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gaiathemexicanbeauty · 6 months

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it only takes a taste | mike schmidt x reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: none! this is just pure fluff and maybe kind of slowburnish lol

this was loosely based off of it only takes a taste from the waitress musical! :3

idk i just really like the idea of late nights with mike even if he's too tired to even think straight lmao

also don't ask what time period this takes place in, i was born in 2004 and know like 2 things about the 70s-90s or whenever the movie takes place bc its never explicitly mentioned

i also do not regularly bake or cook so do not be afraid to go to my comment section and tell me if something sounds off

i love this man ok, i have said it 1000 times already but i've been in love with him ever since i first saw him when i was like 12 or 13 and was even more so obsessed with rebornica's mike design for YEARS. 12 year old me would have an aneurism if she knew about the fnaf movie

you let out a long yawn, one hand reaching up cover your mouth so as not to potentially ruin the mood of any customers around; granted, there was only two and they were graveyard shifters from somewhere outside of town but customers are customers. you'd been working at sparky's for a couple of months now, figuring it was an easy way to make some cash and keep food on the table. of course, you hadn't accounted for the very long hours that passed where you half debated trying to sneak away since no was around from 2-4:00 am: your boss would kill you, though, and you wanted to stay employed.

soft oldies music plays in the background as you glance over at the clock ticking away on the wall. just as you move to grab a rag to clean the counters for the 5th time during your shift, you hear the bell above the entrance jingle and don't even have to look up to know who it is.

mike wasn't a regular at first, just someone who popped in at random and very quietly asked for a coffee. after a while of starting a new job, he started coming in at almost 11:00 pm everyday and always asking for the same thing: just a plain, black coffee. "seriously?" you had said with a smirk the first time he said his order to you, your eyes widening at the attitude you had just given a customer. fortunately, mike was quick to respond with a tired but good natured laugh, his hands folded in front of him. "i'm all ears if you have other recommendations." he mumbled with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, giving you instant relief.

now, it was just clockwork. "hey." mike sighs with a soft sigh, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he takes a seat at a chair by the counter you were standing behind. "coffee machine is kind of acting up tonight, you're gonna have to give it a minute. want anything else while you wait?" you say as you approach the counter, giving him a quick smile. mike is about to decline your offer, his lips parting to say something before his eyes land on something on the farther end of the counter. "what about that? still good?" "you're just in time. i was going to take the rest of it home." you say with a smile, walking over to the cake stand holding an apple pie with only 3 slices left of it. you take the lid off to plate it, handing it over to mike with a hum before bringing him utensils. you don't even get the chance to bring up to him that the slices have been sitting there for a couple of hours, blinking in shock at the way he's quick to start eating.

you turn your back to start taking down the chalkboard advertising the special from the day before, giving mike his one moment of quiet you were sure he needed. you start to think about what your day will consist of once you're done with your shift, dreading having to clean your room before you can actually sleep. "did you make this?" "yeah. why, is it bad?" you say with a chuckle, turning to look at mike again; your eyes widen a bit at the way mike is looking at you, his own eyes looking at you like he can't believe what he just put it in his mouth. "no, no, it's..it's really good, like. really good." your cheeks redden a bit at the sudden compliment, pushing a piece of hair behind your ear as you occasionally glance at him enjoying the pie you'd made; you wouldn't say you were amazing at cooking but you definitely knew enough to make a meal that would do more than just feed you.

it also didn't help that you'd been harboring a crush on mike for the past month. that you were aware of, he didn't have a partner of any kind but that might have been more to do with the fact he didn't have time for one than anything else. you at first brushed it off as just not having contact with anyone your age that late at night, just enjoying his company when nights got lonely. but you couldn't deny the way you would style your hair a bit differently or try a new perfume in the hopes of getting a compliment from mike; to your absolute pleasure, he almost always pointed it out. now to hear this sudden praise for your cooking took you out of your element.

"thanks, really, but i make it all the time. i can make thousands like it and they'll all be the same." you say with a light chuckle, crossing your arms against your chest as you look over at the cake stand sheepishly. "then maybe you should consider getting a day job making these instead." mike says between bites, giving you a playful smile. you can't help but scoff despite the smile on your face, looking over at mike again. "well, if it's that easy, maybe YOU should quit your job and come and join me. keep me company." the two of you have a quiet laugh, your cheeks reddening at the indirect compliment you had paid him. once his plate is empty, you take it away from him just to have an excuse to do something with your hands (also to get away from the almost fond look that mike was giving you right now, definitely not on par for him). there's a tense silence between the two of you before mike speaks up, clearing his throat when he speaks. "uh, i tried making that at home. the pie, i mean. i don't remember what kind it was right now, but it definitely didn't end as well as that." he says with a nervous laugh, hands folded in front of him again as you hear the coffee machine start to pour out his drink.

"well, what exactly did you do wrong?" with surprisingly no hesitance, mike goes on to tell the story of how sure he was about this recipe he'd seen in a catalogue, going above and beyond to make sure this "stupid thing" (his words) came out right. little did he know leaving his creation unattended for even a second would result in smoke pouring out of the oven and having to throw out a charred-black pastry; "and then abby went and acted like we could just go and do it all over again and.." mike starts, hands waving around uncharacteristically as he finished off his story. he caught the way you were trying to hold back a laugh, fingers pressed to your lips that were etched into a small smile. "it's ok, you can laugh all you want. i never tried doing it again." you can't help the laugh that leaves you once he gives you his full permission, still trying to keep your voice down. "i-i'm sorry, really.." you giggle once you've calmed down, rubbing your hands over your face before you start to walk around the counter to where mike is sitting. "but that's not how making a pie works. you can't just leave it like that or give up on the process that easily."

mike makes a face that says 'i'm listening', shrugging his shoulders when you sit on the stool next to him. "making a pie is like.." you start with a sigh, hands propping up your chin in thought as you look up at the clock. "you just know when some things feel right. if something is too much or too little, whether you need to start again or not. lord knows i've had to redo entire pies because the crust wasn't flaky enough or the filling didn't taste like apples enough." you say, chuckling a bit as you remember all the times you'd slaved away for almost entire days trying to nail down the perfect home recipe. you take a minute to think again, sitting back a bit as you smooth down your apron tied around your waist. "and it also doesn't help if you make something just to make something. when you bake or just cook a plain old steak, you have to make it like you're crafting a story or making a song. all of my best meals were made with someone or something in mind."

your cheeks go red again when you realize the very unprompted ramble you went on, a nervous laugh leaving you as you look down at your lap. "sorry, you totally don't have to-" "no, no, i-" the two of you jump a bit at the way you both try to speak first, sheepish smiles tugging at your lips before you go quiet again. the bell above the door jingles and you don't have to look up to know the two of you are alone now. "i like hearing about that sort of stuff. i really only hear about it when i'm here with you and it's..nice. different." your heart soars and you can only hope that mike can't somehow feel or hear it, trying to give him a warm smile without saying something you'll regret. you get up from your seat with a when he checks his watch, knowing that's code for 'i need to go' even before he stands. you're almost sure he'll leave without saying anything which you are simultaneously grateful for and hoped he wouldn't do, already busying yourself with some other menial task. "hey."

you look up almost as soon as he speaks, seeing the smile tugging at his lips and not able to contain your own. "save those leftovers for me. i hope it still tastes like you were trying to make it for me when i get back." he says, a smug look in his eyes as your lips part a bit in shock. you try to call out to him before he jogs out to his car, taking off accordingly.

-> ta da its done! :D <-

this was honestly less romantic than i wanted it to be but i promise that my brain is racked with thoughts of him literally EVERY DAY so mayhaps i can write something else that's more up to par one of these days

but thank yall for reading! :D i haven't been able to pump out a oneshot like this for a while and it felt good to write something longer than a couple of paragraphs, i have missed this account sm 🐺💗 love yall and i hope that you all are having a fantastic day!

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt fanfic #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #fnaf #oneshot #x reader #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's #josh hutcherson #michael schmidt x reader #fnaf x reader #fnaf x you

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hops-hunny · 3 years

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Distance Makes the Heart Grow

CHAPTER 1

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: (Y/n) lives a normal life. But that’s the issue, it’s normal, it’s plain, and it’s growing boring. Everyday she wishes for something, anything to spice up her life. But, when her old school friend (and crush) shows up at her bakery with a new look (and what looks like a new life), what will it bring for her? Will their puppy love grow? Will his big secret lead to the end of them or will it spark a new beginning?

Warnings: None for this chapter!

A/N: Nothing major happens in this chapter, this is sorta just like the beginning stages.

(Y/n) let out a load groan, hand searching aimlessly for the alarm clock on her side table. “Where is it?!” she continued to slap her hand around on her table, many objects falling to the floor before her hand finally landed on the right one, the rooster noises ceasing as her hand collided with the big snooze button. She rolled over, sighing as she stared at her speckled ceiling. “Perhaps I really should take the time to learn how to use the alarm on my phone.” it wasn’t that she was bad with technology persay. It’s just if it was produced after the year of 2008 you could forget it. Could you really blame her though? During all her years at Hogwarts, she had never made the switch her fellow classmates made with modern technology. Sure she had a smart phone but the only thing she could manage to do with it is call, text, and make notes in the notes app (something she had just recently learned as well).

Unwillingly, she crawled out of bed, stretching as she let out a large yawn, bones snapping and cracking like a New Year’s firework. She made her way to the bathroom, looking into the same mirror she always did, watching the light in the center flicker the same way as always. Life for (Y/n) was seemingly unchanging. Day after day, month after month, was spent exactly the same. She’d wake up, get ready for work, and then travel a few blocks down the street to open the bakery. Her bakery.

It wasn’t that (Y/n) didn’t enjoy what she did. She happened to enjoy her job very much. All her friends at Hogwart’s had encouraged her, giving her the push she need to travel the journey of opening her own business. It was something she had always wanted to do but her parents begged her not to. In their words they didn’t want ‘an over zealous and unrealistic’ daughter on ther hands. However, their rude words simply were fuel to the fire. During her 5th year, she began to busk tables at various shops in Hogsmeade. It was hard work, balancing long shifts at 3 different shops and still maintaining decent scores in each class. But, she knew if she couldn’t handle that then there was no way she’d be able to handle running a bakery. So day in and day out she’d work, and work, and work and by the end of her 7th year she had a decent amount of money saved up!

The first issue had been finding a place in a good area that would gain traction and attention while the second one was finding someone willing to sell to someone fresh out of school with no prior business experience. She’d spoken to many people in various different places, some good, and some bad before she finally had been blessed with the chance of meeting Mary and her wife Denise. It was a miracle really. (Y/n) was short on the money, exponentially so however, Mary had sold to her anyways. She said she saw a passion in the girl that she hadn’t seen for a very long time and that it was something she wanted to help foster considering she had had her time to live her dreams and explore passions of her own. So with that, a handshape was exchanged for a beat up envolope filled with the entirety of the girl’s life savings. She had invested every nickel and dime she had ever earned into the place and she prayed it wouldn’t blow up in her face.

Which brought her to where she was today: a proud owner of a highly successful business. And of course, with great business comes a nice chunk of money which caught her parents’ attention. They had began to call her everyday but when that they didn’t work, they showed up at her shop unannounced. At first, she had felt warm inside. Her usual cold and distant parents had come to visit her! However, when they started crunching out numbers and percentages, that short lived happiness was replaced by irritation in which she quickly kicked them out, placing a charm on the building that when they’d attempt to enter (if they really, truly, had the balls to come back), their bodies would be flung right back onto the sidewalk into the heaping piles of trash on the city side walks. Now, (Y/n) was by no means wealthy, but she made a nice amount of money to be engaging in something she enjoyed so heavily, which is why she was confused where they had gotten the idea she had money to share with the main two people who were the cause of her insecurities. Plus, every extra dollar she had she put right back into the shop. Paying her workers, building maintenance, ingredients. She wasn’t a fan of having too much money, her family had shown her what that could cause (and how easily you could lose it all).

Yet still sometimes she found herself wishing she could live the lavish lifestyle her parents once did. She mainly dreamed more so of the more engaging parts instead of the status and power that came with it. As she frosted various different cakes with thick buttercream, her mind would wonder to vivid imagery of beautiful hotel rooms, with breath taking views. Michelin five star meals, coated in delicious cream sauces. Endless adventure waiting to be discovered.

And yet here she was, sitting at a table as she stuffed her face with a raspberry marzipan cupcake. It was a Wednesday, first one of the month and as per usual, her and Twyla were set together, sampling cakes, chocolates, and other treats for the upcoming days. Wednesday had been the official day they had chosen due to the slowed flow of people that would come in. (Y/n) liked to have a different theme each day of the week. The customers lived for it and she had massed a group of frequenters who came each day, wondering what the theme would be that day.

“You know boss, I’ve gotta say it. Working here and sampling all these cakes with you is giving me quite the ass!” Twyla said, turning around as she wiggled her ass in the girl’s face for emphasis. (Y/n) giggled, rolling her eyes as she swatted at the girl, missing as she jumped away from her last minute. “Hey! You gotta take me out to dinner first for that.”

“Just because we’re sampling cakes doesn’t mean that the store is closed! Anyone could walk in at any moment and would you really want that to be their first experience here?” she asked, eyes scanning the silver platter in front of them. She decided on the new dessert flavored chocolates she had been working on. Popping it into her mouth, she let out a moan of approval.

“I mean, I dont’ see why not! We’d definitely make a lot more money with a cake like mine!” the blue haired girl said, sitting down as she grabbed a chocolate as well. “Besides, I don’t think those little noises you’re making would help the scene.” she stated, snickering as the girl across from her tensed up.

“It-it’s not like that! The chocolate- it just- I just- ugh!” she stuttered out, huffing as she crossed her arms over her chest, pouting at the girl. “If you’re gonna keep being mean we can end this process. Just tell me what you think of the blueberry pie chocolate so I can know if we’re adding it to tomorrow’s spread.”

“Oh come on (Y/n) it’s good! Every first Wednesday we sit here, you overly critique yourself, then me and Tiana end up picking out our favorites for the next day!” Twyla was right, even their patterns for trying new things remained the same. (Y/n) wiped her messy hand on her aprons, sighing as she stood up to go back to her position behind the counter. Her employee followed, grabbing the platter to put back into the kitchen before joining her boss behind the counter.

“You’re right. I swear everyday is beginning to feel the same.” She opened her notepad, beginning to take inventory of the sweets they had in the display counter. “I’m grateful for everything I have, I really am. But sometimes I just wish I could have something, anything….”

“New?” the green eyed girl added, catching the (h/c) haired girl’s attention. She nodded, looking at the girl who had snuck a cookie out of the glass case. “I feel ya, girl. Everyday feels the same. Sometimes even when new people come in, I can already tell how they’re going to be. How they’ll act, what they’ll order, what method of payment they’ll use.” (Y/n) eyed the girl up, raising a brow.

“Are you sure you’re not just using legilimens?” she questioned, watching as the girl shifted on her feet, scratching the back of her neck.

“Okay so maybe I do sometimes. But a lot of the times I don’t! Like the other day this weird guy came in and- woah. (Y/n) I don’t wanna freak you out but I have a feeling those hotties in suits across the street are going to be walking in here soon.” Twyla said, in an uncharacteristically quiet tone. The shorter girl followed her friend’s gaze, looking out the glass doors across the street. Three unfamiliar men were crossing over, all in suits that she could only assume cost as much as four months of rent. However, the one in the middle really caught her eye.

Before she knew it, the bell chimed and the three of them made their way in. They looked very out of place in the brightly decorated shop. The one in the middle looked the most important, towering over the other two men. He had dark slicked back hair, an eyebrow piercing, and tattoos that were visible on his neck and hands (which had a few beautiful looking rings on them (none of which were a wedding band…)), yet his hazel eyes held a soft look to them. To his left was a redhead boy, freckles danced all along his face. His eyes were bloodshot from god knows what. He had tattoos as well (not as many as the middle man) and a few unique ear piercings. The guy to the hot tall guy’s right was attractive too but not nearly as serious looking as the other two. In fact, he was humming a song under his breath, a smile causing the tattoo on the right side of his face to crease.

As she went to open her mouth to greet them, the man in the middle eye’s grew wide, his mouth gaping as he stared at her. He walked closer, examining her face closely which caused her to grow confused.

“I’m...I’m sorry. Do I know you?” she asked.

“(Y/n)?” she gasped at the sound of the familiar voice, her notepad and pen dropping from her hands. She made her way around the counter, staring up at the tall man.

“Neville?!”

NEXT||

TAGSLIST: @vayeya11 @pink-hufflepuff @clancyscookies @beewitchedlou @nevillelongbottomsgirlfriend @redpanda-poetry @vibingaesthetically

#neville x reader #neville longbottom x reader #Neville Longbottom #neville x you #neville longbottom x you #Harry Potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #mafia #mafia!neville #mafia!au

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aot-brainrot · 3 years

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Dudeeee if you would write me something abt me and hotch and me being a brat like in front of the team and he gets angry or like I flirt with Spencer to piss him off... and then he fucks me really hard like overstimulation and squirting and cream pie. And can he call me babygirl, kitten, bunny and I call him daddy. Okay I think that’s it lol

NSFW Drabble below!

Pairing: Jealous!Daddy!Hotch x brat!sub!reader

Warnings: Cursing. Dom/sub relationship, brat taming, restraints (handcuffs), degradation, name calling, choking, overstimulation, squirting, creampie, impregnation/breeding kink.

Word count: 2034

You hadn’t planned ahead for any of this, but you weren’t exactly surprised either when it happened. You woke up to find that Hotch was still asleep, his pajama pants already tight from whatever dream it was that he was having. He would’ve been embarrassed if he knew that you caught him having a wet dream. You smirked to yourself, though, a plan forming in your mind, and so you slid out of bed and raced to get dressed for the day. Hotch was awake when you walked out of the closet. He turned to say good morning to you, his morning wood already suspiciously gone, but he stopped suddenly when he saw what you were wearing. You had put on a low v-neck shirt with a pair of pants that were tight around your ass and thighs but flared out at the bottom. Every bit that Hotch loved about you was on display for everyone to see yet he never said anything, even when the two of you were in the car or walking into the office.

It wasn’t until you leaned down to pick up a piece of paper after you dropped in front of him and Reid that you finally felt his glare. He was watching you closely. You tried to shake it off, pretending like you didn’t notice, and you walked a few steps towards Spencer to hand him the paper. You bit your lip when you looked up at him.

“Spence, did you get a haircut or something? You look cute.”

He cleared his throat as he blushed. “I, uh... Yeah, I did...” He tucked one of his curls behind his ear.

“I like it.” You put a hand on his bicep.

“Thanks.”

Hotch had impressive self-restraint, however, and it was plain to you as you went through the rest of the day, continuing with your plan of making Hotch incredibly jealous by flirting with Spencer, and he never once said or did anything. All you got was that glare.

When you got home, that was an entirely different story. The second the door was closed behind you, Hotch pinned you against the wall with a hand on your neck, and you gasped, clawing at his wrist to make him let go, but he refused. His grip tightened.

“You thought it was funny, brat; didn’t you?” he said into your ear.

You played dumb. “I don’t know what you mean, Daddy—”

“Don’t lie. Try again.”

You were still trying to get out of it by wiggling and insisting that you had no idea what he was talking about, but Hotch growled angrily and used his grip on your neck to start pulling you upstairs to the bedroom. You yelped as he tossed you onto the bed and he didn’t hesitate to restrain your hands behind your back using his handcuffs. He flipped you back over to look up at the ceiling when he was sure that you were at his mercy.

“First, the clothes…” He tore your pants off and scrunched your shirt up around your collarbone so that he could see your bra. He let out a shaky breath. “And then bending down for that paper…” He tore your panties off. “Lastly, you purposefully flirted with Spencer for the entire day whenever I was looking over in order to make me jealous.” His fingers found your clit without warning. Something in his eyes told you that he didn’t want to waste time with teasing and edging you when he could torture you in other ways that satisfied his urge to tell you: “You’re mine. Only mine. Never fucking forget it.” That look in his eyes somewhat scared you, but the thought disappeared when he dipped his fingers into you and started fingering you as fast as possible. “At first, I thought to myself that we were going to get home and I wasn’t going to touch you— or at least not let you cum; but then I realized that the brat in you would’ve said some stupid shit about Spencer—” You cut him off with a desperate moan when he hit your g-spot. “So, I realized that I had to do something to remind you that I’m the only one who can make you feel this good.”

“Daddy, I’m close.”

“Already?” he teased with a proud smirk.

“Yes. Daddy, please.”

“Cum, bunny. Cum for me.”

You bucked around as his fingers continued to help you through your orgasm, stretching you when your walls tightened around him with every wave and golt that passed. “Thank you, Daddy. Thank you.” You panted as you slumped against the bed, but Hotch didn’t stop. You shifted uncomfortably. “Daddy—”

“I’m the only one who can make you cum, baby girl… So, I’m going to make you cum.”

“But- But I… Fuck…” When his thumb started rolling circles over your clit, you tensed up at the feiling, your stomach and muscles still too tight from your orgasm. “I already did, Daddy.”

“And you’ll do it again.”

You tugged at the handcuffs under your back in an attempt to free yourself and pull his touch away from your sensitive pussy, but to no avail. “Daddy, I can’t.”

“You can, baby. I know you can. I can feel it. You’re so wet for me, so tight so that my fingers and cock can stretch you the way we both love.” He parted his index and middle fingers, doing exactly what he was talking about: stretching you. “Just like that…” He snickered. “And if I do this...” He curled his fingers and used his wrist to rotate around and bob as he fucked you with the pure intention of making you cum as fast as possible. “Feel that?”

You nodded and screwed your eyes shut. “Daddy, I’m gonna cum again.”

“So fast… Just like a good whore should.”

You moaned and tried to turn onto your side as another attempt to escape, but Hotch pressed his free hand on your hip, holding you steady as he somehow managed to fuck you harder through your second orgasm. You were squirming, begging for him to stop, but he was just chuckling at how pathetic you look. And then your back arched as you cum again by some miracle— a third orgasm before the second one could even finish— but it was more than that. You felt an extra release, something you were unfamiliar with.

When you calmed down, your back falling against the mattress again, you lifted your head up, and you saw the mess on the sheets, Hotch’s hand, and on his knees that were between your legs. You realized what you did. Hotch was entirely starstruck, staring at you with a wolf-like hunger. He looked so proud of you, too.

When you blushed and tried to hide yourself by sinking into the bed, he smirked and pulled his fingers from you, wiping them up and down your slit to collect everything, and he teased, “Aw, bunny, you made a mess.” And then he started playing with you again. “Let’s see if I can force another out of you.”

You shook my head. “Please, no, Daddy. I can’t.”

“Would you try again for Spencer?” he scolded, his smile fading, his usual frown returning as he used his free hand to choke you again. “You would; wouldn’t you?”

You shook your head. “No, Daddy, promise. I’ll do it for you. Whatever you want, Daddy.”

He kissed you roughly. “That’s my good girl.” Hotch removed his touch from you entirely so that he could sit back on his knees and start fiddling with his pants. When he was bare, there was no hesitancy between lining himself up with your entrance and thrusting all the way into you in a way that made you scream and he snickered. “Is it too much?”

You nodded. Between cumming three times, as well as squirting, and now having to take every inch of him, your whole body was screaming for mercy, but it was also begging for more. You were so conflicted between needing a break and needing him to fuck you harder. Hotch didn’t give you an option. He steadied himself on his knees between your thighs, held onto your hip with one hand, and while he drove into you over and over again without mercy, his other hand was using his delicate, talented fingers to play with your overstimulated clit. You screamed again. He loved hearing your screams. He loved how pathetic and needy you sounded for him— only him. No one else could make you cum that many times, squirt even once, or fuck you the way that Hotch could. The two of you always understood that, which was why you had been a brat in the first place, but now Hotch had every reason to prove it to you.

“My fucking whore,” he grunted into your ear. “A brat all day, but nothing but pathetic moans in bed. Why is that? Hmm?”

“You- You… Shit…” You struggled against the cuffs. “You, Daddy. Because of you.” He was close enough to you that you were able to breathe into his neck now to try and hide your helpless pants. “You’re so good to me, Daddy.”

He growled happily. “Fuck, kitten.” You melted at his words. “Cum when you want. Cum as many times as you can.”

“Daddy, I need you.” You already had him, but that wasn’t what you meant. You knew that the only way he was going to relent was after he had cum, and if he were going to do that, you at least wanted to make it count. “Cum in me, Daddy, please.”

Hotch moaned, so taken aback by your words. “Fuck. You wanna be my cum bunny? Walking around with me leaking down your legs? Wondering if anything will stick?”

You moaned, too. “Yes, Daddy. Please, please, please, please—” You were boiled down to nothing but those repeated pleas as your aching clit couldn’t take it anymore, so that knot that had been building in your stomach finally broke, making another orgasm wash through you. You twitched around on the bed somewhat. Hotch continued to fuck you and play with your clit. “Daddy, stop, please!” You squirmed involuntarily. “I can’t!”

“I want you to make another mess for me, bunny, and then I’ll consider stopping.”

“I can’t,” you whined, on the verge of tears.

“Yes, you can.”

Your legs kicked around on the bed as another orgasm crashed through you in the most painful of ways, making you dribble with squirt this time opposed to the force it had before. You cried at the humiliation. “Daddy… Please…” You were so tired and used now, and your worn out cries were a signal to that.

Hotch finally took mercy on you, pulling his fingers away from his clit, but that wasn’t an excuse to stop fucking you. As his wet fingers worked their way into your mouth, Hotch let out a string of curses that ended with him driving into you one last time before burying to the hilt as he came inside of you, giving you every drop. He groaned as he gave another short thrust to make sure everything came out. When you stopped sucking on his fingers, he slowly pulled out of you and ducked down, watching as his cum started to leak out of you already. He didn’t like that. He wanted you to be full, to be reminded that it was him you were carrying around— Him, not Dr. Spencer Reid. If you were going to remember who you belonged to, then you needed to hold onto every drop. So, Hotch made sure it stayed there. He collected what was dripping down to your ass and started gently fucking it back into you. You whimpered again at the feeling, but at least it wasn’t enough this time to make you cum. You could live with that.

“My baby girl’s going to carry my seed around,” he hummed happily. He looked up at you through his lashes. “Isn’t that right, princess?”

You nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I belong to you.”

“Yes, you do.” He smirked and kissed you again.

#mine #fanfic #drabble #hotch #reader #sub!reader #ask

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plus-size-reader · 4 years

Text

House into a Home

Sam Winchester x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1022 words

Warnings: (kinda short but this idea was too cute to pass up)

Summary: Moving into the bunker with Sam and complaining about how plain it is. The two of you paint the walls and totally redecorate

——————————————————————————————————

You had never expected the Winchester boys to be all that decorative. Though to be fair, you had lived a life of leather and plaid, with nothing more than that.

Perhaps you should have checked your expectations at the door, when you thought about moving into the bunker.

Though, you never would have imagined that it would be as empty as it was inside the shell of the men of letters bunker.

Each room that you walked into was less personalized than the first, housed with only the existing furniture and little else.

When you first entered the building, It was almost as if no one lived there in the first place.

“SAM! Where are you?” you yelled again, finding yourself lost for the fifth time today. You had only been staying with him for a few days and the bunker only seemed to be getting more impossible to navigate.

Every corner that you turned generated another impossible hallway, which had several doors down the corridor. There was no way to know where you were, at any given time.

You had no clue how they had managed to actually live in this place. How could they find their way around without ever losing their way?

“I’m coming” he called back, a little laugh at the end of his sentence as he made his way down the hall. You had just passed him on your way to the kitchen, which meant that you couldn’t have been far. Not that knowing that, in any way, made it less funny.

He knew that once you got the hang of it, living here would be as easy as pie, you just had to learn your way around.

You could hear his boots making noise down the hallway as he approached but you couldn’t be sure which direction he was coming from. At this point, you were sure this place had been built with trap doors.

It was meant to keep secrets.

...You weren’t supposed to find your way around easily. That was the whole point.

Though, even knowing that, you didn’t feel any better about getting lost. When Sam finally found you, after a total of six minutes, you were sitting on the bed, completely defeated.

At least you’d managed to find his room.

It was better than having you accidentally wander into Dean’s bedroom, which was more or less a dungeon of pie and porn.

“There she is” he smiled, sitting down beside you with a casual plop. He had this wide smile on his face, making it abundantly clear to you that he was amused by your struggle.

"Who would ever want to live in such a confusing place?" you huffed, flopping over him dramatically, draped over his broad shoulder.

You were acting like this had something to do with the house, and as much as Sam hated to admit it, you had a point.

It could be a lot to take in at once but with everything else you'd had to deal with when it came to them, this was bound to be a cake walk. If you could handle demons and angels and ghouls, this would be no problem.

"I promise you'll get the hang of it...besides, you already know how to get here and that's most important" he winked, looking around his bedroom, his eyebrows wiggling slightly.

You were about to make fun of him for being cheesy when you realized something. You quickly realized that there were no decorations anywhere in the room.

By this point, you were positive that if you just found yourself in this place, you wouldn't even know that anyone lived here.

"Have you ever thought about some throw pillows?" you wondered, all thought of getting lost completely forgotten in favor of this new problem that was bothering you. You couldn't help but notice that the room was stark and empty, and that was most important.

The only clue that he actually lived here were the books, scattered across his desk, in the company of police files.

That was the only thing even remotely 'Sam' about this place.

Other than that, the room was more or less a blank slate. You had to doubt if the bunker had even been changed in fifty years. "Throw pillows?" he repeated, unsure if you were serious or not.

Sam had never encountered anyone who actually cared about throw pillows but you were completely serious. You were actually bothered by the lack of decor.

"Yes Sam, throw pillows. You have lived here forever and you've never tried to personalize this place?" you hummed, shocking that he hadn't done it by now.

This was the most time they'd spent in this place for a long time, and you expected him to grab onto that with full force. Hell, he had fully grabbed onto college life with entirety.

Why wouldn’t he do that in this place?

“I guess I just never got around to it” he shrugged, running his hands over your arms casually to distract himself from the interrogation. He didn’t really think this was where today’s conversation would go.

Never got around to it? You couldn’t believe it.

Though, there had to be something you could do to change that. After all, having everything all blank and casual may have worked for him but this wasn’t a bachelor pad anymore.

If you were going to live here, you had to feel like it was your home and in order to do that, you had to get some throw pillows and throw blankets.

“That’s okay and all, but can I please get some? I want to make this a bedroom that can both live in” you begged, your bottom lip pouting out as you did your best to convince him.

It wasn't much of an issue as far as you were concerned, but Sam had never really dealt with something like this before. In fact, you were the first serious relationship he’d had that got to this place.

If anyone was going to redecorate, it was going to be you.

#sam winchester #sam winchester x ps reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x plus size reader #sam winchester imagine #supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural x plus size reader #supernatural x ps reader #supernatural imagine #spn #spn x reader #spn x plus size reader #spn x ps reader #spn imagine

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jaceyneedsabetterusername · 4 years

Text

Whiskey Pecan Pie

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Arthur isn’t known for being the nicest or gentlest person but a certain girl in the bakery makes him want to be a better person.

Word Count: 2115

A/N: I finally made it a full length imagine! I don’t know about the ending so feel free to let me know what you think about it.

___________________________

Arthur was pretty sure he was in love with you. Everything about you made him smile and feel warm inside, which usually only his alcohol could do (and even then, that only made him feel warm). Your sparkling eyes and kind smile were a shining light in the gloom that was Small Heath, a gloom that he felt partially responsible for deep down. But you made him want to be the best possible version of himself.

Your grandparents had opened a small bakery in Small Heath back in the 1860’s and it had been passed down to your parents who’d raised you up in the business as well. Baking was your life and unlike so many other people your age who’d run from their family businesses as soon as they were eighteen, you couldn’t wait to take over yours.

But your dream was so much more than the basic breads and cakes that your parents made. You couldn’t wait to add pies and cookies and scones and whatever else you managed to create in that kitchen in the back!

Today, your newest specialty had been posted up for sale: Have A Berry Good Day Cobbler. A display batch had been made up and set behind the glass of the display case while the three other cobblers sat in the back, ready to be bought up and enjoyed. You couldn’t deny, you were pretty proud of this one.

You sat behind the counter, nose buried in a book, while you awaited customers while your parents baked bread in the back. The little ding of the bell in the doorway drew your attention to the man who walked in. You smiled, immediately recognizing him as Arthur Shelby. “Good morning, Mr. Shelby.” You smiled, hopping down from your stool and closing your book.

Your kindness always took Arthur off guard. He was used to surliness and concealed emotions, unless it was anger, but with you, you always seemed to have a spare smile for someone. He eagerly took his hat off, careful to grab around the hidden blade, and stuffed it in his pocket. That was what a gentleman did, right? He couldn’t even remember proper etiquette anymore.

“Please, call me Arthur.” He insisted, finally having the nerve to make your relationship a little less formal. You made him nervous, drove butterflies wild in his stomach. It wasn’t something he was used to feeling. His life was typically fulfilled by cheap whores which couldn’t even be classified as cheap thrills anymore. Just something to fill the void. But you made it as if the void didn’t exist. He almost felt like he did before the war.

You smiled, “Alright, Arthur.” God, the way his name sounded leaving your lips was intoxicating.

The eldest Shelby brother had become a regular in your bakery about a month ago, coming in at least twice a week for one of your original sweets. You had to admit that you’d developed a (not so) slight crush on the man over the course of your interactions.

Arthur’s reputation preceded him. Everyone in Small Heath knew who the Shelby brothers were and most people were smart enough to not get involved with them. But the eldest one had captured your heart with his daily visits to your shop. His abrasive, hostile front was left at the door with the removal of his cap and his grimace was replaced with a cute upturn of his mustache as he smiled. It was clear by how he tried to hide it that it wasn’t a look he was used to having but your heart skipped a beat every time you saw it.

“So… what’s the special today?” Arthur ringed his hat nervously in his hands, careful to avoid the blades in the brim.

You turned around to grab the display dish and showed it to him, “Today I whipped up something I like to call Have A Berry Good Day Cobbler. And, yes, it is necessary to having a good day.” You giggled at your own anecdote and Arthur let out the closest thing to a laugh he was comfortable emitting. Your adorable smile that was somehow proud and humble could’ve made Arthur drop dead then and there from how cute you were.

“I’m sure if you made it, it’s delicious.” He threw out the compliment, looking at the cobbler that did indeed look delicious, “Everything you bake always is.”

Crimson burned into your cheeks at the compliment from the attractive man. You had one more surprise for him though beyond the treat of the day, “Awe, thank you. But I’m hoping you think the same about another new treat I made.”

“Two in one day?” He asked, surprised. Every day since he’d started coming in four weeks ago, he’d only ever known there to be one special pastry per day.

You held up one finger, telling him to hang for just a second, and you smiled excitedly as you turned around and disappeared behind a shelf to grab a plate. In all honesty, you were nervous out of your mind. Was this too forward? Was this going to scare him off? If it worked as you hoped, would you regret it?

When you returned just moments later, a little tart sat on a small plate in your hands, “This is a little something special I whipped up just for you.” You handed Arthur the plate, your fingers gently sliding across each other as you slid it into his grasp. Your heart sped up drastically at the contact and you glanced up at him quickly to see if he noticed it too only to lock eyes with him for a brief, nervous moment before you both looked away again.

“You-you made this just for me?” Arthur questioned, staring at the little mystery pastry in his hands in shock. Nobody had ever made a gesture like this for him before. People only did things for him out of fear or obligation but this little tart with a perfectly toasted crust and sweet looking filling was made specially for him out of the kindness of your heart, and dare he go so far to say, affection.

You watched nervously as Arthur looked down at the little pastry in his hands and then looked up to you with a twinkle in his blue eyes that told you this was something totally out of the ordinary for him but he didn’t seem to hate it. With a smile, you placed your hands on the counter that was between you and leaned all of your weight onto your hands, lifting yourself to stand on your tiptoes as you peered over, “Well, um, yeah. I may be wrong but you look like you might be a man who likes whiskey so I decided to try and make a dessert with you specially in mind. This is a pecan tart with whiskey in the caramel-pecan filling."

Arthur looked down at the pastry and then back up to see you nervously chewing your lip, though still smiling, waiting to see his response, "That sounds great,” His heart swelled with a strange emotion he’d never felt before, somewhere between utter adoration for you mixed with the unknown feeling of being loved (if he could be so bold as to entertain the thought that a girl as amazing as you could love a man like him), “How much is it?" Arthur reached into his pocket to grab his wallet. In any other store, he never paid. If people didn't give him what he wanted, he threatened them till he got it. But he could never dream of doing such a thing to you. He'd always made it a point to pay you for whatever he'd bought in your bakery.

You put up your hands, "It costs nothing, Mr. She- erm Arthur. This one's a gift. Besides, you didn't order it anyways." You laughed a little, hand going to cover his hand that was extended with several coins in it, ready to push it away but stopping when your skin touched his for the first time.

Your breath caught in your throat. Arthur’s skin was similar to how you’d imagined, somewhere between smooth and calloused with rougher spots on his knuckles.

Arthur had a similar reaction. When he finally felt your soft but thoroughly worked hands on his, he nearly choked on his own tongue. Was this what it was like to actually love a woman? To not just want their body for a few fun minutes? Of course, there was the physical attraction to you that was undeniable but he actually wanted to get to know you. He craved you, all of you - body, mind, and soul. The thought of harm ever coming to you made his blood boil.

“Please, I insist. Let me give you a few pounds at least?” He begged, not making any effort to move his hand away from yours. He also definitely noticed that you hadn’t retracted your reach yet either.

A blush crept up on your cheeks, as if they could possibly get any redder when he was around, “Can’t you accept a gift, Arthur?” You insisted, your tone sweet but taunting.

He sighed and pulled his hand away, “Alright, alright. Thank you for the pie.” He nodded, gesturing to the tart.

“It’s technically a tart I think but you’re welcome. Let me know how you like it, yeah?” Arthur only prayed that his cheeks weren’t as bright as they felt. The way your kind eyes twinkled with pride in your work made your entire face glow more radiant than it already did. You were so intelligent and kind and giving.

“Everything you make is delicious and I’m sure this is no exception.” Arthur complimented awkwardly, shifting his weight on his feet nervously as he did so. Kindness and compliments were far from his usual vocabulary but he felt the need to make sure you knew how amazing you were. It didn’t mean it came naturally to him though.

“Awe, you’re too kind.” You looked away shyly, giggling at his amiable gestures. Men had seldom looked at you the way Arthur Shelby did. Other girls were beautiful and oftentimes fairly well off, or at least the ones the boys often chased were. You felt like you were always just there, not necessarily the most beautiful girl in Small Heath, nor the richest. You had your pies and cookies but was that really enough?

But you were so much more than that. Arthur saw plain as day the beautiful soul you were but he could also see that you didn’t see yourself the way he did.

“Arthur!” A male’s voice startled the both of you from the trances you’d fallen into, lost in each other's eyes, as a man burst into the bakery, the little bell ringing as he spoke, “Tommy needs us back at the shop.”

Arthur sighed, “Alright, Finn, I’ll be there in a moment.” The door closed again and the smitten look that Arthur always donned in your presence began to fade away into the harder expression you saw him wear around town. Regretfully, Arthur’s hand fell from yours but his heart ached for it to be back in your grasp, “I guess I should get going. Thank you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Your hand quickly returned to the table, suddenly feeling awkward and wrong now that the warmth of his touch had disappeared, “See you then. Have a good rest of your day, Arthur.” You tried not to sound too disappointed that he had to leave but if you had it your way, he’d stay all day.

With one last small, nearly hidden smile, and a nod of farewell, he took off out the door, brushing his hair back with his fingers and throwing his cap back onto his head. Now that you were alone, you brushed your hair back and finally released the breath of air you weren’t aware you had been holding. “That wasn’t so difficult, now was it?” You asked yourself rhetorically. Clearly, he didn’t reject it. In fact, he seemed to be quite delighted by the gesture which had to be a good sign, right? You needed to stop worrying so much.

You pushed yourself back off the counter to begin restocking the loaves of bread when you noticed something on the counter, right where yours and Arthur’s hands had been holding onto each other. Five pounds sat on the smooth wood and you rolled your eyes, chuckling as you took the money that Arthur left despite your insistence that the dessert was a gift and put it in the cash box, “So persistent.”

#Arthur Shelby #arthur shelby oneshot #arthur shelby imagine #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder headcanon #arthur shelby x reader #fluff

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redhoodedwolf · 4 years

Text

A Week-ish of Sterek Fics

Hello all! So I recently accidentally fell back into my AO3 bookmarks and have fallen down a rabbit (fox? eh?) hole that leaves me entirely unproductive and sleep deprived but full of feels, so I thought I’d share all of the fics that I’ve rerereread thus far in the last week (it’s over 75 guys) (since friday 😬). Each has the fic name and description, length, and year pub/finished because it makes me feel old. Also all of these are complete because I am weak and cannot handle WIPs.

Note: I’m not adding any tags to the descriptions, so make sure to read the tags and ratings on each fic first before reading!!!

Teaching Derek How to Text (and Other Shenanigans) by neilwrites | 9K | 2018

yo derek Who’s dying

---

I see your 'Derek doesn't have a phone' line and raise you 'Derek has a phone, he and Stiles text all the fucking time.'

The Hoodie by ladiekatie | 1.7K | 2017

“You shouldn’t be able to see me. What are you?” The guy in the hoodie says, the ball of energy grows hotter under Derek’s chin.

or the one where Derek is just trying to talk to the guy at the back of the subway.

Nothing You Could Say by SylvieW | 13K | 2016

Stiles’ second year of college is not working out as he planned. He rarely sees Scott, his job is exhausting, and to get home after his shift, he has to walk at three in the morning. Nearly getting mugged is the icing on the cake, but luckily a gruff stranger is there to rescue him. But now Stiles can’t seem to shake the feeling that he’s not alone in the dark.

Old Traditions, Werewolf Edition by Footloose | 3.6K | 2014

Stiles does not work his Omega ass off to attract frat boy Alphas. Absolutely not. He's at college to get his degree. If he's crushing on an Alpha who never crosses the lines of propriety, well, no one needs to know, right?

Stiles Stilinski, Boyfriend Extraordinaire by MereLoup | 14K | 2016

“Beacon County Sheriff's Department, this is deputy Mahealani speaking.”

“Oh thank god!”

“Stiles?”

“I, uh, I need some advice.”

“Advice?”

“Yeah. So, hypothetically, say you met your boyfriend’s mother and sister for the first time ever. Completely by accident. In the grocery store. And they convinced you to help them make a dinner to surprise aforementioned boyfriend when he got home after work. What would you do?”

Danny paused, and then, “Stiles, you don’t have a boyfriend.”

“That’s not the point! And I said hypothetically.”

“Stiles...what are you doing right now?”

***

Stiles never imagined he’d be in Derek’s kitchen cooking a surprise dinner with Derek’s family while they waited for Derek to get home from work.

Partly because their visit was a complete surprise.

But mostly because Stiles didn’t have a boyfriend.

Or even know who Derek was.

But he’d already come this far and Papa didn’t raise no quitter!

third time's the charm by stilinski | 4.9K | 2016

Sure, Stiles has a mark on his chest that belies the depth of his feelings, but it's not something anyone can see unless he decides to show it, or unless werewolves suddenly have x-ray vision.

Which—worrying. And probably-definitely-likely a possibility – if it was to manifest anywhere, Beacon Hills would be top of the list.

Stiles almost turns around there and then to ask Scott how his visual acuity is but is stopped by the teenager at the register finally looking up long enough to spot Derek. Stiles watches her mouth fall open and her expression—studiously blank but with a faint flush rising in her cheeks—is one Stiles knows far too well, particularly when faced with Derek in all his snug-fitting-jeans, v-neck-wearing, canvas-jacketed glory.

Stiles is pretty sure he invented that expression.

Ukochany by VincentMeoblinn| 34K | 2016

Derek comes home to find a mail order husband and two amused betas waiting for him. When he realizes their prank was far from harmless he ends up saddled with a husband who barely speaks English but insists Derek is the love of his life. He's also determined to win him over.

only if for a night by stilinskisparkles | 3.2K | 2016

“I’m Stiles,” he says breathlessly.

“Derek.”

“Derek, hi, do you—”

Derek doesn’t let him finish, kisses the words right out of his mouth.

Hypothetically by alisvolatpropiis | 6.6K | 2015

Stiles holds his hand up to shield his eyes from the sinking sun, its orange-yellow light reflected infinitely across the vast, calm ocean. As utterly stunning as the sunset over the Pacific is, especially while floating leisurely on a surfboard a few hundred feet from shore, it’s a mere backdrop that pales in comparison to who he’s looking at.

Derek Hale, whose eyes are their own oceans that Stiles feels like he’s been floating on since the first time they met. The older man’s eyes are as ever-changing and colorful as the sea they’ve spent the day on, a palette of greens and blues filigreed with gold around the pupils. And if that weren’t enough, the rest of Derek is also transcendentally exquisite: high, arching cheekbones and a chiseled jaw, although that particular perfection is a bit obscured these days by his ever-thickening beard, night-black like his hair, nearly shoulder-length but almost always knotted in a messy bun at the crown of his head.

sincerely, derek by stilinskisparkles | 8.1K | 2016

September, 2009

Hi Stiles, it’s Derek. Derek Hale, from space camp. I’m writing this in English because my teacher Ms Grady said I had to write about my summer, but I spent my summer with you, so I decided to write to you, instead.

Please write back. Love from Derek.

Pancakes and Murder by Amethyst Shard (AmethystShard) | 14K | 2012

Stiles' life has been a roller-coaster filled with awesome highs and terrifying drops ever since his best friend Scott got bit by a werewolf. The ride hits a bump when a dead body turns up at the Hale house (again) and Derek's only alibi is Stiles. Which would be fine, except that Stiles' dad is the sheriff and has no idea his son has been hanging out with the former fugitive. Awkward.

The Witching Hour by MellytheHun | 8.2K | 2016

The radio host AU no one ever asked for but I have written anyway because sometimes when DJ’s play several sad songs in a row, I worry about their mental health and then this AU was born

Derek Hale, The Hero Beacon Hills Needs (Series) by MellytheHun | 11K | 4 Works | 2016

This series started with this Tumblr prompt, "it’s the middle of the night and i’m walking home alone in the dark and there’s this guy following me and he’s starting to gain on me and i found this phone booth with a lock on the door and i tried to call my best friend but my hands were shaking so badly i accidentally dialed the wrong number and i don’t even know you but help me” au

Stiles is walking home when he's stalked by a dangerous stranger and an even more dangerous stranger comes to his rescue.

Fly a Little Faster by mirrorkill | 32K | 2013

Everyone knows when you go back in time, you shouldn't step on an ant, just in case you accidentally kill your own grandparent or something. But what happens when you go back in time and, uh, accidentally interrupt the one event that apparently made the Grumpiest Alpha in Town into a ball of mindless manpain?

Well, if Marty McFly can do it, so can Stiles Stilinski. All he has to do is get Derek and Paige to fall in love before he gets pulled back to his own time. And before he makes anything worse. That's easy as pie, right? Right?

You are the Moon by skoosiepants | 10K | 2012

Stuff Stiles doesn’t like to deal with first thing: hot, moist dog breath in his face, a cuddly werewolf creepifying his perfectly normal morning wood with shades of bestiality, and his dad holding his service revolver up against the skull of his bedmate, never mind the fact that his bedmate could possibly be a vicious unhinged rogue omega.

Baby, you should stick around by ElisAttack | 9.5K | 2016

Derek's driving along a stretch of highway when an unusual sight makes him slow down, the engine of his old pickup rattling in protest.

There's a kid standing by the side of the road.

It's the middle of nowhere, the goddamn apocalypse, and this kid is standing by the side of the road with his thumb pointed skyward. Like he's playing at being a hitchhiker.

Or the one where Stiles thinks he's all alone in a post-apocalyptic world, until he meets Derek.

Don’t Be Anything But Okay by skoosiepants | 4.8K | 2016

“Oh my god.”

Ben pops open the car door and says, “Please don’t embarrass me, Dad.”

Stiles flaps a hand, still staring at the magnificent sight before him. There are glistening arm muscles and a sweaty tank top and then the vision bends over and holy god. He has to look away; it’s too much to take in all at once, he might swoon.

OR-

Stiles has a teenager and Derek has a plant nursery.

covalent bonds (Series) by HalfFizzbin | 9.2K | 3 Works | 2015

Derek's a hot nerd. Stiles is a nerdy jock. A LOVE STORY FOR THE AGES.

Disappear Here by AgnesBlue | 28K | 2016

Stiles was quiet. “What?” Derek said again. “My first heat is coming up soon,” Stiles said at last. Derek closed his eyes, disinterested. He knew where Stiles was going with this. “I was thinking…hoping, really,” Stiles said. “Maybe you could stay with me during that time.”

AU in which wounded in a fire that killed off his entire family, Derek wants nothing more than to be left alone as he finishes off his senior year in high school. That all changes when omega Stiles Stilinski asks him to help him through his first heat.

Money Isn't Everything by TroubleIWant | 6.3K | 2015

Stiles slurps at the dregs of his iced hazelnut latté, pretending he doesn’t need a refill just yet. Supporting your local business is great and all, but Isaac charging $5 for a coffee with syrup is highway robbery. He’s already cut his expenses down to the bare minimum, and splurging for foofy drinks is not in the budget. Except that he can’t really help himself: black coffee is plain gross. Maybe I should plan on marrying rich, he thinks darkly.

Or,

Stiles has a huge crush on the super-hot guy he always sees at Isaac's coffee shop, but when he finds out that they guy's an unemployed orphan he has to decide if the difference in their financial situations is a deal-breaker, or just a bump on the path to true love.

So Shed Your Skin and Lets Get Started by halfhardtorock | 21K | 2014

He's sixteen and in the woods on the wrong side of the town-line and he's so fucking fucked.

He knows he's not supposed to run, they teach that to you in preschool (don't run from a Were, back away slowly and walk with care), but they never told you how it would feel, standing alone in the dark with your heart beating in your throat as those glowing eyes tracked you from the shadows.

you and me (and my best friend) by trilliastra | 1.5K | 2016

“Come on, I shouldn’t be the only one having orgasms. Let me help you out.”

“Uh –” someone clears their throat and Derek jumps, startled, hits his elbow on the wall and curses, “am I interrupting something?” Stiles asks, cheeks red.

Derek looks up, sighing. Of all the people working in this damn school, Stiles had to be the one to catch him and Erica talking about sex. It’s just Derek’s luck. He spills juice on his pants? Stiles walks into the classroom; Laura starts yelling at him about something that happened when they were kids? Stiles is right behind them, waiting for his coffee; Boyd accidentally throws a ball at his face? Stiles is at the E.R. when Derek gets there with a swollen face and a broken nose.

The universe hates him.

Easy Alpha by interropunct | 4.6K | 2012

Easy A/Teen Wolf AU. Wherein, Derek Hale is the high school hussy, Jackson and Scott really need to learn to use their inside voices. And, contrary to popular belief, everyone is still a virgin.

Body Language by LadyMerlin | 2.3K | 2016

In an alternate universe, soulmates exist, and they can communicate with each other by writing on their own skin.

The catch? No one knows their soulmates' name. It could literally be anyone under the sun, and Stiles just doesn't have that kind of patience.

chantes une nouvelle chanson pour moi by pr1nc3ssp34ch (dallisons) | 13K | 2013

Stiles Stilinski has been at Hogwarts since his first year, okay. That's six years of experience. He knows how Hogwarts works, how it operates. He's not quite an expert or anything, but he's pretty damn sure he knows this school.

So why the hell have they waited like a million years to start taking transfer students?

And why is he the only one who can't get a French date?

C’était Salement Romantique by Swing Set in December (swing_set13) | 2.2K | 2015

The Triwizard tournament is really about fostering wizarding relations. Ask anyone. Just not Stiles, he’s busy French kissing Derek.

Hogwarts really should teach some linguistic classes.

The Long Way Home by MyChemicalRachel | 19K | 2016

Stiles didn’t plan to sleep with his best friend’s dad. It just kind of happened. And then it happened again. And again. And again…

All that once was, remains. by countrygirlsfun | 8.8K | 2016

Life is only a long list of constants.

Being a part of a royal family, being a prince, has been a constant in Derek Hale’s life since he was born and swaddled in silk cloths.

Wherein Derek finds himself in love with a stable boy who is more than he seems.

Driver's Education by arrowofcarnations | 9.2K | 2014

This is the moment he realizes he can never have Derek Hale – that he was stupid to ever think he could. Maybe their moms made them hang out when they were little and maybe they’ve managed to get along these past few weeks, but they’re too different. Derek’s cool, he plays a million sports, he drives a Camaro, he’s friends with Jackson. Stiles doesn’t fit into the equation and he never will.

Letters by ericaismeg | 8.9K | 2014

“Stiles, this is getting ridiculous. Can you please do something about it?” Lydia demands. “Do anything. I don’t care. Go up and kiss him, ask him to prom this year, write him secret admirer love letters, whatever. Just do something.”

***

OR: The one where Lydia sets up an email account for Stiles to "confess his love" for Derek. And as fate would have it, they also end up becoming friends in person at the same time.

We're One of a Kind (Like Dip Da Dip Da Dip Do Whap De Dobby Do) by orphan_account | 3.5K | 2012

Derek is your classic greaser—with a leather jacket, a hot rod, a hot bike, and a duck butt. Genim “Stiles” Stilinski a total fream—he’s too cool to be a poindexter but he’s so far from a cat that Derek almost feels bad for him. All that’s missing in this love story is some oddly perfectly timed musical numbers.

do it for our country by HalfFizzbin | 936 | 2012

In which Derek tries to play it cool but Stiles is totally hep to his jive.

Fast Times At Clairemont High by MonsieurBlueSky (MyChemicalRachel) | 6.9K | 2016

Stiles is stoked when he's chosen for an undercover operation to take down a drug ring. He's less stoked when he discovers that he'll be posing as a seventeen year old student at the High School where Derek teaches.

It's Too Early For This by thepsychicclam | 4.9K | 2016

Derek loves his job at the coffee shop, especially because Stiles comes in for coffee before early Saturday morning lacrosse practices. The problem is that Derek is too shy to do anything about his crush, and the situation is not helped by the rivalry between the basketball and lacrosse teams.

A Tentative Truce by Inell | 8.5K | 2016

Stiles and Derek have a long standing rivalry that has extended beyond the Beacon Hills High School theater department to every other area of their high school lives. With the announcement of the winter production, their competitiveness has to be set to the side so the musical can be successful. With a tentative truce in place, Stiles unable to ignore his growing infatuation for his co-star.

we keep living anyway by bistiles (alis) | 10K | 2015

“Oh, damn, my manners. What an example I’m setting, am I right? I’m Stiles Stilinski, but call me Stiles, please,” Stilinski extended his hand for Derek to shake, and Derek took it, feeling the solid grip and the long fingers around his own hand. For some reason, he blushed on the spot.

“Derek. Derek Hale. Call me just Derek,” He answered, still holding Stiles’ hand in his.

By the look on Stiles’ face, he felt much the same as what Derek was feeling, whatever that unnamed reaction was.

“And this little barnacle attached to me,” Stiles continued, letting go of Derek and flushing pink, “is Leigh.”

Stiles is struggling to raise his only child all alone, while dealing with financial problems, a new job, and Adrian Harris, the worst boss in the world.

But then he meets Derek Hale, a dreamy co-workers, and what is a terrible situation becomes considerably less grim, when he has Derek by his side.

Don't Judge a Derek By His Cover by captaintinymite (augopher) | 4.5K | 2015

Stiles doesn't care about the rumors surrounding Beacon Hills High School's resident bad boy, Derek Hale. In fact, he thinks the rumors are total crap. Of course, being secretly in love with someone has a way of clouding one's judgment.

However, he knew for a fact that Derek liked books. So when the two paired up for a final English project, he was excited (but also a little terrified).

But you know what they say...never judge a book by its cover. The same goes for people.

sometimes fate is like a small snowstorm by thepsychicclam | 8.1K | 2014

In a coffee shop two days before Christmas, Derek meets Stiles. Despite neither of them being interested in relationships, they spend an unforgettable evening together, but then part ways. During the following years, Stiles competes in the Olympics, Derek tours the world - and neither of them forget. Then twelve years later, two days before Christmas, Derek finds Stiles in that same coffee shop.

aka a kinda sorta serendipity au

should the pillars of memory topple out of my reach by bleep0bleep | 4.3K | 2015

If Stiles didn’t know any better he’d say that look in Derek's eyes is adoring, but he does know better, and also amnesiac Derek thinks they’re married. Which is the only fact he hasn’t questioned so far, which is the weirdest thing.

Just High School by Dexterous_Sinistrous | 4.5K | 2015

Derek and Stiles have been dating for some time.

The only thing is, nobody else really knows.

Tis The Season Baristas Fear The Most by stilinskisparkles | 5.4K | 2012

Scott is hands down the worst barista Derek has ever hired. But it's Christmas and apparently that means something to some people.

Mind Reading Can Be Such a Pain in the A** (Series) by Fanhag102 | 21K | 2 Works | 2015

Derek Hale can read minds. If he could have chosen a mutant power for himself instead of being given one by random, genetic happenstance it's safe to say mind-reading would not have been his 1st, 2nd, or even 96th choice.

Maybe if he'd gotten the power of invisibility he wouldn't be sitting in a senior Economics class next to a hyperactive kid with a buzz cut who won’t stop thinking about dicks.

A Criminal and His Lucky Charm by Dexterous_Sinistrous | 5.9K | 2015

Please forgive yourself.

For what?

For allowing yourself to let someone in. For letting me love you. I didn’t deserve it, but that wasn’t your fault. Derek, please, just do it. Please— please don’t drag this out.

Derek Hale valued Stiles above everyone—everything. And Stiles betrayed that. In the end, he figured if he had to die, dying in Derek’s arms wasn’t so bad. He could at least have that.

the things you said when we were the happiest we’ve ever been by foxerica (ericaismeg) | 4.8K | 2015

Derek and Stiles meet again at their high school reunion.

From Dirty Paws by Surreal | 9.9K | 2014

Stiles finds a wolf in the woods. Well, it's more like the wolf finds him. Either way, he's happy to have a new friend in his otherwise boring social circle.

flawless by bibliosexual | 4.9K | 2015

“I know you and I are, like, werewolf-married, but dude, if I ever met Lydia Martin in person . . . All bets are off, is all I'm saying."

It's not like Stiles really means it (does he?), but it still makes Derek’s hands clench into claws on the steering wheel.

"Yeah, if," he says, and keeps his eyes on the road.

Those Hidden Places by Mimiminaj | 18K | 2015

He doesn’t belong here.

It’s the first thought that crosses Derek’s mind as he watches the new inmates spill into the cafeteria. The kid stays close to the wall, eyes scanning all the exits and skimming over the tables. If he’s trying to get a barring for his surroundings he’s doing a shit job of it, something made completely evident as Lewis shoulders him from behind and the kid almost jumps to flatten himself against the wall.

Stiles is the new inmate at Derek's prison. He really didn't expect to fall in love with the mouthy little brat.

Baseball Pants by thatfamoushappyending (betsytheoven) | 2.8K | 2015

Scott shows Stiles a picture of the new pitcher for the Dodgers, and Stiles is suddenly an avid Dodgers fan.

While You Were(n't Quite) Sleeping by mikkimouse | 13K | 2015

Scott’s mom, Melissa, had given Stiles the basics on Derek’s condition when he’d first come over here a month ago. Derek had been here six years, the only survivor of a horrific house fire that had killed the rest of his family. It had left him burned, half his face puckered with scars, and he’d been in a catatonic state the entire time. Stiles couldn’t even begin to imagine how awful that would be, being trapped in your own body for years on end, all alone.

Stiles had an inkling of how much being alone sucked, anyway.

(An AU in which Derek is the one who was trapped in the fire, and then in the hospital, based on a set of pictures from littlecofiegirl.)

dhale25 by ericaismeg | 8.1K | 2014

Derek Hale is an actor in Los Angeles, Stiles is a fanboy in Toronto. When Derek posts his Snap Chat username on Twitter, inviting people to add him, Stiles gets brave and adds him.

They develop a snapping relationship, and it gets intense.

I Settle for Long Distance Calls by iamursforevrmre | 4.3K | 2014

Derek is the guy who Stiles met on some random band page on MySpace because Derek made a ridiculously hilarious comment and with a spurt of confidence, Stiles had messaged him to tell him just how hilarious it was and they got to talking. Derek is the guy that made a FaceBook account just to talk to Stiles on the messenger so they could talk more when MySpace was slowly dying out. Derek is the guy that changed his text message plan to unlimited when he finally sent Stiles his cell phone number. Derek is the guy that has been on the phone with Stiles at any and all hours through the day.

And Derek is the guy that Stiles is in love with.

You look like my next mistake by Vendelin | 15K | 2015

“So, are you dating someone new? Someone who doesn’t mind that you’re frigid?” Kate cocks her head to the side, smiling as though she just asked him about where he bought his shoes.

His entire body sighs in defeat as his shoulders grow square. Just as he opens his mouth, someone comes up to stand beside him, snaking an arm around his shoulders. When he glances to his side, expecting to see Isaac, his brain seems to malfunction. Because it isn’t Isaac. It’s Stiles Stilinski, the lacrosse talent of the year, a senior who Derek has seen multiple times from far away, but never ever talked to.

In which Derek is a nerd jock, and Stiles is a frat guy, and Derek falls for him even though he knows he shouldn't.

Coaches Cupcake Coffee House by ChildOfTheRevolution | 4.8K | 2013

Danny looked at him as if he were crazy, ‘It means he wants to ride the dick Stiles.’ He said slowly, as if talking to the mentally insane.

‘Ride the dick, my dick?’ Stiles asked weakly.

‘Figuratively speaking of course, Derek looks more like a topper to me. And you, my friend, are a twink of the most twinkiest standards, but I’m not one to judge.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Stiles admitted, finding himself in a weird crouch-like stance that he apparently now adopts when he’s overwhelmed about finding out Derek Hotcakes wants to bone him three ways to Sunday.

Gladiator AU ( Series) by HaleHole (SweetFanfics) | 9.9K | 2 Works | 2013

He looks up at the door and waits. He hopes that whoever it is, they will be go easy on him. Werewolf he might be, with superhuman healing, but that does not mean that he will not be sore the next day. And he is scheduled for a fight.

Let it be someone easy to please, Derek hopes. Someone who will be quick to take their pleasure and even quicker to leave. He keeps hoping this as the door is pushed open. A voice murmurs a quick set of instructions to whoever has hired him for this session. It is cut off half way through by a familiar, impatient voice that makes Derek strain against his bonds. -- Rome based, Gladiator AU

Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain | 35K | 2013

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.”

“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly.

Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding:

DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

---

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

Theory of Overprotective Canines by rosepetals42 | 11K | 2015

Stiles is totally looking forward to living alone in his super cool apartment off-campus. He is. He is also very excited to bike to school every day, ready to set up an awesome game room, and definitely over his crush on Derek Hale. Completely over it.

Or at least he is until Derek decides he's moving in with him. And then turns out to be the perfect roommate. And then starts attending all his classes. As a wolf.

This is not going according to plan.

Hot for Teacher('s Aide) by linksofmemories_archive | 8K | 2013

“He invited you to his apartment.”

“To do a lesson plan.”

“Yeah and to probably lesson your plan while you’re there,” Scott said, waggling his eyebrows.

“That made no sense, but you still managed to make it sound dirty,” Stiles said. “I’m impressed.”

The healing touch by devilscut | 96K | 2015

Stiles loses his temper with the rest of the pack when they all make excuses not to volunteer to help their Alpha. Deaton has instructed that for the next 24 hours Derek can't use his hands after he seriously injures them in a magical entrapment. Seeing the emotional hurt that Derek's selfish pack has inflicted on him when they argue and try to get out of it, Stiles volunteers to stay and then proceeds to give the rest of them a verbal ass-kicking. He then takes care of his friend, the Alpha, Derek Hale, while trying to work out what his feelings are towards the werewolf.

Quit Dragon Me Around (Seies) by WonderWolf | 17K | 3 Works | 2015

Stiles makes the mistake of taking Derek’s sword and now the grumpy werewolf seems determined to stop him from stealing and landing himself in jail.

Stiles is not pleased. He’s also starving.

(Or the one in which Derek has good intentions, but little understanding of how Dragon biology works. He just wants the cute mole-speckled kid to be safe). -----

“Five meals, Scott. Derek Hale has stopped me from eating five meals. I can’t believe he’s really trying to kill me over stealing his sword. That’s so petty of him. It isn’t like I meant to steal it,” Stiles complains.

“You kind of did mean to, dude,” Scott adds unhelpfully.

“But you don’t understand, Scott. It-”

“Just smelled so good? I know, you’ve said that like fifty times over the past two weeks,” Scott says.

“This is the equivalent of him stealing my lunch money, right? Thanks to him, I didn’t have a meal this week. Or last week! He’s a bully, is what he is. A nice smelling, douchebag of a bully.”

You'll See Me Again by matildajones | 10K | 2015

Stiles is standing there in his uniform, hair long and hands behind his back. There’s a blush on his cheeks and he can barely look Derek in the eye.

“Hey,” he whispers. He’s wearing the medal Derek had presented to him.

Derek stares. He doesn’t think he’s breathing anymore.

Stiles is the soldier who saved Derek and brought him back home. He doesn't seem to care that Derek's a prince or that he's a little bit broken. Derek falls, quick and sure, but it's not easy knowing that Stiles will soon have to return to the war.

Thousand by ericaismeg | 4.2K | 2014

“Seriously, Erica, I could tell him a thousand times in a thousand ways and he's never going to understand what I mean.”

“I thought I told you to spell it out to him,” Erica says. “Derek's has trust issues. I told you this would be difficult.”

Stop Crossing Oceans by greenleaf | 11K | 2015

“There are no absolutes, Scott! No hard rights or hard wrongs! The world doesn’t fucking work that way and we can’t afford to think like that, because people are going to die! We signed up for that the moment we got involved with all this!”

“We? We?” Scott hisses. “Don’t you think you? Don’t forget that you’re the one who dragged us into that forest the night it all started, Stiles. So if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours.”

Something inside Stiles cracks, so strong and so deep that he practically hears it.

The Wolf that whispered into Stiles' Heart by ElStark | 9.9K | 2015

Basically the Union of the prompts:

Mute!Stiles + Wolf!Derek + Soulmates/Mates AU

“Don’t you have a pack?” Stiles asks him –by then he had discovered that the wolf was in fact a male wolf –“I mean, wolves move in packs, right? Lone wolves don’t make it on their own. I read it yesterday.” He says while they’re both sprawled on the fallen leaves in Stiles’ secret-thinking spot in the woods. Derek licks his face, and Stiles laughs. “Is that your way to tell me that I’m your pack?” Derek licks him again on the nose, making the boy’s face scrunch up, “Ugh. Gross, dude!” he wipes his drool covered face with his sleeve and then gives the wolf a pointed look, “I’m not a wolf, you should have noticed, you know, I don’t exactly have fur and I don’t growl and I don’t have glowing eyes…” He says leaning in to look them closer, “Are you even supposed to have those kind of eyes? I couldn’t find anything about wolves and glowing eyes on the internet..” The wolf snorts.

Aftermath by GhostwithShotgun | 11K | 2015

Stiles suffers from PTSD and insomnia after the events with the nogitsune. He has nightmares, gets at most one hour of sleep every night and has daily panic attacks. He tries his best to hide it because they all have their own troubles and he doesn't want to burden his friends further.

Meanwhile, Derek has made a habit out of checking all pack members every night to make sure they're alright.

Cross a Canyon (with a broken limb) by theroguesgambit | 18K | 2015

“You never graduated,” Stiles says, just to say it. To test it out in the open air. That's... huh.

Stiles spends his senior year battling troll-gremlins, taking on an unexpected tutoring job, and definitely not falling for a certain sourwolf (even though everyone else seems to think he is).

It's a Schlong Story by floatingstark | 33K | 2015

"Do you like him?"

"Of course I do, he’s great!"

"Then what is the fucking problem?"

"My dick!"

-or-

Ex-Porn Star Derek Hale has a lot of issues but Ice Cream Parlor Owner Stiles Stilinski is not one of them.

Bad Dog Bakery and Café by Boom | 27K | 2015

Stiles saves an Omega from wolfsbane poisoning. Said Omega now won't leave Stiles alone. Stiles doesn't really have a problem with this.

Beat The Blues by lilpeas | 2.9K | 2015

Derek and Stiles have been childhood friends since the sandpit. When Talia realises Stiles is in love with Derek, she knows Derek has to stop seeing him: Derek’s a werewolf and Stiles is human. It can’t be.

But things never go according to plan.

Red Light's Already Off by orphan_account | 3.3K | 2015

Stiles isn't a hooker. He just plays one on TV.

Noteworthy Observations by LadyDrace | 3.7K | 2015

In which Derek recieves complimentary notes in his locker from a secret admirer, and though it turns out they weren't actually for him, things turn out pretty well in the end.

One Hale of a Sandwich by whatthehale | 10K | 2014

Stiles in bed isn’t really something Derek should be thinking about.

Ever.

Because the person who normally picks Lily up from school? Is Scott.

Lily’s other parent. And Stiles’s partner.

Not to mention the entire source of Derek’s current misery.

AKA, the one in which Derek thinks Scott and Stiles are in a relationship and that they want to threesome with Derek. Spoiler Alert? They aren't and they don't.

Choice by Omni | 8.6K | 2015

Derek knows what it feels like to not really have a choice, what it's like to be manipulated. He'd never take away someone's right to choose freely. The fear of even accidentally doing so is enough to hold him back from acting on his own feelings.

Stiles has never had a problem making his own choices, and fuck anyone who would try to tell him he can't.

(Or: Stiles gets bitten by a different alpha, but of course would prefer to have Derek as his alpha. And also just, you know, have Derek.)

Emergency Love by Kedreeva | 13K | 2012

Wherein Derek is a firefighter and Stiles is a paramedic, and they just keep meeting.

gave your smile to me by Sarageek16 | 4.7K | 2013

In which Stiles is a hooker (but not really), Derek wants to feed his skinny little body, and there is soup. Not necessarily in that order.

#sterek #eternalsterek #sterek fic #stiles stilinski #derek hale #fic rec list

103 notes · View notes

thethirdamell · 3 years

Text

Accursed Ones - Chapter 138 - A Gift of Flesh

This is an edited version of Chapter 138 of Accursed Ones that does not include the scene with sexual assault if you wanted to read more than the summary but did not want that content included.

9:35 Dragon 20 Eluviesta Late Afternoon Ferelden: Vigil’s Keep Courtyard

No.

It was such a simple thing to say, but Anders couldn’t say it. Not to Nate and not to Hawke. Nathaniel was the only person who questioned him, and Anders hated himself when he didn’t answer. Anders didn’t remember what he said - something glib - but he knew it wasn’t yes. The fact that he hadn’t said yes hadn’t mattered to Hawke and it hadn't mattered to Nate either.

Nathaniel dropped it. Anders wished he hadn’t. Anders wished a lot of things. The rest of the day passed at the Vigil, and there was no escaping Hawke. The worst of it was no one else seemed to notice how badly Anders wanted to escape him. To everyone else, Hawke was quiet. He only spoke when he had someone to translate for him.

To Anders, he was garrulous. The signing was endless. They shouldn’t have come to the Vigil. They should cut their visit short. The Wardens were making Anders unhappy. The Wardens were making Anders unhealthy. Anders should be at home where he wouldn’t be so vulnerable, so confused, so corrupt.

The only reprieve Anders could find in it all was that Amell couldn’t see them together. He couldn’t see when Hawke stood with an arm around his waist or his shoulder, or held his hand, or squeezed his thigh. He couldn’t see how virulently Anders didn’t want Hawke to touch him, and Anders could believe that if he could, he would notice where no one else did.

Anders noticed. Anders spent the afternoon noticing and the evening afraid of what he noticed and what it meant awaited him at night. Dinner was… insane. The chefs had prepared one dish for the entire Vigil. It was a wyvern, stuffed with a gurn, stuffed with a horse, stuffed with a halla, stuffed with a swan, stuffed with a duck, stuffed with a quail, stuffed with a bunting that had choked on a gold piece the chef had pushed down its throat.

“Abomination for the abomination?” Anders joked, watching a host of servants cart the wyvern��s head to the forefront of the half dozen tables that had to be pushed together and reinforced just to hold the thing.

“It’s-... called a Gift of Flesh,” Amell explained, a bit of color creeping up his neck. “It’s considered an affront to the Maker in Orlais.”

“What’s it considered here?” Varric asked, a dubious look on his face as more servants arranged the bloated wyvern's body to look like it was crouched to take flight.

“Dinner,” Amell said, “Excuse me.” He navigated crowds well, a guiding hand grazing shoulders and elbows almost like he was dancing through them. Watching him walk away made Anders feel sick, but he didn’t know how to go after him with Hawke’s arm around his waist.

“... Varric, do you think you could-... ask Hawke to do something?” Anders asked.

“... Sure thing Blondie,” Varric said, and switched to signing to get Hawke’s attention. “Hey Killer, you get a look at this thing? I think they left the horns on the halla. Check it out-”

Varric led Hawke away and Anders went after Amell.

“Amell,” Anders called, dodging a wheelbarrow of vegetables the servants were adding to the monstrous carcass. “Amell, wait up.”

Amell stopped close to one of the exits from the main hall, head tilted to make it clear he was listening to him. “What is it, Anders?”

Yes, what was it, Anders? What are you doing trying to get Amell’s attention when you already have Hawke’s? What are you even going to say? ‘Help, my extremely considerate fiance has been paying attention to me all day?’ ‘Help, Nathaniel asked if I was happy with my engagement and I didn’t answer him and now I’m afraid no one will ask me again?’ ‘Help, I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not anymore and I need you to ground me?’

“... No Dumat?” Anders asked.

“He’s around,” Amell said. “I don’t need him to navigate the Vigil.”

“So… a gift of flesh, huh?” Anders asked.

“... And anything else you wanted from me,” Amell said with a rueful smile.

… Hessarian save him, what was he supposed to say to that? Anders’ throat didn’t just close up on him - it packed its bags and left. Anders tried to laugh it off and all he managed was a flustered cough.

“It takes eight days to cook - it was too late to stop once they started,” Amell explained.

“You know wyverns are poisonous right?” Anders asked.

“The chefs had the venom extracted so we could serve Aquae Lucidius with dinner,” Amell explained. “I told them not to serve you anything but Aqua Magus - I know you’re not fond of hallucinations.”

Anders had only told him about his hallucinations last night. How was Amell already making accommodations for them? How could anyone be so considerate, so cautious, so compassionate?

“Not unless this is one,” Anders blurted.

“It’s not,” Amell promised, with a too-easy smile. "You can feel the Call in me. If you want, I can teach you to better sense it sometime.”

“... I want that a lot,” Anders said.

“I know you were still getting used to the taint when everything happened. I’m sorry I never got the chance to really help you with it.”

“You helped me with a lot of things,” Anders argued.

Amell kept his smile, but didn’t say anything in response.

"How much did all this cost?" Anders asked.

"... A fair amount.”

“You shouldn’t have done all of this for me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t deserve it,” Anders took a shaky breath, and he tried. Maker, he tried to tell him, but he couldn’t form all the words. “Amell - I feel terrible.”

“Why?” Amell found his arm, and squeezed. “You deserve to be happy.”

I’m not. I’m not. I’m not.

“So do you.”

“I’m trying,” Amell said softly. “Don't worry about the cost, Anders. We were overdue for a celebration. Was there anything else?"

Yes. Yes, there was something else. There were so many things else. Anders wasn't the Hero of Harring. He was just a man, and he needed a hero, but he couldn't bring himself to ask for one in the main hall anymore than he could in the courtyard. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Amell said. "Enjoy the evening."

The gargantuan feast came accompanied with a play. The Ballad of Ayesleigh told the end of the Fourth Blight. A lightshow conjured darkspawn more silly than scary, with exaggerated frowns in place of teeth, and children chased after them with wooden swords while the actors performed.

Anders spent the evening focused on it, and the night signing everything he could remember of it for Hawke. The retelling took him well over an hour, and at the end of it Hawke slept instead of sleeping with him. Anders breathed a sigh of relief when Hawke finally started snoring. He had to leave. He had to get away, but he didn’t know how to get away. He was too afraid to cast anything on Hawke. He couldn’t trust his magic, or his memory, and he didn’t know how to make sure Hawke stayed sleeping. He lay awake for hours, listening to Hawke snore, his heart skipping every time Hawke shifted or stopped, and must have fallen asleep eventually.

**Deleted Scene - Sexual Assault.**

Hawke never questioned a bath, so Anders made himself one, and threw up in it. It felt safe enough, knowing the sound was muted underwater and that the bath would drain. Anders lay in it afterwards, watching the bile float in the water, trying to remember what it was like to have sex with anyone but Hawke. Amell, Isabela, the countless women in his past and his time working at the Pearl. Had it ever felt this bad?

Hawke knocked on the door, and Anders flung a panicked handful of salts into the bath, but Hawle didn’t come in. He just said he was going to have breakfast with Varric, told him to enjoy the day, and left. Anders couldn’t enjoy the day. He couldn’t enjoy anything. He stewed in his own vomit, his head hanging over the rim of the bath, the rush of blood dizzying him until a knock came at the door to their quarters.

Anders forced himself to get dressed, and opened the door to Mistress Woolsey. The treasurer’s hair was an elegant blend of grey and white reminiscent of silver, braided into a bun like a coin at the back of her head, with eyes like the sovereigns she managed for the arling. She smiled.

“If it isn’t my favorite trouble maker,” Woolsey said.

“If it isn’t my favorite trouble unmaker,” Anders countered.

“No hug?” Woolsey asked.

Anders wasn’t sure he could stand to be touched, but he made an effort. Woolsey didn’t feel anything like Hawke. The old girl was wearing a plain linen dress, no velvets or silks, and she was soft and frail and not sturdy or broad. She gave him a ginger hug back, and her wrinkled hands felt so unlike Hawke’s he felt better. “No kiss?” Anders teased.

“Just one, and you will tell no one least they start calling me Mistress Floozy,” Woolsey kissed his cheek, grinning widely. “How have you been, Ser?”

“Peachy as a pie,” Anders lied. “I bet you’re just loving having me back with what this must be doing to the treasury.”

“I am absolutely livid,” Woolsey promised, patting his hand. “But the Commander insisted and he can be quite persuasive. Much of this was from his personal funds, in any case.”

Of course it was. Anders was an asshole.

“How much?” Anders asked.

“The wyvern, for one,” Woolsey recalled. “The Commander went hunting for it in Crestwood. Do not look so guilty - it is unbecoming. The Commander does nothing to his disadvantage. A few of the creatures were plaguing the town, and Bann Franderel could not spare the men to defend it. He’s indebted, and we should be so delighted.”

“As long as we’re delighted,” Anders supposed.

“Indeed we are. The Wardens have missed you - the Order and the men and women among it. They’ve asked for you to join them today. Walk with me.”

Anders walked with her. They stopped by the kitchens for a breakfast of muffins, and continued to the barracks. There were at least a dozen wardens awaiting his introduction, and Anders forgot most of their names as people shook his hand and passed him around.

Ser Fenley was a knight who looked like he’d lost his sword up his own ass, with a stern face and sterner disposition. Tamarel was an elven archer who was as lean as her bow with a presence that was anything but, and took up half the room with her laugh. Nolan was an ex-criminal who’d have put Andraste to shame with how he’d burn himself half to death for his sins. Ailsa was an experienced Warden who’d left Tevinter to serve beneath Amell, and by the stars in her eyes when he spoke must have meant it more literally. Martine was almost as old as Woolsey but not half as frail, with arms that put Hawke to shame.

There were others, but Anders didn’t remember them. The rest, he knew in some shape or fashion. Surana, an elven mage from the Circle who’d enjoyed more than a few healing lessons with Anders once upon a time, but no longer seemed to feel the same way about him by her scowl. Jacen, the old Dalish the Orlesians had rescued from Amaranthine’s prison who’d been arrested for poaching. Seranni, Velanna’s sister, and a ghoul they’d rescued from the Deep Roads.

Amell, Oghren, Velanna, and Nathaniel went without saying. Cards, and dice, and distractions took up most of the day. Anders didn’t have the coin to gamble, and couldn’t have been more relieved that the Wardens didn’t play for it. They gambled chores and patrols, or played for the occasional drink that Anders didn’t want to win if it wasn’t Aqua Magus anyway. After a few hands, the group dwindled down to Amell, Oghren, Velanna, Nathaniel, Jacen, and Seranni.

The little ghoul spent much of her time in Velanna’s lap, mumbling nonsense, and Anders couldn’t help but feel a little better that he wasn’t the craziest person in the room for once. The six of them sat at a table in the barracks, playing Wicked Grace, uninterrupted by the outside world, and all the horrors that came with it.

“So… not to bring up bad memories, but where is everyone else?” Anders asked, shuffling the cards in his hand. A bad one, as per usual.

“Leonie is serving in Jader, under Commander Clarel,” Amell reminded him.

“Legless Leonie,” Velanna chuckled.

Amell cleared his throat, a ripple of telekinetic energy nudging Velanna.

“What?” Velanna huffed, shoving him. “He knows - I could not wait to tell him.”

Anders had been told a lot of things. According to Amell, Leonie had been reassigned. According to Velanna, Leonie had been crippled. It felt like Anders needed to talk to everyone to get the full story, and there didn’t seem to be a better time to do it. “I know you said she lost her leg, but how did that happen?” Anders asked.

“Quickly,” Velanna grinned.

“It was a duel,” Jacen explained.

“An honorable one,” Nathaniel added, discarding a knight. Anders added it to his hand for no particular reason. He only had angels.

“Honorable,” Oghren snorted, greasy fingers making it clear which cards had been his when he discarded a few. “Shameful’s more like it with how quick she lost her leg. Stone knows what she was thinking, challenging the Boss.”

“The same thing you were, no doubt,” Velanna teased, gingerly retrieving one and wiping it off on Nathaniel’s sleeve before adding it to her hand. “The dwarf was so fearful he did not even stay to watch. As if the loss of Amell’s sight meant the loss of his magic.”

“Still waitin’ for you to lose your sense of speech,” Oghren muttered.

“Speech is not a sense, da’len,” Jacen said.

“How would he know?” Velanna asked. “He does not have any.”

“Leonie wasn’t willing to relinquish the post when Amell returned, hence the duel and the reassignment,” Nathaniel explained.

“And you just… what?” Anders prompted.

“I won,” Amell shrugged unhelpfully, and took a long drink from his tankard.

“I know that. I mean the magic. Come on, tell me,” Anders nudged him with his foot beneath the table. “What’d you do to her?”

“... It was crude magic,” Amell said.

“You-know-what magic?” Anders wondered.

“Blood and power,” Seranni mumbled from Velanna’s lap.

“No,” Amell said to both of them. “Spirit magic - a virulent bomb of corrosive poison that you plant in the blood. Larger veins were easier to sense at the time, so I went with her leg. She elected to yield when it exploded.”

“Crawled away crying, if I recall correctly,” Nathaniel said.

“Eheheh,” Oghren chortled.

“I am sure we all took no pleasure in it,” Jacen said gently.

“I did,” Velanna snorted, discarding a card and drawing another.

“... Is that okay?” Anders asked. “I remember before everyone was pretty adamant that you should keep the magic to a minimum.”

“Some still are,” Amell said.

“We have the Teryn’s support,” Nathaniel said.

“You have the Teryn’s support,” Velanna corrected him.

“Amell has mine,” Nathaniel waved off the distinction. “Fergus Cousland was ambushed by darkspawn during the Fifth Blight, and taken in by Chasind wilders-”

“Regular damsel in distress, that one,” Oghren chimed in. “Ambushed in the Blight. Ambushed after it. Ain’t much for an ally.”

“In any case,” Nathaniel said over him, “He lived with one of their tribes for a time, and their shaman healed him. I can’t say if the experience changed him, but he’s supportive of what we’re trying to achieve.”

“With mages you mean,” Anders said.

“Cleaning up your mess is what we mean,” Oghren muttered. "Still don’t know what the fuck you were thinking sending us the old broad.”

"Fuck templars, no doubt," Velanna guessed.

“Be nice, Oghren,” Amell said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Oghren said.

“... Where is Johane?” Anders asked. “I haven’t seen her yet.” And Anders definitely did not want Hawke to see her first.

"Soldier’s Peak," Amell said. "It's more defensible than the Vigil."

“Getting it on with Avernus, prolly,” Oghren chuckled to himself. “Bet their old bones creak louder than the bed, if you know what I mean.”

“Oghren, we always know what you mean,” Nathaniel sighed.

“... Does it need to be defensible?” Anders asked.

“It might,” Amell admitted. “It was built after the second Blight during the Glory Age, and the Warden Commander at the time-”

“No one cares,” Oghren interrupted him.

“History is a luxury, da’len,” Jacen said. “We would all do well to remember it.”

“Our history,” Velanna corrected him. “Humans have enough of it.”

“We are Grey Wardens now, da’len,” Jacen argued. “Their history is our history.”

Amell didn’t pick his story back up. Anders was more for the future than the past, but if Amell cared… Anders watched him shuffle through his hand, his thumb running over the bumps on the edge of the card, and nudged him under the table again. “... What’d the Warden Commander do?”

“He went mad,” Amell said.

“Oh fun,” Anders said.

“He waited too long to go to his Calling, and expanded the fortress with hidden passages and alcoves, trying to protect himself from the shadows he saw. By the time he died, the path to the Peak had become a labyrinth of mine-shafts. It’s difficult to navigate unless you know the way, and we don’t share it outside the Order.

“King Arland Theirin tried to assault the Peak during the Storm Age, and the siege lasted months. When the King realized he couldn’t starve the Wardens out because of the Taint, he stormed the Keep, and only managed to defeat the Wardens because the demons they summoned in their defense turned on them.”

“Theirins,” Oghren grunted

“Theirins,” Amell agreed.

“And that won’t happen to us because… we won’t summon demons?” Anders guessed.

“Us?” Oghren repeated. “What ‘us,’ Sparkles? You’re farting off to Kirkwall with the fiance when the month is out.”

“Freedom isn’t something I'm fighting for in Kirkwall,” Anders argued, rather than address the sickened sensation he felt at any mention of Hawke after how he’d woken up with him. “It’s something I’m fighting for everywhere, for every mage.”

“A noble fight, da’len,” Jacen said encouragingly. “One our Keepers have long fought.”

“One we do not need humans fighting for us,” Velanna said.

“Come on off it, you’re the first person who ever agreed to help me fight it,” Anders kicked her chair.

“Perhaps I am simply feeling contrary,” Velanna hummed.

“Who are you and what have you done with my love?” Nathaniel joked.

Velanna rolled her eyes, “I am simply saying this is not just your fight - and you have a typical human arrogance to assume it is.”

“I’m the one forcing it,” Anders argued. “You’re not the only ones I’ve sent mages to for safekeeping. If you support me, if you support my cause, you put yourselves in danger.”

“You just figure that one out?” Oghren asked.

“... Why are you doing this?” Anders asked. From what Anders could recall of their letters, none of them had appreciated the fact that he’d forced his fight on them. From what Anders could recall of his conversations with Hawke, none of them appreciated him at all. He hadn’t seen them for years. They weren’t his friends. He wasn’t their friend. He was just an unstable danger they didn’t deserve in their lives, but they were all still here, inviting him to be a part of it. “Why are you all doing this?”

“Don’t see you left us much choice,” Oghren said.

“This is a good fight, da’len,” Jacen said. “One Our People must have if we are to hold Ostagar as we did not hold the Dales. If the Chantry does not respect the sovereignty of our Keepers, how will they respect the sovereignty of our land?”

“Like dragons they fly, glory upon wings. Like dragons they savage, fearsome pretty things,” Seranni mumbled.

“We have slain dragons,” Velanna said confidently.

“I would prefer a dragon to an Exalted March,” Nathaniel admitted.

“The Dalish have been our biggest supporters since we’ve declared freedom for mages,” Amell said. “Keeper Lanaya especially. She presides over Ostagar, and she’s an old friend and ally from the Blight. She’s agreed to stand with us if it comes to that, but her focus right now is on resolving the tensions with the Bann of Calon-”

“Yawn,” Oghren slapped the Angel of Death on the table. “Angel of Death. Play your hands, you blighters. Serpents high.”

Everyone played, saying their hands aloud for Amell’s benefit. Anders lost. Nathaniel won. Velanna gathered up the cards to shuffle for another round, and Seranni abandoned her to wander out of the barracks and into the shadows.

“... How did you find her?” Anders asked when she left.

“We searched the Deep Roads,” Amell said.

“We had help,” Nathaniel said.

“What kind of help?” Anders asked. “Dwarves?”

Oghren snorted.

“Not exactly,” Nathaniel said vaguely. “Let’s just say we live in strange times.”

“Is anyone going to tell me what that means?” Anders asked.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Sparkles,” Oghren said.

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” Anders joked.

“As a bronto’s backside,” Oghren agreed.

Velanna dealt another hand, and Anders decided to drop it. He gathered up his cards and arranged them in his hand, eyeing over the bunks scattered throughout the barracks and trying to recall who he’d seen and who he hadn’t. “What happened to Gerod?” Anders asked.

“Reassigned,” Amell said. “Montsimmard.”

“All limbs intact,” Nathaniel added.

“Unfortunately,” Velanna sighed.

“It seemed warranted with Kieran, Amell, and the other children at the Vigil,” Amell elaborated.

“Damn right it did,” Oghren muttered. “Sick fuck.”

“Did anything happen with him?” Anders asked.

“No,” Amell said. “He was a good Warden, but it wasn’t something I could overlook. Clarel found a post for him.”

“A good Warden?” Anders repeated - disgust welling in him for the memory of when Anders had pried Gerod off Sigrun in the middle of the night. “Are you serious?”

“Being a good Warden doesn’t make someone a good man, da’len,” Jacen said gently.

Amell tilted his head towards Jacen’s voice, as if concurring with him, but it wasn’t a comfort. The memory haunted Anders throughout the rest of the game. He couldn’t help wondering what Amell would have done if he had been there, down in the Deep Roads, faced with one of his Warden trying to rape another. If he would have killed him, like Anders had tried to kill him, or if he would have let it go, the way Leonie and Eram had let it go. If he would have done something then.

If he would do something now.

Anders couldn’t go back to his room that night, but there was nowhere else for him to go. He didn’t know if Hawke wanted to have more sex and he didn’t want to find out. If he could just get Hawke to actually sleep through the night, he might have felt better. He might have felt safer. He just didn’t know how to get him to sleep when he couldn’t trust his magic or his memory, but maybe he could trust someone else’s memory.

Varric didn’t even question it. He just handed over the knockout powder like he might a cup of chamomile tea. Anders hated him a little for it. If Varric knew why Anders wanted it, he shouldn’t have given it to him. He should have helped him instead, but Varric was so concerned with helping Hawke that he didn’t seem to care about helping Anders. But why would he? What did Anders even need help with? Having too much sex? Who needed help with that?

Anders stuffed the vial into his pocket, panic rising when Hawke walked them back to their room after dinner. He should have put it in Hawke’s drink, but he hadn’t thought about it. He just knew he needed it. He just knew he needed something. Now that he had it, he didn’t know how to use it, and it wasn’t like Varric was going back to their room with them. What if Anders thought he used it and then he didn’t, just like he thought he cast his spell but he didn’t? What was he supposed to do?

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t have sex again. He didn’t want to have sex again. He couldn’t go back into that room, but the room was right there, and they were walking right towards it, and he couldn’t - he couldn’t - he couldn’t -

Where was he?

Anders didn’t recognize the room. It looked like a reliquary mixed with a bedroom. All along the western walls were shelves, filled with magical artifacts, perfectly and precariously arranged to give each their own unique space. Stencils and rune tracings and etching agents, bottles of lyriums, ink, and kaddis, a handful of books and tomes. A summoning circle along with a font of power stood before them, with a two-sided desk opposite them. On the eastern side of the room was a canopy bed, a chest covered with wards at its feet and an armoire behind it. In the same corner, a couch and armchair arranged around a low table, with a liquor cabinet and humidor atop it.

Amell’s room.

… He’d changed it. Just a little. Dumat lay on the bed, and spared him a disinterested glance before going back to sleep. Amell was dressed for bed, loosely tied slacks with a looser long-sleeved tunic, and what looked to be a hastily tied blindfold. He waved him towards the couch.

“What did you want to talk about?” Amell asked.

Again? Why again? Why did Anders keep trying to talk to him? Why didn’t Anders remember that he kept trying to talk to him? What did he even want to talk about? Anders sat on a corner of the couch with one leg under him. Amell went to his liquor cabinet.

“I don’t know,” Anders admitted.

“Do you want me to get you anything?” Amell asked.

“No,” Anders didn’t want to doubt himself more than he already did, and the thought that lotus might keep him from leaving Hawke again haunted him. “Is it okay if you don’t smoke?”

“... It’s okay,” Amell left the cabinet and the humidor atop it alone. He joined him on the couch, staring at him sightlessly. “... Is something wrong?”

Everything was wrong. Anders didn’t know how he got here. He didn’t know what was happening to him or how to make it stop. He didn’t know if Hawke was awake or asleep or looking for him and not knowing about Hawke was more terrifying than not knowing about himself. “I don’t know,” Anders said shakily. “... I don’t remember.”

“Don’t remember what?” Amell asked.

“What I’m doing here,” Anders said.

“You said you needed to talk to me,” Amell said. “... Justice said he needed to talk to me.”

“... He did?” Anders asked, staring at his hands, but no veilfire lit them. “... How do you know it was Justice?”

“... He feels different,” Amell said. “He feels like the Fade, and-...”

“And?”

“... And I think I can see him.”

“What do you mean you can see him?” All at once, Anders felt his fears forgotten. He scooted across the couch and reached for Amell, fingers inches from his brow, wondering what rights he had to touch him. “You mean you can see?”

“Not exactly,” Amell said. “I’ve met other people who lost their sight, but no one else had ever lost all of it. They still saw shadows, or shapes, or light, but I never did. There’s-... something, when he’s forward. I thought I was seeing things.”

“Haha,” Anders said flatly. “Be serious.”

“I am. There’s so much of the Fade in you, I wasn’t sure it was real. It’s subtle, but it’s there.”

“What’s it like?”

“Like closing your eyes, after you look at a light, and for a moment you think you can still see it, only fainter and farther away.”

“That’s good, right?” Anders asked eagerly. His fingers hovered over Amell’s face, and while nothing was stopping him, he couldn’t quite bring himself to touch him without knowing if Amell wanted him to after everything that had happened. “This is weird, but can I touch your face?”

“If you want,” Amell said.

Anders cradled his face, fingers skirting his blindfold. “... Can I take this off?”

“... if you want,” Amell said.

Anders did want. Anders wanted very much. He reached behind Amell’s head and unraveled the hastily done knot to pull the blindfold free, and reveal… nothing. Closed eyes. Probably normal closed eyes, framed in dark shadows from one too many surgeries. Anders traced along one eyebrow with his thumb, watching the way his eyes moved, and decided they weren’t glass.

“... Can I see your eyes?”

“… I'd rather you didn't,” Amell said, a nervous shake in his voice that Anders swore he wouldn’t betray having put there. “I made a deal for them. After Avernus tried everything.”

“What kind of deal?” Anders asked.

“They'll work when I need them,” Amell explained. “They’ve never worked. I thought it was a bad joke, at first… but after a few months, I thought it was because I didn’t need them. I wasn’t sure in Kirkwall, and I wasn’t in a position to trust what I saw last night, but now-... I think I can see Justice, and I don’t know why.

“... Was that the deal? Am I supposed to see him for some reason?”

“He’s a spirit,” Anders guessed. “He’s connected to the Fade. Maybe that’s why you can see something?”

“Maybe,” Amell allotted. “But I can’t touch the Fade anymore. I haven’t for years without lyrium. I’d have to forsake blood magic to see anything in the Fade, but if I did, I wouldn’t be able to have some semblance of something close to sight here.”

Amell retrieved his blindfold, and tied it back around his eyes.

“... I could fix them,” Anders said. “I know the spell your father used. It takes a sacrifice, but I could fix them for you. I would fix them for you.”

“... I’d rather you didn’t.” Amell took his hand off his face and held it. “Thank you, for offering.”

“Why not?”

“They’ll work if I need them.”

“You really trust the demon you dealt with?”

“Do you trust Justice?”

“Justice isn’t a demon,” Anders said rather than answer.

He did trust Justice. He did, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t trust himself, and he didn’t trust the influence he had on Justice. There was no reason for Justice to want to talk to Amell that Anders could imagine ending well. Anders was engaged to Hawke, and there was nothing just in what he was doing with Amell, and Justice had to know that and had to want him to stop, but Anders didn’t want to stop doing anything with Amell, he wanted to stop doing things with Hawke.

“Do you know why he wants to talk to me?” Amell asked.

“... I need help.”

#accursed ones #and here's the other one for the individual who asked #I'm glad you're being good to yourself and skipping things as needed #should I still trigger warn on this stuff?#idk

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justlookfrightened · 4 years

Text

Zimbits bingo post #3

Read from the beginning

Jack knew first

Jack rounded the corner at the back of Bitty’s house to find him in the coop with the hose, rinsing out the chickens’ feed and water containers.

It had taken a little trial-and-error, but Jack had learned that this was the best time of day to walk by Bitty’s if he wanted to say hello. Bitty was almost always outside at this hour of the morning, seeing to the hens.

“Puck, down,” Jack said, as the dog eyed Bitty among the chickens. “Stay.”

Puck settled on her elbows, haunches still coiled. But she was down, and stationary. Jack counted that as a win.

“Mornin’, Jack,” Bitty said, before pausing to fill the water container from the hose. “Miss Puck.”

“Hey, Bits,” Jack said. “Care to join us on our walk? We can stop for a coffee at Annie’s on the way back.”

Bitty looked down at his shorts and old sneakers. “You sure?” he said. “I’m kind of a mess.”

“It’s just Annie’s,” Jack said. “If you want, you can wait outside with Puck and I’ll go in.”

“I would think you only wanted me to come to watch Puck for you if you ever got anything besides plain black coffee,” Bitty said. “Which you could make just as easily at home. But sure, I’ll come. I happen to enjoy Puck’s company.”

He tipped some feed from the bucket at his side into the food container, checked to see that Jack had a good grip on Puck’s leash, and let himself out of the coop, carefully latching the door behind him. He replaced the lid on the feed bucket, stowed it in the shed, and then approached Puck, who was practically vibrating with excitement, but had not stood up.

“You want to release her so I can greet her properly?” Bitty said.

“Free, Puck,” Jack said, smiling. “Good dog.”

Puck was up on all fours and practically dancing around Bitty’s legs.

“Yes, you are a good dog,” Bitty said, holding out what looked like a homemade dog biscuit. “Shake.”

When Puck offered a paw, Bitty took it and gave her the treat.

“She shouldn’t eat too much,”Jack said. “The vet said she could lose a couple of pounds.”

“One biscuit, Jack,” Bitty said. “And I have some of those muffins you like, if you want to bring our coffee back here.”

They made their way to the park, around the pond and back to Annie’s, where Bitty took the leash. Jack wasn’t sure how Bitty could take the sweetness of his milky, frothy, kind-of-coffee-flavored drink nearly every day, but Jack had the order memorized.

The summer had been good for all of them, Jack thought. For him, to rest and recover and get ready for the next season; for Puck, whose manners had improved immensely once Jack was around to work with a trainer regularly; even for Bitty, who had come to be one of Jack’s best friends. Any fear Bitty had shown around Puck was long in the past, and the two of them were fast friends. Bitty even said he’d care for Puck if Jack was gone and Shitty wasn’t available.

The thing was, Jack wanted more. Maybe it was greedy and selfish, but he wanted to be able to hold Puck’s leash in one hand and Bitty’s hand in the other when they walked together. He wanted to hold Bitty — all of him — in his arms, not just give him an occasional bro-ish side hug. He wanted to taste not just the food Bitty made, but the man himself.

He just didn’t know if Bitty wanted any of that, too. Bitty had already been so generous, starting with bringing pie and even making a meal when he came to complain about Puck getting loose. He’d shared so much of his food, and himself, starting with his instruction to call him Bitty, the way his college friends did. He talked about figure skating, and growing up gay in the south, and deciding to make a new life up north. He even worked hard to get used to Puck, who wasn’t a bad dog, but she was a dog who would hurt chickens, and she could be … exuberant at times.

But as kind and caring as Bitty was, as affectionate as he was with Puck, he’d never given Jack a clear indication that he wanted what Jack did.

Sure, Jack had caught Bitty looking at him a time or two. But, not to be vain, Jack was in good physical condition. Lots of people looked at him. He’d been in the Body Issue and everything. And Bitty didn’t really stare at his body anyway. His eyes tended to stay on Jack’s face most of all. Once he’d pushed that floppy lock of hair off Jack’s forehead, then pulled his hand back like his fingers were burned and said, “Sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Jack said. “You can touch me.”

Shitty was no help. He teased Jack mercilessly when Bitty wasn’t around, joking about being their best man and when it would be time to offer congratulations to the happy couple … even though they weren’t a couple. Jack was pretty sure Shitty would lay off if he knew how desperately Jack wanted the jokes to be true, and how desperately at sea he was when it came to making that happen.

The truth was, Jack hadn’t really had any kind of a serious, committed relationship since he left rehab. If he didn’t count Parse — and could you count a relationship when you were drinking and taking enough pills to dull every feeling you were having? — he’d never had a real relationship at all. Sure, he’d dated a bit. He’d been kind of surprised when Camilla told him they’d been together for a couple of months. Just as she was dumping him because it wasn’t working out.

It wasn’t like he was hurt; seeing her had been convenient, in terms of having a date and having someone to have fun sex with. It had been fun; it just hadn’t meant more than that to either of them.

Having sex with Bitty … that would mean something, at least to Jack. The idea that maybe it wouldn’t mean anything to Bitty — that was almost as frightening as Bitty not wanting Jack at all.

It wasn’t like Bitty dated a lot. Jack spent enough time with him to be sure he didn’t have a boyfriend, not someone he saw regularly, not even a lot of dates on Friday or Saturday nights. As far as Jack knew, he’d only been on one date all summer, someone a former college classmate set him up with. It hadn’t gone well.

“He got so drunk he threw up on his shoes,” Bitty said the next morning. “I’m not saying I was a Boy Scout, but I left the college-level drinking behind in college. And I’ve been in such a dry spell, too.”

Would it be so hard to say, “Would you want to try going out with me?”

Jack was sure Bitty would be kind, even if he refused. That would be better than Bitty accepting, and making it a pity date.

Whatever happened, it should happen soon. Once training camp got going, Jack wouldn’t be around near so much. And he’d like to be able to tell George and a few of the guys at the beginning of the pre-season that he had a significant other. He knew the chirps he would get — “Finally!” would probably be the most common reaction — but he also knew this was a good team, a good group of guys, and they’d be happy for him.

Jack carried their coffees outside, and traded Bitty his cup for Puck’s leash.

“We won’t be able to do this so much once training camp starts,” Jack said, feeling almost nostalgic before the summer actually ended.

“No, I guess not,” Bitty said.

He was quiet for a few steps, then said, “Look, I know it could be a problem, me being gay and all, and people might give you a hard time. I understand that you might not want to be seen hanging around with me. But maybe I could come walk Puck sometimes?”

“What?” Jack nearly choked on on his coffee. “That’s not what I meant. At all. I just meant that I’ll be busy this time of day. Of course I don’t mind being seen with you.”

Bitty seemed to relax a bit.

“And Puck would love for you to come walk her, with or without me,” Jack said. Because Puck liked Bitty almost as much as Jack did.

“Well, then, I will,” Bitty said. “I can leave fresh eggs for you, too.”

“That’d be great,” Jack said. “But I wanted to ask something else. Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“What — tonight?” Bitty said, sipping at his coffee. “I could do that. I have a teleconference this afternoon, but I could make that chicken you like after that.”

“No,” Jack said.

“No? You want something else?” Bitty asked. “I have a recipe for — ”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Jack said. “I meant, would you like to go out to dinner with me? Like a date?”

“Like a date?” Bitty said, but his face was pink and he was grinning.”

“On a date,” Jack said. “With me.”

“Of course,” Bitty said. “Wherever and whenever you want.”

Tagging: @zimbitsbingo

Read on AO3

Read Part 4

#zimbits #my fic #zimbits bingo

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 5 years

Text

The Girl Next Door (Part 13) - Next Steps

Summary: Dean and the reader head out on their road trip and move to the next phase of their relationship...

The Girl Next Door Masterlist

Pairing: Neighbor/Mechanic!Dean x baker!reader

Word Count: 5,100ish

Warnings: language, brief smut

A/N: This is the final part of this series and it was such a nice & sweet series to get lost in. Parts of this series are told from two different POV’s. Dean’s POV are written from limited third person. Reader’s POV are second person (like a typical reader insert). Enjoy!…

One Week Later: Reader’s POV

“Hey Sammy!” you heard Dean shout while you were washing your new car on Saturday morning. “You didn’t tell me your neighbor was so hot!”

You rolled your eyes behind your sunglasses, turning around, Dean putting a hand on his chest dramatically. You crossed your arms and leaned back against the car, Dean fanning himself.

“Enjoy the view, Winchester,” you said.

“Excuse me but who said you were allowed to wash your car in a bikini and short shorts? Gonna give a man a heart attack,” said Dean.

“It’s like 95 out and I know what I’m doing,” you said, wiggling your hips before you spun back around.

“Yes you do,” said Dean. You saw Jack step out of the garage, tilting his head back.

“I’m done,” he said. “Painting. I’ll hang it up tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Jackie,” you said with a grin, suddenly feeling a presence behind you. You spun around, Dean with his hands behind his back. “Hi. I’m almost done with the car and then we got the day to…”

Dean reached around his back, pulling a large water gun in front of himself.

“You going to come quietly?” he asked.

“Oh, not at all,” you said, turning the hose in his direction. “Now the question is are you going to come quietly?”

“Yes mam,” he said, dropping the water gun in the grass.

“I’ll have to remember that,” you said.

“I’m actually here on official boyfriend business,” he said.

“Oh. Is that so,” you said.

“Yes. See, it’s come to my attention, that we have a road trip coming up,” he said.

“Yes,” you said, tilting your head at him. “Something come up?”

“No, no. I know we got our list of places to hit next weekend but...I was curious if you would like to move it up a few days,” he said. “So we’re not in the car so much.”

“She’d love to,” said Jack, taking the hose from you and spraying himself off. “I got the bakery covered along with watching Sam. Go have fun.”

“I really feel like I should pay you guys,” you said.

“Nope,” said Jack. “It’s just a hobby for me.”

“Sam’s cool with covering for a few days and between Eileen and Jack and everybody, they’ll be okay,” said Dean.

“When do you want to head out?” you asked.

“Tomorrow morning? Head for Texas?” he said.

“As long as everybody’s good with it, I’ll go pack my bags.”

“Good morning beautiful,” said Dean, grabbing your duffel from the front porch the next morning. “Jack.”

“Call if you need anything,” you said to him.

“I ain’t calling,” said Jack, giving you a hug. “Have fun. I know it’s a foreign concept to you but like, go enjoy your vacation with Dean, okay?”

“Alright. We’ll go on a trip next month though. I promise,” you said.

“Sure thing. Go on. Your boyfriend’s waiting,” said Jack.

“Jack? Still text me, okay?”

“Okay. Now go eat all the best barbecue there is,” said Jack with a smile. You pulled on your sunglasses and hopped down the front porch, tossing your backpack in the back of Baby, a cooler settled back there.

“Ready?” asked Dean, tapping his hand on the roof.

“Let’s go, Winchester.”

“Okay, what movies have you seen because I can’t fathom how you have not seen The Godfather,” said Dean. “Or Pulp Fiction. Or Tombstone!”

“We watched documentaries,” you said, taking a bite of your breakfast sandwich, holding it out to Dean to eat some while he drove south on the highway. “Mom and dad were polar opposites. She let us do whatever we wanted. He let us do nothing. They actually balanced each other out pretty good come to think of it.”

“Can I ask a personal question?” asked Dean. You hummed, turning down the radio. “You’d gone to school for six years already when you dropped out right?”

“Why didn’t I stick it out a few more and become a doctor?” you asked, Dean nodding. “The gore never bothered me. I did like helping people too. But the hours were horrible, the stress was horrible. I was halfway out the door before the accident and then that happened and I got so angry. At Jack and my parents and myself and I went home the next morning and quit. How could I help people when I couldn’t even help my own brother, you know?”

“Sweetheart. I know I don’t take this advice myself but Jack isn’t your responsibility. He’s a grown man. Even if you knew back then how Jack was feeling, do you think he ever would have reached out?” he asked.

“No. He didn’t trust me then,” you said.

“Y/N. He’s an older brother. I know what that’s like,” he said.

“And?”

“And I can almost guarantee that Jack was looking out for you too. He knew how hard your school was, he knew you were under those same pressures. I got a feeling he was only trying to protect you, not put more on your plate to worry about,” said Dean.

“I…” you trailed off, taking a quiet bite of your sandwich. “I thought he…why wouldn’t he just say that to me?”

“Cause older siblings don’t tell the little ones all the shit we do for them. Some we do but some we just do and then go on with our day,” he said.

“I still should have...he would have lied and it probably still would have happened,” you said, resting your head in your hand.

“Probably. I don’t think Jack ever had a problem with you Y/N. Case and point, he decided to stick around because of you. I think now he wants to make you proud is all,” he said.

“You know if you weren’t my neighbor, my brother would be sitting in an institute right now and I’d still think he hated me,” you said.

“That kid loves you. You love him. You two will be okay. I promise,” said Dean, tapping his finger against the wheel, music filling the air for a few minutes. “Okay but you’ve at least seen The Dirty Dozen, right?”

“Nope,” you laughed, Dean groaning beside you. “Keep going, we’ll hit one eventually.”

“I am starving,” said Dean, the two of you walking down the hall to your hotel room that evening. “I say we crash for a minute and then head out for our first stop?”

“Good with me,” you said. Dean paused about three quarters of the way down the hall, opening a door and flicking on the light. It was plain but clean inside, Dean ditching the bags by the door, plopping onto the bed. “Tomorrow you gotta let me drive some.”

“You can drive to Austin,” he said with a smile, turning his head in your direction. “You ever been to Dallas before?”

“The airport,” you said, sitting down in the other side of the bed, sighing and rolling next to him. “You?”

“Once I think when I was little. I don't really remember,” he said, throwing an arm over you waist. “Thanks for coming on this trip with me, sweetheart.”

“Dean Winchester and barbecue? Best trip ever,” you said. He pulled you closer, squeezing your hip as he kissed you.

“Alright. I’m gonna take a quick shower,” he said when he broke away. He hopped up and wandered into the bathroom, the water going quickly. You stretched and went out to the sink area, washing off your face for a minute.

You grabbed a pair of faded jeans and a light off the shoulder top in your bag. You threw them on and worked on tying your hair back in a braid when you heard the water shut off. Dean wandered back into the room, a towel slung low on his hips, his hands working another one in his hair. He smiled when he pulled it away, biting his bottom lip for a second when he looked at you.

“I’m almost ready,” you said, eyes going down his chest before you turned away.

“Take your time,” he said, grabbing boxer briefs, jeans and a dark button down out of his bag. “You enjoying the view over there?”

“Shut up,” you blushed, tilting your head down as you finished tying your braid. When you raised it again, Dean was exiting the bathroom and rolling up his sleeves. “Someone looks pretty.”

“She sure does,” he said, shaking his head. He held out his hand and you stepped over, slipping yours into it. “Pit stop number one, here we come.”

“That was good. Better than good,” you said, holding hands with Dean as you left the restaurant.

“Those ribs were amazing,” said Dean.

“Yeah they were. I’m stuffed,” you said, Dean turning you down the block away from Baby. “Where we going?”

“Surprise,” he said.

“Sneaky boy. I like it,” you said, leaning your head on him.

You walked a few blocks in silence, Dean coming to a stop all of a sudden halfway down. You looked around, turning left and spotting a bakery.

“Figured we could grab dessert to go,” he said. You wandered inside with him, the place quite active despite it being nighttime. Dean ordered a slice of key lime pie for himself and you got a slice of cheesecake. You found a bench out front to eat on, Dean wearing a grin the whole time.

“I should make key lime more often,” you said.

“I would like to try more bourbon cake,” said Dean, licking his plastic fork clean. “That was yummy, even yummier than this pie.”

“You think everything I make is yummy,” you giggled.

“Cause it is,” he said, pulling you to your feet. He took out his phone and held it up, turning the camera on you. You smiled, Dean moving into the frame to get one of the both of you. “The night’s still young. Let’s go explore.”

That was how you wound up in a bar you didn’t know the name of, dancing in a quiet corner to a song you didn’t know with Dean three hours later. It was getting close to midnight, a quiet hush in the place as some people started to trickle out. You could hear the music more clearly after a large group left, Dean tucking a stray hair that’d fallen out of your braid behind your ear.

“I love you,” he said quietly, turning his head to look at you. You grinned and cupped his cheek, kissing him slowly.

“I love you too,” you said, the song fading away in the background. For a few moments he looked so at peace, like nothing had ever been wrong in his life. “Let’s head back to the hotel, Dean. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Dean,” you giggled, Dean pressing you up against the wall the second the door shut in your room.

“I love you so fucking much,” he said, kissing your neck, rubbing his hands over your hips, pulling you away from the wall and over towards the bed.

“Dean, slow it down, babe,” you said. “I ain’t going anywhere.”

“Okay,” he breathed out, hot air fanning over your skin. His touch turned soft like that, kissing you deeply, hand in your hair, gently tugging it out of the braid it’d been in.

Your hands found his shirt, undoing the buttons quickly and pushing it off his shoulders.

“Shit. Fuck what I said about slowing down. Now. I want you in bed now, Winchester,” you said, placing your hands flat against his chest and walking him backwards.

“Calm down, sweetheart,” he murmured against your lips. “Like you said. We got all the time in the world.”

“Dean,” you breathed out, sat in his lap, Dean finally slowing his thrusts and coming to a stop. You leaned back and stared lazily at him, Dean giving it right back along with a soft smile. “I love you.”

He kissed you like he hadn’t just spent the past hour playing with and teasing you, hadn’t just learned about each other in that way you hadn’t allowed yourselves yet, like he was some love struck boy that was only just seeing you for the first time.

“You’re perfect,” said Dean, murmuring his lips over your skin.

“The sex was hot and fun and I definitely want to do more of that...and you believe me now, don’t you,” you said.

“I always believed you that you care about me, Y/N,” he said, pushing a sweaty strand away from your face. “Took a little more time to believe I was worth it was all.”

“You are more than worth it, Winchester,” you said, smushing your nose against his, a tiny smile crossing his lips.

“Why do you like me?” he asked quietly when you moved back an inch. “Not think those things other women have.”

“Well, aside from the awesome hair,” you said, rubbing a hand through it, Dean chuckling when you rested your forehead against his. “You are good. There’s other little things but you’re good, Dean.”

“There are plenty of good guys out there though,” he said.

“You’re one of them. But you...you make me feel not so alone, Dean. You make me happy and look forward to things and get excited about life again and a whole bunch of other stuff. You’re just...a good man. I hope you know that.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. So so much.”

Three Days Later

“Hey,” said Dean when you crossed over the border headed for Memphis. “Guess what?”

“What?” you asked, popping a gummy bear in your mouth.

“You’re the only ten I see.”

You stared at him and let out a long groan, Dean giggling in his seat.

“You need to stop young man. How do you even have this many shitty jokes?” you laughed.

“I don’t know. You know what I do know? What’s brown and sticky,” he said.

“What exactly is brown and sticky,” you said.

“A stick.”

You groaned again and rolled your eyes dramatically, Dean cracking up as he drove.

“You still smiled. I win,” he said.

“Dork,” you groaned, leaning over to kiss his cheek. He stole a handful of gummies while he drove, shoveling them into his mouth. “Don’t ruin your lunch. We’ll be there soon.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” said Dean. “Promise.”

“Dean?” you asked that at your hotel in Nashville that night before bed. You knocked on the door to the bathroom. “You okay?

He didn’t say anything and you knocked again.

“Can I come in?” you asked. You heard a grunt and poked your head in, Dean looking as white as a ghost sat on the floor next to the toilet. “Dean.”

“Well, lunch and dinner taste good coming up the other way,” he said. “I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that street hot dog earlier.”

“You doing alright?” you asked. He nodded, giving you a weary smile.

“Yeah. Stomachache is still there but I don’t think I’ll get sick again,” he said. You grabbed a washcloth from under the sink and ran it under some cool water, wiping off his face. “Thank you.”

“Let’s get you in bed,” you said. You helped him to his feet and out to the room, throwing a sheet over top of him and making sure the waste basket was beside him. You fixed his pillows for him, Dean watching with half open eyes. “S’okay. You sleep and feel better.”

“Can you lay down with me?” he asked quietly.

“Of course. Two seconds,” you said. You popped into the bathroom quickly, changing into one of Dean’s tees when you got back.

“Wearin’ my shirt,” he said, smirking when you crawled in beside him.

“Yeah, I’m wearing your shirt, Dean,” you said, reaching a hand up to scratch his head. He hummed and shut his eyes, rolling to his side and tucking back against you. “Alright, you can be little spoon. Wake me up if you need anything, honey.”

“Good morning,” said Dean, face jammed in the crook of your neck.

“Morning. Feeling any better?” you asked.

“Loads,” he said, tilting his head up. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“It’s my job,” you said. Dean nuzzled his cheek against yours, moving in to kiss you when you pulled back. “I love ya but you ain’t getting any kisses until you get with a toothbrush and some mouthwash.”

“Alright, alright,” he said. He got out of bed and you heard the water going, Dean back like that and hopping into bed. “Kisses please.”

“Alright, dork,” you said. “You can have all the kisses you want now.”

Three Days Later

“Home sweet home,” said Dean, parking in your driveway late Friday night. You grabbed your bags and gave him a kiss, Dean letting out a yawn.

“Do you want to stay over?” you asked. He nodded, giving you a goofy look.

“Let me just say hey to Sammy and grab something clean from my room. I’ll be back in five,” he said. He hopped back in the car while you headed inside, dropping your bags by the front door to deal with in the morning.

“Hi,” said Jack, giving you a backwards wave, eating a bowl of cheerios while watching a movie. “How was the trip?”

“Good. You get up to anything fun while I was gone?” you asked.

“Work, bakery stuff. Babysat Avy a few times while Sam and Eileen went out. Hung out with Maggie,” he said.

“Sounds like you had a busy week,” you said. “I’m heading up. Dean’ll be over a in few minutes.”

“M’kay,” he said, eating another spoonful. You turned around and caught something new on the wall.

“Jack. You painted that?” you asked. You heard him spin around and swallow.

“Yeah. I know it’s got some color and-”

“It’s gorgeous,” you said, turning back to him with a smile. “You...that should be in like a museum, Jack.”

“I painted some flowers,” he said shyly.

“It looks so real, like a photo almost,” you said, stepping closer. You looked around at all the little things in the long painting, the leaves and flowers and before you knew it, Dean was standing beside you.

“Wow, Jack,” said Dean. “You got serious talent, dude.”

“I really don’t,” he said.

“You really do,” you and Dean said, Dean turning around.

“We’ll talk to Benny on Monday, see about teaching you some more about car detailing,” said Dean.

“But that’s more Garth’s thing,” he said.

“Jack. You are really good. I can’t imagine how well you’d paint a car. You got an eye and steady hand. We’ll talk about it more later,” said Dean.

“You really like it, Y/N?” asked Jack. You nodded and smiled.

“I love it,” you said.

“Hey, you make ‘em for other people? What do they call it?” asked Dean.

“Commissions?” asked Jack.

“Yeah, that. We’ll uh, talk more about that too,” said Dean, throwing his arm over your shoulders. “Let’s head to bed, sweetheart.”

You yawned as you popped down in the kitchen the next morning, Dean still tuckered out in bed. You set about making some coffee when you spun around, looking at the chalkboard where your orders normally were.

It was wiped clean aside from a picture someone had drawn.

“Jack,” you said, twitching your eye. You looked around downstairs, popping out the front porch, Jack on his computer out there. “Jack. What did you and Sam Winchester do to my orders board?”

“Uh, listen-”

“Jack, I use that to plan and-”

“I told Sam you’d murder us,” he said, nodding back to the house. “We we’re having a hard time keeping up on Monday and we honestly were when you were hurt too and we decided to bring the bakery into the twenty first century.”

“What did you two do?” you said, glaring across the yard when you saw Sam and Avy eating breakfast on their front porch. “Samuel! Get your butt over here!”

“You sound mad so I’m good over here, thanks!” he called back.

“Sam!”

“I’ll be over in fifteen alright?” he shouted.

“You better be.”

About twenty minutes later you were scratching your head on the front porch, Sam showing you his computer.

“See? Now every time you get in an order, it automatically updates the calendar so you know when it’s needed and it’ll tell you what ingredients you need so you know when to restock,” said Sam.

“Plus it’ll alert you when you need to buy more of something in bulk and based on cooking times and delivery, when you actually need to make the item. It does all of the organization for you and will help you save money,” said Jack.

“Where did you two come up with this?” you said.

“Sounds like something Charlie would do,” said Dean, munching on a danish, leaning against the railing.

“It took her like half a day once we gave her the info,” said Sam. You raised an eyebrow, Dean taking another bite.

“She’s our cousin. Uncle Bobby’s kid. She’s like one of those geniuses with computers,” said Dean.

“So now everything will pop up on your computer or a tablet and you aren’t doing any rework. Jack and I were able to get stuff done like two hours faster every day with this stuff. I’m sure it’ll save you even more,” said Sam.

“I mean, I suppose it’s useful. Just, ask next time, alright?” you said. Jack nodded, Sam doing the same. “Anything else happen while we were gone?”

“Not really. Been pretty quiet,” said Jack.

“Good,” you said. “We could use with some quiet around here.”

Two Months Later

“Y/N,” said Dean one night after dinner, the both of you sitting on your back deck, a light rain coming down.

“Dean,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder.

“You know I love you, right?” he said.

“Of course,” you said, tilting your head up. “What are you thinking about?”

“You’ve just been quiet today,” he said.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” you said. “Sam and I had a long discussion this morning while you and Jack were at work. About the bakery.”

“About?”

“Sam has apparently decided that he won’t be returning to law, not full time anyways. He would like to become a partner for the bakery since he should be cleared for work soon,” you said. “Maybe we could expand.”

“Is that something you want?”

“Sam’s much better at the business stuff than I am. He would focus on that part, I can just bake he said. I told him I’d seriously consider it,” you said.

“What’s the downside?” he asked.

“I don’t make a ton of money from it Dean. I do it for something to do, for fun. I could sit around on my butt all day and have more than I ever needed from what my parents left behind. I don’t think Sam is taking into consideration that it’s nowhere close to what he was making before,” you said.

“Y/N. My brother, I love him, but he was a workaholic. Every single day. He had a nanny, babysitters all the time. Avy saw him a few hours a week at most. He was a mess after Jess died. I basically raised Avy for a year until Sam snapped out of it some. But he threw himself into work still. I hate that he was in that accident and came this close to dying but he wants to spend time with his daughter, with his girlfriend, with us now. Sam’s got money and working part time as a lawyer he’ll still do just fine. If he wants to go in on the bakery with you, I say you let him make that choice for himself,” said Dean.

“I’ll talk to Sam tomorrow,” you said. Dean hummed and you curled tighter against him.

“Benny offered Jack a full time job today,” said Dean. “Jack was really excited about it.”

“That’s great. He’s out on a date with Maggie. I’m sure he’ll tell me all about it later,” you said. “Still excited for school next week?”

“Yeah. Not looking forward to less time with you,” he said, lacing your fingers together.

“Oh, it’s only a little less time together during the day. We’ll survive it and we got the weekends and nights and you live literally forty feet away,” you said.

“You’re still gonna help me study?” he asked. You gave him a kiss, Dean smiling into it. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

One Month Later

“Hey, Y/N,” said Jack, nodding while you and Sam were reviewing the orders for the next week. “Got a sec?”

“Sure,” you said. You grabbed your cardigan off the couch and followed him outside, Jack giving you a smile. “What’s up?”

“I know I didn’t discuss this with you or anything but...I’ve decided I’m moving out, into a townhouse about a few minutes away. It’s that one four streets over so it’s close. I know you gave me access to my inheritance awhile ago. It’s something I want to do now though,” he said. “If that’s okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay, Jack,” you said.

“Cool. I think it’s time. I mean, you’re great to live with but I want my own space, bring over my own girlfriend without interrupting you and Dean and all that. I’m in a place now where I’m good with that,” he said. “I promise.”

“I know,” you said, giving him a hug. “You can always come back.”

“Not like I’m not going to see you all the time or talk to you everyday anyways,” he said. “Thanks for bringing me home.”

“Always,” you said, giving him a hug.

“I do have a surprise for you,” said Jack with a smile. “A painting.”

“Can I see it?” you asked.

“It’s over at the Winchesters place for safe keeping. I’d go pop over there,” he said, nodding next door.

“Right now?” you asked.

“Yeah. Now’s a good time,” he said with a smirk.

“You boys are up to something,” you said.

“Us? Never,” he said. You shook your head and walked across the yards, popping up the steps of the porch in time to see Dean open the door.

“I hear there’s a painting over here,” you said.

“There is. I asked Jack to paint it for me,” said Dean. “It’s in my room if you want to check it out.”

“Sneaky boys,” you said, following him upstairs only for Dean to cover your eyes before leading you into his room. “Alright, what’s the surprise?”

“Stand right there,” he said, settling you into a spot. You waited and waited and waited, Dean moving around. He peeled his hands away and you opened your eyes, Dean right in front of you, standing in front of the wall.

“Well I do like this surprise,” you said. “But I am a bit confused.”

Dean moved to the right, a small white square of canvas with a red heart painted in the middle on the wall. Dean took it off and handed it to you, a tiny D.W. written on it.

“You’re giving me your heart?” you asked, smiling as you stared at it.

“Well you already had it. Figured you could hang that up in the kitchen, always be reminded that you got it,” he said.

“Do you want to move in?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said with a soft smile. “I’d love to.”

“I mean, you practically live there already,” you said. “Might as well.”

“It really is the responsible thing to do. I mean, the walk home from your place to mine is pretty dangerous after all and with Jack moving out, somebody should be around to keep an eye on you,” he said, a smile tugging on his lips.

“I love you,” you said, throwing your arms around his shoulders and giving him a kiss.

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

One Month Later

“Mmm,” you hummed, curled up on the couch with Dean after dinner under a blanket, watching a few leaves float through the air out the front window. “I love the fall. Perfect baking weather.”

“It is very beautiful,” he said, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “What’s on that gorgeous mind of yours?”

“Nothing at all. Just enjoying the moment, how warm you are...how peaceful you make everything,” you said, nuzzling into his side. “Every day you do that.”

“You too, Y/N,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Every day.”

Dean’s POV

Y/N grew quiet, resting her head on Dean’s chest, slowly falling asleep with his arms around her.

“Someday I’m gonna marry you,” he said quietly.

“I’m good with that,” Y/N mumbled.

“You were so not supposed to hear that,” said Dean, his cheeks flushing.

“Should I pretend I didn’t?” she mumbled.

“Didn’t what?” questioned Dean.

“Didn’t what?” mumbled Y/N, sitting upright, rubbing her eyes. “Did you say something?”

“We should head up to bed I said.”

“Okay,” she said with a smile, grabbing Dean’s hand. He let out a sigh of relief, letting Y/N guide him up the stairs.

Y/N kept on smiling, content to pretend she hadn’t heard what he said. Not that it was a complete surprise what his intentions someday were. She knew Dean Winchester started falling for her the moment they met and had never quite stopped.

That was okay with her though.

She’d never stopped falling for him either.

#spn #supernatural #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean series #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanficiton #dean fluff #au #dean fanfiction

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beautifulbuckys · 5 years

Text

Fine Art

Word Count: 1,500+

Warnings: Fluff!!!!!

A/N: Hey guys! I am actually super proud of this, and it isn’t that rushed. I worked super hard on this! Bucky is such a sweetie pie in this I love him so MUCH.

Bucky's morning has gone by most interestingly. He woke up with a nasty hangover, and with a pie to the face. Right after his clean skin was attacked with whipped cream, Wanda apologized, saying she was challenged to by Sam. That son of a bitch. He left his room, chugged what must have been an entire pitcher of water and went to visit Sam, keeping the pie on his face for extra guilt points.

Sam smirked at Bucky's appearance. He laughed hard. Sam must've giggled to himself for five minutes before Bucky asked for some payback. Bucky was too hungover for actual payback, he just simply requested Sam took him out for breakfast, which Sam happily agreed to.

So now, here they are, sitting in a small diner that smelt of sugar and cinnamon with a hint of bacon. This must've been heaven, the service was amazing, and maybe this was Bucky being nitpicky, but it was not too hot nor too chilly. He simply wore a grey tee and jeans, but Sam must've been a little cold because he was wearing a maroon Air Force windbreaker.

"What do you plan on buying, RoboCop?" Sam quipped, folding his menu and slapping it against the table.

Bucky rolled his eyes, he might've drunk some water and slept off most of his alcohol but the insult and the noise of the menu sent Bucky into the wrong sort of mood.

"Blueberry pancakes," Bucky answered back.

Sam's eyes widened at Bucky's simple answer. He opened his mouth, probably to give some sarcastic comment, but he was cut short when a new figure stood over the table.

"Hey Sam," the person cheered.

Bucky looked up to see her, and his jaw must've dropped to the floor. Did Sam know her? What the hell? She was stunning, and Sam knew you. Her hair was simple, placed at the top of her head. She beared the colourful diner uniform, a soft pink outlining their curves. Bucky felt bad for looking at her figure, if his Ma knew he'd be dead. He just couldn't help but admire the art that was her frame.

He saw her look at him, it scared him. It terrified him.

She smiled. "You must be Bucky!" You motioned to your name tag, "I'm Y/N."

"Nice to meet you, ma'am."

She smiled again.

"Ooh, Sammy you never told me he was such a gentleman."

Sam laughed at the comment. "I didn't know either."

Y/N giggled in reply to Sam's sarcastic remark and took out her small notepad. She quickly wrote something down and looked at Bucky. He sat awkwardly for a moment, wondering why she was looking at him. Was it his arm? Oh god, Y/N was probably looking at his arm.

The next thing Bucky knew, a napkin was being thrown at him.

"Earth to Bucky?" Sam said.

"What the hell, man?" Bucky whispered hostility.

Sam gave Bucky a toothy grin. "Y/N wants to know what you'd like to drink."

This is awkward.

"Can I just have a coffee?" Bucky quietly asks. Y/N nods her head in reply and walks away, telling the boys you'll be back in a few. She disappears into the back, leaving Bucky alone with Sam yet again.

Bucky nervously fiddles with his fork. Why did this happen to him? He was half hungover and in a bad mood, and then a beautiful and polite waitress just appears. He probably looks like such a dick, especially because he cussed out what had to have been one of her favourite customers. He can just pray that's as far as Y/N and Sam go. It makes Bucky a little nervous because Sam has been taking a girl out recently.

"Thinking about anything special?" Sam asks.

"How many different ways I can kill you with this fork without anyone noticing." He says through a laugh while his coffee was being placed in front of him.

"If we're killing anyone here, it's me." Y/N chuckles, throwing down a paper straw for Sam's ice water. You wipe your hands on your apron and take out your notepad again to take the men's orders.

"Alright Bucky, what can I get you?" She questions.

"Can I just get some blueberry pancakes?"

"Please," Sam adds.

"Please," Bucky blushes, correcting himself.

"Alright Sammy, what can I get you?" Sammy. That's a nickname Bucky hasn't heard anyone call Sam yet.

"Feta omelette," She answers her own question.

Sam gives a strong, loud laugh. It wasn't even funny.

"Y/N, you know me so well."

Yeah, Y/N knew him well.

"Alright boys, I'll put these orders in right now. Anything else you need? Another drink or anything?" Y/N asked, raising her eyebrows. She obviously cared about her customers, Bucky just got that type of vibe from her. Bucky's thoughts were interrupted by a shout for Y/N in the back.

"Sorry guys, be back in a sec." Y/N said with a bright smile.

Sam nodded his head in acknowledge Y/N's comment. Bucky tried to follow in Sam's footsteps, so he beamed up at Y/N, only to notice she was gone.

"Hey, Buck?" Sam asked.

"Mhm?"

"How are you feeling about Y/N?"

"She's cool," Bucky replied, he didn't really want to get into the topic. Sam was going to reveal that he's seeing Y/N which will break his heart, and he doesn't think he can take that right now. He's just not in the mindset for a thing like this at this moment in the morning.

"Just cool? Bucky, you're looking at her like she's a piece of fine art in a museum. Is that your definition of 'cool'? That's lame."

"I'm not in the mood for this," Bucky mumbled.

Sam sighed. "Why are you so moody this morning?"

"Do you want me to mention the pie?" Bucky asked while presenting Sam with a small smirk. Sam shook his head no in reply. "Then I won't,"

"So are you going to answer my question?" Sam urged.

"I already asked you about the pie," Bucky said coldly.

"No, you jerk. I'm talking about Y/N-"

"You were talking about me?" Y/N said with the trademark spunk she carried with her. "All good things, I hope."

"Of course," Bucky laughed.

She placed down another ice water for Sam, taking the empty glass that was in front of him. She hustled away for a quick moment, returning empty-handed, no more liquidless glass in hand.

"Food should be out in a jiffy." Y/N stated.

"Then what are you doing here?" Sam asked with a playful grin spreading across his face. It reminded Bucky of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland, a movie Natasha made Bucky watch.

"Gossip. You know that's all I do when I'm not working," Y/N chuckled.

"What do you gossip about?" Bucky quietly asked, but Y/N still heard him.

"Oh, stuff like work drama. There are some rude customers, believe it or not. If it weren't for you two, I'd be going insane."

Bucky laughed at that. He appreciated the fact that she liked his company and went out of her way to tell him that. She probably didn't notice the smile that spread across his face like warm butter on toast when she said that. Y/N fed Bucky the validation he was starving for. He was grateful.

"Do the rude customers tip ya'?" Sam broke the small muteness that followed Y/N's statement.

"Not usually." Y/N sighed with discontentment.

"Now that's just rude." Bucky's words fell out of his mouth before he could catch them. "They should tip if they're a pain in your ass, it's just plain manners." He was a waterfall of words, he just kept spewing them out.

Y/N grinned.

"You're right Sam, he really is a dream man."

A vague vibrating sound could be heard from Y/N's powdered sugar covered apron. Both men gazed down at the fabric, discovering where the sound was originating from.

"Well looks like the food is ready. Be back in a second."

Just as fast as she appeared, she was gone. Granted, it was the get the food Bucky was dying to try, but she was still gone.

"She's beautiful."

"What?" Sam blinked in surprise.

"Y/N, she's beautiful," Bucky replied softly, giving a small grin to Sam. He was right, she was a piece of fine art. She was a beautiful sculpture, handcrafted with care. Her figure was soft and beautiful. Her eyes as beautiful as space. Her smile as bright as a carnival at night, untouched by man. Admired by plenty, greatly appreciated by few. Bucky wanted to be included in that few.

"You planning on talking to her then?" A small, yet seemingly rushed voice asked from beside Bucky.

He anxiously scanned upwards to see the art herself, Y/N, carrying a few plates. She placed them on the table in a hurry, never breaking eye contact with the metal-armed brunette.

"I already have." Bucky smoothly replied. Suddenly he was grateful for his waterfall of a mouth because occasionally it would spit out the right thing.

"Oh really?" She humoured him while putting down some silverware.

"Yeah, she's pretty great too. If she's not taken I'd love to ask her out." She smiled, Bucky fist-bumped himself mentally, he got her to smile.

"I don't think she's taken." Y/N replied. "I think she gets off at 5, if you want to pick her up."

"I'll be there."

He'll be there.

#bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #marvel masterlist #marvel fanfiction #sam wilson

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contreparry · 4 years

Note

(Talesfromthefade) Sonder: the realization that each passerby has a life as vivid and complex as your own, for the character of your choice?

I decided to play around with this one and write from the perspective of a original side character- hopefully that’s okay? Here’s a fic about a character who works in the Skyhold kitchens for @dadrunkwriting!

“Catherine! Catherine, I’ve a need for you!” Cook shouted over the roar of the cooking fire and the bustle of the kitchens- it was always noisy in the kitchens, but Cook’s shout was absolutely deafening.

Catherine winced and nearly dropped her knife- she’d been peeling potatoes, and the starch seeped into her skin until her hands were red and irritated. Her neck was sore, her head hurt, and her feet ached, and all she wanted to do was curl up in the loft with the other serving girls and sleep. But there were potatoes to be peeled and it needed to be done. But since Cook was the one to call for her- Catherine set her knife down on the table and wiped her hands on her apron before weaving between all the people to stand in front of Cook.

“Y-yes, Ma’am?” Catherine asked, and she was grateful that she hadn’t stuttered so terribly this time. She could never get her voice to come out steady and strong, especially in front of Cook. The stern woman looked her over with a critical eye, from the tip of her head to her shoes. If she could she would probably inspect the soles, Catherine thought sourly, and she wished she had the time to do something with her unruly mop of hair. She shoved the wispy brown strands under a kerchief and called it good, but after hours of working in the hot kitchens it was no doubt untidy. At least she was wearing her second best dress, the blue with the embroidered flowers on the sleeves. Cook couldn’t criticize that! Eventually the woman sighed, and the knot in Catherine’s stomach eased just a little. If she had looked terrible, Cook would have said so!

“Well, you’ll do. Here,” Cook shoved a covered basket into Catherine’s hands. “Supper for Her Ladyship, the Inquisitor. Be quick about it, you hear?”

The Inquisitor?! Catherine nearly dropped the basket in surprise.

“Yes, Catherine! Martha’s got fever, and I’ve no one else I can spare, so up to the Inquisitor’s chambers with you! Don’t gawk, her Ladyship has enough troubles and doesn’t need any more! And speak clearly and politely, you hear?” Cook raised one thin eyebrow, as if she was daring Catherine to step one toe out of line. Catherine had no intention of doing so. She held the basket close and fled the kitchens.

The air outside was cool, a relief from the stifling heat indoors, but Catherine apprehensively made her way up the stairs towards the Inquisitor’s chambers. Everyone knew where those were, of course, and everyone knew her. Who didn’t? She always looked so calm and serious, like the icon of Andraste Papa placed on the mantle back in Denerim, all solemn eyes and smooth expressions. But no one knew more than that, not really. She was a Mage from Ostwick, she woke up with the sun, and she never raised her voice to shout.

Out of all the serving girls, Martha knew the lords and ladies the best. She worked in a fine house before coming here, so Cook always put her in charge when a meal needed to be brought to them. Catherine and Lissa and the others worked in the kitchens and served the regular meals, but more often than not Catherine was in the kitchens. It was hard to serve at small meals when you had to speak, and Catherine had never been good at speaking. So while the others experienced the upstairs world and all the glamour it held, Catherine stood back and watched. After those noble gatherings, however, all the kitchen girls would have their own meetings in the sleeping loft. There they would whisper about the nobles, the advisors, the Inner Circle, and the Inquisitor, and Catherine would listen and wonder what would happen if she ever stumbled upon some gossip of her own.

“Lady Montilyet’s a fine woman, to be sure, and Messere Tethras is always tellin’ stories and jokes, but Commander Cullen always insists he can get his own food! So, naturally, I try serving him first for breakfast,” Martha once said, and then she lowered her voice and whispered.

“Once I got there extra early, you know?” she confided, and they all gathered close to listen to Martha’s tale. Stories about the nobility were fine and all, but stories about the handsome men and women of the Inner Circle were worth their weight in gold. Everyone was a little jealous that Martha got to serve private breakfasts, but no one was so jealous that they wouldn’t listen to her gossip.

“Ooo, trying to catch him before he dressed?” Lissa said knowingly.

“Lissa!” Catherine remembered interjecting, but everyone looked at Martha expectantly.

“He was already dressed,” Martha reluctantly confessed, but instantly perked with a smile. “But you’ll never guess who was with him!” Having piqued everyone’s curiosity, Martha smugly smiled and looked upon her eager audience.

“The Inquisitor!” she announced, and the shocked cries filled the loft.

“No!”

“But she’s so... so...”

“Them? Together?! In the morning?!”

“Perhaps they were only talking about battles and soldiers,” Lissa suggested. “The Inquisitor’s so... so serious!”

“S-so’s the C-C- Commander,” Catherine pointed out, and the conversation turned into a heated debate over whether or not the Inquisitor and the Commander could be involved. In the end it seemed possible, but still... the two seemed ill-suited. Commander Cullen was stern and quiet. He had such a... a presence! Martha said he preferred simple food, always said thank you, and never made a complaint. Of course, everyone heard him shouting at his soldiers when running drills, and Martha said that he often argued with the Inquisitor in the War Room.

Which brought her back to the here and now. Catherine clutched the basket tighter to her chest as she rounded the corner. She just had to open the door and go up the steps and she’d be there in the Inquisitor’s room! And Martha knew very, very little about the Inquisitor, so what was Catherine going to do? How did one act in front of the Herald of Andraste? Did you bow? Catherine hesitantly pushed the door inwards, breathed in, and made her way upstairs.

Empty. The rooms were empty. No one was here! Catherine sighed and crept over towards the tea table in front of the fireplace. She could just leave the basket here, part of her whispered, and then go- but would the Inquisitor know that her supper was ready? Catherine set the basket down, then carefully unpacked it. A small mince pie, stew in a small dish with a lid, a roll- well, it would all be awful if it went cold! What did one do to call attention to the nobility? Martha would know, but Martha never told them about how to serve meals! She only shared gossip, and how would knowing that the Inquisitor may or may not have spent her nights with the Commander help her now?

“H-hello? Inquisitor, Ma’am? I d-don’t mean to intrude, Ma’am, but I’ve brought your supper and... well, it’s going to grow cold, a-and I thought y-you should know?” Catherine informed the empty room.

“M-maybe she’s just gone out,” she muttered, but she looked around the room again. It had looked so neat and cold at first glance, but upon closer inspection it started to reveal itself. A thick cream colored blanket was flung over the arm of the couch. An open book lay out on the table, there were stacks of papers and books on the desk, the wardrobe was open and-

“Thank you for the meal. Please leave it on the table,” and the Inquisitor emerged from behind the screen in the corner, dressed in a simple robe with her dark hair wet and- oh Maker, she had been taking a bath! Catherine squeaked and quickly looked at the ground. Was she going to be smite-ed? Smote? What happened if you looked at the Inquisitor when she was only half-dressed? It couldn’t be good.

“Oh! I’m sorry to have surprised you,” the Inquisitor said, and Catherine cautiously lifted her head. No smiting? Not today? The Inquisitor looked as serene as ever, calm eyes and calm expression, as if she walked around with wet hair and in a plain robe every day! Did she? Martha never said. She only said the Inquisitor was polite and- and what else? What else? “I-I am so-sor-sorry! For interrupting y-your bath,” Catherine hastily said.

“Just washing my hair. It’s nothing to apologize for. What’s your name?” the Inquisitor asked politely as she crossed the room and inspected the meal Catherine laid out.

“C-Catherine. Martha’s caught a fever, C-Cook told me to-to bring you your s-s-supper,” she managed to squeak out, and then the Inquisitor- she smiled! It was a small smile, but her calm and serious eyes brightened and her mouth turned up and it was really quite lovely. And she didn’t look like Andraste at all, when she smiled! She looked... normal. Like a normal woman.

Somehow that made it all easier.

“Thank you for bringing this up to me, Catherine. Please convey my thanks to Cook as well. I hope to see you again, even after Martha recovers,” the Inquistor said. She looked over at Catherine and frowned, but not in the critical way like Cook.

“Your hands are dry. If you wait here, I’ve got a salve for that,” she said. Ordered, Catherine realized. She wouldn’t have dared to leave! The Inquisitor looked through a cabinet and pulled out a small clay jar while Catherine waited.

“Put this on in the mornings and evenings, and that will take care of the redness and cracked skin,” the Inquisitor ordered as she placed the jar in Catherine’s hands. “Healer’s Orders, you understand?”

“Y-yes, Inquisitor,” Catherine replied, and once she curtsied she left the room. As she returned to the kitchens, Catherine thought of what she would tell the other girls in the loft tonight. The Inquisitor was... well, she was rather normal. She washed her hair and wore simple cotton robes in her chambers, and she was a little bossy and had a beautiful smile that started at the eyes.

Catherine smiled a little herself. Now she had an interesting story to tell for once!

#ahahahhahahaa this got way longer than I thought it would #my writing #da drunk writing circle #I HAD PLANS #AMBITIONS #I WAS GOING TO WRITE THROUGH MY BACKLOG #and now I have a brand new fic idea and I do NOT have time for it #anyways Kitchen Staff Adventures my new slice-of-life ficlet series #coming someday

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reallyautomaticvoid · 5 years

Text

Calling It: Good Intentions Chapter 3: There’s Tim!

Characters (in order of appearance in this chapter): Conner Kent, Bart Allen, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson

Chapter Summary:

Conner and Bart find Tim. Or, rather, Tim finds Conner and Bart.

After checking the dozen safe houses that they knew about plus a couple of old ones that Tim had abandoned (shocking an old lady when they burst in through her front door, though they did get pie…) Conner and Bart are out of ideas.

“I’m telling you,” Conner runs to keep up with Bart, “I don’t think he’ll be there.”

“It’s as good as any to regroup,” Bart counters as he punches in the security code. “Besides, I don’t want to miss Tim’s apartment being this clean. It might not ever happen again.”

Conner snorts because yeah, Bart has a point.

Conner follows Bart into the living room. Conner walks towards the perch’s entrance and stares at it again.

How bad could the security be?

Conner hesitates for half a second before using his X-ray vision to see through the door into the stare case. Or trying to use his X-ray vision.

He couldn’t see anything.

“Shit, Tim lead lined the goddamn door.”

“Because, of course, he did,” Bart snorts, staring at the door, “that’s our paranoid bird.”

“It’s not paranoia if someone is really after you,” a new, weary voice came from right behind them.

Jumping, Conner and Bart before turning to see, “Tim!”

It’s something to be said that two of the fastest people in the world couldn’t catch Tim before he collapses onto the couch. Tattered suit pants and collared, long sleeves hung off of Tim’s frame making him like he’d lost ten pounds.

Clammy skin? Check. At least a half a dozen new scratches, some infected, covering his arms and face? Check. Giant fresh gash covering Tim’s forearm? Check.

Conner knows there was more but didn't trust himself to use his x-ray vision. With how shitty Tim looks, literally the last thing Tim needs is for Conner to fuck up and fry him instead of scanning him.

Instead, Conner gently puts his hand on Tim’s forehead.

“You look like shit, Tim,” Conner mildly says. He mouths fever at Bart who nods before running off to get supplies. “You know, when someone is missing their spleen, normal they do little things like gee, I don’t know, eat. Sleep. Take a shower.”

A faint smile twitches on Tim’s face. “I’ll be sure to let Ra’s know that you’re not interested in his vacation package. He was so hoping that you'd be going next.”

“You were with Ra?” Bart reenters the room but freezes at Con’s words.

The exchange a look; both knew the Demon’s Head has an unhealthy interest (obsession) in Tim. Tim’s never been keen on sharing the hows and whys of that interest which pisses Conner off to no end.

“Yup. Not the best vacation I’ve ever been on but still not the worst. That still the time that Bruce tried to make us all go on that family retreat when the Demon tried to leave me in the woods to starve.” Tim’s voice gets higher as he mimics Damian in a dead-on impression. “But Father, why do we even need Drake here. I’m here now; you don’t need a cheap replacement. Grayson, I don’t care if you like him; he’s weak and should be removed. Fuck, that was a long week.”

Conner and Bart exchange an awshiiiiiit look.

They know some of the Batfamily drama.

No, that’s a lie; they knew very, very little about the Batfamily drama. Tim rarely (if ever) talks about the ins and outs of what actually happened once Damian arrived at the Manner. All Conner knows for sure was once Damian moved in, Tim had slowly, but surely started spending more time in San Francisco and less and less time in Gotham.

Fuuuuuuuuck, Tim must really be fuck he’s talking about it so freely.

Bart grabs the thermometer and gives it to Tim.

Tim makes a face.

Bart arches an eyebrow. “It’s your mouth, or I’ll find someplace to put it.”

Tim takes the thermometer, putting it under his tongue. After thirty seconds, it beeps with a temperature of 101°. Bart and Conner exchange a knowing look.

“Oh, don’t look at each other like that,” Tim moans. “I’m fine. I just need a little sleep.”

Conner snorts. “No doubt, but let’s get you something to drink first, okay? When was the last time you ate?”

“Had a salad with Tam,” Tim grunt.

“Salad doesn’t count. When was the last time you had real food?”

“Salad does so count. It had chicken on it and everything.” Tim whines as he rolls over and shoves his face into the back of the couch. “Sleep.”

Conner looks at Bart who mouths fuck.

Little known Titan lore: if Tim Drake whines about wanting to sleep, it means some shit has gone down.

“Man, you really gotta learn how to take care of yourself.”

“I’ll be sure to let Ra’s know you don’t approve of his solitary confinement package.”

Conner files that away for future discussion (which Conner’s sure won’t get him anywhere) before hoisting Tim up bridal style. “Come on, man. Let’s get you some food. Can’t take your antibiotics on an empty stomach.”

Tim hisses. “I hate those things. They always make me nausea.”

Bart shakes his head, muttering, “sure it's not the whole not eating anything for a week things?”

Tim’s head lulls back to glare at Bart. “Nope. Defiantly the antibiotic.”

Conner doesn’t say anything, as he’s too busy trying not to laugh. Or cry. He isn’t sure which.

“Here you go,” Conner deposits Tim at the table where Tim slumps, face first, into the table. “What do you want—uh, what do you have to eat?”

“Coffee.”

Bart snorts. “One, that’s a drink, not a food. Two, you know the rules: no caffeine on an empty stomach.” Bart zips around the kitchen opening cabinets, looking for food. He finally ends at the empty fridge. “Power bars, energy drinks, and coffee? Really Tim? That’s all you have in your kitchen? Even I can’t make something out of that. More importantly, how are you alive if that’s all you eat in Gotham? How have you not had a heart attack?”

Bart’s— the best chef among the Titans—could do wonders in the kitchen. Conner once saw Bart make a mouthwatering casserole out of an orange, licorice, tofu, and a few other ingredients that Conner missed. As Bart put it, “if you had to eat twenty thousand calories a day, you’d get good at cooking too.”

“Coffee,” Tim stubbornly repeats.

Rolling his eyes, Bart says, “I’ll be back,” before zooming out of the room without another word.

Conner goes over to the cabinet that holds some of Tim’s emergency shits hit the fan supplies including bags of saline solution and an IV. Tim eyes Conner as he moves around but doesn’t object when Conner gently put the IV needle into Tim’s arm. Although, Conner isn’t sure that Tim has the energy to object to anything that the Meta might do to him. Conner sits down, watching the IV drip. Tim closes his eyes; head resting on the table.

“You want to talk about it?” Conner murmurs.

“No.” It’s the strongest thing Conner’s heard Tim say since Tim had stumbled back into his apartment, so Conner doesn’t argue.

After about ten minutes, Bart comes charging back in. “You know, fast food places really aren’t that fast. It took them FOREVER to get the food done.”

Conner snorts, “I’m surprised you didn’t go behind the counter and make it yourself.”

Bart tosses Conner a burger before handing Tim some plain toast. “Thought about it. Decided that it would probably just draw too much attention to myself.”

“You guys know I’m off of carbs.” Tim groans.

“Shut up and eat your toast or I’m calling Cassie.”

Tim flinches but starts nibbling at his toast. “I still want some coffee.”

After a long talk with Roy, who didn’t believe that Jason was okay which he was, Jason’s suiting up for the night when he feels his phone vibrate. Fishing it out of his pocket, the new text alert flashes from an unknown number. Jason opens it and read:

Got Tim. Heading back to the Tower.

Jason blinks, a knot that he hadn’t known was in his lower gut loosens, before he fumbles with his phone for a minute, trying to figure out what to write (things ranging from where the hell was he to get his ass to the cave now all floated through his head) before finally settled on:

Is he okay?

Jason had finished zipping up his jacket (contemplating the best way to go and find those ‘heroes’) when his phone went off again.

He says we’re inhuman because we won’t give him coffee. See you around.

Jason punches the front of his locker.

Luckily, it didn’t dent; otherwise, he’d have to deal with disappointed Alfred sighs for the next month. He didn’t like being brushed off especially by a couple of pip-squeaks.

Jason’s Robin Sense went off before he saw anything. “The fuck you want?”

Dick appears right next to him because fuck him Dick had been goddamn Batman.

“What happened to your phone?”

Because shit he’s still clutching his cracked screen phone in his hand.

Jason glares at Dick. “Nothing.”

Dick hums. “Okay. You seemed distracted. Everything okay?”

Jason slams his locker shut. “I’m fine.”

Dick gives Jason a smile that only an older sibling can.

Fucking hell, why is Jason here again?

Alfred’s food.

Right.

Fucking hell, say it already.

“I was just thinkin’ about Babybird.”

That got Dick’s attention.

Jason grins to himself.

“Why were you thinking about him?” Dick nonchalantly asks which he mighta bought if Jason couldn’t see Dick’s back stiffening and his muscles were twitching.

“Just trying to remember the last time I saw ‘em in the cave is all.”

Jason isn’t one for sublet.

It takes for fuck ever for someone (cough, cough, Dick…Bruce) ta realize the fucking point you’re trying to make.

It’s much more satisfying when you could smack someone in the face with their stupidity.

Preferable with a fist.

The Bats, however, like to believe that they were fucking perfect (especially Dick, especially in the brother department). They didn’t take it so well when they get caught being stupid.

Dick, for his part, gives Jason a look like Dick clearly question if Jason’s lost his mind. “What are you talking about, Jay? He was just here last week. He ran a virus sweep on the Batcomputer.”

Jason had to fight the urge to smack Dick.

Repeatedly.

With his fist.

Instead, he cocks an eyebrow at his brother. “That was six months ago.”

The reaction is instant. Dick recoils like Jason had punched him. He stares at Jason for a full minute before slowly shaking his head. Though it looked like there're ‘bout a billion thoughts flashing behind Dick’s eyes.

“What? No, it wasn’t. It was last week,” Dick insists, his voice rising. “Do you honestly think that I haven’t seen my brother in more than six months? I would have noticed not seeing him for that long.”

Jason pauses, giving Dick one of his patented, you’re full of shit but whatever you need to do to let you sleep at night looks before raising his hands.

“Sure, Big Bird. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Opening his locker, Jason looks for his rubber bullets.

Where the fuck are my motherfucking rubber bullets?

Days like today make him reconsider rejoining the Bats. Before all Jay had to do was shoot the asshole and move on.

Now, he has play nice with the Bats.

Some days, Jason wonders if it was worth it.

Then Alfred makes Jason’s favorite dessert, or Bruce would give him one of those goddamn almost smiles (which was like a goddamn hug from the old grump), and Jason found himself coming back home.

Home. Jason mused to himself.

It’s weird after all of these years to have a place that he’d consider a home.

“Jason?” Dick's voice sounds off.

“Yo,” Jason grunts without looking at Dick.

There was a pause.

Dick shifted uncomfortably as Jason finally found his bullets.

Damnit, Damian must have gotten into his locker again and moved shit around just ta fuck with Jason.

Again.

Maybe it was time for Jason to teach Titus how delicious Damian’s slippers were.

“Has he really not—did I miss—er—never mind.”

Jason looks up in time to catch a glimpse of Dick disappearance (showoff) before Jason he could say anything.

The next morning in Red Robin’s room at the Tower, Tim’s fever’s back down to normal. He was still coughing but he fine.

Really, he doesn’t understand why Bart and Conner are hovering. He’s in bed just like they want him to be.

Snug as a goddamn bug.

It’s Hell.

Tim does, however, have a company to run and needs to catch up.

“Don’t you have school,” Tim coughs.

“Flex day,” Conner answers while Bart nods along.

Damn. Tim thinks. “Why don’t you guys go catch a movie or something?”

Conner’s lip twitch and Bart gets a glint in his eye.

Shit.

“A movie does sound like fun.” Bart turns to Conner, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Marathon?”

“Marathon.”

“Good, bad, or terrible movies?”

“Mix, of course.”

“Perfect.”

“Food?”

Bart drums his thumbs Tim’s desk. “Give me half an hour.” And Bart dashes off.

Tim looks up at Con. “Do I get a vote in this?”

“Nope,” Con pop the p.

“Fantastic. I do have work to get done.”

“You were kidnapped and torched. You can take the day off.”

“Red Robin, maybe, but Tim Wayne? Didn’t you hear? He just got back from a lovely whirlwind vacation.”

Conner rolls his eyes. “Really now? Were there any hot models there?”

“Not a one sadly. There was some lovely time to meditate though.”

“Don’t they call that solitary confinement?”

Tim shrugs, “eh, if life gives you lemons.”

“You say ‘what the hell? I ordered oranges.’” Con smirks.

Tim rolls his eyes. “Well, I did order oranges.” Tim laughs which was a mistake because it set off another round of coughing. Before he could ask, Conner was handing him a glass of water. Tim grimaces. “Coffee would be better.”

“You know the rules: No coffee for twenty-four hours after a fever spike.”

Tim hisses. “It was only 101. That’s barely a fever.”

Conner looks utterly unmoved by this argument.

Bastard.

“Close enough.”

“I’m a mature twenty. I can take care of myself.”

“Uhuh. And what show did you leave as a parting gift to Ra’s?”

“Teletubbies,” Tim grins. Not his new business-friendly smile but a real grin that let the former Robin shin through. “I thought he’d enjoy it. Plus he could use a refresher on how sharing is caring.”

Con laughs at that before sobering. “You know, I was thinking,” Tim internal winces, but keeps his face smooth. He knew this was coming but it did make the experience any more enjoyable, “maybe it’s time you move out of Gotham? You could move to the tower full time or something.”

Tim keeps his expression smooth. “Aren’t you the one who’s always nagging me to get out of the tower?”

Con glowers at him. “To see a movie, take a walk in the park, go on a date. Not to go back to one of the most crime-ridden cities in the world. Hell, in the universe.” Con took a deep calming breath.

Tim thinks about it. He really thinks about it. He considers moving out of Gotham permanently. What would the ramification of leaving the city that's rejected him several times over? And while the idea is tempting, to be free of the Bats (fuck yeah that’s an excellent thought now, isn’t?), of all of the baggage that came with Gotham, but—

“It’s home, Con. I’m—I’m not ready to leave it yet.” Tim’s voice sounds young, even to his ears.

Con sighs. “Yeah, that’s what you always say. Had to ask though. I think you should still move though. Ra’s knowing—” Tim cuts him off with a snort.

“Ra’s make it a point to know what laundry soap I use. Hell, he makes it a point to know what kind of cough drops I take. He’ll know if I move. Might as well stay where I’m at for now.”

The rest of the argument is cut short by Bart reentering the room carrying way, way too much food. Bart then speeds back out of the room only to reappear in a blink of an eye with a rather large stack of movies.

Tim stares at the pile.

No way they’re getting through that stack in one day.

Bloody hell.

Thanks for reading!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18106355/chapters/43592294

#calling it #chapter 3 #fanfiction #conner kent #bart allen #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #dick grayson

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thedarkivist · 5 years

Note

you owe no one your forgiveness. + ship of choice

Marianne and Mary watched each other over the table, silent. Neither of them seemed in a hurry to start, though Mary would be the first one to speak up. As per usual. Mary’s lips parted slowly and Marianne could already feel the little good mood she brought with herself trickling away.

The door to Lupin’s Grotto opened and Lady Lazarus entered. Marianne’s jaw dropped. She did text her to come as if she were to bury Skald, but she didn’t expect…

… this.

Lady Lazarus paused in the door and although Marianne didn’t want to stare, she couldn’t help it. Anyway, she wasn’t the only one.

The hero’s eyes were covered by her mask and she wore her hair up in a loose chignon. She was wearing a sinuous slip of wine-red velvet with a long slit on the side and black stilettos with the highest heels Marianne had ever seen. After a second she noticed the two heroes sitting at the table and made her way to them, the garnet chandelier earrings catching every stray ray of light as she walked.

Lady Lazarus slid into the third seat with a smile, and brushed a wayward strand of hair away from her mask. Marianne’s mouth ran dry. She averted her eyes and quickly took a sip of her drink.

“Am I late?” Lady L asked, leaning over the table. “My apologies - I ran into a villain and it always takes ages before the police show up.”

Mary cleared her throat. Marianne wasn’t sure if she wasn’t just projecting, but it seemed her cheeks were a little less flushed ten seconds earlier. “Lady Lazarus. Oh.”

“Were you expecting someone else?” the pain trade hero asked softly.

“No! No.” Mary took a deep breath and seemed to regain her composure. “I just wasn’t expecting Marianne would want to keep in touch with you.”

Marianne was about to say something, but then Lady L laughed. That would be the first time she heard her laugh like that. A low, delighted laugh, as if she were onto a joke nobody else would understand. She leaned forward, all her attention on Mary. Marianne wasn’t sure what game she was playing there, but she was winning it. “I’m so very glad to see you again, Skald.”

Mary hastily opened the menu and started reading through it as if she didn’t have it memorised already. “We should order,” she announced in a strangled voice.

A pause. “Fair enough,” Lady L responded, tilting her head towards Marianne. The healer caught a faint trace of jasmine perfume and began to deeply regret the dress code she suggested. “Marianne, sweetheart, what would you recommend? I haven’t been here before.”

At the moment, Mither was considering ordering a bowl of plain ice to bury her head in, but that might inspire some questions she’d rather leave unanswered.

“Everything here is delicious,” she replied in the end, opening her own menu. Lady Lazarus followed suit, but then peered over her shoulder. The scent of jasmine grew more intense.

“Oh look, they have shepherd’s pie. I love that.”

Mary looked up, pointedly ignoring the pain trade hero. “Speaking of shepherds, I visited Reginald a while ago.”

Marianne perked up at that. “True, I almost forgot. How did it go? I take it Amaryllis was there?”

“I don’t know about Sidero. Or Regi. Allard wouldn’t let me in.”

Lady Lazarus glanced up from the menu. “Sidero?”

Mary sneered. “Mallory Sidero, though he prefers to go by Amaryllis these days. Like it’s going to fool anyone. Like he’s going to fool anyone.”

When the words passed through Skald’s lips, Marianne realised with startling clarity that she had no idea what Lady L might do. Amaryllis was her friend, after all. Marianne learnt in the hospital that her raid partner had the strangest collection of friends, if the continuous stream of visits was anything to go by. The raid mission came to mind. The bodies convulsing in pain. The neutral line of Lady L’s lips amidst all that destruction.

The woman in red nodded to herself, but left Mary’s jab without a comment. Marianne let out a sigh of relief.

The waiter showed up and they could finally order - steak for Mither, shepherd’s pie for Lady Lazarus (please, do hold the garlic), and lobster for Skald. And, of course, wine. Marianne couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling she’d like something much stronger than that.

By the time their food arrived, Mary and Marianne slipped into the comfortable familiarity of idle chitchat between sips of wine, the third woman silent, taking in the atmosphere of the place. Then again, Skald was in no hurry to include her in the conversation.

“Do you have any news about Regi?” Mary asked, toying with the edge of her neckline. She wore a lovely navy A-line dress with some sort of a baroque pattern done in silver, and matching silver shoes. Marianne glanced at Lady L. Too bad Skald’s outfit was the fashion equivalent of bringing a knife to a gunfight.

“Regi? No,” she sighed. “We’re not really in touch ever since he started hanging out with Allard.”

“Ugh, I know, right? That guy is crazy. Regi has been weird ever since they met.” She paused. “I think that was around the time he cheated on me with Sidero. Who knows what ideas Allard has been feeding him.”

Lady Lazarus, quiet up until then, tilted her head to the side. “It’s Adaire. Lucien Adaire.”

Marianne shot the pain trade hero a worried glance. She came to understand Lady Lazarus was friends with Allard, Regi and Lucien. She surely wouldn’t let Mary talk about them like that.

“Mallory Sidero,” Mary repeated. “You know, the guy my boyfriend is wasting his time with.”

“Your ex-boyfriend,” the brunette pointed out mildly.

Skald turned a shade of red that rivalled her hair.

She leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “I don’t care how Sidero manipulated him into thinking he wants him. I’m not mad at Reginald, I really am not. I forgave him already, but he will have to see the truth, if I have to-”

Lady L raised her hand. Her fingers were slightly curling into themselves. Human hands or talons? Marianne blinked. Human hands, of course. Human hands.

For a split second an emotion she had never seen on Mary before flashed across her face. Fear. Pure primal terror. That kind of horror that lingers on the wrong side of the mirror just before dawn.

“The truth is that… you don’t owe anyone your forgiveness.”

A sharp inhale. Mary saw her fear blurred and reflected in Lady Lazarus’ mask, saw the pain trade hero’s serene, polite smile.

“What do you know, anyway?” she barked, cringing at how squeaky her voice came out.

“The truth is that you are the one who should beg for forgiveness. The truth is that you don’t love Renegade, but you loved the fact that he’d do all you’d ask - demand, really - of him. The truth is that you’ve been apart for years and you’re the only one who hasn’t moved on. The truth is, dear, that you like taking things that aren’t yours but can’t stand it when someone takes something from you. The truth is, Regi and Lucien got together only well after you two split up.”

Skald forgot all about the food. She had asked around about the hero. The mask, too. Nobody knew what she was hiding, but the rumours said that there was only void underneath, dark and inconsolable like the emptiness between stars. Another rumour said that whoever would look into her eyes directly would die of fright. Mary shook her head. She wasn’t some kind of a foreseer. She was a human, like anyone else. She couldn’t know anything.

“I don’t know if you’ve been listening to Allard, but he probably has an agenda of his own. Isn’t it strange that he was there with Regi at the time of their accident and walked away unscathed while Regi was badly hurt?” Lady L froze on the spot and Mary couldn’t but grin. Not quite so scary anymore, huh. “He probably just wants to swipe some of his inventions and pass them off as his own before Regi quits support design.”

Marianne reached for her wineglass. The situation was getting out of the hand and yet… she wasn’t in a hurry to interfere.

“If it was up to you, he’d have quit years ago.”

Marianne spat out the wine.

Lady L handed her a napkin, Mary being too busy trying to stare the pain trade hero down. The fact that she could see her agitated face reflected in the opalescent surface of the mask made it… difficult.

The dark-haired woman continued, unruffled. “Of course, the support items he made were convenient for you - including those you took without asking - but if only he didn’t spend so much time… you know… actually working on his craft. Regarding Étienne Allard, I wouldn’t worry about him. There’s a reason why he’s on the top of his field… and your ex.”

“Wait- what?!”

“You didn’t know? They’ve been lovers ever since you suggested an open relationship.”

“Allard slept with Regi?”

A shrug. “I mean, who didn’t.”

Skald stood up abruptly, knocking over her glass. Red wine splattered all over the pristine tablecloth. She couldn’t see Lady L’s eyes, but she would swear that that… that slut was rolling them at her. “You better shut your whore mouth right now-”

Marianne’s grip on the steak knife tightened, then loosened again when Lady Lazarus laughed, leaning back in her seat. “If you really insist on making a scene, you could at least try to make it an interesting one.”

“I don’t care what a freak with a cursed Quirk has to say,” she hissed.

Marianne rose up, her vision clouded with red. “You’d do well to remember my little sister has a Quirk like that too.”

That caught Mary off-guard. “I… I didn’t mean it like that. It’s different with Tanith.”

The healing heroine could almost choke on her anger. “Really? How so?”

Skald looked down at Lady Lazarus. “Tanith doesn’t delight in being a monster.”

“Nor do I. It’s just that I do it extremely well.” She stood up as well, her red dress glistening against her bone-white skin in the candlelight like freshly spilled blood. The talons - hands, Marianne reminded herself, normal hands with normal human fingers - reached up, running along the edges of her mask.

Marianne’s breath got stuck in her throat. Mary turned pale. Lady Lazarus brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing one of the clasps holding the mask in place.

“The truth is, you don’t want me to do this.”

Her hands dropped again. A single drop of icy cold sweat travelled down Mary’s spine. As if her body had a will of its own, she collapsed back on the chair, while Lady L flagged down a waiter to pay for her dinner. She sat down again and offered Skald a pleasant smile. “I just love Elspie cooking.”

Marianne took a deep breath. Mary shot her a curious glance, as if she just now remembered she had been there too.

“You know what? I think I’m done here.” Marianne turned to the pain trade hero, offering her a hand. “Let’s get some dessert. I know a place.”

#Anonymous #sfw #the AU of Class

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sunniebelle · 5 years

Text

My Golden Valentine

Tentoo x Rose

The Doctor works diligently to give Rose a Valentine's Day experience she will never forget.

A03, TSP, Deviantart, FF.net

Rose Tyler’s day had been decidedly unpleasant, frustrating, and stressful. It seemed like one thing after another had gone wrong, and just when she thought things were looking up, something else would happen to prove her wrong. The icing to the cake had been the unexpected field assignment in which she almost lost a member of her team.

What she really needed was a cuppa and a hug from her Doctor. She knew the latter would help her forget her awful day. She would have visited him in his workshop at Torchwood earlier in the day, but he had taken the day off today for a reason he refused to reveal to her.

Rose pulled into the carpark of the flat she shared with her half-human, half-Time Lord Doctor. She walked to the flat’s side entrance and slid her key into the lock of the door with a tired sigh, then moved through the entry hall that deadened into the kitchen. She set her bag down on a chair, stripped off her leather jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. Tea was her first order of business and she pulled out her favorite mug and the tea container and walked over to the stove to turn the burner on under the kettle.

A flash of color in her peripherals caught her attention, though, and she turned to look at the kitchen table, causing her to promptly forget everything she was previously doing. She was thankful she didn’t have anything in her hands, since she was sure that she would not have been able to hold anything, given her shock.

The round kitchen table had a gold lace table cloth draped over it and a thin layer of red rose petals were scattered across the intricate lace pattern. Sitting atop the petals was the most beautiful potted plant she thought she had ever seen. It was an orchid, a red orchid. The sight drew her in; she walked toward the table a bit dazed. When she was close enough, she bent slightly to inhale the lovely fragrance of the flowers, before her fingers gently caressed the tender petals of the naturally drooping plant. The color and the beauty of the plant were so mesmerizing it took her a moment to even notice the pink cardstock and envelope leaning against the base of the plant.

She picked up the pink paper with a smile lighting her face. The first thing she noticed was the two gold roses embossed into opposite corners of the card, with curling ivy trailing the sides of the paper. Then she saw the fine, flowing script in the center, written in black ink. It read:

My Golden Rose,

Will you be my Valentine?

Your Doctor

Rose wasn’t aware of how big her smile had gotten until her cheeks started to ache.

She loved being able to make that claim, that the Doctor was hers, and she loved to hear him declare that she was his own; but to see the two declarations from him in writing, made her heart flutter slightly.

“Oh, that wonderful man,” she murmured to herself.

Her fingers traced the intricate pattern on the card and the Doctor’s writing for a moment, before turning her attention to the pink envelope still on the table. Inside she pulled out a small bundle of papers. Looking through them she found two first class zeppelin tickets from London to Fairbanks, Alaska and an information packet regarding their accommodations at a private cabin they would evidently be staying in.

“So, what’d’ya think?” the Doctor asked suddenly, making Rose look up quickly. “Would you like to go on an adventure with me?” he asked.

She studied him a moment as he leaned against the wall looking completely at ease, but she could see the worried gleam in his eye, the fear that she might refuse him. As though she would ever refuse the Doctor! Especially when he had obviously put so much time and effort into a gesture that was so romantic and thoughtful. She felt her love for this man swell to the point she thought she might burst.

Rose put the papers she was still holding down and walked over to him quickly. He pushed off from the wall as she moved toward him, his arms encircling her waist as her arms looped around his neck. She surprised him by suddenly pulling his head down as she raised herself up, her lips meeting his in a hard kiss; it quickly turned into a long and passionate kiss that left them both dizzy with the intensity of it.

Rose finally before pulled back with a soft popping noise and looked at her Doctor. She was satisfied to see a dazed look to his eyes and wanted to giggle at the way he had to clear his throat before speaking.

“Should I take that as a yes, then?” he asked in a gruff whisper.

“’S a definite yes,” she said with an amused smile, before adding, “It was also a thank you.”

He tilted his head and asked, “What for?”

“For making my exceptionally bad day so much better. And for making me feel special and loved,” she said, running her hand through the hair at the back of his neck.

He held her a little closer and said, “I’m sorry you had a bad day, but I’m glad that I could help make it better.”

He kissed her softly once more then peppered her face with kisses as he whispered, “You are special, and brilliant, and beautiful, and I love you, Rose Tyler.” By the time he was finished pressing light kisses to her face, she was giggling with happiness.

“I love you too, my Doctor,” she whispered back, capturing his lips with hers again.

The Doctor offered to fix her a cuppa while she got comfortable, to which she readily agreed. When she had changed into more comfortable clothing, they settled together on the couch and he explained a bit more of his plans to her.

“We leave for Alaska in three days. I’ve already cleared your schedule with Pete, who also promised he would not let Jackie or Torchwood disturb us for the week and a half we are on vacation,” he said, then paused a moment before continuing, “I know our first Valentine’s Day in this universe was not really good and that was my fault. I wanted to make it up to you this year.”

Rose’s traitorous mind went back to their first Valentine’s Day in Pete’s World.

It had only been a few weeks since the day she had found her Doctor, since they had fought and saved the whole of reality, and since she and the metacrisis Doctor had been left behind in Pete’s World. The first couple of weeks were the most difficult, while they were getting used to being together again.

Rose felt like they were both walking on thin ice when they were around each other, but she tried her best to be understanding and patient. After all, the Doctor was adjusting to a new, part-human body, with ever-so-slightly different emotions and patterns of thinking, and a whole host of new human hormones. His TARDIS was gone—at least until the new one was grown—and with it his ability to travel through time and space, forcing him to live life on the slow path. And all of this in a completely different universe.

She had gone through some very similar things when she had been trapped in Pete’s World, but she at least had several years to adjust.

However, her breaking point arrived on Valentine’s Day. She spent a good portion of the day cooking him a special dinner and his favorite desert, banana cream pie.

When he asked what the special occasion was, in regards to the special dinner, she stared at him for several long moments not knowing what to say. The longer she stayed quiet, the more worried he became, realizing he had blundered, but unsure what he had done wrong.

“’S...’S Valentine’s Day,” she said in a hesitant whisper. She’d thought the holiday was important to them, since they had celebrated it for the first time shortly before she was trapped in Pete’s World.

He sheepishly admitted that he had forgotten the holiday, in all the confusion of getting used to a new universe and new body.

Almost immediately she dissolved into tears, no longer able to hold in her very real fears of being left behind and feeling very unwanted.

The Doctor silently cursed himself and called himself every type of fool as he apologized profusely. He held her and reassured her repeatedly that he loved her very much, did want her and always would, and that he would never leave her and never abandon her. It took some time, but she finally quieted and they enjoyed the meal she had prepared.

However, this situation was the catalyst for them having a much needed conversation. They both laid their fears and expectations down and were completely open and honest—this was something the Doctor had never been very good at or willing to do, but after seeing Rose so distraught and utterly crushed by his thoughtlessness, he was willing to do anything to make her understand how much he needed her and loved her.

After their talk, they both felt like they were finally able to take their first steps toward feeling normal with each other again.

Rose pushed the memories aside and snuggled deeper into the Doctor’s side and sipped her tea.

“You’ve already made it up to me, just by remembering,” she assured him, “and I don’t know that I’ve ever seen such gorgeous flowers. It’s all wonderful. Thank you, Doctor.”

The Doctor bent his head down and kissed her softly, then she laid her head on his chest with a contented sigh.

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

Five days later Rose and the Doctor walked into their cabin and Rose instantly fell in love with the rustic but elegant design. It looked like a plain log cabin from the outside, but the inside was charming, cozy, and had multiple windows which nicely illuminated the dark wood furnishings and light wood walls and floors. A white plush sofa situated in front of the fireplace looked very inviting and Rose imagined that she would enjoy curling up against the Doctor in front of a roaring fire at night.

She also admired the white down bedding on the King size mattress. Before she could allow her mind to wander too far into what she envisioned the two of them doing on that bed, she walked over to the Doctor and wound her arms around his waist and placed her cheek against his chest, enjoying the steady rhythm of his single heartbeat. It had taken her a while to get used to hearing it rather the staccato of the double heartbeat, but the sound was now familiar and comforting.

“Thank you for this, Doctor. ’S lovely,” she said as she drew back to look at his smiling face. Evidently he was very pleased with himself over his plans coming together and her enjoyment of them.

“I’m glad you think so. This was a place that I had always wanted to take you and you’ll see why by the end of our trip,” he said as he waggled his eyebrows.

“You think you’re so impressive,” she said, with a teasing smile.

“Oi! I am so impressive!” he retorted, his voice squeaking slightly as he faked offense.

Her smile turned coy and she added a seductive lilt to her voice, “Are you planning to impress me with your moves, Doctor?”

“If my memory serves me correctly, Rose Tyler, I’ve impressed you quite a few times with my moves. ’Course, I wouldn’t want to boast,” he said as his hands lowered to her hips and pulled her closer. A shiver ran through her as a warm sensation spiraled through her.

She couldn’t help but remember a conversation they’d had long ago that was very similar to this, and she smiled in fond remembrance of her first Doctor, almost hearing his Northern accent as they flirted.

“Yes, Doctor, I must admit you are quite impressive,” she said, giving him the tongue-touched smile he could rarely resist, just before he captured her lips with his own.

She sighed in pleasure as he deepened the kiss. Rose didn’t think she would ever tire of the tingling and slightly dizzying sensation that always swept through her when her Doctor kissed her.

Several moments later they parted to breathe and the Doctor reluctantly stepped away, but took her hand within his and linked their fingers.

“Come on. Let the adventure begin!” he said, his voice gruff from their passionate kiss, but his smile was huge as he exclaimed, “Allons-y!”

The rest of the day was spent visiting the Alaskan History Museum and the House Art Gallery. Rose enjoyed hearing the Doctor’s lectures on the artifacts, the native people and their culture, the history of Fairbanks and of Alaska itself—and several other rambling commentaries he got off on.

Twice Rose had to fight back a smile as she stopped the Doctor from correcting a tour guide on certain points of history, quietly reminding him that they were in an alternate universe and that it probably happened differently here than in the main universe.

The warmth of the buildings was a welcome relief from the bitter February temperatures outside. She took advantage of every opportunity to hold the Doctor’s hand and loved the few times he draped his arm over her shoulders.

After they enjoyed their dinner reservations, they sat together cuddled in front of the fire enjoying a cuppa. Rose had made certain to pack tea for this trip, since she knew this was one comfort she didn’t want to be without for a week and a half. She and the Doctor watched the fire dance across the wood in the stone fireplace, enjoying its warmth and each other’s company.

It wasn’t long before Rose felt herself start to drift between reality and a dream world; the combination of leaving all the worries of her job behind, the long zeppelin ride, the busyness of the day exploring, was all working together to lull her to sleep. The comforting and relaxing sound of the Doctor’s heartbeat was also helping sleep’s grip on her.

She thought she was dreaming when she felt the Doctor lifting her into his arms and carrying her, but when she felt the cool, velvety softness of the sheets, she realized she must have dozed off and he had carried her to bed.

She murmured a sleepy thank you to him and hummed in pleasure when she felt him spoon against her, and press a kiss to her neck as he wrapped an arm around her waist. She slipped into a peaceful sleep soon after, dreaming of hearing the Doctor tell her he loved her and calling her his lovely Golden Rose.

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

For the rest of their week and a half long vacation, their days were filled with sightseeing and their evenings were spent relaxing together in the comfort of each other’s arms in front of the fireplace. Not wanting to waste time with guided tours and buses, the Doctor rented a car to take them to the destinations he had planned.

He took Rose to the Wedgewood Wildlife Sanctuary and they had a grand time walking around the reserve, marveling at the beauty of the land and animals in their natural habitat. Rose was amazed by the number of bird species they saw at the Migratory Waterfowl Refuge. (She was a only slightly surprised when he pointed out a couple of species which were actually native to the Pestrilia and Mecacarro Galaxies, having found the atmosphere of Earth more conducive to their breeding and hatching needs.)

They went to the Reindeer Ranch and Rose doubled over laughing when one of the bulls got offended by something the Doctor said—of course, this was after he had boasted about being able to speak a multitude of languages, one of them being reindeer. It wasn’t long before they realized they would have to make a run for it or risk being gored by giant antlers or trampled by hooves. Rose was unsurprised, but happy nonetheless, that even on holiday they wound up hand-in-hand, running for their lives.

They both enjoyed the thrill of being pulled by a team of Alaskan huskies and also enjoyed racing each other down a ski slope. One of Rose’s favorite times was enjoying a long soak in the hot springs, but even more so when the Doctor joined her and massaged her back and shoulders.

When Valentine’s Day was only a day away, the Doctor told Rose to dress warmly and they took a drove for a good clip into an unpopulated mountainous area. Upon arriving at the Doctor’s secret location, he collected a picnic basket full of food and a couple of thick blankets from the boot.

“I’ve purposefully saved the best part of the vacation for last,” he said mysteriously as he walked with her to a clearing that was surrounded by tall mountains. He told her that for his surprise to work, it was best if they were well away from light pollution.

The Doctor and Rose spread out their blanket just as the sun dipped below the horizon. They sat close together as they ate a spread of various meats, cheeses, crackers, fruit, and their favorite red wine.

After packing up their meal, they lie on their backs and draped the other blanket over themselves. With the sun gone the temperature had dropped, so Rose snuggled close to her Doctor for extra warmth as they gazed at the night sky.

She realized how right the Doctor had been about light pollution, since the sky was filled to bursting with stars. There were so many, she had trouble finding a darkened space where there weren’t any.

The Doctor pointed to several places he wanted to take Rose as soon as the TARDIS was fully grown. Some of the destinations were places they had been to in the main universe, but others were places he had wanted to take her and that he planned to do so in the near future.

Rose was slightly startled a few minutes later when she suddenly saw a streak of green shoot across the sky. They both watched in silent awe as one color after another danced across the starlit sky. She had seen the Northern lights a couple of times in her life, but as the Doctor had mentioned earlier, lights of the city dulled the experience of it.

She loved when the Doctor rambles on with lectures about how things work and loves to listen to his voice, so she quietly asks him about the Aurora Borealis. He obliges and tells her about the differences between the northern and southern Borealis’, how the gases in the atmosphere trigger the process. He then tells her about other planets with similar natural phenomenas, while some don’t have the proper atmosphere, but enjoy the Aurora Borealis so much that they simulate their own light shows.

Listening to her Doctor talk while lying beneath the vast expanse of the sky, while brilliant neon red, green, purple, and yellow lights blazed across the sky, Rose knew that this was an experience she would never forget.

She looked over at the Doctor and found him studying her face in the shifting light, his face declaring his adoration and love for his pink and yellow human, his Golden Rose. Just when she was about to lean forward and kiss him, he suddenly lept to his feet in a gracefully swift move, and held a hand out for her.

“Come on,” he said softly, holding out his hand to her, “dance with me. It’s not every day you get to do so beneath the light of the Aurora Borealis.” She smiled at him and was unable to refuse such a charming and romantic gesture.

Though there was no music, they moved together in a slow waltz as the Doctor serenaded her with “Love Me Tender,” “Can’t Help Falling In Love With You,” and other romantic Elvis Presley songs. Rose could feel herself falling even more in love with her Doctor with every passing moment.

As their waltz slowed to a gentle swaying rhythm, she laid her head down on his chest and felt his voice vibrate through her as he held her close and sang to her.

Later when they stopped moving, pausing to look up at the sky, they saw that the colors were still dancing across the stars.

“Midnight,” the Doctor murmured suddenly, causing her to look at him questioningly. He looked down at her and said, “It’s midnight, meaning it’s now officially Valentine’s Day.”

He lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Rose Tyler.” She shivered as he said her name, the way he seemed to caress it as it left his mouth.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, my Doctor,” she whispered back to him, tilting her head up to accept his kiss.

In that moment, she was happier than she had ever been in her life. She put all the happiness and love she felt for him into their kiss.

Rose Tyler knew that she would never forget this experience with her Doctor and that it would be a memory that she would treasure forever.

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

Notes: Written for @doctorrosepromtps on Tumblr. Prompt: Valentine’s Day

Also written for Unseen-Writers’ Theme of the Week: Aurora Borealis on Deviant Art

Research references for Aurora Borealis and Fairbanks, Alaska:

thriftynomads.com/best-places-see-northern-lights/

thriftynomads.com/best-places-see-northern-lights/#The_best_places_to_see_the_Northern_Lights

and

tripadvisor.com/Attractions-g60826-Activities-Fairbanks_Alaska.html

#doctorroseprompts #doctor who #metacrisis doctor #rose tyler #aurora borealis #happy valentines day #valentines day #fluff

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imagineclaireandjamie · 6 years

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I find myself once again asking for another chapter of As Yet Unread. It really is a compelling read. I am fascinated by it. And in advance of my request...a simple please and thank you for your consideration and regard.

Here you go, lovely one. I hope this makes up for the wait

Claire placed both of her feet flat on the floor as she pushed herself up from the bed. It had only been twenty-four hours since she’d had the cast taken off and she was still struggling, hobbling around the flat as if the plaster still held her hostage. Though it wasn’t the slight muscle damage that caused it, it was more akin to a phantom injury that halted her recovery.

Dr Gowan had made her promise that she’d leave the house and not keep herself hidden away. She’d agreed to it yesterday and Jamie had offered to give her some lessons in wood masonry if she felt able later down the line. Claire didn’t like breaking her promise to Ned, and even though it had only been a day she itched to break free. Though something stopped her from accepting Jamie’s offer straight off the bat. The same invisible force that made the back of her leg ache with increased furor the more she thought about moving on it.

As if on cue, the phone rang. Jamie had been calling everyday from his van and even now, in the wake of her cast removal, it seemed he would continue to do the same. Claire liked it best when it was raining and she could hear the pitter patter of water droplets on the roof of his van as he spoke to her. There was something very soothing about it. That and the soft tenor of Jamie’s voice - it kept her sane.

“Hi Jamie.” She said, the fingers of her free and tapping against the side of the metal bed as she waited for him to speak down the phone.

“Hello sassenach,” he replied, a happy lilt to his voice as he audibly sipped tea on the other end of the phone, “I just thought I’d call to see how ye were holding up today, first day of freedom and all!”

He sounded chirpy and the happiness in his tone made her smile as she cradled the phone closer to her cheek. Jamie had finally managed to unlock his old phone, add a new sim card and update Claire’s details onto it so that she had her own access to him, Murtagh, Suzette and his family should she need it. It also had wifi access which meant that she could sit and watch online videos from bed if she wasn’t feeling up to moving far though Jamie was wary about giving her a television in there with Netflix on in case she never came out again.

“Are you on your lunch already?” She asked as he began chewing on something that was potentially the sandwiches she’d made him the night before. “It’s only eleven AM, Jamie!” She said faux-offended by his choice of meal time.

“Nah,” he mumbled around his food, “just having a wee break wi’ a biscuit before we get back to the hardcore stuff.”

“A heavy lifting day, huh?”

“Ach, always, Claire. Only Murtagh is a grumpy arse because I didna bring the nice biscuits, you ken the ones…wi’ the chocolate on?”

“Which did you take then?” She asked, perplexed.

“The plain digestives.” He said sounding fairly ashamed of his decision.

She could hear Murtagh muttering in the background and it made her laugh. “Sounds like you might not be so daft in the future, Jamie. You have to keep your uncle happy else he might just up and leave you for a better offer.” She quipped as she tapped her bare toes on the carpet, experimenting with the feel of the soft material beneath her feet.

“Aye, he’s already putting together a tribunal. He thinks this is poor working conditions or something similar. He says ye’d agree wi’ him.” He laughed, the echo of it making the tension seep from her bones as she stood confidently and took a couple of steps towards the door.

“I would! It’s downright disgraceful, James Fraser. You’d better get your house in order.”

“Och, aye, I should. And wi’ that I’d better get back to misery guts and get the wood cut fer the next half of the room. Get yerself some lunch, sassenach and dinna forget where we are if ye need anything else.”

“Will you be late tonight?” She asked cautiously, her hand hovering over the bedroom door handle.

“Probably, lass. The more we get done today while we have the light, the earlier we can move onto the next room. If we finish early there’s a bonus in it for us, aye? A nice one.”

“So I shouldn’t make something for dinner then?”

“Dinner? Ah. What would ye make?” He questioned, intrigued. Whilst Claire had her cast on she’d been pretty much bed and settee-bound; and although she had helped out as much as she was able the most she’d done in the kitchen was make a couple of rounds of toast. Mostly, Jamie had just carried on as normal, making his own brand of sustenance. While he knew she probably had far superior skills in food preparation, he hadn’t ever assumed she might cook for him once she was more mobile.

“Well, you have enough for me to make us spaghetti bolognaise. Or I could do a shepherds pie. You have some nice mince in and some sauce. I’d just need some basic herbs to add and some tomatoes.”

“I can drop into Tesco on the way home. Ye just tell me what else ye need and I’ll bring it for you.”

“Oh! I found tomatoes,” Claire exclaimed. Having found herself in the kitchen she had begun to root around looking for the key ingredients that she needed, “I could marinate the mince, once it’s soaked up the flavours of the tomato it’ll make a much nicer sauce. Then we can have bolognaise. Do you just fancy grabbing a baguette and some garlic cloves. I’ll make some homemade garlic bread to go with it?”

Thrilled by the prospect of being useful once more, Claire began to put everything she needed on the side whilst Jamie chuckled and replied. “Aye, I can do that. Just text me else I’ll forget all of that by the time I’m finished here.”

“Alright! Excellent. See you later, Jamie. Have a good rest of your day.”

Claire waited for him to reply and ring off before she got to work preparing the base sauce she needed and when she was done she placed the pre-cooked mince in her own tomato base sauce and folded it all together. Beneath the sink she had also found a dusty old slowcooker buried behind some other oddments that had Jenny Fraser Murray’s name written all over them. None of them had been used and Claire thought it pivotal that she christen at least a few of the items she’d recently unearthed.

With the timer set, Claire rinsed the dirty pots and placed them carefully in the dishwasher.

Looking at the clock she noticed that it was barely past one as she perched on the ‘L’ shaped corner sofa. She was restless. Her fingers itching to keep working but the house was basically spotless. Jamie hired a cleaner to come in once a week and it meant that Claire had nothing to keep her occupied.

Closing her eyes she measured the steady beat of her heart as the sun rose high enough in the sky to shine in through the large lounge window. It warmed her face and she basked in it for a moment before setting her mind to the task ahead.

She had promised a number of people that she wouldn’t allow herself to build another prison in Jamie’s flat, and although it had barely been a day since those hard conversations Claire felt ready to battle her demons. She needed a few various ingredients from the shops and she didn’t want Jamie to have to go out of his way after a long day at work just to pick up bread and garlic.

She put her shoes on quickly, tying the laces tight and grabbing her coat as she quickly limped towards the front door, keys in hand and shopping bags neatly stashed in her pocket. Forgoing the lift, Claire opted for the stairs although she still felt a little shaky but the more she waited around the more likely it was that she’d chicken out and go scuttling back into the flat with her tail between her legs.

The moment the fresh air hit her face Claire felt soothed. It was clean, cool but refreshing as she took her first solo steps into the world. It was hard for her to believe that, though she’d left the flat to meet Susie with Fergus in those early days, for the rest of her time she’d been hiding herself away like a porcelain doll. Taking her first slow steps she made sure to keep the building in sight should she need it but before long she was content and settled in her decision.

Ned had told her to explore and Jamie had encouraged it. Claire wasn’t a coward and she knew it was the right time to gather her courage.

The walk to Tesco wasn’t a bad one. She had researched the route thoroughly enough that she knew where the large supermarket was in relation to the apartment. Having forgotten her Glasgow metro pass, she had been forced to walk the whole way and it was only when she stepped closer to the illuminated blue entrance to the supermarket did she realise that she’d left her phone there too.

“Oh…” she sighed under her breath, placing her hand on her pocket where the small visa card Jamie had given her lay. She still had the keys and her shopping bags, but no cash, no metro card and no phone to contact Jamie if she needed it. Suddenly her brave act seemed foolhardy and daft.

Tesco hummed with life, the car park was filled with large 4X4 cars, sedans and hatchbacks, and the crush outside the store made Claire feel small and insignificant. Even the sliding doors seemed to tease her as she took one nervous step backwards. Pulling her coat around her neck, she jiggled her still healing leg as she internally bantered with herself on what to do next.

“Miss?” A man in the recognisable uniform said, reaching out his hand as if to snap her out of her agitated stupor. “Are ye alright? Can I help you?”

“I’m f-fine, thank you.” she stammered sounding far from alright. Waving her hands, she took one step to the side, bringing herself free from the confused gaze of the guy who’d interrupted her mid panic attack.

Taking one further step backwards, Claire tried to smile but the forced lift of her mouth obviously made her look even more afraid as he scrunched his brow in confusion and opened his mouth as if to speak again.

“Sorry.” Claire managed to blurt out as she turned on her heel and hobbled off. Her head was fuzzy, the haze of the fright she’d given herself clouding her judgement as she headed in an unfamiliar direction. The heat of the sun had dissipated from the air leaving her chilly. She didn’t have a watch and there was nothing around her to signify the time and as she rounded another unknown street she began to fret. The moisture that gathered in her eyes misted her vision and the cars that were flying passed her wafted her hair around her face so that she couldn’t reorient herself.

Dragging in more and more ragged breaths, Claire tried to slow her heart rate as she quickened her pace. Her leg ached, the increased movement causing the scars that ran down it to itch madly beneath her trousers.

A few pedestrians loitered, watching her carefully as she walked by them, her chin wobbling as she tried to contain the tears she desperately wanted to shed - but nobody approached her for which she was grateful. Even if she could talk to any of them, she didn’t know the exact address she needed - not now with her brain struggling to make head nor tail of her location - and she didn’t know either Jamie or Murtagh’s phone number.

It wasn’t until the clouds started to darken that she let the hopelessness seep into her skin, the damp, fragile grasp on her sanity shattering as the soft splashes of rain fell onto her thin raincoat. Sunset was coming and she had no clue how to find her way home or how to contact Jamie. Her teeth chattered noisily, her jaw throbbing as she tried to curtail her sobs.

With blurred vision, a sore chest and shaking shoulders, Claire limped to the nearest bench and collapsed onto the sodden wood, her trousers soaking up the moisture from the moist beams as she curled herself up into a small ball in order to keep warm.

“Foolish.” She mumbled, the hair covering her face as she buried her nose against her knees and took a few long, deep breaths.

She was so exhausted that she almost didn’t hear the call of her own name through the fog, but the distinct French accent pulled her from her temporary bubble and she wiped her eyes as she looked up to see Suzette with Fergus clutched against her chest rushing steadily towards her.

“Claire!” She repeated, this time with more relief in her tone. “Jamie is beside himself. Where have you been?”

“To Tesco.” She answered lamely, her voice cracking as she peeled her legs away from her chest and sat up straight.

“It’s alright, love,” Suzette said, turning to look at Claire’s tear streaked face as she spoke down the phone, “she’s here, in the park around the corner from ours - I forget its name.” During the pause in her talking, Susie leaned into Claire, letting her shoulder connect for a moment in a quiet show of solidarity. “Yes. Of course,” she continued, pausing a couple more times to let whoever she was talking to (probably Murtagh, Claire thought) speak too, “we’ll wait here. Fergus is fine. He’s settled. Don’t worry. Love you too.”

“I take it you never made it into the store.” Suzette began once she’d hung up the phone. “Since you still have your shopping bags but nothing inside them.” The way she spoke made Claire feel less daft. Susie was friendly and motherly whilst never being condescending or callous. She truly cared and was making a concerted effort calm Claire’s frayed nerves as they waited.

“No.” Claire sighed loudly. “I couldn’t. Silly really.”

“Not at all, Claire. It’s loud and busy in there. I hate it. Fergus certainly doesn’t care for it. I think the bright neon lights hurt his eyes too.”

“Is Jamie mad?” Claire asked, feeling more than a little ridiculous for leaving the flat without her phone.

“Mad with worry perhaps,” Susie said kindly, “but not angry, no.”

“I came out without my phone,” Claire sighed, “and once I’d reached the shop I felt this crushing sense of failure when I couldn’t just…go in!” She cursed through clenched teeth. “Then I panicked. I couldn’t remember the way home and I had no way to contact anyone. I just didn’t want Jamie to have to run around after me when he’d been at work all day long. I was trying not to be a nuisance and then…” she trailed off sounding incredibly disappointed with herself.

“Yer no’ a nuisance, Claire…” The sound of Jamie’s voice broke through the dim grey of the evening as night truly set in. “And ye never will be.”

Claire’s heart stopped for one moment as she felt him hovering over her and her head tipped to the side as she breathing in one large breath and turned to face him. “Apart from the times when I disappear without leaving a note.” She joked, a large lump forming in her throat as she saw the worry colouring Jamie’s face. He was pale, whiter than she’d ever seen him and she instantly felt bad for making light of the situation.

“Aye, weel,” he said, the stress of the evening showing on his face more clearly now as he held out his hand to help her stand, “Murtagh is waiting and I should probably get ye home.”

Claire kept quiet on the drive home. Murtagh and Suzette bantered about an upcoming trip they had planned and Jamie sat stoically next to Claire, his hand holding gently onto hers as if he were afraid she wouldn’t make it home if he let her go. The warmth of his skin soothed her and she closed her eyes and relaxed against the window, watching the world pass by through the fog her breath created against the glass. Glasgow came and went, the obscured view making it look blurred as the car slowed when it reached Jamie’s flat.

“I thought he’d taken you…” Jamie whispered as they entered his home, the heat of the apartment hitting them both as they stopped dead in the entrance to the lounge, “I didna ken how, but I when I came home to find ye gone wi’ yer phone left here, I thought he’d come back and taken ye.”

“I’m so s-sorry, Jamie,” Claire sobbed, breaking down as the full brunt force of his shaky words hit her solidly in the chest, “I th-thought…”

“Hush, sassenach,” Jamie soothed, instantly taking her against his chest as he rocked her to and fro, one hand resting softly against her smooth curls and one on her lower back, “ye dinna need to be sorry, please. I ken how much ye’ve been through and I dinna want you to think yer stuck here, or that ye have to leave. You just have to do things in yer own time, aye? Dinna rush to do one or the other…”

He paused for just one moment as the timer on the slow cooker beeped quietly in the kitchen.

“…just take yer phone wi’ ye next time, so I dinna have a heart attack when I come home to find you missing.”

#;Mod MBD #As Yet Unread #jamie x claire

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