum exploded onto his boxers, soaking through to his pants and hadn’t stopped. Betty’s own arousal has soaked the area more than it had already been. The thought of the clean up makes him shudder, not wanting to deal with the sticky mess.

Still, boy did it feel good.

As if the temperature couldn’t get any lower within the trailer, the chills begins to plague Jughead. Betty seems well off, he thinks, considering the jacket draped around her shoulders. Goosebumps litter his orange illuminated skin. Jughead’s blue eyes crack open to stare at the pumpkin. Above him, Betty continues to shake slightly, most of the movement coming from her thighs. He can feel her core clenching against him and had it not been for him feeling drained, Jughead would’ve tossed her down to go for round two. The moistness enveloping him begins to travel downwards, coating him further.

A shower then, for sure.

A soft caress begins at the base of his neck where the blonde's fingers let go of the dark lock in order to pet the area. A puff of hot breath runs over the crook of his neck as Betty settles closer to him. Just like him, Betty is gasping for air. Jughead feels the vibrations emanating from Betty. With free hands that can rest on her ass, they slowly caress her.

“Jughead…” she mutters a warning. But he doesn’t listen, instead his fingers spread open allowing for more coverage. Even with tight pants on and ones that act like a second skin, Betty still shudders at his touch. Jughead is fast to move and his hands dip lower, exploring familiar grounds. Noticing how still she’s being, Jughead trails one hand dangerously lower which settles right between her ass. The lower it goes, the more that Betty begins to shake. With his middle finger, he presses lower and lower until reaching her. Jumping, Betty pushes down on him, blocking his hands from going further. The act elicits a chuckle from the boy who retracts his hand and opts to rub her ass.

“Sorry,” he mutters an apology and Betty shakes her head, sinking her face into the crook of his neck even more. They sit in comfortable silence for a while until the pumpkin brings back his attention. Jughead finally asks where she scored a fully carved pumpkin from. Her response has him laughing.

“You stole little Jimmy’s pumpkin? You’ve resorted to stealing kid’s pumpkins?” The amusement and laugh is all but obvious and Betty can’t help but laugh with him.

“Oh stop. You’re going to make me feel bad.”

“Sorry, Betty, but, you just stole my neighbor’s pumpkin and exposed it to a sexual play. Can’t say I don’t find that not funny.” At his comment, the blonde starts laughing and Jughead joins her.

“I doubt anyone will miss the damn thing. I carved it when Jimmy wasn’t paying attention,” Betty reminds him then, and she’s right. The reminder makes him snicker into her shoulder. Jughead’s arms wrap around her waist. “You’re something else, Betty Cooper.”

Giggling, Betty responds with her own witty comment “The name’s Sandy, kid. Remember it.”

Both teens laugh, their comments welcoming the end of Halloween in Riverdale.

#bughead #mari writes #bughead fic #bughead fanfiction

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cece2046 · 6 years

Text

Close the Curtains - Chap 1

Thank you my beta @reynardinepttr! Sorry I'm shit at English apparently omg.

Teddy Lupin × Hermione Granger

FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12748991/1/Close-the-Curtains

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12922338/chapters/29528235

@sissannis because... yeah.

I saw her and I said to James, “I’m in love.”

James was texting to Albus or Victoire or whichever cousin our twisted huge family has. He hummed. I waited. About ten text-sent pop sounds later, he jumped a bit and turned his eyes to me. “What?” he asked.

“I’m in love? That thing’s gonna get you killed you know, if you keep putting all your goddamn attention into it.”

James wasn’t having any of it. “You’re in love with who?”

“Whom,” I replied calmly. “With her.” I pointed to her as discreetly as I could manage.

James turned his head and let out a soft “whoa”.

I know. That’s what I felt several moments ago.

The thing about me that you have to know is, I’m a very calm person. You have to be if you want some degree of emotional privacy as a Metamorphmagus. You need to train yourself not to change your hair colour according to your favorite person in the vicinity. That’s very cute and all when you’re a baby. Still cute when you’re a kid, but once you step into teenage years, it becomes inconvenient when all you want is to “play it cool”, you know? And now I’m an adult, that’d be simply embarrassing.

I know my mum didn’t care about showing her emotional status for everyone not colourblind to see, according to hearsay from Harry or Ginny or Ron. But I’m not my mum. I’ve been told many times that my mum was a lot more chipper than me. I don’t know why they keep telling me that. Maybe they just want me to be happier by setting up a role model out of my late mother, as ridiculous as that sounds?

I sometimes think that even though I’m a Metamorphmagus like my mum, I’m more like my dad. Not that I know about him much, mind you, but a kid has a lot to think about when he’s an orphan yet at the same time he has thousands of family members. Have you seen the Weasleys? Honestly.

Anyway, I’m in love but I’m pretty sure that my expression didn’t change at all. Totally cool. This woman is gorgeous. Not in a super model way or something. She’s just so… I don’t know. I just can’t take my eyes off her. She’s different, like she knows a lot of things and has been to a lot of places, yet I can still picture her sitting next to the fireplace in the Burrow and drinking tea with a book on her lap. It’s unsettling, to be honest.

James is saying something.

I turned my eyes to him. “What did you just say?”

“She’s coming our way, mate.” James stuffed his phone in the back pocket of his jeans, seeming a little nervous, which is totally out of character for him.

She is coming our way. Yes she is. Suddenly I don’t know the purpose of my own hands anymore. Where should I put them? Why do I have them if I can’t come up with a comfortable place to put them? Do I look at her? Do I pretend that my phone buzzed? Do I pretend to have a stroke? Do I pretend to be high?

I don’t know what I'm doing and she’s in front of us. She might be in her 30s? I don’t know. I can’t breathe.

She opened her mouth.

“James? James Potter?”

What?

James visibly jumped. Chill, mate. She just said your name. It’s not like she screamed your name when she came.

Wait, what? What now?

“Yes, ma’am. I mean, My Lady. I mean, yes. Yes. I am. James Sirius Potter. James Potter. The Junior. Just James. I mean, yes. My pleasure. And you are?” James stuttered his way through it. I’m proud of him. I still can’t form a sentence.

She smiled. I’ve never seen such a smile before. It’s not sunshine or daisies or unicorns or rainbows. It’s a little warm and a little sad at the same time. It’s like that first moment when there’s a breeze and you realize that summer is ending soon, but it’s not unpleasant, especially if you’re a fan of autumn.

“I’m Hermione Granger. Glad to make your acquaintance, too.”

“Hermione Granger? You’re Hermione Granger? Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m such a fan. You fought next to my dad in the war, yeah? And your thesis on that new application of dragon blood is so inspiring!” James is beaming.

“Thank you.” She gave him another smile. “Are you taking me to Harry? Is that why you’re here? Harry said in the last letter that he was going to send you to welcome me, since he has this meeting that he can’t get out of.”

“Oh yes, definitely. Jeez, dad didn’t say that you’re so hot. What are you, 40 years old now?”

Way to go, James.

She didn’t take offence. “More or less.” And then she turned to me. She’s staring at me. “Teddy?” Her voice is somehow lower. She looks a lot younger at that moment, like a school girl.

I straightened. “You know me?”

She closed her eyes for a bit. “You were still very young when I left Britain,” she said. “No wonder you don’t remember me.”

And suddenly she’s hugging me. She’s tiny compared to me, but I still feel enveloped. Her hair smells nice. I don’t know that scent. I tentatively put my right hand on her back between her shoulder blades. I shouldn’t have done that, because now she’s hugging me harder. She’s so soft. I’m getting hard. This hug needs to stop. Right. Now.

She pulled back like she heard my thoughts. “Shall we?” That’s directed to James, who’s currently staring at me with a thoughtful look.

“Yes, this way, Hermione. May I call you Hermione?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m practically your aunt."

We’re driving to James’s flat in Muggle London and then taking the floo. James is driving. Hermione takes the shotgun. I’m on the backseat. James struck up a conversation about her academic theory about something. I’m not listening. I’m just feeling her voice and thinking.

It’s not a secret that Harry and Ron have a third best friend. They talk about her. Not a lot, but they’re not keeping her a secret from us kids. We’ve all been curious once, but the moment we got a textbook she wrote, the curiosity disappeared. You don't really get curious about your textbook writer. No one does. We all tend to avoid them. So all we know is that she’s their best friend, she fought in the war, and she left for academic achievements. Nice and easy.

Come to think of it, why hasn't she come back to visit? Ever? If she’s such a good friend of Harry and Ron’s?

James is enamoured. He might have a crush on her. I can tell. What about her? I can’t see her face on the backseat. Well, a little. I can see her left ear, partly obscured by her hair. It’s pale and delicate. I want to touch it. I want to lick it. I’m being weird. Her neck is there for me to observe, too. I know if she turns around this moment and sees me, I might as well kiss my chance with her goodbye. This is so creepy, staring at that little patch of skin like a serial killer or… skin… fanatic.

James saved me from myself. “Are you coming with us, Teddy?”

I turned my eyes to him. “Sure. Why not?”

He has this meaningful little evil smile in his eyes in the rear mirror. “I thought you had a date with a certain blonde?”

“It’s not a date. It’s just a drink.”

“So? Are you going or not?”

“I can cancel.”

James whistled. I know what’s on his mind. He’s such a child.

“Are you single, James?” Hermione asked.

James suddenly tensed. “Ah, no?”

Hermione laughed. “Is that a question?”

James chuckled nervously. “Hey, Hermione, are you obligated to tell my parents everything regarding to me? Like, real-aunt stuff?”

I guess that’s the problem when you have parents. You love them. They love you. But somehow you just cannot be the people who know each other the most.

I’m a little surprised that Hermione actually thought about it for a bit. I can tell James is surprised too. People all give quick answers when they’re asked about this. Angelina will say “you bet your ass I will tell Ginny everything kids”. George will say “nah dude this is between you and me, pranksters’ honour”. But Hermione, she’s thinking about it like she’s not sure.

After a moment, she said, “I guess it depends.”

James is a little miffed. “Depends on what?”

She shrugged. “On whether or not it’s necessary to tell them?”

“How do you decide that?” I asked. I didn’t realise that I was already leaning forward and ready to participate.

She turned around and looked at me. “Well, I guess if James’s secret might put him in grave danger, then I should tell Harry about it. Otherwise I’m a pretty good secret keeper.” She paused for a moment, added, “What about you, Teddy? Do you tell Harry everything about James?”

I don’t know why, but her words warmed me in an unexpected way, like in her way of asking, she put me in the same level as her - adult, independent, guardian of that big child sitting in the driver’s seat. It means that she doesn’t see me as a child; instead, she sees me as a partner in crime in this car if James spills one of his secrets, and that pleases me enormously.

I looked into her eyes and said, “I’m the best secret keeper in the world.”

She shivered. Maybe. Maybe it’s just a trick of light and shadows and the speeding scenery outside the window. She didn’t look away though. I didn’t look away either. One moment passed and then we missed our opportunity to look away without being awkward or weird, so we have to keep looking at each other. I can’t control myself that well. I looked down to her lips for a split second, but she caught me. I can tell.

Damn it.

She silently turned around completely. James glared at me for a bit. Merlin, give me a break.

“So,” James said, “if I tell you something about my love life you wouldn’t tell my parents?”

Her voice is steady. “No. Unless your girlfriend plans to kill you.”

“That’s not as far-fetched as you would imagine,” James laughed a bit.

She’s totally relaxed now. “So you have one? Girlfriend?”

James hummed.

“And Harry doesn’t know?”

James hummed again.

She laughed a bit. “Okay. I won’t tell him, but I want a full report.”

James laughed along. “You need to win my trust first.”

She might murmured something like “Harry Potter’s fucking son”. I’m sure I heard wrong.

It’s pretty uneventful after that. We flooed to the Ministry, sat outside Harry’s office, and waited for him to end whatever’s going on in there. An assistant Auror, Kris, said that Auror Potter knew we’d arrived and he’d meet us as soon as possible. It’s interesting, the Auror Office. Everyone’s constantly on the move. Only one or two are sitting at their desks and chewing their quills. I’m guessing case closing report.

Hermione sits between me and James. James is on his phone again. He’s been on his phone ever since Malfoy Industries invented a method to make Muggle devices work normally in magical environments, which means five years ago. I think. Harry threatened to reducto that thing once, but he never did. I guess for a man like Harry, the more ways to find his family at any given time, the better.

She wasn’t doing anything, just watching the office and taking it all in. She’s been away for quite some time, after all. I can feel her beside me even when I’m not looking at her. I don’t feel warmth or smell her scent or something like that. No. I just feel her presence.

And then someone said, in a weak voice, “Merlin’s balls. Hermione.”

I looked up, and there’s Ron. He’s pale as a corpse.

Hermione stood up and said calmly, “Hi, Ron.”

And then he’s kissing her. And my blood turned to ice in my veins.

#Teddy Lupin #Hermione Granger #hprarepairnet #this is seriously fluff #no one's dead #yet #fairestoftherare

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dianamjackson · 4 years

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Dance (2020)

“What you can’t have with a man, you’ll experience onstage, ten times as intensely! Ten times? A hundred! Sublimated… As if I were making love with God? That’s right, you can dance everything, understand almost everything through music. Go on, get dressed!” ~ Birmant & Oubrerie, 2019, Isadora. And so went the lines that made me buy this book. It’s a brilliant graphic novel by Julie Birmant and illustrated by Clément Oubrerie about Isadora Duncan, the mother of modern dance. I was led to this book. I wasn’t even going to enter the bookshop but something compelled me. In the music section, which is where I usually go, I was looking for the dance section. I finally found it (it was tiny), and the name ‘Isadora’ in red letters on the spine so compelled me that I couldn’t stop staring at it. My other favourite line is when she’s in a cafe nursing a beer, having just turned down Loie Fuller’s offer to join the latter’s dance troupe: “Whom to share this strange feeling with, of Greek temples without sky or infinity?” Indeed, whom to share my view of life with. Story of my life. I called my website a lover’s dance because I consider all my activities dancing and I’m a lover. I love a lot of things, including love itself. I’ve always been that way; a floaty-headed romantic. I only ever draw pictures when I’m in love with my subject, I only ever record music when I felt compelled, and I only ever write when I have something to say. I have never been a Puritan when it comes to my arts. This “inspiration finds you at work” thing — please. In the past fifteen years I’ve recalled exactly two instances of boredom, each lasting about five minutes. I am always inspired and so there is always something to do. (Actually, Michael said something fascinating about “writer’s block” that I never forgot. He said that merely uttering the phrase creates writer’s block, because you ‘speak things into existence.’ He is absolutely right. I’d heard of this phenomenon but, as I’m always inspired, had never experienced it myself. Furthermore, I knew that acknowledging the concept would create it. I don’t know how I knew that, but I did. In art and design classes people talked about “fear of the blank page.” I had no idea what they were on about; to me a blank page was the most exciting thing ever. I guess these are the “ordinary people” Michael laments. One downside of being perpetually inspired and creatively active is that many people can’t relate to you. But more on that later.) I’d always loved the idea of dancing but was far too self conscious to ever do it in front of anyone. I was even too embarrassed to dance alone. But my love and fascination grew until it became stronger than the fear, and I started dancing. Now, I can’t help it. Before I encountered Michael (September of 2018) I was planning on going to clubs just to dance. But the problem with clubs is that people often go there to pick up, there’s not enough room and sometimes the music is bad or too loud or the sound is poorly balanced. There are so many problems with clubs. A fascinating thing about dancers, the really good ones, is that they do everything in a dancerly way. The way you do anything is the way you do everything, said Tom Waits. For me, all movement is an opportunity for dancing — whether walking to a door, typing on a keyboard, playing guitar or just sitting in a chair. When Miles Davis was going to clubs with Clark Terry to check out the musicians, he said that they could tell whether a guy could play by the way he was standing. I’m fascinated by the act of moving. I love creating graceful movements with my body — movements that look as beautiful as pictures. Dancing is a freer, more dynamic and more exciting way for me to draw. As I say in my Gold Dance commentary video, each frame is a painting — that’s thousands of paintings in a single short film! Far more than I could ever hope to produce as paintings in my lifetime. Not that quantity is so important; it’s just that there are so many poses I’d want to paint. With dancing, I can do them all, and quickly. There’s a kind of ‘move lightly’ principle at work in me — an economy of movement and contact. Some people are really profligate in the way they move; I can accomplish the same task in far fewer movements and with less contact. Michael has this economy too, I’ve noticed. Strangely enough, our tentativeness of contact is combined with a strong sensory desire for and enjoyment of contact. The tentativeness comes from being highly sensitive: watch any highly sensitive child among non-sensitive children and they will be the last to try or approach anything. This is obvious in footage of Michael playing in the snow with his brothers, aged about 6. His brothers are furiously playing in the snow and M is way off to the side, observing and not getting involved. The sensory sensitivity is evidenced by the way we touch things: watch the way Michael touches anything. When he strokes kids’ heads, he uses his whole hand, lovingly. This is exactly how I do it too. He’s enjoying the sensation of the kid’s hair and warm head on his whole hand, and it calms them both. We do the same thing with animals. There’s a fascinating video of M aged about 19 combing a little boy’s hair at a party. I love seeing the way he combs the boy’s hair: gently but deftly and swiftly, just like his dancing. There are no girls at the party; all the other boys are showing off or cracking jokes and M is in the back holding the little boy on his hip like a mother, not really participating in the revelry, just focusing on the kid. Idiots will infer sexual indecency, but it’s not. It’s because we’re highly sensitive, sensory types, and M is a very feminine and therefore maternal person. When we’re sitting down I’ve noticed we minimise the degree to which our bodies are in contact with other things. A characteristic pose will be one leg resting horizontally on the other knee (to stretch it out), but the contact between the ankle and the knee will be minimal; the whole pose is balanced and looks elegant. It’s like we’re always posing, always seeking a balanced stance; like our entire existence is an aesthetic project (it is). Along with economy is grace — whenever we move, we’re dancing. Everything is an opportunity for dancing — whether we’re actually dancing, or just picking up a cup. It does betray a real joy in being alive, in being in a body. What a beautiful privilege to live like this, when all movement is exciting.

I touched on the “leg thing” in my piece My Guy (2020) in Dance notes (www.aloversdance.com). I first noticed M doing this in a picture sitting at a table reading a book. His left leg is completely stretched out resting on a chair, while his right is bent normally. I’d done this for years without ever thinking about it or asking why I do it. I’m doing it right now, as I write this. Upon reflection, I think it might be related to the discharge of energy. We both have a lot of tension in our bodies — he probably has more — and stretching the body out in space is a way to dissipate this energy. Dr Christiane Northrup says that the body has a crystalline grid that discharges energy when we stretch. No wonder stretching feels so good. When I was little I was obsessed with cats (and still kinda am). I watched their movements very closely, obsessively studied pictures of them in cat books and drew them endlessly. I emulated their movements — the way they climbed, hunted, batted with their paws, licked milk from a bowl and walked on their tip toes. I scared people all the time because I’d walk up behind them without making a sound. I loved wearing socks, and still do. In my music film Moles (2020) I am dancing in sparkly socks on a table top. I loved climbing trees as a kid; M says this is one of his favourite things to do. If I were an animal, I’d be a cat. Maybe a lioness or a black panther. Michael would be a deer, I think. He really likes deers, and looks like one with his thin frame, thick neck and gigantic eyes. A cross between a deer, a cat and a praying mantis. He does have a weird reptilian thing with his pet boa constrictor and enjoyed scaring girls (and Quincy Jones!) with his pet snakes. I’ve never liked snakes; I think they’re gross. I’ve had many nightmares containing snakes. So that’s one thing we don’t have in common. So we both have a lot of bodily tension, which is largely responsible for our body rhythm, as I call it — the characteristic rhythm with which we do everything we do from singing to talking to writing to dancing. I’m fascinated by the way tension builds up. This became abundantly clear one day on the tram unable to stretch my leg out because there wasn’t enough room. It built up so much that I actually got angry. Certain activities build tension, and others dissipate it. Concentrating on a difficult problem using beta brain waves builds tension, while meditation using alpha brain waves eases it. Certain types of music create tension, other types ease it. Movement of any kind also eases tension. The Buddhists say that all movement is dukkha or suffering. But where would this suffering have originated? In the case of highly sensitive people growing up in largely non-sensitive households, their subjective experience of growing up in that household is considerably more traumatic than for the non-sensitives. For me, growing up in my house was like a daily war zone. No doubt Michael felt the same growing up in his house. All that trauma is registered by our cells, determines our gene expression and ingrains certain pathways that we carry into adulthood. We then have to live in ways that alleviate all this accrued suffering. It seems to me that we’re always in fight-or-flight mode because of that early conditioning; we’ve a constant vigilance. This is stressful for the body, so we find ways to calm ourselves through fiddling, dancing, avoiding stimulation and taking depressant drugs. I’m quite sure that Michael would not dance the way he did if it weren’t for his childhood experiences of trauma. Dancing is self-expression, and a person dances the way they do because of who they are and the experiences they��ve had. And, much of it depends on the music, I find. (As for dancing without music, as M did in BoW, I’m not sure what to make of that as yet.) I think of high sensitivity as having a ‘more porous’ body than non-sensitive people, so things ‘infect’ the sensitive person more strongly. Intense, hard music makes us dance hard and intense; soft, beautiful music creates soft and beautiful movements. I came across a great article by Lubov Fadeeva, a flamenco dancer. He describes Michael’s dancing accurately and intriguingly, and emphasises the importance of individuality in artistic creativity: “He dances in the flow of free creation. It should be noted that even the moves he performs on stage over and over again are not mechanically repeated like a stuck record. No, he can continue any of his dances by free improvisation at any moment. And it never looks out of sync with his personal style; instead, it opens new facets of his fathomless inner creator. This is what no impersonator can do. Only the creator of the dance can update and renew his dance naturally and improvise freely, and still be himself. No one else can plunge into his sacrament. This is his personal domain, just like every person has his or her own body and his or her own place on Earth.” How marvellous. “When Michael Jackson hit the stage, he danced in ecstasy. And it’s obvious to the spectator. All the best dancers and musicians enter a peculiar state of mind when they create. Art in its highest form is impossible without the ability to work with the subconscious, and without using altered states of awareness and intuition. Without this, it’s not art but simply cheap craft.” TBC Read more of my work at www.aloversdance.com

#essay #dance #dancing #spiritual #michaeljackson #isadoraduncan #dianaszabo #art #artist #music #love #spirituality #rhythm

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writingwithadinosaur · 7 years

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“Interruption” - Oneshot

My Masterlist - Here

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Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 3,052

Key: Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: None that I can really think of. Please let me know if I missed anything!

Summary: Dinner and quality time with your family and boyfriend. Everyone can speak and be heard. Right?

Author’s Note: First story back from my long ass hiatus! Whoo!

This story was kind of really inspired by a conversation that @the-witching-hours12-3 and I had. We both found that we go through similar situations like this one, maybe not to this degree, but still. So I hope our dork can help us escape and help others feel not so alone.

Please go check out @the-witching-hours12-3 ‘s work. She is always a huge help when it comes to being my beta reader and her work is so incredible.

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

- DreaSaurusREX

“You know, we can still cancel if you want to. I could say that you got sick and don’t want to infect anyone else.” You called out to Steve as you tried to find a suitable outfit for dinner.

You had been dating Steve Rogers for a year and a half. Almost everyone knew, except your family. Until now.

A little birdie told your mom about your relationship and she immediately called you, during a movie night with Steve. She then basically gave you no choice but to come over for dinner with her, your father, and your siblings. You loved your family, but any get together with them meant that you would be interrupted and talked over incessantly. Over the years, you’ve learned to just accept it and only really talk when prompted to.

You inspected your outfit as Steve came out of the bathroom, working on buttoning up his shirt.

“Your family knows who I am. They probably know that I can’t really get sick.” He grabbed your hand, held you out from him, and spun you so he could get a good look at you. You couldn’t help but still look nervous.

“I’m sure everything will be fine, doll. And if anything does happen, we’ll figure it out.” He leaned down and kissed you gently.

“You promise?”, you asked with a small smile, which he returned with his own.

“I promise.” He kissed you again, this one being a shorter one. “Let’s finish up getting ready, and then we will head into battle.”

Steve was joking, but if only he knew how true that statement was for you.

~~~~~~~~

On the car ride to your parent’s house, you made sure he remembered all of your siblings names. You had talked about them before and knew that he knew of them, but you were nervous.

“Mary is an accounting major at the local university, Hanna works for the newspaper. Brendon is getting ready to join the Army, and Ken is a mechanic. Oh and don’t forget that my mom--”

“Has a rusty mental filter and my say things that sound offensive, but she means no harm. I know, sweetheart. I know that you are the youngest of five kids, your parents are Janine and Darren, you all grew up in Florida but moved to New York for various reasons, and you are the only one out of them all that I get to call my best girl.” Steve took your free hand and gave it a small squeeze. “Just breathe. We got this.”

“Smooth one there, slick.” He just laughed and winked at you.

You pulled into the driveway. Putting the car in park, you took a breath. Looking at the house, you honestly felt yourself shrink internally at the thought of trying to converse with your family.

“Do we got this, Stevie?”

Steve smile, got out of the car, and opened your door for you, giving you a kiss once you stepped out. He intertwined his fingers with yours and looked you in the eye.

“I could do this all day.”

~~~~~~~~

You didn’t need to ring the doorbell. You mother kept the door unlocked when she expected company. You walked in and saw your brothers and sisters sitting around the living room talking while the tv was on in the background. Ken was the first one to notice you.

“Hey! Look who decided to show up!” Ken meant it as a joke even though it hurt a little bit. You just walked over and gave them all hugs.

“Guys, this is Steve. My boyfri--”

“Mom told us! It’s nice to finally meet you in person. We’ve only seen the good deeds you do around the world, thanks to newspapers and magazines.” You sister Hanna interrupts. You just take a small breath and put on a smile.

“Steve, this is Hanna. She works for the New York Times.” You kept your sentence short and simple. You then make it through introducing your other siblings to him. When you get to your brother, Brendon, the two of them hit is off by talking about Brenton’s deployment that is coming up soon. You tap Steve’s arm.

“I’m gonna go see mom and dad in the kitchen. Try to get them to be calm around you. I’ll be right back.” Steve nods and you give his arm a gently squeeze before heading to the kitchen.

Your parents loved to cook, so it wasn’t surprising to find them in the kitchen. Your dad was working on a couple of drinks for everyone while your mom put the finishing touches on dinner.

“Hey,” you said as you walked into the room and hugged each of them. Your mom was still a little bit bitter about not knowing about Steve before; Your dad was okay with it, as long as you were safe and happy. That didn’t mean that they wouldn’t push some buttons tonight.

“How was the drive?” your dad asked.

“It was fine. Didn’t really get caught in any traffic until close to the exit. Steve--”

“Oh yes! Where is he? We have to go say hello!” your mother chimed in. You had to stop them before they got any further.

“He’s in the living room with Brendon. But just… Please be chill tonight? Don’t be too weird? I’m sure he’s already getting plenty of that from Hanna and the others.” Your mother gave you a sort of offended look, but your dad just nodded before making his way past you.

“Don’t worry, (Y/N/N). It’ll be okay.” You tried to believe that as you helped your mom finish dinner. You couldn’t help but overhear an embarrassing conversation between your father and Steve though.

“Did (Y/N/N) ever tell you about the time she tried wrestling with Ken and accidentally--”

“Daaaaaaad!” you groaned, cutting him off before it got too bad.

It was going to be a long night.

~~~~~~~~

Dinner was just as you thought it would be; everyone talking except you. You just sat there and listened. You tried to get in a word or two, but it was inevitably swallowed up by one of your family members talking over you.

Your parents and Steve were getting along, which wasn’t really a surprise. They were talking about his past and what the two of you have been up to for the last couple of years. You were just listening to their stories, until your dad started asking about your relationship.

“So, how long have you two been together?” You and Steve looked at each other, he nodded for you to speak up now; he’d done a lot of talking so far.

“A little over a year and a half. But we’ve known each other for two years. We didn’t want it getting out for safety reasons. Working with Shield, we--”

“What the hell, (Y/N/N)?! You didn’t even tell me?” Mary interrupted.

“Or me?” Hanna followed behind.

“Like I said, it was for safety reasons. Shield is very particular about certain things. I had to get the all clear from them before I could tell any of you about my new life.”

“Is this gonna be a continuing thing? The two of you? Keeping things a secret?” your mom said in a sort of accusing tone. In response, you threw her a offended and confused look.

“Um… Yeah? I mean, with the jobs we have, we have to be careful with what we say. I wanted to tell you guys, but I didn’t want to put you all at risk. As for Steve and I, we wouldn’t still be together if we didn’t think it was going to work out. Plus, we’ve been through alot together and we--” Now Ken had something to say. As soon as he started to talk, you closed your eyes and took a breath in. Steve had a hand on your thigh under the table to try to help you a bit, you gratefully intertwined your fingers in his.

“Like what? You don’t fight or do anything like what he does. He’s a freakin’ Avenger!” Steve looked at the others around the table before speaking up.

“Do you all not know what (Y/N) does with Shield?” Your family all gave various forms of “no.” You squeeze his hand and lean to whisper.

“I never told them.” Steve raised an eyebrow, confused. “Long story involving Shield restrictions and my family that I’ll explain later. Not around them.”

“Are you allowed to tell them what you do?” Steve asked in a hushed tone. You nodded. He squeezed your hand and then turned his attention back to your family.

“(Y/N) is a field agent. That means goes out on missions with the team, just like me. She and our friends, Clint and Natasha, are our three best combat and intelligence agents.” Steve then looks directly at your brother, Ken, “In short, your little sister is a badass. She has helped take down hundreds of members of Hydra already in her first two years with the Avengers, and she hasn’t slowed down one bit.”

Steve turned to you with a proud smile. You had a small blush on your cheeks. You knew Steve was proud of you and loved you, but speaking of you like that in front of your family struck a chord inside of you and made you fall even more in love with him. You leaned towards him to whisper again. “Language!” You both chuckled at your sort of inside joke. Steve kissed the side of your head.

“Well shit, (Y/N/N)! If you weren’t so quiet around the family, maybe we would have known how much you’ve changed.” Ken was sort of impressed, but still a dick about the situation.

You tried to keep a neutral face to your family instead of exploding at them, but you couldn’t help the growing annoyance inside. You didn’t think you were quiet; but no one let you talk in this family. Looking at Ken, you spoke with just a hint of attitude behind your words.

“You couldn’t see the physical changes to my body and realize that I’m not a little kid anymore? I’ll keep the whole quiet thing in mind though.”

“Yeah, you’re too quiet.” You just go back to picking at what’s left on your plate. Steve moves his hand so it was more comforting on your thigh while he took a sip of his drink.

Everyone had gone back to talking to each other, Steve was watching you. When you were with the team, you were talkative, calm, and happy. But he saw why you didn’t like to hang around your family too much; when you were here, you were small and shut down. He leaned down to whisper to you.

“I’m not sure how you are keeping yourself together right now. I’m getting frustrated at them cutting you off, and that’s saying something if I get frustrated and you don’t.” You give a light chuckle before responding.

“I’m fine. This happens a lot. It’s just how my family is.” You did your best to not let any feelings of annoyance come out, but Steve could see through you.

“I know you. You’re angry inside, you’re just not showing them.”

Steve was about to ask you if you wanted to escape when Hanna took both of your attentions away.

“You two ever think about marriage?” Steve had just taken a sip of his drink and ended up sort of choking on it. You looked at your sister with shock and a bit of embarrassment.

“Hanna! What the fuck-- I just--” Before you could really get your thoughts together and respond, Mary started talking.

“I remember when Ken got married to Sandra. It was such a pretty wedding. One of the best I’ve been to.”

“Same! It was perfect for you two! That small cafe for the reception was perfect!”

“So what about it, (Y/N)? It’s a simple question,” your dad spoke up. Whenever he spoke up, everyone else shut up. So all eyes were on you when as you attempted to answer this not so simple question.

“Okay. Um… No. We haven’t. We enjoy what we have at the moment. We’re kind of busy doing other things like saving the world or--” Before you could get any further with this awkward family topic, your mom came out of the kitchen.

“Alright everyone, I made dessert. Come in the kitchen and grab a plate for yourself.” With that, everyone made their way to the kitchen, but you stayed seated. Steve moved his chair to start to get up, but then he saw you.

You had your eyes closed and took a couple of deeper breaths. He reached over and put a hand on your knee to make you look at him. Steve hasn’t seen you like this since you first joined the team. You looked at him with a small smile, trying to seem like you were doing okay.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Forgot how draining my family is.” He could see how socially exhausting it was for you to be around your family, but there was something more. Steve knows not to push you though, so he kisses your temple and offers you a hand.

“How about we head out? We can see if your mom would mind us taking some dessert with us, then we can go home, get in our comfy clothes, and just watch a movie.” You tried to find any sort of joking look in Steve’s face, but he was completely serious.

“I would love that, but I don’t know if my family would let us go.”

“Let you go where?” You both turn around to see Brendon behind you. Apparently he had caught the end of your sentence. You struggled to figure out what to tell him to let you guys leave. Before you got too far, Steve saved the day.

“Yeah. I was just reminding (Y/N) that we have some reports to fill out for tomorrow that we should get back to; duty calls,” Steve said with his stereotypical Captain America smile. It was a lie, but a much needed one. You couldn't be around your family much longer without the continually growing anger inside of you breaking out.

Thank god for Steve knowing what you needed and stepping in.

You brother just nodded and agreed. The two of you got up and said your goodbyes to your family. Everyone gave you the general, “call more often!” or, “we need to see you more!” that you always heard, but you knew that what they actually wanted was for Steve to stay and chat more.

You were kind of shoved off to the side while your parents were talking to Steve. Your mom was putting some dessert in a tupperware for the two of you. They walked you both out to your car for final goodbyes; there were always an annoying amount of goodbyes.

“You both are welcome back any time! Now, Steve, don’t let (Y/N/N) take all this dessert. It’s her favorite, but she doesn’t need to add on any more pounds!” your mom said. She meant it in a joking manner, but you’d long ago stopped interpreting her “jokes” as jokes. And with how annoyed you were from dealing with family all night, you let out a bit of attitude.

“Wow. Thanks, mom. It’s not like I’ve been training, eating right, and working my ass off as part of the Avengers or anything,” before either of your parents could respond, you kept talking, “Stevie, can you drive? My eyes are starting to hurt.”

“Of course, doll,” he then turned back to your parents with a forced smile on his face, “it was a pleasure meeting you all finally. Thank you for dinner.”

Then you went to your parents for one last hug. Your dad was first, then you went to your mom. As the two of you hugged, she spoke.

“You know I was kidding about that, right?” you pulled away and looked at her.

“I know you meant it to be a joke. But even jokes hurt.” There was a quick pause, your mom opened her mouth to say something, but you spoke over her this time. “I love you. I will try to keep in contact better. Thanks for dinner.” And with that, you got in the car, closed the door, and settled in for the drive home.

~~~~~~~~

You and Steve were about 15 minutes into the drive back to the tower and it was weirdly quiet. You had your eyes closed and focused on taking calming breaths while Steve held your hand in one of his as he drove with the other. Steve turns off the radio and breaks his silence.

“I honestly don’t know how you didn’t explode at your family tonight.” You were surprised by his sudden conversation.

“That’s just how it’s always been. You get used to not speaking unless spoken to, and not expecting to finish all of your sentences when you’re in a family like mine. That’s why it took me a bit to be okay around the team; I wasn’t used to people actually listening to me and letting me speak.”

Steve stole a quick glance at you and saw that you were just staring straight ahead at the road; no tears or anything.

“Well, you are definitely a trooper for dealing with that type of battle. But you’re a badass, so I can see how you survived.” There was a small pause as he thought of something. “You will never have to face your family alone anymore. I’ll be there. And if I ever interrupt or ignore you like that without a valid reason for doing so, you have full permission to slap me.”

You laugh and look at him to see a smile on his face as he looked back to the road. You leaned over and kissed his cheek, he lifted your hand in his to his lips and planted a sweet kiss there.

You hook up your phone to your car’s radio and play some of your favorite songs. The two of you fall back into a silence that is much more comfortable for a majority of the ride back.

Tags - @goodnightwife @the-witching-hours12-3 @theeactress @sebby-staan @feelmyroarrrr @tomorraw @marvelous-imagining

#avengers fandom #avengers fanfiction #avengers imagine #avengers fic #steve rodgers x reader #Steve x Reader #Captain America x reader #WritingWithADino #WritingWithADinosaur

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thisisamadhouse · 7 years

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Older and wiser they say

A/N: For the @oqpromptparty 199 Robin and Regina fall in love in their 50′s (just a tiny bit overdue, oops), loosely inspired by the TV show Major Crimes. Big thanks to my darling beta Manon @onhowtobecrazy

Life works in strange ways, Robin Locksley reflects as he spins the little blue velvet box in his hand, waiting for her to come home. Her, Regina Mills, his boss, a thorn in his side for the longest time, but who has become, in an inexplicable and quite wonderful twist of fate, the one person he can't imagine spending the rest of his life without.

No one could have ever imagined that the troublesome, recovered alcoholic Lieutenant from Homicide, and the by-the-book Evil Queen from Internal Affairs would ever end up living together, least of all the two concerned parties.

They both have been working for the Storybrooke Police Department for longer than they care to admit. Regina graduated from the Academy a couple of years after Robin did. He first met her on a memorable occasion, on the scene of a robbery turned bad. She and her partner and mentor were the first responders, while Robin, recently assigned to Homicide, and his own partner had been handed the case. One moment, Robin was listening to the coroner give him his preliminary report, the next he was standing between his Lieutenant and the brunette officer, who looked like they were ready to come to blows. As the situation diffused, he found out that Officer Mills had given her own report of what they had seen and done on the scene, and had offered some insights into a couple of other robberies which happened in the neighbourhood with the same M.O, minus the dead body, but his Lieutenant had dismissed her, and told her partner to be careful and keep her on a leash. She hadn't appreciated his "ancient, set in his ways, chauvinistic pig" attitude (her words), and things had escalated from there.

Robin was impressed, no one had ever stood up to his fossil of a Lieutenant in living memory. This young officer sure showed promise, if her mentor was to be believed, she would go far. They crossed paths here and there, but there was never much time to linger. Beyond the fact that she was extremely smart and sharp-witted, and could make the uniform work for her in ways that would make his and his colleagues' pants just a bit tighter than was comfortable, Robin didn't know much about her.

It changed the night when Robin got acquainted at a bar with one Daniel Colter, who, he quickly figured out, after the young lawyer began to drunkenly brag about his hotshot cop wife who'd be Chief of Police one day, was Regina's husband. One night turned into several, and the two drinking buddies started talking about introducing their wives to each other. Robin shakes himself, putting the memories away as the condo's door open and Regina enters. He left the office an hour before she did, she was wrapping up their case with the District Attorney and had sent everyone home. While he would normally wait for her, this time he needed some time to set up his surprise.

"There you are," he exclaims. "Everything ok?" He frowns, seeing the exhaustion radiating from her. He helps her take off her coat and presses a kiss to her brow, as she chucks away her shoes with a sigh of relief.

Continue on FF.net

"It all worked out as planned," she confirms, turning in his arms, wrapping her hands around his biceps in a familiar greeting. "You looked deep in thought when I came in, are you alright?"

Robin shrugs. "Just thinking, about how we got where we are. Sometimes it feels like we wasted a lifetime finding each other."

Regina smiles at him, and it never ceases to be a satisfying feeling to draw it out of her. They may be over fifty but the years have been kind to her, and the lines around her eyes only make her more enticing to him, showing the traces of a full life. "It has certainly been a wild ride, hasn't it?" She says, and he snorts because isn't that the understatement of the year?

"Do you remember that barbecue, way back then, with you and Daniel, Marian and I, and the kids? What were we even thinking?" He recalls, shaking his head, remembering the awkwardness of this first meeting for their wives. While Robin and Daniel were busy making their way through a six-pack, and then another, their sons oblivious, happy to meet and play, Regina and Marian had felt like looking in a mirror, and the sensation wasn't pleasant for either of them. Denial always feels more comfortable than being confronted to the cold, harsh reality.

"I don't think you were, actually," her smile morphs into something softer, fighting the sadness that always come with the memories, no matter how long ago it happened.

Robin brings her closer to him, encircling her waist, squeezing her tighter. "We were just two drunk idiots who took too much for granted. I look back and I can barely recognize the person I was." His self-disgust would never really go away.

She looks confused. "You're in a strange mood tonight. What has you so contemplative?"

He exhales. "I'm sorry, that's not what I have planned for the evening."

"Planned?" She repeats, eyebrows arching.

His lips stretch in a real smile, his dimples on show. "Yes, Milady, I know you're not a big fan of surprises, but I've got something special prepared for you, and I think you're going to like it."

"Well, now I'm curious, if not also apprehensive," she deadpans.

"Have I ever given you any reason to fear my surprises?" He asks in all seriousness. "You probably shouldn't answer that," he adds, when she seems to hesitate between giving him a chronological or alphabetical list. "How does a relaxing bath sound instead?"

They have known each other for close to thirty years, and he still has that same boyish grin. It gave her pause back then, it's close to impossible for her to resist now.

"You always know just what to say. Let's see what you have in store for me then," she replies and lets him guide her to the bathroom.

Steam, flickering flames and the sweet scent of roses from her favourite bubble bath welcome her.

"You really went all out. Should I be worried? What have you and that troublesome partner of yours been up to that necessitates this, Lieutenant?" She wonders, emphasizing his rank, as she faces him, arms akimbo and head tilted, studying him intently.

Anyone else would be offended by such a reaction to what is essentially a romantic gesture, but he guesses that it's fair concern on her part. He and John, his partner and oldest friend on the force, are prone to attract trouble when left to their own devices for too long. When she was still part of Internal Affairs, Regina spent more time investigating their various shenanigans than anyone else's in the Department. Their personal files alone filled a whole cabinet; the price to pay when when you're ready to walk the line to get results, as far as Robin was concerned, and if that gave him the opportunity to ogle a certain brunette and provoke that infamous temper of hers, well, he was but a simple man after all, with simple needs. There was never a better occasion to get into trouble than when she was on call.

"You wound me, Captain," he states, placing his hand over his heart to accentuate how hurt he is pretending to be, the teasing sparkle in his eyes diminishes the effect though. "I will remind you that ever since you and I are dating, I have been on my best behaviour. John thinks I need a psych evaluation, but I just think he is jealous because I have left the sandbox and started playing in a whole other league. I'm still trying to convince him that girls don't have cooties."

His friend is a bit of a cad, a serial divorcee who has never been able to choose between his love for women and his love for his job, he has tried again and again to make it work, but compromise isn't exactly in his nature, so instead of changing jobs, he goes from one wife to the next, and from one date to the next in between. Finding out that Robin wanted to pursue a relationship with The Evil Queen herself -even if she was already their boss by then and they had warmed up to her-, was a bit of a shock. The word "Idiot" and the phrase "What are you even thinking?" were pronounced more than once, still are.

Regina seems to debate between her skepticism and her amusement at his antics. She emits a sound that is a weird mix of a hum and a snort, so uniquely hers that it never fails to make him grin like the Cheshire Cat. "Alright, we'll say I believe you, and this is a genuine gesture," she concedes, slowly opening the buttons of her blazer. "What's the occasion?"

"Can't it just be that I love you and want to treat you every once in awhile?" He suggests.

"So you really won't say anything?" She insists.

"Nope, and there is nothing you can do to make me talk. Now this is supposed to be a relaxing moment for you, so are you going to enjoy it, or are you going to discuss my motives until the water gets cold?" He inquires, and she drops her blazer to the ground in reply with a shrug. "That's more like it, I knew you could be reasonable," he teases, and she rolls her eyes at him while taking off her shirt. "Do you need help with that?"

"Depends, are you joining me or not?" Her blouse joins her blazer, and she stands in front of him in a lacy, flimsy excuse of a bra and her black slacks.

"Now that's an offer I can't refuse." He will probably consider it his greatest achievement that she now feels so comfortable around him. They have taken things slow, building a solid friendship before it became glaring that there was more simmering under the surface. Of course, everyone around them saw it before they could admit it to themselves, and thought they were just being secretive. The truth is Regina's marriage left her with insecurities so deeply rooted that it took every inch of Robin's patience to help her lower the walls she had built to protect herself.

Both Robin and Daniel had hit bottom at roughly the same time. While Marian threw Robin out and changed the locks on him, giving him the necessary electroshock to get his act back together, Daniel had added gambling to the drinking and had contracted debts so huge there was no way he could repay them. When the creditors began to close in on him, he hit the road with what was left of the family's savings, leaving Regina to deal with his mess, and glue back together the pieces of her son's broken heart. For good measure, right before leaving, Daniel openly flaunted some floozy in a bar many of Storybrooke PD patronised.

The whispers and her precarious situation pushed Regina to take a position in Internal Affairs, the more stable hours allowing her to be present for Henry after school, the risks that came with being out on the streets diminishing considerably. She had just become a single mother, she couldn't take any chances. It was also the quickest way for her to achieve rank in a Unit that was being rebuilt after a series of wildly advertised cases of corruption covered by the previous Chief of Police, Leo Blanchard. Regina's by-the-book approach, her sharp instincts and her hardened exterior did wonder there, and newly appointed Chief Humbert hand-picked her to be part of the committee who would rewrite the rule book. She didn't care that those who had once been close acquaintances started treating her like a nuisance out to make their lives more difficult, she had to do what was necessary to get her head above the water and protect her son, and if she could do some good in the Department by rebuilding the public's trust, well it was a bonus.

Robin tried to quit alcohol on his own, his shame at the idea that anyone would find out that he was so addicted that his wife couldn't stand to have him close and had tossed him on his ass, was too great to bear. Invariably, though, it didn't stick and he would relapse. Being perpetually hungover or in withdrawal had a negative effect on his performances at work, and he knew it wouldn't be long before his hierarchy booted him out the door as well. When Marian served him the divorce papers a few months later, he turned towards Regina. Despite the other police officers' treatment, she had remained fair, especially when they were ready to admit their mistakes and ask for help and guidance. She had had some success with sending officers to rehab programs when their addictions affected their jobs. She wished Daniel had accepted to follow and stick to it as well. When Robin came to her, she handed him the flyer and made the phone calls without judgement, he wanted to do right by his family and she respected that. If he could at least salvage his relationship with his child he would do whatever was necessary.

Robin became too busy with the divorce and the custody battle to care about much else after he got out of rehab. When he saw Regina again, he was a bit too bitter about the outcome to remember that she was one of the few people who helped him, though it would smooth out over time. She was part of the Rat Squad and that was it, as far as he was concerned there were clear lines not to be crossed.

While Robin was trying to make the most of the few weekends and vacation she got with his son to make up for being such a tosser, Regina was still hanging on to the hope that Daniel would clean up his act and come home. He did, almost crawling on his knees, begging Regina to take him back, swearing he was clean and ready to do better. She believed him. She had sacrificed her relationship with her family for this man, he was the father of her son and she did love him. Blindly. But Daniel's old demons eventually dragged him back down into gambling. When Regina couldn't accept his failings anymore and chose to put her son and herself first, she denied Daniel access to her bed. He threw a fit. How was he supposed to make up for everything if she didn't give them a proper chance? How was he supposed to make good his losses when she didn't support him? It was no wonder he couldn't stay sober, who could with such a cold and unyielding wife? Over and over, he played on every weak spot Regina had, and by the next day he was packed up and out the door for the hundredth time, taking his wife's last illusions with him.

She had started to believe him, her husband had his flaws, there was no doubt about that, but there must be something wrong with her too that drove him away again and again. No matter what her son and her friends told her, she was convinced that Daniel was right. There was a shift in her behaviour from then on, and the Evil Queen was born.

She was a Captain by then, and induced fear in the heart of grown men and women when she showed up on crime scenes involving officers discharging their weapons, she could make them shake in their boots even when they knew they were in the right. Her team adored her, but she had no patience for anyone else. Her separation was more or less known to everyone in the Department, she had taken off her wedding ring after Daniel pretty much told her he was done with her, but she pushed away any potential suitors. In spite of it all she was still a married woman. The truth is that it was convenient to play the married card. No commitment was expected. It was an efficient way to keep people at bay.

While still in Homicide, Robin had occasional runs in with Captain Mills, managing to piss her off a little more each time. She had sent him to every existing seminars more than once, sensitivity and anger management being her favorites.

Things changed when Robin and his friend John were selected to be part of a new, elite squad dealing with high profile cases. Regina was appointed as their new commanding officer after their previous Chief had departed on account of a very difficult case, in which too many mistakes were made.

Captain Regina Mills' ascension was not taken well by the squad, especially by John who was the senior Lieutenant on the Team and should have logically taken the lead. Once the shock passed, the outrage set in. How were they expected to do their job when the person in charge had no experience dealing with the kind of investigations they came across?

That's what most of the team thought anyway. They knew her only from Internal Affairs, they had never seen the young patrol officer standing up to an old Lieutenant to have her voice and opinion heard because she had seen something he had obviously missed, they had never seen her commandeer the whole attention of a joint team from Vice and Homicide, they had never seen her in the field. No matter his differences with her over the years, Robin never forgot what he saw in her all those years ago.

John gave her a hard time, viciously and bitterly pointing out her shortcomings, but for once Robin couldn't support his partner, he had been had by the higher ups sure, but after everything Regina had done for the Department it was time she finally found herself in a place where she could express her real talents. Robin was fascinated by the way her brain worked, how quickly she could make connections, how fast she learned to rely on each team member's skills. Their former Chief had always been very hand on during every case, micromanaging every aspect, but Regina trusted them to do their job and knew when to offer a new perspective when they became stuck.

The case that led to the change in leadership was still ongoing, there would be a trial, and their only witness needed to be protected. Peter, from all his sixteen years of age, was a handful, a wary boy who had seen and gone through too much. He had trusted the former Chief, she had protected him, but now she was gone. Regina stepped in, and took him in, revealing to all who could see that, despite the hardships, there was one thing Daniel hadn't taken from her: Regina was a mother through and through. She saw this young boy, and didn't care about his past, about what he had to do to survive on the streets, she didn't even care that he was a witness, he was just a boy, in need of a safe place and decent people to give him a chance.

Robin was reminded of barbecues and little leagues games, of a joyful Henry throwing himself in his mother's arms, knowing that she would catch him. She was so different from her Captain persona around Peter, he was difficult, but little by little he opened up, they made progress, and they all could see the effect it had on both of them. It wasn't difficult to understand why her team at Internal Affairs worshipped the ground she walked on.

Before he knew it, Robin had become her staunchest supporter, the first one to volunteer to accompany her to the morgue, the first one to try and drag her out of her office for a celebratory gathering at the local joint, (though he always ordered a club soda as being sober meant he was always John's designated driver). She turned to him when she had doubt, either about the right way to proceed in a case, or about the best way to handle an issue with Peter.

They were friends, friends who cared for each other's well-being. When Roland decided to get married and wanted both his father and stepfather by his side, Regina was the one who prevented Robin from throwing a fit. She sat him down and asked what he really wanted: his son's happiness at the idea that he could share this day with his whole family, or to get his way. The answer was obvious, and, in the same breath as he gave it, he invited her to come along. She was stunned but accepted readily.

There was no turning back from there, once he had seen her standing among his relatives, a huge, bright smile on her face, in that indigo dress, with a zipper running along her back, stopping in the middle of her thighs in an enticing slit, he was a goner. He had to focus hard during their dance to keep his fingers from playing with the zipper. He knew then that, if she ever considered it, he would be ready for more than friendship.

She wasn't quite there yet. It took another disastrous visit from Daniel to finally make her see that, though they had had their issues and it took two people to break a marriage, it was his addictions and his inability to take responsibility for them that drove them to an impasse. There was nothing wrong with her, but there was a lot of things wrong with them, and she couldn't let him pull her away from potential happiness when he could never give it to her, not in the long run anyway.

Mallory, Regina's best friend and the lawyer who had made sure that Daniel could never hurt her finances again, threw a party when Regina asked her to draft the divorce papers, and the day she received the official notice that her marriage was over, Robin asked Regina on a date. She was hesitant, they had found a good balance, and she didn't want to risk their friendship with a romantic entanglement that could burn them both, but in the end wasn't it exactly what she was looking for when she had decided to send Daniel away for good?

A few dates, a few months with nothing more than goodnight kisses -they did become quite good at those-, and Robin was pretty sure that he would go insane with want, but he knew he had to be patient; Daniel had cut deep. Regina knew she was a beautiful woman, there had never been any doubt about that, but could any man find her desirable beyond the physical aspect? Could she give him more than sex? Could they build something together that would last through time?

So Robin let her lead the show and set the pace. He wasn't some young block hoping to get laid. He had done the whole flaring passion thing, and it hadn't work out so well for him. He wanted something more than that, so while the sight of her legs could drive him to distraction, he was also able to keep his eyes on hers during a conversation.

The first time she invited him in her room and asked him to spend the night, he thought he was dreaming, but the actual act was much better than any fantasy he had had over the years. He had wanted to punch Daniel for ever letting her believe she couldn't be anything more than a good lay and barely that. As he held her in his arms, he could barely breathe properly, there was no more inhibitions, no hesitation in showing herself completely bare to him. The sands of time had left a few marks here and there, and at just over fifty things couldn't be as they were in their youth, but Robin wouldn't have it any other way. Regina was a real woman, who had lived and suffered and worked hard for everything she had, she understood him in ways none of John's prefered blonde birds ever could.

"You're worrying me. I'm standing here, naked may I add, ready to hop in and cover myself in soap bubbles, and you're standing there, with your shirt still on. Have I already lost my touch?" Robin is pulled out of his contemplation by Regina's question. The tone is meant to be teasing, but the way she is worrying her bottom lip a bit too hard is telling. Despite their progress, there are old wounds that never really heal.

"Oh no, believe me you never have to worry about that," he assures her, pulling his shirt over his head and taking off his pants and underwear in record time.

She squeals and laughs when he lifts her off the ground and carries her into the bathtub. She is breathless by the time he sits behind her, draping her hair over one of his shoulders. "I needed the laugh, but seriously, what's going on with you tonight?"

He collects some foam and spreads it on her stomach, and higher and higher until it covers her breasts, relishing in her soft moans. "I heard some news today, and it got me thinking about the past and the future. I guess I am in a bit of a mood."

"It sounds serious," she contorts her back to look at him properly, a worried frown marring her face.

"No, no," he is quick to set her at ease. "Nothing serious. On the contrary, it's good news, great news even."

"Alright," she says slowly. "Are you going to share it at some point or…" she trails off, and he chuckles, shaking his head, because he is supposed to be the hothead, but she always gives as good as she gets.

"Roland called. Alexandra is pregnant. My boy is going to be a dad," he is still a little astonished by the news. He knew it was bound to happen at some point, but the reality leaves him amazed.

A smile lits up her face, and tears gather in her eyes. "This is fantastic news. Oh my gosh, in a couple of months you'll be a grandpa. I can't imagine the amount of teasing you're going to get from John." She is shaking with laughter at his exaggerated wince.

"The old goat is going to enjoy every minute of it. Lord knows I had my fun when his first grandkid came along," he mutters.

"Now, it's your turn. Oh they are so screwed, you're going to spoil this child rotten!" She exclaims.

"As if you're any better. You dot on them as if they're your own," Robin reminds her, and she can't deny it. "Wasn't it just yesterday that we were watching him get married, you trying very hard not to cry? Or was it me?" He pretends to ponder, knowing very well that she was the one who discreetly pressed a tissue in his hand when it became obvious that the tears weren't going away.

She snorts, shaking her head, before sobering, a wistful smile on her lips. "It seems like it, doesn't it? I don't know if I ever said it, but it was quite the shock to see Roland like this, all grown up, in his suit. He was still as much a sweetheart as I remembered though."

"You two did hit it off quite spectacularly, but then the Locksley men have always had great taste in women, I wouldn't have expected anything else from him."

"You taught him well," she says softly, and the words are full of meaning.

His relationship with his son has been hard fought for. Navigate through Marian's mistrust after he left rehab, and then Roland's rebellious teen years was an everyday challenge, but he held on. He bonded with his son during camping trips in the woods, introducing him to his favourite pastime: archery. Roland loved it, and Robin was never prouder than when his son joined a local club and began competing.

Roland considered becoming a cop, and thus a legacy, but for the first time both his mother and father joined forces to dissuade him. Instead, he taught archery, and later opened a business that offered to his clients unique survivalistic experiences in the wild. Alexandra was one such client, having booked a trip with friends from College, and when it was time to go home she went back to Florida just long enough to pack her stuff and returned to throw her arms around a waiting Roland at the airport.

"He is a great kid, it's not his fault he was stuck growing up with a crappy father," Robin presses a kiss to Regina's shoulder, focusing his eyes on the bare skin to avoid her gaze.

She sighs and rests her head against his bent one. "At least, you cared enough to prove right by him, and look at the two of you now. You're so close and supportive of each other." She never could let him downplay the huge efforts he had done to become the father Roland deserved, it was something she had dreamed for years to see for Henry. "I know how important Roland's opinion was for you when we started this, and still is."

Robin can only nod, before letting out an unexpected chuckle that jostles Regina a bit. She looks back at him with raised eyebrows.

"Remember his face when we showed up together at the church?" He asks, squeezing her tighter in his arms as the memory causes her to grin widely.

The boy had encouraged his father to find someone to share his life with for years, he even had set him up on a couple of blind dates. As Robin appeared at his wedding with Regina on his arm, Roland's jaw had gone a bit slack. Turns out he remembered her from back in the day, and had heard about her over the years from Henry.

"I do recall it. You never told me what he said after I sat down and you stood with him at the altar, I don't think I have ever seen quite so stunned before or since."

Robin chortles. "He said that Henry would have a field day with that little bit of news. I was surprised they were still in contact, and he was all 'Cops's kids have to stick together', and then the little brat actually elbowed me and said 'Way to go, Dad". I mean the gall of this kid."

"I wonder where he gets it from," Regina teases, biting her bottom lip.

"Cheeky," Robin gently bumps his nose into hers.

"It is the truth though. That son of yours may look like Marian, but for the rest he is all you. I'm kind of glad about that," she whispers against his lips.

He doesn't only look like Marian, Robin thinks. It never fails to warm his insides to see them together, his boy and Regina. People sometimes take them for mother and son, and he gets it, with their dark curls and deep brown eyes they are a sight to behold.

Seeing him with Henry draws a similar reaction from Regina. Her pride and joy, who she tried her best to shelter from the troubles between his parents. She hid her tears and gave him all the love his father couldn't. She realized he always knew when he left for College and a Literature Degree and started writing. It was just for him in the beginning, a sort of self-help guide for growing up without a dad worthy of the name, but his roommate had stumbled upon it, read it, and found it so brilliant he asked if he could share it with a publisher friend of his family.

Not really understanding what had happened to him, Henry had become a best-seller writer at barely twenty, and he didn't stop there. None of the books that followed though, meant as much to him as the first one, the one in which he poured his life story and inscribed a five words dedication: "Thank you Mom, for everything."

Regina had received the first printed copy and promptly burst into tears that didn't stop falling until she finished her reading.

Robin had never seen her so nervous as the day she introduced him to Henry. She had told her son a bit of his history, and she was afraid he would accuse her of repeating old patterns, but Henry had surprised them both by asking only two questions: Was he serious about his sobriety and was he serious about his relationship with Regina?

Robin showed him the chip and the ring from AA that never leave him, and told him that he had thought about their relationship long and hard enough to have left any doubt by the door of her building when he picked her up for their date. It seemed to satisfy the boy. Robin guessed he probably knew enough about them from Roland to have formed an opinion, and only wanted to confirm it. They got along pretty well, and it was him Henry called when he was nervous about inviting Violet, the cute brunette working at the bookstore down the street from his apartment, out to diner.

When he came back to Storybrooke on vacation, taking a break from his writing and his busy life in New York, Violet was with him, and Robin got a little choked up as Henry told Violet that he was the closest thing he had ever known to a decent dad. He spied Regina sniffling and brushing off a lone tear too.

Their children will always be their priority, and it's something they talked about early on, but both boys repeatedly reassured them that this relationship was probably the best thing that could have happened to them, and they encourage it. Even Peter, this boy who unexpectedly came to her, all grown and more than a little snippy, who always groans and complains if he catches them doing anything more than standing three feet away from each other, refers to them as "the parental unit".

"Roland wanted to know when Henry's next book is due. It's about fairytales, right? They want to read it to the baby."

Regina smirks. "He may want to wait to have read it himself first. Henry has decided to do this in a very untraditional way. He is focusing on the villains in the stories. What drove them to become this way? What if all those worlds were just one place and the people in them were connected? It's quite intriguing, and he has gotten very positive feedback, it seems to be something his readers crave."

"I don't know where he gets this stuff, but I'm sure it will be brilliant, as usual," he praises.

Regina beams at this, on her son's behalf. "Oh, and there is a part you should love. The common thread, you see, the one that links everything together, is the story of the Evil Queen," she finishes her sentence with a mischievous smile, the tip of her tongue peeking between her teeth.

"You have always been your son's greatest source of inspiration," Robin replies playfully. "Though I might be to blame for that particular monicker."

"You think?" One day, she is certain her eyes will remain stuck, given how much she rolls them at him.

He only shrugs, shameless. "Well, what can I say, if the shoe fits…" He trails off, grinning when she scoffs. "How much did he use your story for this, hmm? Will I find out any of your dark secrets?" He asks, softly caressing her bent, right leg with the tips of his fingers, rising higher and higher towards the sensitive skin of her inner thigh with each stroke.

"Hmmm," Regina moans, arching back. "You're trying to distract me into revealing more than I should?" She exhales.

"Is it working?" He whispers in her ear, the thumb of his left hand rubbing soothing circles beneath her breasts.

"Maybe, I'm not completely sure yet," she breathes out.

"I must not do it right, then," his fingers tease her labia and pass over her clit quickly, drawing a groan of protest from her. "Better?" He asks, pressing his thumb more firmly against her clit, rubbing it in circular movements, while his index traces the length of her entrance.

"Much," she lets out. "I don't know a lot about what he wrote, he said he wants to surprise me, but he did admit that there is a very important relationship between the Queen and a shapeshifting sorceress who hates not being invited to christenings," she pants as he increases the rhythm of his strokes, his index's first knuckle slowly entering her, gathering a wetness that had nothing to do with the bathwater, and lazily spreading it up and down.

"Like Maleficent in the Disney movie?" Robin frowns, puzzled, pausing in his movements until Regina arches her hips impatiently, the water sloshing around them. "Oh, could it be the answer to the mystery of your relationship with Mallory, our very own Dragon Lady?"

"We have known each other since High School and were roommates in College, whatever do you think happened between us?" She is getting frustrated with the way he is digressing from where she needs him to focus his attention.

"Oh my mind is swirling with the possibilities," he bites his bottom lip, smirking as she grabs his hand to pick up the pace. Her index slides alongside his and inside her.

She groans in relief. "I would appreciate it if you could live your little fantasy while concentrating on what you're doing."

"But my fantasy is so much fun." He nibbles her lobe playfully.

"As is having an orgasm," she counters in all seriousness. "You promised me a relaxing bath, and I'm far from being relaxed."

"We must remedy that then." He is only too eager to please, and words fail her when he -finally- speeds his movements.

The sounds she lets out are positively sinful. "If our colleagues knew how wanton you can be, I'm sure they would have a radically different opinion about you," he sighs softly.

"Won't find out," she gasps, rolling her hips to meet his fingers' thrusts. "You value your life too much."

He chuckles. "That's true. I also know how much of a lucky bastard I am, and I don't share."

She twists her head, and grabs the back of his to bring their lips together. "Less talking, more focus."

"Yes, Captain," he agrees, before kissing her. He soon feels the vibrations of her moans as he finds the spot that will bring her release.

"Oh right there," she whimpers. "That's it, yes. Such talented hands."

"I do my best." He is knuckle deep inside her, his two fingers alternating between scissoring and pressing against hers, his other hand cupping her breast, his lips at her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. He shifts behind her, uncomfortable with her wriggling against his arousal, but this is not about him and they have all night for more, he just wants to help her wash the day away.

Regina's orgasm almost takes her by surprise in its intensity, her legs thrashing about, some water splashing over the tub, before leaving her listless and boneless in Robin's arms.

"Has your Lieutenant done an adequate job relaxing you, Captain?" He asks her, after letting her come down for a few moments, while gently stroking her stomach.

"You could say that. Maybe I should just keep you here as my sex slave, at least the rumor mill would have something concrete to talk about." She is still panting a bit, but she feels wonderfully languid.

He chuckles. "You won't find me objecting to that. I can just imagine the team's faces as we announce to them that I'm retiring to satisfy your every desire."

She bursts out laughing. "Oh I'm picturing it right now! It sounds better and better by the minute." Her stomach chooses that moment to grumble loudly.

"Well, talking about satisfying your desires, I guess this means you need diner," Robin comments, amused at her sheepish expression. "I will leave you to your shower, and I will put the finishing touch to the next part of the evening." He begins to stand, but she stops him.

"But you didn't…" She starts to protest and he pecks her lips softly.

"We have plenty of time for that, I'm not even nearly done with you. Just enjoy your moment, and join me in the dining room when you're ready."

She smiles contentedly at him, and makes no secret of checking him out as he rises, removes the plug and lets the water empty out slowly. He quickly rinses off, and gets out of the tub.

Regina takes her sweet time going under the spray, watching Robin dry himself out the corner of her eyes. When he starts speaking again, it takes her a few seconds to make sense of the words.

"What?" She asks him to repeat, and he smirks, aware of the cause of her distraction.

He wraps his towel around his hips, his grin widening when she pouts, but his thoughts are more serious. "I asked if you ever felt as if you're settling. This, us, it came so soon after your divorce, I sometimes wonder if maybe it wasn't too fast, if I should have given you more time to sort out your thoughts and feelings."

She is once more puzzled at his strange attitude. "Robin, if you think for one second that I started this relationship without having thought long and hard about every possible scenario, you must not know me very well. I am the happiest I have ever been in every aspect of my life. Henry, Peter, and you, even the team, I never thought I would have this, certainly not after spending more time apart from my husband than with him, not after spending so long cleaning up his mess. I want this, Robin, I'm not settling. Settling was letting Daniel come and go as he pleased and take a little bit more from us each time, settling was clinging to a mirage and closing myself to everything else."

She is fierce and proud, this Captain of his, Robin thinks as he listens to her speak, standing naked just at the edge of the water spray, looking at him intensely, leaving him no doubt as to the sincerity of her words.

"Since this, with you, is the happiest I have ever been as well, I would say we are a well assorted pair," he says, grabbing his clothes, and giving her a bright smile as he leaves the bathroom.

Regina shakes her head, bewildered, but also determined to get to the bottom of whatever has Robin acting this way. Still, she enjoys her shower, and takes time straightening her hair and applying her favourite scented lotion, simple rituals that allow her to clear her head after long days.

She feels calmer as she goes back to her bedroom, the appetizing scents of a dinner cooking filtering through the apartment watering her mouth. She finds a dress laid out on the bed, and she recognizes it instantly as the one she wore on their first date, their official one anyway- it was a largely accepted notion among their family and friends that they had been together long before they even knew it.

She puts it on, remembering clear as day when he invited her to the opening night of Granny's, once a little hole-in-the-wall diner owned by the same woman for forty years, and who graciously offered discounts to the members of the police force. When she retired, Ruby, her granddaughter, inherited the establishment and, while she kept the diner the way it was, she built next to it a much fancier restaurant which was quickly dubbed the most romantic place in town. Robin had been going to Granny's for decades, and Regina had been known to bring Henry there when she couldn't find the energy to cook. It was the perfect place for their new start, mingling the old memories with the promising new ones they intended to make.

Regina begins to picture a little more clearly what this is all about, and she feels her heart flutter at the thought. She smooths out invisible wrinkles on her dress, and steps out of her room, padding barefoot down the hall.

"Dinner is served, Milady," Robin greets her, and he has donned a familiar suit.

"This all feels like déjà-vu," Regina says, as she takes his arm and follows him to the balcony, where the warmer weather has allowed him to set a small table with two candlesticks and a fancy red cloth.

"But it kept you guessing, didn't it?" He is smiling, a warm, all-dimples smile lighting up his face. The strange cloud that seemed to be hanging over him all evening has lifted.

"It certainly has. However did you manage to arrange this?" She looks curiously between him and the covered plates on the table, the distinctive logo letting her know that they do indeed come from their favourite place.

"I had a little help from Peter and Ruby. I thought about booking a private room in the restaurant, but given how this case unfolded, a more intimate setting seemed to be the best way to go. Ruby offered to deliver, and your boy helped me set up," Robin explains, biting his bottom lip, trying to gauge her reaction. "Do you like it?"

"Like it?" She exclaims. "Robin, we've been working exhausting hours on a tough case for days, and you still found the time to conspire with my son and a friend to organize this lovely evening, of course I love it!"

"It's no less than you deserve," he tells her, holding her hands, and bringing her close.

"You're getting soft in your old age," she teases him.

"I have always been an hopeless sap when it comes to you, Regina Mills, but I wouldn't mind being your sap for the rest of my days." He had a speech prepared, something he rehearsed in front of the mirror, but it seemed rather irrelevant in this moment. He knows she prefers genuineness anyway.

Regina holds her breath, as he slowly gets down on one knee, extracting a little blue box from his pocket.

"Regina, would you like to help me spoil my future grandkid and drink cocktails on the porch of the house on the beach you've always dreamt you'd retire to, until death do us part?"

As proposals go, this is certainly more original than Daniel's almost thirty years ago, and Regina lets out a watery chuckle as she imagines them, old and grey, with their families and friends gathered, laying picnic blankets on the sand, the grandkids swarming around them, their sons fighting over who gets to flip the meat on the barbecue while their partners shake their heads at their antics. It looks like heaven to her.

She nods, hoisting him up and clutching him to her. "Yes," she whispers in his ear. "I would love nothing more." She leans back after a minute, holding onto his shoulders. "Can I be the one who tells John?"

Robin bursts out laughing. "Anything you want," he replies, kissing her deeply.

They have spent a lifetime finding each other, but they have the next one to enjoy it.

#outlaw queen #oq prompt party #regina mills #robin hood #robin of locksley #henry mills #roland hood #modern AU #marie writes oq

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