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ayybtch · 3 years

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Snickerdoodles

Wanda Maximoff x f!Reader, Baker!AU + Friends to Lovers

Chapter 2 of Made With Love

Word Count: 3,198

Chapter Warnings: so sweet it’ll give you a cavity, some not so subtle wlw yearning from the reader, and a brief little moment of angst that will make you want to hug Wanda

A/N: A special thank you to @thefallenbibliophilequote for giving this a beta read for me! Dividers made by @firefly-graphics

You were sitting at home watching TV when your phone lit up with a text notification from Wanda. You smiled and leaned over to grab your phone.

Bucky is asking about chocolate chip cookies again. He’s driving me nuts!

You chuckled at the message as you typed out a reply, I’m not sure if I should be flattered or annoyed for your sake at how persistent he is. Though, we should probably take it as a sign you’re due for another baking lesson. How do snickerdoodles sound?

Wanda agreed almost immediately and the two of you worked out a time for later that week.

Mindlessly, you scrolled back up and started rereading some of your old conversations. It had been just over two weeks since Wanda had found her way into the bakery and made her disastrous batch of chocolate chip cookies. She had texted you not long after she left the bakery that night and the two of you had texted sporadically since. Her texts had started off very polite, if not outright formal.

Hi. It’s Wanda. I know I sound like a broken record, but I really do appreciate what you did today.

That had been her first message. Since then, the messages gradually became more casual. Most recently she had sent you a video Sam had recorded of Bucky begging her to make cookies on their flight home from a mission with nothing more than a series of eye-roll emojis.

It was strange having a superhero take time out of her day to text you. Though, you couldn't deny the fact that each time she did, it left you grinning like an idiot. It’s not that you think poorly of yourself or that you thought you weren’t worthy of being friends with someone like her; it had far more to do with how unexpected it was. In fact, the whole process of meeting her was unexpected. How many other people alive were lucky enough to say that an Avenger casually walked into their kitchen asking to bake cookies?

And how many people could say they had anyone, let alone an Avenger, smile at them the way Wanda smiled at you?

You groaned at your own stupidity and forced yourself to put your phone down. That was enough ridiculousness for the day. You didn’t need to feed into this silly little crush you were developing. Wanda was your friend, nothing more.

It was three days later when Wanda finally walked back into the bakery. She stepped inside right as you finished tying your apron around your waist. You greeted her with a bright smile, which she returned in kind.

“Hey, how has your day been?” you asked.

She shrugged, “It’s been a day but something tells me it’s about to get better.”

You tried not to show how flustered her words made you and rushed over to the sink to wash your hands. Wanda stood next to you and waited patiently for her turn. While she was washing her hands, you started speaking.

“Okay so, snickerdoodles are the best cookies in existence and are stupid easy to make. Most of the process is similar to what we did for chocolate chip cookies, but there are a few differences. Why don’t we start off with having you refamiliarize yourself with where everything is in here?” You hand her the recipe you had written out for her, “Here you go. Grab everything you can find.”

Wanda read through the list carefully and was soon rummaging through the cabinets. She set each ingredient on the counter next to you as she found it until it looked like she had most of her items, but she kept pausing to reread the list. Her eyebrows were furrowed together as she turned to look back into the fridge, only to come back to the counter empty-handed.

Her expression was a mixture of confusion and determination at the same time as her eyes focused on the ingredient list. It shouldn’t have been as cute as it was, but you couldn’t help but stare at the woman in front of you. It was almost shocking how green they were. Even when sad, her eyes were filled with warmth and kindness. Her mouth twisted slightly and drew your attention downwards. Were they naturally that pink? Or had she lucked out and found the most perfect shade of pink lipstick? They looked so soft and plump too, perfect lips for kissing...

You snapped back into focus as she said your name. “I’m sorry what was that? My mind drifted.”

She smiled and repeated herself. “The only things I’m missing are Crisco and cream of tartar. I looked in the fridge for the cream of tartar, but I didn’t see it and I have no idea where to begin with Crisco.”

You nodded as you walked towards one of the cabinets, opening it up as you began to speak. “I like your reasoning behind the cream of tartar, but unfortunately its name is a bit misleading. It’s a powder so it’s in the same cabinet as the cinnamon and sugar. The Crisco is up here too.”

You grabbed both items and set them next to the rest of the ingredients. Wanda picked up the can of Crisco and looked at it curiously.

“What is vegetable shortening?” she asked. She opened up the can and stared at the white solid inside. “It almost looks like butter, but it’s also so white it almost looks like plastic?” The confusion on her face perfectly matched the confusion that seeped into her voice.

You nodded along as she spoke, “It’s kind of like butter, which you can also use for this recipe if you wanted to. I think they turn out better when you make them with Crisco personally so I’ll only use butter if I’m in a pinch.

“Okay, so now we’re going to measure out two cups of Crisco into the mixer and start creaming it. From there we’ll gradually start adding in the sugar, cream of tartar, salt, and baking soda.”

Wanda nodded and got to work. As she scooped out the Crisco and smushed it into the measuring cup, she made a face that had you grinning.

“What’s with the look?”

She made it again as she continued working. “Don’t laugh at me, but it feels funny. I know it’s not that different from butter, but I usually don’t have to touch butter this much to figure out the amount! It’s gross.”

You didn’t laugh but continued to grin for the entire time she measured out the Crisco. A sigh of relief left her as she finally finished with the Crisco and got to wash her hands.

“These better be the best cookies on the planet after making me touch that,” she said, giving you a teasing look.

A sheepish smile spread across your face as she spoke. “I hate to tell you this...but you’re going to end up touching the cookie dough again. Like, you are going to be touching it a lot.” You cut off her groan and continued to the next step in the recipe, “Now we’re going to add the eggs and milk.”

She nodded and began measuring out how much milk she needed. Once that was done, the eggs were added in and she turned the mixer back on. She waited a few minutes before turning the mixer back off. “Time for the flour now, yes?” she asked, turning to face you. You nodded and she began measuring it out.

After the last of the flour was added, she reached for the switch on the mixer.

Before you even thought to remind her to start slow, the mixer was going full speed and flour was flying everywhere. Wanda rushed to turn it off but by the time she did, she was covered head to toe in a dusting of flour.

She stared over at you with wide eyes for a moment before bursting out laughing.

You had heard her laugh before, but never like this. This was full-bellied, tears running down her face laughter. It was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. Hell, you were willing to bet it was the most beautiful sound you’d ever be fortunate enough to hear. Soon you were laughing along with her.

Each time the laughter started to die, Wanda looked down at her clothing and burst out laughing all over again. It took almost five minutes for the two of you to calm down enough to even start to think about getting back to the cookies.

“Well, I guess I’m doing laundry after this.” She shook her head rapidly and more flour came floating down off her hair, making her giggle. “And I think a shower might also be in order.”

You started laughing again at her words. “We’ll have to get you an apron to help protect your clothes. Though, if you keep turning a mixer on to full speed like that it still won’t do you much good,” you teased.

Wanda stuck out her tongue in response before slowly starting the mixer back up. She stared into the bowl as the flour began to mix in with the rest of the ingredients and her face twisted.

“How do we know that there’s enough flour still in there with how much just flew out?”

You just shrugged, “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. If it’s too sticky when we start trying to form the balls we’ll add in some more.”

The dough mixed for another couple of minutes before Wanda turned it off. You leaned over and pinched off a tiny piece of the dough and rolled it around in your hands before popping it into your mouth.

A satisfied hum left your mouth and you nodded enthusiastically. “It’s perfect,” you said. “No need for anything extra.” You reached into a drawer and grabbed two spoons before handing one to Wanda.

“So what we’re going to do now is roll them into small little balls about an inch in size. Once they’re as round as we can get them, we’re going to roll them around in the cinnamon and sugar.” You gestured towards the two bowls in front of you. “Any questions?”

Wanda shook her head no and the two of you got to work.

It didn’t take long for Wanda to get the hang of making the individual rolls and coating them evenly in the cinnamon and sugar mixture. A comfortable silence fell over you as the first batch was placed on the baking trays.

“So, what made you want to become a baker?”

You smiled as you answered, “My parents both cooked a lot when I was growing up so being in the kitchen is like second nature to me. My dad and I spent a lot of time baking together around the holidays and as I got older, I was put in charge of making whatever treats we wanted. By the time I graduated high school, I couldn’t see myself doing anything else.” Wanda nodded along as you spoke. “What about you? What did you want to be before you became a superhero?”

“Definitely not a baker,” she teased, a grin spreading across her face. You chuckled and she continued. “I wanted to be a lot of different things, but one of the most consistent things was being an actress. I always thought it would be fun to star in a cheesy sitcom.”

You grinned at the thought. “You’d make a great sitcom character! Though it would be such a waste of great material if your character could bake. Between the salt last time and the flour just a minute ago, you’ve naturally got some great material right here.”

“If you don’t stop that, I will throw this cookie dough at you,” she groaned. You wiggled your eyebrows at her words.

“You know, that has to be one of the least threatening things someone has ever said to me,” you teased.

She groaned again and changed topics. “So how did you end up working here? It’s not exactly your average place to start looking for a baking job.”

You laughed and nodded along. She had a point, this was a very strange place to work in general but especially for someone who bakes for a living. “Technically, I don’t actually work for SHIELD. I’m just on loan from Stark Industries. ” She looked over at you curiously so you continued.

“I catered an event once that Tony went to, back in his pre-Iron Man days. He offered me a stupid amount of money to come work for him so I did. Right around the time he started working closely with SHIELD, I had some...creative differences with one of the other bakers he had employed so I was able to transfer over here.”

Wanda had all but stopped working as you spoke. “What do you mean by ‘creative differences’? How do bakers have creative differences?”

“It’s more of a euphemism than anything. She was my ex. We broke up and it was just a little rocky working with her after that, you know? We were still professional and all, but there was enough underlying tension that I didn’t hesitate to apply when they told us about this position.”

She nodded and slowly started working again. A few moments of silence passed before she spoke again.

“Well, I’m sorry that things didn’t work out between you and her. Breakups are never easy.” Her voice was gentle and honest, which made you smile.

“Nah, don’t be sorry. People don’t work out sometimes and that’s okay.” You couldn’t help but laugh as you continued, “Besides, she thinks snickerdoodles taste better when you make them with butter. I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life.”

The two of you burst out laughing and the conversation resumed.

Almost an hour later, six dozen cookies were carefully being set into plastic baggies for Wanda to carry back to the Avengers quarters. Each batch had cooked up perfectly and you couldn’t help but melt at the proud look on Wanda’s face. With every batch that came out just as perfect as the last, her confidence grew until she was smiling so brightly she overpowered everything else in the room.

As she finished sealing the last bag, a satisfied hum left her and she turned to face you.

“Once again, I don’t even know where to begin thanking you. Not only for the cookies but for the time we spent together this afternoon. It’s not often that I meet people who treat me like a normal person.” Her voice was dripping with gratitude as she spoke and your face felt hot.

“Once again,” you teased, mirroring her words, “There is nothing to be thanking me for. I’m always happy to help when and where I can. But, we should probably at least try the cookies first before anything else.”

Wanda nodded enthusiastically and quickly pulled two cookies back out of the baggies. She handed you one before grabbing hers and taking her first bite.

She let out a satisfied hum as she chewed. “This is the best cookie I have ever tasted in my life,” she mumbled, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as she spoke. She paused abruptly and her eyes suddenly went wide. “Oh my god, I’m turning into Bucky!” she groaned, “I did not just moan over a cookie and talk with my mouth full. What is wrong with me?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Hey, if you’re going to moan and talk while you eat because of a cookie, this is the cookie to do it. I do think we’ll have to find something a little more challenging than cookies for you next time, though.”

Her eyes lit up in excitement. “What about bread? Could we do bread next?”

“Six successful batches of cookies and you think you’re ready for bread now, huh?” you teased.

Wanda took the teasing in stride and responded just as cheekily, “I don’t mean to brag or anything, but I do know how to make the most incredible snickerdoodles and chocolate chip cookies on the planet now. So you better watch out or I might just end up coming for your job.”

You grinned, “I’d like to see you try.”

The two of you continued to giggle at each other’s nonsense as Wanda washed her hands and began collecting the bags in her arms. “So, we’ll figure out something soon yeah?”

You nodded and moved to open the door for her as you spoke. “Definitely! It most likely won’t be bread though, I hate to break it to you.”

Wanda rolled her eyes dramatically, but the smile on her face showed she was anything but upset. The two of you said your goodbyes and she made her way out of the bakery.

As you crawled into bed that night, you couldn’t help but replay the conversations in your head. Talking with Wanda had been the most exciting social interaction you had in years. She was so genuinely interested in getting to know you and asked you so many questions about yourself, but was never shy about answering questions about herself in turn.

“So what’s it like being an Avenger?” you asked, unable to hold back your curiosity any longer.

She paused and shrugged, “Honestly, it’s really not as great as some people make it out to be. I know that I should be grateful for the opportunity to make a difference and for having the ability to keep people safe, but more often than not the bad outweighs the good.” She paused for a moment before continuing, “You don’t always get the bad guys and so many people still accuse me of being one of them. There are always so many cameras pointed at me. Sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe.”

You nodded, sympathy rising in your chest. “I can’t imagine what that’s like. I know my opinion probably doesn’t count for much, but I don’t think you’re a bad guy; I don’t think you ever really were.”

Her smile was blinding as she replied, “Your opinion means everything.”

That had been one of the more serious moments, though the majority of it had been filled with laughter. At one point, she had started trying to teach you some basic words in Sokovian. You stumbled over the words repeatedly, but she continued to be nothing but patient and supportive. The buzzing of your phone drew your thoughts away from Wanda momentarily, only to see a text from her.

I keep thinking about what you said earlier today. I think you’re right.

You stared at the message with confusion as you hastily typed out a response, I am right, but remind me what I’m right about?

Three dots appeared on the screen then disappeared. A minute later, a message appeared.

They’re better with Crisco. I haven’t tried them with butter but I don’t need to. You’re also right in that you don’t need the “butter Snickerdoodles are better” negativity in your life. You deserve nothing but the best.

#wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #Wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff fanfiction #Made With Love Masterlist

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amerrierworld · 3 years

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It Changes

for the request: pre-canon dom!Carol and Abby

Summary: Carol invites Abby to spend the night while Harge is away on a business trip.

Characters: flashback!Carol x Abby, present!Carol x Therese

Word Count: 1,498

Warnings: smut! cheating, cause pre-divorce Carol, obv

Carol was perplexed as she shook hands with Abby’s new redhead girlfriend. Not because she didn’t expect Abby to hold a relationship down, but because it was sudden, serious, and Abby was entirely besotted.

Now Jacqueline was a part of their intimate little friend group, and Carol was startled by how well she got on with them so quickly.

“Don’t fret,” Therese murmured, wrapping her arms around her middle from behind as they stood outside in the cool evening air.

“I’m not,” Carol huffed, “it's just a surprise, is all. Abby hasn’t been in a relationship this serious since.. well.”

Therese pressed a kiss against her shoulder and said, “Abby isn’t leaving you, Carol. She’s still your best friend.”

Carol chewed her lip, doubt filling her mind.

“I haven’t been the greatest best friend to Abby, dearest. I wouldn’t blame her if she did. And now that she’s got someone.. else.. why wouldn’t she take that chance?”

“Well, don’t you think she might have felt the same way when I came into your life?”

Carol stilled a little, and her shoulders relaxed in sudden understanding, “I didn't think of it that way.”

Therese hugged her a little tighter, “she’s not going anywhere, and neither am I. No one’s leaving you, not ever again.”

Carol smiled, putting her hand on top of Therese’s, rubbing the chill away.

six years earlier..

“We can’t j-just..”

“Want you,” Carol growled, hands pressing into Abby’s skin, “want you now.”

“Just a minute!” Abby half-laughed, pulling away from Carol to see her best friend pouting dramatically. Her blonde hair was falling out of its perfect curls, and Abby tutted, smoothing the wrinkles in her collar with deft fingers.

She had barely pushed through the door when the blonde had pounced on her, kissing and sucking, smudging her makeup almost immediately.

“You promised dinner,” Abby poked her, “and I came here, starving, so don’t think I’m crawling into your bed until I’ve had a good, proper meal.”

“What if I said I was the meal,” Carol grinned, pulling her close by the waist again. Abby looked up at her with those scolding brown eyes and Carol sighed.

“Alright, alright.”

She let go and the two of them headed to the kitchen, where Carol pulled out some left overs from last night’s dinner and bustled about for plates and cutlery. Abby made a pot of tea and sat down at the table to watch Carol flit around with a frilly kitchen apron over her skirt.

“How do you deal with this place, Carol?” Abby sighed, glancing around the massive mansion, “it seems so big and boring. Don’t you get tired of being home alone all the time?”

“Oh, no, it really isn’t that bad. Honestly, I’m glad Harge gives me some space,” Carol said with a huff, “we’ve been talking about getting a housekeeper for some time. Might be nice, have a fresh face around, you know?”

Abby eyed her cautiously, but nothing seemed to be amiss as she mentioned her hot-headed and burly husband.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” she asked, hands wrapping around the steaming mug.

“Let’s not,” Carol sighed, her back still turned to Abby. The brunette chewed her lip and nodded silently, a mutual understanding hanging in the air. Carol never did enjoy talking about such touchy topics, no matter how long the two women had known each other.

But they got out of the silence hanging in the air; they always did,

“Help me with the vegetables?” Carol asked.

Abby was familiar enough with the house, knew where the pots where, knew where to find an extra apron. She chopped diligently as Carol chatted about Jeanette’s dinner invitations for next week, wondering what she should wear.

“What about your grey dress?” Abby suggested as she reached up the cupboards to grab the salt and pepper.

“Hm, but I wore that last time,” Carol retorted.

“Oh, I doubt they’ll notice,” Abby chuckled, bumping Carol’s hip with her own, “you’re far too fashionable for that lot.”

“Abby!” Carol chastised, with a twinkle in her eye, “they’re my friends. You know, you’d like them if you gave them a chance.”

“Hardly. They’d only let me into your little club if I had some handsome businessman of a husband. You and I both know that’s not going to happen.”

She stepped up behind Carol as she put the potatoes and chicken in the oven and wrapped her arms around her waist.

“Don’t be a tease,” Carol groaned as her hands began wandering, “I promised we’d eat first.”

“Hmm, yeah, but if we’re quick we can kill some time while this cooks,” Abby grinned, “I’m suddenly in the mood when I saw you bend over just now.”

Carol tutted with a smirk and turned around, grabbing the back of her neck and pulling her in for a firm kiss. Abby nipped at her lip.

They barely made it to the couch, ripping off clothes as they went. Carol’s lips wrapped around a nipple before Abby’s back hit the cushions and she groaned deeply, her hands pulling at the blonde curls.

“Better be quick if we wanna beat the oven,” Carol muttered devilishly, “you know how much I hate burnt chicken.”

“Oh, fuck,” Abby gasped as fingers wriggled their way past the fabrics and zippers to firmly cup her sex.

“Language,” Carol chastised.

“Shut it, Ross,” Abby grumbled. Carol pushed her skirt up to bunch around her hips, settling in between them, hot and heavy. Her perfume was heavy and musky and made Abby’s head spin.

Her blouse got caught around her wrists, her skirt stayed bunched up and her stockings were pulled down barely to her knees. It was always like this. Hurried, messy, desperate yet loving.

Carol always pulled the curtains closed before Abby arrived, and there were long shadows cast throughout the living room from the lamps that burned dimly.

Briefly, Abby wondered if she had actually seen Carol naked, fully, in the bright lights of her bedroom. But that thought quickly escaped her when a cool hand pressed against her cunt underneath the fabrics and skirts.

Abby gasped, back arching. She pulled at Carol’s dress, unzipping it only half in the back. It drooped forward and she pulled her arms around, revealing creamy shoulders and nipples pebbling through her bra.

She barely had time to cup one breast and pull Carol close for a hard kiss when the blonde slipped inside and began a brutal pace. Abby’s eyes rolled back with a groan, her pleasure spiking quickly, intensely.

Sweat was collecting along her hairline and her heartbeat was racing. She pinched Carol’s nipple in retort from getting her so riled up so quickly, and Carol grinned, leaning over her, one foot still planted on the floor to give her a solid foundation as her arm worked rapidly and brutally.

“Carol!” Abby shrieked, fingers digging into her best friend’s shoulders as a sharp and deep orgasm exploded from inside her.

She laid there, impressed that Carol was able to follow through with her suggestion to make it quick. The blonde looked down at her fondly.

“God..” Abby groaned, feeling the silk fabric of her blouse sticking to her skin already.

“Hey, you wanted it. I just wanted to be a good hostess.”

Abby slapped her on the hand and as if on cue, the timer went off with a shrill. For a moment Abby jerked up, mistaking it for the doorbell, but Carol held her down and nuzzled her neck.

“We can’t let it burn,” Abby protested weakly, trying to worm out from Carol’s grip.

“No,” Carol said, nearly whining as she tried to pull away.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby, I’m staying the night, remember? You’ve got plenty of time after we eat. I don’t fancy passing out in your bed because of malnourishment.”

Carol pouted, watching as Abby straightened her clothes, and shuffled into the kitchen without her shoes.

“Come on, slowpoke! You were supposed to be feeding me, not the other way around.”

Carol relented, and they took their plates back to the couch, legs wrapped together.

“If you spill anything on my couch I’ll tie you to the bed and you’ll never be allowed to leave,” Carol wagged her fork at her best friend, who stuck out her tongue in response.

“What should we do tomorrow?”

“Oh, I don’t know. We can sleep in, if you'd like. Harge isn’t coming back until late.”

Abby nodded quietly, prodding at her chicken.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Abby said, a tad too quickly. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Carol raised an eyebrow, and shuffled closer, slipping her foot out of her heel and running toes up Abby’s calf.

“Anything I can help with?” she pressed, voice low, “maybe provide a.. distraction?”

“Carol..” Abby began, but a warm mouth was kissing up her neck and she whimpered softly, pushing her lukewarm plate away and grabbing Carol’s blouse.

“Make it quick.”

A/N: :D writing again!

#carol #carol aird #carol movie #carol fanfiction #abby gerhard #carol x abby #carol/abby #sarah paulson #cate blanchett #The Price of Salt #todd haynes #wlw #lgbt #merry writes #patricia highsmith

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mattzerella-sticks · 3 years

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Sunrise (Dean/Cas coda to 15x19 “Inherit the Earth”, 1.7k)

(ao3 link)

Dean and Sam were free. Finally, unequivocally, free.

But this wasn't the happy ending Dean had expected. Maybe in the past, having Sam in the passenger seat tearing across an open stretch of highway as the sunsets, it'd be what he wanted. But that was years ago. He's not that man anymore. Dean's tired of sunsets, of saying goodbye. He yearns for a different ending. One that's less of an ending, and more of a beginning. A sunrise instead of a sunset.

Sam has his. Dean lost his. Despite this setback, he won't stop. He'll live in memory of his sunrise.

Except, what can he do when he feels those rays on his face again?

Early morning sunlight streams through half-closed motel window blinds, striking Dean directly on his face. Stir him from unconsciousness, shuffling Dean out of his dreams. Warm blue and familiar stubble replaced with an ugly, orange patterned wallpaper that makes his stomach unhappily flip. Groaning, he turns. Hopes he can reclaim his quickly fading fantasy. It escapes his grasp, Dean left in the loneliness of reality.

Truly. He checks Sam’s bed, finding it unoccupied. “Figures…”

They crossed paths with Eileen coincidentally. Not like Sam’s pointed questions and giant thumbs hid his intentions. Even his terrible acting (“Eileen? What are the odds of you being here?”) couldn’t throw him off. Dean played along, however, letting them think he was in the dark. Knew exactly why his brother and his brother’s girlfriend hadn’t told Dean about this. Salt only hurts a wound that’s fresh and open. While badly healed, Dean’s grown numb to that missing chunk of his heart. More pained that his sadness made his loved ones go behind his back, act in guilt.

Sam and Eileen don’t deserve shadows because of his pain.

Which is why he’s happy for them. Left the bar so they can chat without his presence. Catch up, let Sam tell her about those kitschy tourist traps they’ve been hopping between since Chuck’s defeat. Show pictures of Dean in an upside-down house, Sam’s head peeking out from corn fields. Hold hands. Sit on the same side of the booth. Kiss, without worrying if Dean is steadily killing his liver at the bar because of them.

Drinking lost its flavor anyhow.

Free from Chuck’s influences, Dean decided he might cut a few more strings. Namely beer. He’ll enjoy a bottle every now and then but, reflecting on it, booze never offered comfort he really needed. Only aggravated a different sort of hurt, distracting him for a while. He abandoned those distractions. Instead of asking their bartender from last night, with his tanned skin and wavy, blond hair, for whiskey, neat, until he dropped, Dean stood from their table and paid his tab. Carried his longing out the exit, drove with it, laid down in his bed and held it close. Hugged it, imagining his arms. Praise whispered in his ear, about choosing a different way. A better way. A healthier way.

Cas would be proud of him. Prouder than he already is. And Dean… felt the same.

Rising, Dean stretches. Winces as a new disc pops and cracks in his back, “Motels ain’t what they used to be…” He throws his legs over the side, scrunching his toes in the shag carpet. Smiling, “But at least some things’ll never change…”

It’s going to be a slow morning. Dean doubts Sam will swing by before noon, meaning he has hours to kill. First, he leisurely showers. Scrubs at his scalp with gentle scratches, humming Zeppelin under his breath. Keening ‘A Whole Lotta Love’s chorus, coming into his hand. Lets that melody fade while water makes his come sluice off his hand, into the drain. He switches tracks, dries himself while softly singing ‘Going to California’. Thinks about their next destination. All those beaches he and Sam plan on visiting. Finally making good on their promise.

Not how he always envisioned it, but…

Dean drapes the towel around his neck, staring at his reflection. Marks new wrinkles he hadn’t noticed, gray hairs where dirty blond were. Sees how small his eyebags shrank.

Sleeping was surprisingly easy. Some days Dean wished it weren’t. Others, it’s his only chance at being with him again.

“Nope,” he says, leaving the bathroom. Jumping out from the mirror. “Not going there… not this early…”

He bides his time dressing, debating where he should get breakfast. Wonders if a diner they passed entering town might serve pie as he hops into his jeans. Waffles between a t-shirt or purple-and-blue plaid while rubbing deodorant on. Then, tugging his tee’s thin fabric over his head, he decides he isn’t that hungry. Can eat later, Sam driving so he can attack snacks he squirrelled away when they last stopped for gas.

Knock Knock Knock

“Sam?” Dean asks, glancing at the door. No one answers. “Sam is that you? You forget your keys or…” He checks his phone. Nothing.

Knock Knock Knock

“Sam, if that’s you – this isn’t funny.” He grabs for his socks, sitting on the end of his bed. “Pulling a poor joke on your brother, leaving your girlfriend alone in bed… shame on you.”

Knock Knock Knock

Dean squeezes his socks, glaring at the door. His irritation fades, weirdly, the longer he stares. Replaced with a different feeling, comforting. Without needing to, Dean guesses it’s not Sam on that other side. Tossing his socks, Dean stands and slowly inches forward. Drawn by gravity, a name perched atop his tongue. Waiting there, scared of being spoken. Of being wrong. He doesn’t feel wrong.

Is this still a dream, he asks himself. Did I actually wake up? Dean waits, hovering near the doorknob. Remembers rushing last time, what waited there then. What he almost threw himself onto. Cycles through who might be waiting now. Something worse, a more terrifying monster. Or maybe mundane, like the motel manager. He’ll never know if he drags it out. Whether that’s motivation or warning, Dean can’t decide. What he does choose is flinging open that door and facing whoever was there.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas -?” Dean gasps, knees buckling. Laughing, he leans his weight on the door. Grins wide enough his cheeks must splinter, twin tracks of tears already spilled over. “Cas, is that…” He coughs, wiping at his mouth. “Is that really you?”

Like nothing happened, Cas crosses the threshold. Dressed spectacularly… normal. Trench coat, suit jacket, and white button-down paired with his crooked blue tie. Dean’s hand drifts close but can’t touch. Not yet. “It is me,” he tells Dean, “you… probably have a lot of questions. About why I’m here, and – and what was said when the Empty…”

Of course, there are questions. None were as important as Dean snatching Cas’s tie, dragging him into a heated embrace. “Later,” he promises, closing the door. Guiding Cas onto his bed. Falling, his angel’s body collapsing atop his. Weight proving further and further how real this is.

He’s back!

“I can’t believe…” Dean kisses along Cas’s neck, threading his fingers through hairs resting at his angel’s nape. Feeds a fire burning across his body, flames roaring with a desire for more. “Can’t believe I could be this lucky…”

Cas chuckles, “Good things do happen, Dean.”

“Never to us.” Pausing, Dean tears his eyes from the dip of Cas’s collarbone and to his face. “I searched, Cas. I did. Back when it was me, and Sam, and Jack, I did everything I could but I… there wasn’t any lore. Nothing about contacting the Empty, breaking through I – how?”

Shifting, Cas rolls off Dean and onto his side. No sooner than it started, those flames eating at Dean’s insides tempered. Became a more manageable heat, containable. Dean tucked himself against Cas’s chest, hearing his heartbeat. Awed from that simple rhythm it gives. Lulls Dean with a gentle song. “Jack,” Cas explains. Rubs Dean’s shoulder, along where his handprint was. Teased the edges of his tee, part of his memorial tattoo revealed. Cas traces his palm outline. “In fixing Chuck’s mistakes, he… he mounted a rescue mission from Heaven.”

“For you?”

“For everyone.” Cas kisses Dean’s crown, continuing his story. Whispers it into his head. “All the angels. Jack rescued us all.”

“Everyone?” Dean asks, “Meaning… Michael? Gabriel?”

“Uriel, Balthazar, Anna, Hannah, Metatron – even Lucifer.”

“What the hell?”

“He was fixing what Chuck wasted. Saved Heaven,” he says, “Gave everyone a second chance, to do right by humanity. Be its guardians like we were supposed to be. And…” Cas lays his hand where it belongs, Dean shivering from contact. Wraps his arms tighter around his angel’s waist. “Jack offered me all my powers back, and then some. Said I could be his archangel… second-in-command, in all of Heaven.”

Dean lifts his head, frowning. Studies Cas with a suspicious wrinkle creasing his brow. He deflates somewhat, disappointment rocking into him like heavy waves. Routine. Expected, since Cas was exactly where he wanted. But then, isn’t that answer enough? Dean asks regardless. “Did you take it?”

“I thanked him for the offer,” Cas says, “however my place was elsewhere, here on Earth… with you.” His hand moves, cupping Dean’s cheek. Thumb brushes his lip. “And when our time comes, I’ll rejoin Heaven at your side.”

Cas’s heartbeat makes sense, now. It never did that before.

“We’ve got a long time before we croak, Cas,” Dean jokes, crawling higher up his bed. Enough that he can press their foreheads together. “You think you can handle it?”

“I waited millennia to meet you, and then years just so I can hold you like this.” Cas closes the distance, capturing Dean’s lips. “I’m hoping our future is excruciatingly slow.”

“Our future…” He relaxes, allowing a few more kisses before he starts again. “Y’know, I… I thought I’d never get to say that. Figured, after Jack took the reigns from Chuck, this was all we’d get and – and having everyone back was nice. But you weren’t there, and I hurt. When you died, I wanted to sit there and let myself waste away and join you. Except if I did, you’d be so angry and – that’s what’s been keeping me going. You loved me so much – and were pained whenever I was… I couldn’t do that to myself. Punishing myself wouldn’t be fair. So I thought about my future, how I can live it for those I loved. Be there… the person I’ve become, and not who I used to be. But now…”

“Now you can be a little selfish,” Cas says. “We can be selfish.” He tickles Dean’s chin, hands roving across his body. “What should we do, for the first day of the rest of our lives?”

Dean doesn’t dawdle. “I want to lay here,” he says, “Lay here the whole day, in your arms, telling you how much I love you.”

“…I don’t see any problems with that.”

Neither did Dean, which is why he suggested it. They fix themselves, first. Cas sheds most of his outer layers, leaving himself only in his boxers. Dean hurls his jeans off fast, jumping under the covers. Giddy as Cas joins him, both men facing each other. Hands joined above their sheets, Cas’s palm fitting perfectly.

“Well?” Cas arches his brow, “How much do you love me?”

Dean kisses him, ruining it by smiling too hard. “I love you too much, and not enough.”

#supernatural #spn #spn15 #15x19 #15x19 inherit the earth #15x19 coda #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic

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trashyswitch · 3 years

Text

Easter In The Sanders House

Thomas gets to celebrate Easter weekend with the sides! Patton plans a full day of Easter fun, which gets a little out of hand quickly thanks to Remus...But a dose of innocence should do him some good! (or 50 doses)

Some dirty talk and swearing because...Remus. Also, I have personally ruined my own childhood with this fanfic. -_- But I'll be okay. I promise! Happy Easter everyone!

Easter was usually a house favorite in the mind palace. Though it was a little different this year thanks to COVID, Thomas and the sides could still celebrate it together. They all lived in the same household, which helped a lot. And some of them were capable of conjuring up anything! So the sides could make just about anything if they put their minds to it.

The sides started off with decorating the house with easter stuff. Bits of it were homemade, some of it was conjured up, and a few of the decorations were bought. Example: the huge stuffed bunny. Thomas had bought a medium-sized bunny from Wal-mart, and Patton took it upon himself to make it even bigger! And…

...It ended up being 7 feet tall…

But Patton was LOVING it! He would cuddle it non-stop, ‘feed’ it stuffy carrots, and even brush its belly fur with an old hairbrush. It was quite endearing to watch, as well as a little strange. The father figure would even give it blankets and make it look like a jedi knight. It was actually quite hilarious to see the gigantic bunny looking like the Jawa without the double sash or the gun. Everyone both loved it, and hated it at the same time. Virgil even went as far as to say ‘That’s cursed’! And...he has a point.

The rest of the decorations were banners with hanging eggs, baskets filled with fake grass and plastic eggs, bouquets of real and fake flowers all over the place, and mini egg bowls around the house. There were even little bunnies popping out of mugs placed onto the dining table for decoration! That was Roman’s favorite decoration.

Just like he usually did, Patton set up a little Easter egg hunt of plastic eggs filled wih treats and other little things. This year however, Patton wanted to improvise with extra little items…

Thomas and all 6 of the sides were all ready with their own baskets. The sides’ baskets matched their clothes, while Thomas had a pink basket. Logan was the first to critique Patton’s childish games. “Patton...A little reminder that we’re all in our 30’s. We’re getting a little too old for-”

Patton looked at Logan with a ‘seriously?’ look and squeezed his side. “Hush your piehole. Santa may not exist but no one lets that stop us from celebrating Christmas.” Patton warned casually.

Logan jumped and moved a step away from Pat. “Fine. Touché.” Logan responded.

Roman and Remus both snapped their neck towards Patton. “SANTA DOESN’T EXIST?!”

Logan facepalmed and shook his head while Patton giggled into his hand. “On your mark silly geese!” Patton called. Everyone got into their push position to start running at the ready. “Get set...GO!”

Everyone started running around the house while Logan and Patton just walked. Patton was watching the six boys run around the house with their baskets. There were eggs literally everywhere! And some of them had chocolate, others had origami creations, A few had glitter, a few had cute quotes written in slips of papers like an easter fortune cookie, and other had…

“...An acorn?” Janus asked.

Logan looked over and widened his eyes. “That’s a chestnut oak acorn. They’re an oval-sized breed of acorn.” Logan told him. “They’re usually in more eastern states though. So how did you get it here?” Logan asked.

“I conjured it!” Patton replied. “Good thing you know your trees. You’re gonna enjoy the other eggs near there…” Patton hinted.

Logan looked around for the eggs, opened them up and gasped as he very gently removed it. “A butterfly wing!” Logan very delicately held it in his hand. “It’s...beautiful!” Logan admitted with a smile. Patton smiled happily upon seeing his reaction.

Virgil moved to his bedroom and noticed that there were eggs hidden in there. Virgil opened up, and laughed as he removed them from the plastic egg: They were pins! There was a pin with a salt shaker that said ‘Salty’ on it, a pin of a black cat standing on a skull, a pin of a black rose and a pin with a black cat holding a fish. They were so small and yet, so up his alley. There would end up being more pins, being enamel and backpack versions. It was nice and thoughtful. Sometimes there were dark parts about spring that Virgil enjoyed. And he was thankful that Patton advocated for him.

Logan was having a wonderful time looking at all the spring items hidden in the eggs. There were Chinese Lanterns, walnuts, strawberry seeds, and more! There were even tiny squares that when unravelled, revealed recipe’s that involved Crofter’s Jam! And he even managed to fit Crofters store coupons into the plastic eggs! Logan was smiling and hugging Patton. “Thank you very much Patton. I appreciate the many kind gestures. And I apologize for the insensitive words I said earlier. You can still find ways for 30 year old men to enjoy Easter.” Logan told him.

Patton giggled and hugged him back. “Oh! And one more thing:” Patton conjured up a bunny ear headband. Logan’s smile dropped and he hung his head. “Really? Bunny ears?” Logan asked with a small smile.

Patton giggled. “Do you not remember our promise? You promised during March break that you were gonna wear bunny ears!” Patton reminded him.

“I am aware of my promise, but I’m starting to regret making such a promise.” Logan admitted.

Patton rolled his eyes and put it onto his head. “Perfect! See? It’s not that bad.” Patton told him.

Logan looked up. “Fine. But would you potentially consider making the ears look more realistic?” Logan offered a compromise.

Patton nodded and touched the bunny ears. They turned into brown and white bunny ears, with a very light pink skin all over the inner ear flap. Logan conjured up a mirror, and smiled. “Thank you.” Logan replied.

Remus was running around, acting like a raccoon. “Look at me! I’m RJ! I eat garbage, steal from Karens and ruin people’s lives!” Remus declared.

Roman chuckled and fluffed Remus’s hair. “I feel like you’d be more of a Hammy.” Roman admitted.

Remus gasped and clapped his hands. “YES! I COULD STOP TIME WITH THE POWER OF CAFFEINE! AND THEN BURN PEOPLE TO SHREDS WITH ILLEGAL LASERS AND CAGES!” Remus shouted.

Roman snapped his fingers and ran to Patton’s basket. “We got you something!” Roman told him.

Patton turned around and squealed upon the present! There was a chocolate chick, a DVD copy of ‘Over the Hedge’, and a DVD copy of It’s ‘The Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown!’. Patton happily took the DVD’s and the chocolate chick. “THANK YOU! YOU ARE ALL AMAZING!” Patton hugged as many people in one hug as his arms could. If his arms were stretchy like Elasticgirl’s, then maybe he could!

Later on, the family had a lovely Easter dinner. Cooked carrots, roast beef, baked potatoes and packaged gravy for it all. Patton and Thomas all worked together to make their supper, while Logan took some time to make a Crofter’s recipe he was given during the plastic egg hunt. With some time, Logan had whipped together what he called: Loganberry Crumble Squares. A simple recipe of rolled, layered oat crumble with Loganberry Crofter’s put into the middle of them! It tasted amazing! The recipe called for Gluten-free oats, but Logan just picked up regular oats for the recipe. No one was allergic to wheat. So, why worry?

After supper, the family gathered together to watch the Charlie Brown Easter Special. They enjoyed Marcie’s cute little ‘boiling eggs’ gags, and loved seeing Sally Brown and Snoopy playing with the hats! Patton died of cuteness overload at Snoopy and the bunnies dancing, and Janus admitted he felt bad that Snoopy didn’t have an egg for Charlie Brown.

Virgil looked at Janus. “Charlie rarely gets things. He has a best friend and a crush, but that’s about it. Lucy’s probably the reason he doesn’t have anything.” Virgil admitted.

“That’s true. But you gotta admit: Lucy and Shroeder are kinda cute together.” Roman added.

Thomas laughed. “That all depends on Schroeder falling for her as well.” Thomas added.

Logan sighed. “Poor Schroeder...she never leaves him alone. A life of Beethoven and piano playing is much better than a childish relationship with a girl like her.” Logan added.

Janus smirked. “Right! A relationship with Lucy will NEVER work. It’s not like she actually softens up to Charlie Brown near the end or anything...” Janus hinted.

Roman widened his eyes. “Wait, really?!”

Logan turned to him. “That’s true. I also realize she later develops a crush on Charlie near the end of the comic strips.” Logan added.

“So...So Schroeder and Lucy-”

Remus made a downward whistling sound while he lowered his finger and made an ‘explosion’ sound effect while expanding his hands. “But Charlie and Lucy:” Remus did a wolf-whistle before wrapping his own arms around himself and ‘making out’ with himself. “Oh Charlie! CHARLie! YeS!”

Roman gasped in horror while Thomas widened his eyes. “EW! You’re so disgusting! They’re 8!” Thomas yelled.

Roman had thrown Remus off the couch, leaving Remus rolling around on the floor in a fit of hysterics. Janus was snickering into his hand while Logan facepalmed himself. “THEHEY DIDN’T EVEN GEHEHET TO THE BEST PAHART!” Remus laughed.

Virgil groaned. “They don’t need to. This is why they need more than just teachers and shop owners in their community.” Virgil reacted.

Remus stopped laughing. “Why? Because Sally and Linus could be having fun at the back of the school yard?” Remus asked. “Virgil! You naughty, naughty man~”

Patton dropped his jaw and fixed his glasses with a frown. “That’s it! You need a big dose of innocence!” Patton declared, picking him up and dropping him onto the couch. He climbed onto him. “Starting with your hips!” Patton started digging his thumbs into his hips.

Remus’s naughty comeback was quickly overruled by his very own scream of surprise! “FAAAHAHAHACK!”

Patton smirked. “Language! Looks like I’m gonna need to up the ante!” Patton moved his hands to his lower, inner thighs and started squeezing and skittering.

“OHSHIT- GAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Remus completely lost it and just about kneed Patton in the face a few times! “STAAHAHAHAP! TOHOHOHO MUHUHUCH IHINNOCEHEHENCE!” Remus yelled.

Logan couldn’t help but smile at Patton’s way of handling him. He soon started smirking with Patton as well. “I’d almost say you should up this dose to lethal.” Logan offered.

Patton gasped and turned his head to look at Logan with an excited face. “You’re a genius!” Patton declared.

“And a change of lifestyle may even lessen the indecent behaviour. For example: consumptions of veggies and fruits…” Logan hinted.

Patton’s smirk grew so wide almost all his teeth were visible. “Oh! Fruits are a good one!”

Remus yelped in horror. “OHOHO NOHOHO, YOHOHOU’RE NOHOHOT FILLIHIHING MEHEHE WITH SWEETNEHEHESS!” Remus warned.

Patton looked at Remus with a confident facial expression. “Are you suggesting something more sour? Like...raspberries?” Patton asked.

Remus squealed! And he only heard the word! “NOHOHOHO! NORASPBERRIHIES! BEHEHEGOHOHONE!” Remus ordered. “IHIHI OHOHORDER YOHOU TO-”

Patton took in a deep breath and blew a big raspberry onto Remus’s inner thigh.

Remus squealed and screamed like a bat in severe distress! “AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! AAHAHAHA PAHAHAHAHAHA!” Remus screamed.

“My goodness Remus! You sound like you’re dying! What could possibly be so funny?!” Patton asked.

Janus smirked. “It couldn’t possibly be the thought of playboy magazines or babies making love.” Janus teased, just riling up Patton even more.

Patton clicked his tongue in disappointment. “My my my...I suppose even the smaller doses won’t stop you from your addictive thoughts...Perhaps you really DO need a lethal dose of innocence!” Patton admitted.

Remus was struggling. “WAHAHAIT NO! IHIHI DOHOHON’T! THISIS BAHAHAD EHEHENOHOHOUGH!”

Patton hummed. “Well, guess there’s only one way to test if it’s working!” Patton decided. Patton removed his fingers and let Remus have a break. Remus let in heavy breaths at first, to conquer his loss of oxygen. But within two minutes…

“Hehey, hey Janus:” Remus asked.

Janus looked over. “Yes?”

“Imagine Marcie being spicy for Peppermint Patty~” Remus made a sexy roaring sound.

Patton was immediately at him again. “Time for the second lethal dose, you stubborn pickle!” Patton declared quickly.

Thomas wheezed and hung his head. “Did you just call him a pickle?” Thomas asked, laughing.

“Yes I did! Because he’s being a green, sour dick!” Patton declared. While Thomas questioned his ears and sanity, Patton started blowing raspberry after raspberry on Remus’s thigh.

Remus was absolutely losing it! “AHAHAHIHIHIHIHI CAHAHAHAHAN’T! AAAAHAHAHAHA NOHOHOHOHO *snort* DAHAHAHAMMIHIHIHIHIT!”

Thomas quickly whipped his head around to see where the unusual sound came from.

Patton had widened his eyes and covered his mouth. “You SNORT?!” he asked, stopping his tickling momentarily.

Remus took a quick moment to breathe and nodded his head. “Ihihi- Ialways hahahave.”

Patton looked at Roman. Roman nodded and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s true. He snorted when he was little too.” Roman admitted.

Patton looked at Roman curiously. “What about you?” Patton asked.

Roman hummed and tilted his head. “Me?”

Patton started staring at Roman with suspicious eyes. “......Logan, get him.” Patton told him.

Logan wrapped his arms around Roman and immediately went for the belly. “Way ahead of you.”

Roman squealed and threw his head back with bubbly giggles coming out. Despite Remus’s laugh sounding more witch-like, The twins’ laughter sounded fairly similar to each other. So now both twins were being tickled for separate reasons; Remus’s being ‘constant potty mouth’ while Roman’s being ‘kept secrets��.

“LOHOHohohoho! Meheheheheaniihihie! Lehehehet mehehehe gohohohoho!”

“PAHAHAT! *snort* IHIHIHI’M GOHOHONNA *snort* KIHIHILL YOHOHOHOU!”

Patton gasped at Remus’s words. “Threatening me as well!? My goodness...You really don’t learn, do you?” he teased. Patton blew one raspberry on his left thigh, and two raspberries on his right thigh.

“AAAAAHAHAHAHAAA-” With one last snort, Remus finally went silent. He couldn’t really breathe very well at this point and was growing very red. So Patton gave him a break and got off him. Remus took some time getting his oxygen back. It felt great to be able to breathe again. He tried to breathe fairly heavily to get oxygen in faster. With due time, he slowly lost his tomato face and started turning more peach-colored again. With a bottle of water from Patton, Remus was pretty much okay. He was smiling and still slightly giggling after he finished the bottle.

“Are you done with your silly jokes yet?” Patton asked.

Remus lifted his head up, took one look at him and let his head fall back down. “M...Maybe for a bit.” Remus replied.

Patton smiled. “Good.”

Remus laid there for a few more minutes while he took in the sound of Roman’s giggly laughter. Logan was STILL tickling him but this time, he was pinning one arm up and tickling his armpit. To make things even better, Roman was starting to snort as well. And Patton was living for it!

“It’s truly fascinating how both twins have developed a snorty laugh.” Logan added.

“Shuhuhuhut uhuhuhup! *snort* Ehehehevihihihil fiehehehend!” Roman yelled to him.

Logan raised his eyebrows. “Evil? You think I’m being evil?” Logan asked.

“Yehehehehessss! Ehehehevihihil Ihihihi- *snort* Ihihi sahahahayhy!” Roman shot back.

Logan chuckled at that. “I am being much more merciful and gentle to you, compared to how Patton was treating Remus.” Logan explained.

“Yohohohou’re tihihicklihihing mehehehe *snort* fohohor noho reheheasohohon!” Roman protested.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Actually, we did have a reason to tickle you. We just didn’t tell you what it was.” Logan added.

“We wanted to see if you snorted too!” Patton declared.

Logan looked at Patton. “Hey! I was gonna tell him when he stopped insulting me with his childish names.” Logan reacted.

Patton snickered. “He was gonna find out anyway. Minus well do it now!” Patton declared, closing his eyes with a proud smile.

Logan sighed. “You’re no fun.” Logan whined.

Patton opened his eyes and opened his mouth in surprise. What did he just say?! “I...After all I planned for easter-”

Thomas quickly put his hands on Patton’s shoulders. “Patton, don’t listen to Logan. You are tons of fun! You planned all this for us, and for that we’re so grateful.” Thomas told him.

Janus, Remus, Virgil, Roman and even Logan nodded. Logan paused the tickling for a moment while Roman sat up.

“Thank you Patton!” All six of them said happily at the same time!

Patton smiled and couldn’t stop himself from tearing up. “You’re welcome guys.” Patton hugged Thomas. Virgil joined the hug as well, followed by Remus.

With that out of the way and Patton cheered up again, Logan resumed tickling Roman for a little longer before letting the prince breathe. Roman’s loss of oxygen was much more minor compared to Remus. But that was only because Remus wouldn’t stop doing the one thing that granted him tickles. Maybe it was because Remus wanted tickles? Or maybe it was because Remus has a legitimate addiction to it.

Whatever the reason, Remus was quick to start up his grotesque headcanons about the Peanuts Characters. This would further ruin Patton’s childhood and cause Remus further fits of ticklish laughter. Perhaps they could consider a new, more effective treatment for dirty language?

Or...maybe not. Remus seems to like it. And no one would wanna ruin his fun! Happy Easter indeed.

#easter 2021 #easter egg hunt #spring #family bonding #family fluff #stubborn remus #patton is a good parent #ticklefic #ler!patton #ler!logan #lee!remus #lee!roman #references to charlie brown & friends #dirty talk #but that's remus for you

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fandomout · 3 years

Text

Making Christmas happen for Sam and Dean

Sam gif credit

This is supposed to be like a really nice Christmas with both Winchester; however, Sam is your boyfriend, so there are more moments with him, but there is some platonic Dean. Lots of Fluff and some laughs. Hope you enjoy.

You had been planning to do something for Sam and Dean for a while now. You’d only known them for about 3 years and been dating Sam for some of that time, so you knew they were good people and thought they deserved some kind of normalcy. Since the last time you came in contact with Sam, you’d put a tracker on him to know where he was. While yes, it was a little stalkery. With the job he had, you just liked knowing where he was at the very least. Plus, the tracker would come in handy as you knew simply asking them to come wouldn't fly. Thus, it was four days before Christmas Eve, and you called up Sam. You made sure to call when he was close enough to drive back to your place.

“Y/N?” He asked.

“Hiya, Sam. Whatcha up to?”

“Looking for a case.”

“Any luck?” You crossed your fingers he hasn't found anything.

“Not yet.”

“So, how are you?”

“Good. You?”

“A bit tense these days…”

“Tense?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to elaborate or…”

“I think I might have a job for you.”

“You d-Dean give me the-” Suddenly, Sam is cut off, and Dean’s voice comes from the screen, and he says, “Y/N, How the heck are ya?”

“I’m good. You?”

“I was good.”

“Was?”

“Yeah. Like a good brother, I went to get us some food early in the morning. I came back to see Sam under the covers moving his arm in an odd movement-” You could hear Sam call Dean’s names alarmed. “If you catch my drift on what happened-” You laughed out and answered, “I do.” You hear clatter around, Sam says, “Give me my phone back!” with a little out of breath Dean telling you, “I blame you!” You hear a loud crashing noise in the back before a huffing Sam was on the phone again says, “Do not believe a word he said. He’s messing with me.”

“I’m just gonna say I believe you.” You tease.

“No. Don’t do that, believe me.” You giggle a little and respond, “Whatever. Back to the matter at hand. There’s some weird stuff going on in my apartment complex.”

“Sounds serious.” He clears his throat. You swore you could predict him sitting down at the moment. “I need details.”

“Alright. You know I live in a house with my roommates, but they’ve all gone to their hometowns since the holidays are coming up. I’m by myself, and I get this weight down feeling...I don’t know…” You were feeling a bit bad worrying him like this, but you knew it would be worth it. “Flickering light?”

“Yeah. Uh...I’ve been getting weird marks on me and have no idea where they came from.” This was true, but you also knew it wasn’t supernatural.

“Bruises?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“How scared are you?”

“Enough to want you to come…”

“I guess you got lucky. It sounds like an easy salt and burn. Call me if anything happens. Do you know the drill?”

“I know salt and iron.”

“Of course you do, why did I ask.”

“So, you’ll come?” He chuckles and answers, “Yeah. We should be there in a few days. We might even get there on the holiday. Is that okay?”

“Completely. I miss you.”

“I miss you too. It’d be nice to see your face.”

“Mine? Come on, yours is the main event.”

“You-” Sam stops speaking, and you hear Dean make gagging noises. Sam ignores it, and he says, “Even over the phone, you’re making me blush!” You can hear Dean says, “Alright. I’m leaving the room!” You both laugh at the instance, and he says, “You’ve got some real sorcery on you. Making me blush and making Dean leave, wow.” You giggle in response. “I can’t wait to see you laugh and smile again.”

“Who's making who blush here?” You felt your cheek heat up at the thought of his happy face on. Your alarm goes off to signal for you to go to work. “I’ve got to head to work. I appreciate you coming.”

“Of course, I’d come for you.”

“Thanks again.”

“I’ll see you when I see you.”

“See you soon.”

Christmas Eve, it was about five in the evening. You could see the impala park out front. You quickly headed toward the door. You opened before they got the chance to ring the doorbell. You look at them with a bright expression. Immediately, you say, “Aw. You guys got here real quick. Guess I matter more than I thought.” You teased. As there was no danger, Dean sped up to hug you. However, Sam’s expression remained blank. Not sure of the reason, you tried to get an answer by asking, “Why does it seem like your brother is more happy to see me than you, my whole boyfriend?” Sam begins to respond, “Well-” before Dean interrupts to say, “We really rushed here. I need to hit the can.” with a smile. You let out a small laugh and told him, “Upstairs. The first door on the right.” You open up your arms for Sam. In return he just gives you a puzzled look along with the statement, “This was all a lie.”

“Guess you're still smart. Glad we established that. Now, come on! My arms are getting tired waiting for you to fill them.“ You moved your arms up and down dramatically.

“I was worried-”

“You’re always worried. What’s new?” He went red, but he walked forward and pulled you into a hug. “Happy Christmas Eve.” You say softly.

“This is just wow.” You hear one of your phone alarms go off. You remove yourself from Sam and race over to the kitchen to take something out of the oven. “This is a lot of food.”

“Good thing I’m not eating it all by myself.” He smiles softly and looks around at the attempt of decoration you have set up. The tree being the highlight as it had dazzling lights, ornament, and various beautifully wrapped gifts. Even though the kitchen was hot and heated as is, his heart was a lot hotter for you from the whole gesture. Dean came back down. He sits on one of the kitchen counters and says, “You lied, and I am all for it.” You laugh and smile. Then you laugh out even more as you realize where he’s sitting and ask him, “Dean, did you happen to see what you sat on?” Dean looks down and begins to speak, “Whada-you talkin-” He plants his feet back on the ground. He turns his back toward Sam and you. You see lots of flour over his now white ass. Dean arches his neck and back to see and says, “Shoot..” Sam burst out laughing. He even points to annoy Dean even more.

“Why don’t you go change or shower too? I wasn't expecting you guys to get here so quick. We’ve got time to eat.” Suddenly, Dean pulls you close to his side by putting a hand on your shoulder, “Sam, never let this one go. Best girlfriend you’ve ever had. She’s feeding us. Aw!” Dean rushes upstairs like a kid. You put something else in the oven and check on the turkey. You look over to Sam who hasn't moved.

“Sam, you should go freshen up too.” He walks over and closes the oven. He moves the hair from your face with both hands, and he holds your face. His eyes sparkling at you. He kisses your lips softly. He wiggled his eyebrows at you and said, “Only if you come with.”

“I can't shower with you.”

“Of course you can.” You rub his cheek with your thumb softly and state, “I will not let this food burn because it took forever.”

“When Dean comes back we can get him to watch it”

“Is that because you trust him enough with all of this, or you just really want to be in the shower with me?”

“Fine. I’ll shower.”

“Deserts the only thing to go, so I’ll let Dean handle that much.”

“That’s a job he can do. He won’t let anything happen to it.”

“I need to change, so we’ll see each other then.” He nods softly and asks, “What do I wear?”

“Whatever you want.”

“No one else is coming?”

“Nope.”

“Now that I think about it, why aren’t you with friends or family?”

“I’ve had plenty of Christmases to be with them. I wanted this one for you. I thought about inviting a whole bunch of people, but I didn’t want to put too much pressure on you. As is, I wasn’t even sure how upset you were going to be that I lied to get you here.”

“Pressure on me?” You wrapped arms around his neck. “Yeah. I wanted you and Dean to relax without having to lie about who either of you are. Not lie about what you do or where you come from. This is a normal and nice day for you guys.“ You give him a small kiss before playfully and slightly shoving him. “Go shower. No matter how much I love you, you stink.”

“Fine. Fine.” He lays a kiss on your cheek and races up stairs. After a few minutes, Dean comes down the stairs.

“Need any help?” He asks.

“Perfect timing, Dean. Can you watch the pies?”

“Pies?”

“Yeah.”

“Did I already mention how you're the best girlfriend Sam’s ever had?”

“Eh, who's counting? Just make some marks on the pie you think you can do that?

“Yeah.”

“Then, you leave it in for about 30 minutes. I should be back soon.”

“I will watch this pie like a hawk.”

“There’s beer in the fridge if you-” Dean instantly walks over to the fridge. You head upstairs to your empty room. You quickly change into some clean clothes and shoes, Sam comes out of the bathroom in wearing jeans and an undershirt. “I’m liking this combo.” You joke. You walk over to your mirror to look at how your look was. Suddenly, Sam comes up behind you. His arms go around to your waist. He snuggled and tugged you close. His head side by side to yours as his chin met your shoulder. You had both your hands hold onto his forearms as you just pressed your thumbs back and forth on them. Inaudible, he utters, “I can't believe you did this.” You saw his lips move and asked, ”What?”

“I can't believe you lied to me.” He said. It wasn’t a negative statement, but he said it almost cheerfully.

“It was a good lie. I mean that can exist, right?” Sam lets out a chuckle. He nudges his head closer to your cheek, so his cheek was pressed to yours and responds, “If there were one, it’d be this one.”

”Yay! Point one for me! Am I good or-”

“Amazing.”

“Aww. I should lie to you more often if you're going to call me amazing for it.” He rolls his eyes playfully, and you laugh out a little.

“Have I said thank you yet?”

“No, but-” You reach your hand behind you to rest your hand gently on his cheek and you draw circles with your index finger. “You don't have to.”

“Thank you. Holidays are about being grateful. I’m grateful for you.”

“Such a sweetheart. Right back you, now, get a shirt on, so we can actually start this up.” You try to get out of his grip, but it tightens before relaxing once more.

“Even though there’s Christmas and amazing food downstairs.” He lays a soft kiss on the corner of your lip. He whispers, “You're the main event.” He playfully bites your cheek. You scrunch up a little from the action, but your small giggles leave your lips. As he kisses all over the side of face and moves down to your neck, your giggles become louder and closer together. In between giggles you say, “Alright. I catch your drift!” He stops his kiss and once more states, “I can't believe you did this…You know I can’t really recall too many holidays that were good. I can think of the closest I got to it was this one time on Thanksgiving, and it wasn't even with my family...” You pat his hand comfortingly and assure him, “It can happen.”

“It was at a girlfriend's family dinner. I was so excited to be normal.” He snuggled closer softly against you. “Dean doesn’t know.”

“Well, I hope this can be even just as good for the both of you to remember.”

“You're already off to a good start.” You quickly remove yourself from him.

“Alright we have all the time to be together later. You put on a shirt. I will not let our food get any colder, and I need to check on the pie.” You pecked him on the cheek before heading downstairs. Immediately, Dean’s music hits your ears, and you smile. As you walk into the kitchen, Dean is pulling out both pies from the oven. He gives you a smile as he sees you and says, “Mission accomplished.”

“Thank you. You can go sit down. When Sam gets here, we can finally eat.” You take out the turkey and set it on the table. Dean just smiles and sings along to the music. “Happy?”

“Much...Never had a proper thing like this that I can remember.”

“I hope this burns into your brain, then. You should have at least the one.”

“You know this is just really great. I know Sam will love it if he doesn't already.” Sam comes down the stairs and they all sit down. You stand up to carve the turkey, but Sam stops you and states, “You cooked, let me cut the turkey and ham and set your plate.”

“Fine.”

Once eveyones got food on your plates, silence falls as you all shove food into your mouths. You glance over a lot to see if they were enjoying themselves. Dean’s face filled with pure bliss while Sam’s face remained a bit neutral with only a small quirk of his mouth upward, but you couldn’t even technically call that a smile. Your hand found the nape of his neck, and you ruffled at the small hairs there. You turned to him and asked, ”Is it good?”

“I think we should uh...give thanks...that’s a thing people do, right?” You nodded your head slowly. He sat back down a little bashful.

“Of course. Sorry. I just got focused on the food for a minute there.”

“Okay.” You nodded and smiled to yourself as you conformed enjoyment from Sam. You moved your hands and went back to eating. Suddenly, Sam reaches his hand over and holds your hand as you both continue to eat. After a few minutes, Sam clears his throat and stands awkwardly while still holding your hand.

“Who wants to go first?” You ask, and they both stay silent. You let out a small laugh and continue to say, “First a foremost, I am thankful to be decently happy and have my health...Uh...I’m thankful to have a loving boyfriend, and I am grateful he has an amazing brother to look out for him.” You look over to Dean. “Dean, you could hate me for all I know, and I could be worried 24/7 about what could happen to Sam. I worry about you two, but you have each other, which I am grateful for.”

“I guess I could hate you.” Dean shrugs.

“We both know Sam’s track record with past demons and such.” You and Dean laugh out loud, and Dean continues to say, “Right. Right. Uh...I’ll go next, I thank Y/N for all of this food and for lying to us. Most important, I am grateful for the pies she made.” You all laugh out. “But, I can say I’m glad Sammy here has someone to care for him almost as much as me.”

“Right, you're the gold standard.” You nudged at Dean.

“You hear that Sam?” Sam rolls his eyes at Dean and smiles before saying, “I am grateful for both of you. At the end of the day, I can count on both of you.” A small weird silence falls, so you release Sam’s hand and walk over to the nearby tv. You start serving the channel for football. When you finally land on it, Sam gives you a quizzled look and asks, “Do you even like it?”

“Doesn't matter, it's gonna play because you guys like it. It’s your tradition.”

Dean interjects to add, “She’s kinda alright. If there's anything we have it’s football at any cheap hotel crap tv.” You all finish your plates and head to the living room to watch a bit with beer in hand. You sit cuddled to Sam. While football plays on tv, you care more about them enjoying themselves. After a bit more time, you say, “Pie should be cool now.” Dean immediately rises from his seat and states, “I’ll get it. You got ice cream?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. Be right back.” Suddenly Sam nudges your cheek with his head.

“What is it Sam?”

“I didn’t expect this from you, Y/N, but it was all so-so-so...good.”

“There is good in this world.” Sam is about to reply when Dean adds, “The goodness is right here.” He says as he holds and looks to the pie with love. You laugh at the statement, which snaps him out of his daze and he adds, “Oh. You weren't talking to me…” He shrugs. By the end of the game, Dean has succumbed to sleep from the multiple beers and a hearty full stomach with the last happiness being pie. Sam sighs and states, “I should get him in a bed.”

“Let me help.” You tell him. After getting Dean into bed, you yawn out, and head down the stairs. Sam is quick to follow to see you wrapping up food. He lets out a small sigh, pouts, and asks, “Do you really need to do that, now? Can you just chuck it all in the fridge?”

“I kind of can. However, I think while I have the energy, it’s good to pack it. Plus, I really did make a lot of food. I’ll be giving you guys some of this to last you at least a few days when you go back on the road.”

“I love you.”

“I know you do.” He gives you a kiss on the cheek and a bright smile before holding you back the food while being behind you. His large frame completely covers your own. Quickly, you finish, and you head upstairs to your room. Both of you change into comfortable clothes and lay down wrapping each other's limbs. You were so happy and peaceful in his arms that sleep is found quickly; however, Sam tries to stay up as long as he can, so he can take in your features and keep them for memory. He traces your face so soft that it doesn't bother you. Eventually, he followed suit to your sleeping. In the morning, you woke up by yourself. You were really hoping he hadn’t had to leave for some emergency mission. You searched his side with your arms and looked to both night stands to see that there was no note, which was a good and bad thing. You rose to your feet and opened the door to your room. An unfamiliar smell hit your nose. It seemed to come from the kitchen. As you neared, the smell was becoming sweet. You see Sam and Dean in the kitchen making breakfast. A smile graces your face, and you relax. Pancakes, eggs and bacon are put in front of you by Sam. He leans over to kiss your lips and you can taste syrup. Him and Dean say simultaneously, “Morning.”

“Good morning.” You were all eating in happy silence before you moved over to the living room. Your eyes land on the tree, and you see a few bag wrapped gifts. Although a few looked like they were wrapped in a rush wrapped with similar looking wrapping to yours, which no doubt meant that Sam probably found your leftover decorations. “When did you have the chance to get gifts?” Sam answers, “I go to many places. I sometimes pick things up for you. Now, you’ll get them in bulk.” Dean drinks coffee and adds, “I had to run out to get stuff.” You stand up and hand them a gift from you. You watch their eyes fill with joy like children as you hand them gift after gift. While appreciating the gifts they got you, you felt way more happy about their reactions. You were sitting on the couch next to Sam. He muttered, “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

“Merry Christmas Sam.” You lay your head on his shoulder as he marveled at his gifts. You look to see Dean just as delighted. With happy thoughts, mouths, and bellies, you knew you made the right decision to lie and couldn't be happier at the turn of events.

Hope your day got a little better

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dear-yandere · 4 years

Text

succor.

yandere! jotaro kujo 3. major spoilers for stardust crusaders (part 3). word count: 2,600+. tw: bullying, implied depression, drowning, death, gore, and grief.

art credit: ロク.

He carries himself with poise, an assurity few could ever possess. He is the personification of perfect — alas, a man who appears perfect, like a statue which leaves many in awe, a statue whose marble insides have begun to slowly erode, a statue who’s already begun falling apart. There exists not a soul who can fix him, no sculptor skilled enough, no human kind enough to fix his flaws before anyone else can catch on; Jotaro Kujo is his own sculptor, and he’s forgotten how to mend his broken pieces.

For as long as he’s known, he’s been a soldier. A boy soldier, who bears the weight of the world atop shoulders of steel, shoulders which shake and tremble when no one is looking. He is a soldier without a commander, a soldier without a purpose, and he was content with that. But he is a soldier who’s fought a battle meant for ten thousand men, a battle which has long ended, a battle which still plagues him; he is a soldier who’s fought god and he is only seventeen.

When did it begin, he wonders? When did his marble bones and stone veins start to crack? Was it that day? Becaues he remembers being bullied. He remembers taking each insult, like poison-laced daggers, and thinking nothing of it. He remembers the wrinkles, the eye bags, the grey hairs which had started to pepper his mother’s face at around the same time. He remembers the questions, the sobbing, her desperate pleas, her hesitant knocks on his bedroom door. He remembers her somehow finding out, remembers her standing up for him, one day, in the school yards. And he remembers his bullies trying to hurt her, too.

He remembers nearly killing them.

It was like the flip of a switch, how quickly he changed. Mom became mother, bitch, nuisance. She can’t understand how he felt in those moments — she couldn’t — because until the day he dies, he won’t let her. Keep her at arm’s length, don’t let her in. No one can know, no one can get close — they’ll just get hurt, too. That’s the funny thing about love: it hurts. To feel loved is wonderful, to be loved is tragic, damning, dangerous. He is a catalyst for disaster, destruction, danger, and everything in between.

Death loves him, and love has never felt so lonely.

He lost a friend that day. Metal had bent around his body like silken sheets, water had sod his clothing without care; if his body hadn’t already run cold, the water would’ve made him sick. He would’ve smiled and laughed it off with his dear friend, would’ve said his injuries are no big deal. He can still see, can still move, can still dream.

If he’d lived.

He lost a friend that day, the only one he’d ever had.

And then there is you.

You are no different from the rest. Just another body to protect, another set of eyes he must keep from prying. Death loves him, and he’d been foolish enough to fall in love; funny how easily it happened, really. Because when you look at him, he feels as if he’s baring his all. All his insecurities and worries, all the times he’s wanted to break down and cry. It’s a feeling he hates, detests, but it’s something new, something unexpected, something needed. You are not those women who look at him with indignant curiosity. You are not his mother who looks at him with worry. You are not his grandfather nor his dead best friend; you are you, and somehow, you are everything he’s needed.

Love is a funny thing, he recalls, and that thought is enough to clear the darkness around him. It’s calming, at first. The nightmare is over and he must be waking up. Your soothing voice will greet him, as it always does; you’ll hug him, cradle him like a child, and he won’t push you away. But you don’t. You shine, so terribly bright that he has to look away for a moment. There’s warmth, comfort, safety in your direction, but he doesn’t walk forward. He doesn’t deserve it.

Not him. Not the man who let his friends die.

Jotaro, a dark, playful voice begins, echoing from the depths of nowhere. It’s familiar; far too knowing, far too cunning, far too demonic. Jotaro feels his mind start to unravel like loose threads, and the voice feeds off this, like a parasite. If you love your friends and family so much, why do you never tell them?

“What do you want?” Jotaro barks at nothing and turns toward the dark, turns away from you. Secretly, Jotaro has always been scared of the dark, but right now it was oddly welcoming. The dull beat of that voice, distorted and tinny, still seemed clear, pristine, ethereal. As if the voice had hands which he could not see, they wrapped around his neck like a noose and pulled. Gravity itself seemed to pull at his neck, pushing him further and further into the unforgiving abyss of the darkness as if swallowing him whole.

Why is he here?

Just as his back hits the waters, the sudden impact knocks the oxygen out of his lungs within a second, before he’s plunged right beneath the surface. His eyes are open, even as salt-water pierced and burned; he was certain before, but this is too real to be a dream. It it weren’t for the fact that he could’ve perished any moment now, the sight before him would’ve actually been beautiful. Nothing but a color palette of deep sea blue clouded his peripheral vision with colors that were excruciatingly breath-taking in real life.

But he isn’t deceived.

I want to wrap my brain around that head of yours, Jotaro. So, enlighten me... The disembodied voice mocks, feeling like blood rushing against his the insides of his head. It’s closer this time, over his shoulder, next to his ear, and there’s a familiarity to its tone — a familiarity he doesn’t want to acknowledge just yet. Surely telling them you care is easier than breaking your body over and over again.

Jotaro chews on the question with a hint of unmistakable disgust before spiting it out. He hears the voice laugh that mocking song once again, and the light shining from above almost feels like they’re mocking his every movement, too. They watch his arm shoot upwards, silently and slowly for their help — and they laughed. The gears in his brain start turning, willing his limbs to work as legs weakly kicked up in desperate search for air. Realization soon beats itself into his slowly-drowning lungs, and he’s left to face questions that no one but he knows the answers to.

How did he get here? Is he awake? Is he alive?

Answer me, little mortal. We haven’t got all night. The voice goads, and it feels like sharp needles have stuffed themselves into the canals of his ears. Jotaro hisses, and the voice seems content with the response, at the least. Or, perhaps you’d prefer to drown? What a peculiar way for a marine biologist to go, but humans never cease to amaze me.

Jotaro struggles to answer the voice which claims to be inhuman, but dark waters only drain into his mouth like rapids. Time wasn’t even on his mind at this point, but he couldn’t help but wonder how long he’s been underwater. The ocean seemed to pin his legs and arms into icicles, keeping them from thrashing everywhere. Soon, his attempts on fighting for oxygen were getting much more pathetic — much weaker with each kick.

‘Is this how I die?’ He thinks, chuckling at the irony. The feeling of agreeing with the voice is bitter, but its words are not wrong. To think he’d die in the embrace of something he’s spent his life researching. And even so, he wastes no time in reaching a conclusion: ‘Still not a bad way to go.’

Not that he'd been holding onto hope in the first place, but witnessing the light stray further from his grasp was anything but welcoming. It’s clear that his mind and body were slowly starting to lose motivation in fighting against fate. His fate.

And right now, he’s drawing nearer to the finish line.

His limbs had eventually stopped responding and allowed gravity to drag his body into the never ending abyss he’d always marveled at when he’d been alive. And despite condemning himself to his fate, the hopelessness seethed in gradually. Human nature, he concluded; to want what you cannot have is human nature. He knows that better than most.

Once his air supply ran tight, his mouth instinctively opened up once again, allowing water to flow in through his nostrils and throat. Every 'breath’ made him choke on the saltiness of the ocean waters, lungs struggling to hang on as the water slowly crushed its cage from inside and out. Barely even able to hear his own thoughts, he assumed his eardrums burst from the insane depths he was being pulled into. His eyelids grew heavy like boulders and finally drooped; he had already succumbed to the thought of death — he couldn’t even cry in anguish or relief, but perhaps the downpour above the waters was crying for him instead. The thought was comforting, to know that someone, some thing would mourn his death.

His back hits the ocean floor like a sunken ship, and he believes he’s dead until the voice speaks again: Have you had enough time to think, little mortal? Its words are scathing, and by far the last thing he wants to hear on his death bed, but with it, came air. It seemed an impossible feat at the bottom of an ocean no human has visited before, but the air is crisp and fresh. Jotaro drinks it up, gulping it down in excess, reveling at how it fills his lungs with life. The water he’d inhaled and drunk doesn’t even seem to exist, at the moment, but he hasn’t the state of mind to dwell on that.

“Where am I?” He chokes out, still tasting the bitter tang of salt against the back of his throat. The voice seems to echo around him, and he finally realizes that he is still on the ocean floor. Sea creatures he’s never seen flit around him, and despite the stark absence of any light, he can see them clear as day.

Only you know that. The voices hums, creating a vibrato in the seawaters, a sound that seems to manifest into arms and once again coil around Jotaro’s neck, like a noose. He wants to scream and thrash and fight, but the comforting presence of Star Platinum within his core is... vacant.

I shall repeat myself. If you love your friends and family so much, why do you never tell them? The question seems out of place at the bottom of an ocean filled with light and air, but the entity leaves no room for Jotaro to dwell. The heavy stench of iron is immediately recognizable, and Jotaro realizes there’s a gash in his chest. Pale fingers, topped with blackened fingernails which have grown awfully too long, held his intestines away from his torso, the flesh coiled tightly around the hands of a man he once knew.

A man who should be dead.

And yet, here he is. And yet, there is no pain.

“Because...” The words slip past his lips before he knows how to finish. Because what? Because he’s an asshole who can’t put his feelings into words? Because he’s a fool who deserves to suffer alone? Because...

“Because I’m afraid.”

The voice cackles, creating distortions in the sand bed and deep sea water, and yet he could recognize it as clear as day. DIO.

Oh? Is that so? DIO runs a tongue over his lips, deciding to humor his little plaything. Then, hypothetically, if you do tell them you love them, what are you so afraid will happen?

Jotaro doesn’t respond.

I’m waiting.

“...I don’t know.”

Liar. DIO bites and lightly pressing a claw-like fingernail into Jotaro’s jugular. It’s not polite to lie.

“I...” The pool of blood at his feet is disorienting, vivid and real despite the darkness around him. “It’s not that I don’t want to trust them, I...” He reaches out to cup the hand still jutting from his stomach. How odd it is to see such a horrific sight and feel no pain; and it all clicks into place. Jotaro chokes up for a brief moment, hoping a reply will make this all end. “...It’s dangerous to show you care. If they knew, and if my enemies knew how important they are to me, then...”

This isn’t real. None of this is real. How many times has he had this nightmare? And how many times has he imagined just that — the corpses of his loved ones plastered along the streets? The screams that won’t stop? The look of fear and hope on their faces?

That hasn’t happened, yet, and yet he faults himself: how can he be so weak?

There we go. DIO clicks his tongue and gently strokes his great grand-nephew’s hairs — something he no doubt imagines to be an affectionate pat. Not so hard, is it? Jotaro nods, too weak to stand up for himself. This nightmare never ends. You’re afraid of being too vulnerable. DIO coos and twists his blood-covered arm, deepending Jotaro’s unreal wound. You’re afraid of being too... weak.

The ghost’s words always sting, but this nightmare has become so commonplace, so normal — as easy as breathing, despite the waters around him — that Jotaro hasn’t the strength to feel anger. It’s not like DIO is wrong. He is afraid, he is weak, and above all, he’s afaraid of being weak.

But, how curious it is, little mortal. Hasn’t anyone ever told you— the voice begins to chastise, but is cut off; its words don’t reach his ears. Rather, there’s a soothing scent, with familiar aromas he can’t quite place. But the serenity is short lived. The air Jotaro seemed to be breathing dissipates, and he’s drowning again. His throat burns as if a thousand of needles were piercing it all at the same time, chest clenching itself suffocatingly tight; it’s hell all over again. He couldn’t help but feel pathetic for not acting sooner, especially when the exit was right in front of him, even if it wasn’t anywhere near his reach. Now that chance was thrown carelessly out the window, with no means on returning back to his grasp—

And his sinks.

As he struggled to keep himself afloat and conscious, black spots started to paint his vision one by one, and that’s when time was obviously running out. His eyelids give up —

And then he wakes up.

There’s a gentle, shaking motion, like a boat — as if he’s being cradled and soothed like he had been as a child. He can’t place it immediately, but you’re whispering soft little assurances into his ear, brushing strands of ebony hair which had plastered itself to wet skin. He realizes that the sweet scent from before is you. He can’t discern your words, not fully, not over the sound of blood rushing to his ears. If your arms weren’t wrapped around him a like a safety net, he’d still think he’s drowning, dying; but, the glimpses of words he’d catch every so often were enough to comfort him. You assure him that he’s still very much alive, that he’s awake, that nothing can hurt him, that it was all a nightmare.

It was just a nightmare.

Hasn’t anyone ever told you? The undead voice chimes, but your voice, clear as day, replaces its mocking tone, and Jotaro melts. He gazes upwards, into your eyes which hold the moon and all its stars and he suddenly remembers that wishes are made upon them.

“It’s okay to be weak, Jotaro.”

inspired by this.

#jotaro kujo x reader #kujo jotaro x reader #jotaro kujo #jojo's bizare adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #jjba x reader #jjba imagines #jjba scenario #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo no kimyō na bōken #diamond is unbreakable #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere #yandere scenario #yandere imagines #*oneshot #not yandere

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Best Part of Me- Chapter 40

WARNINGS: SMUT. NSFW

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @ocfairygodmother

He wakes to the sound of rain and rolling thunder and the crashing of the waves as they pummel the shore. The storm has brought much cooler conditions; a much needed break from the oppressive heat and humidity that has blanketed Australia for weeks. The wind is strong; bringing with it the heavy smell of salt, the sound of rustling trees and the fluttering of curtains and the shuddering of windows. For several minutes he stays where he is; comfortable and content, flat on his back with his closed and a forearm resting across his forehead. Listening to the sounds of the storm and the soft, slow breathing coming from the warm, sleeping figure beside him. On her stomach with the comforter pulled up to the tops of her ears and and her feet sticking up at the bottom; her face turned towards him and her hair messy and falling over her eyes.

Last night had been one of his better nights for sleep. Drifting off shortly after they’d made love for a second time; not hampered by pain in the shoulder or knee and waking up only once with the baby for a middle of the night feed. There’d been no dreams, thankfully. No vivid recollections of being a kid hiding in his bedroom closet, listening to his father beat on his mother. No visions of Austin -as a child or an adult- and Millie on the beach. No sounds of gunfire and explosions or the feel of a sniper’s bullet ripping through his back. Just a peaceful, deep sleep the likes of which he hasn’t experienced in years. At least not without the aid of a lot of booze and a handful of Oxy.

Esme stirs beside him; mumbling in her sleep and then rubbing her cheek against her pillow; a hand blindly reaching out for him and coming to rest on his collarbone. Counting the five days in Dhaka -and not including the months he’d spent in the hospital- they’ve been sharing a bed for seven years, yet he still spends a handful of minutes every morning watching as she sleeps. There’s something different about her beauty when she’s at rest; when her features are softer and no worry creases her brow and there’s always a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She seems more innocent. Fragile, even. As if the purity and the youthfulness returns with the temporary banishment of stress and turmoil.

He moves onto his side, the movement causing her hand to slip from his collarbone and down onto his chest. Her eyes never opening or even twitching when he uses a fingertip to clear the hair away from her forehead, gently tucking it behind her ear. He’d always struggled with moments like these; even after it had become clear that he was in love with her and they’d gotten married and started a family. Always anxious...even self conscious...about allowing him to show that level of affection. To let his guard down and be vulnerable. Emotional, even. Years of having it drilled into his head that that isn’t how a man -a real man- behaves; they don’t allow themselves to be ‘soft’. Slowly she’d chipped away at the particular wall he’d built around himself, and over the course of their first year together he’d changed considerably; realizing it was okay to allow him to ‘feel’. That sometimes it was okay to think -and react- with just your heart.

Millie’s birth had been the tipping point; breaking down in front of the doctor and nurses when his baby girl was placed in his arms for the first time. After that he’d no longer felt the need to hold back; comfortable with both saying -and showing- what he’s feeling. His wife is the only one he truly trusts. Without question or hesitation. Not just with his life, but his heart. Knowing that she won’t judge him for his weaker moments; not seeing him as ‘less of a man’ if he shows even the slightest bit of vulnerability. And not once causing him to question her faithfulness. Sarah had fucked him up; the constant lying and cheating. And he’s never thought he’d ever put that kind of trust and loyalty into another woman again.

He leans in to place his lips on her brow, then presses a series of feathery kisses against her face; over her eyebrows and against both eyes, down the bridge of her nose, across her cheeks and along her jaw. Their talk last night has unnerved him; forcing him to think about all the time he’s taking HER presence for granted. Those night he didn’t kiss her goodnight because she’d pissed him off about something stupid and trivial, the times he’d left the house following an argument and didn’t tell her that he loved her. Or when he’d let physical pain and and his PTSD issues get the better of him and he’d been irritable and off hand with her. And there’s so many little things that he’d miss if they suddenly ceased to exist. Her laugh and the sound of her voice and the little she gives when he wakes her up after she’s fallen asleep on the couch with her head in his lap. The familiar scent that clings to her hair and how soft and warm her hands always feel against his body; the way she always stands on the top of his feet to hug him because she truly believes that even that little bit of extra height makes a difference. And he can’t help but wonder if she ever feels that he’s taken her for granted; if he’s ever given her a reason to doubt just how much he appreciates her.

How much he loves her.

There’s so much uncertainty now; knowing there’s targets on their backs -more so his- and that legitimate threats have already been made. Even he can’t stop thinking about the ‘what ifs’. If something does go horribly wrong and he doesn’t make it home., Or worse yet, if Mahajan’s people do manage to get close enough that he loses her. He knows he wouldn’t be able to do it; raise five kids on his own. He’d be a broken man; turning back to alcohol and pain meds to numb the overwhelming pain and the agony of tremendous loss. He’d been broken; nothing more than a shell of his former self. And then he’d lose his kids too.

His lips press against hers and he feels her smile against her mouth; her hand sliding up his chest and over the side of his head and up onto the back of his head; fingers in his hair as she responds to the kiss. Long and slow and soft, followed by several light pecks and the exchange of sleepy smiles.

“I’m cold,” she murmurs, and slides closer to him; chest pressed against his and her head tucked under his chin.

“I got you,” he says, draping a leg over hers and then wrapping both arms around her; as tight as she can possibly stand.

“That’s better,” she says, and he can feel her smile against his throat.

“You good?”

“Yeah…” she gives a content sigh. “...you’re so warm and you smell so good.”

“Haven’t showered since last night.”

“You smell like you. Like Tyler. And there’s no better smell in the world than that. You smell like a man. MY man.”

“All yours baby. I’m all yours.”

She smiles again and he feels the tickle of her lashes against his skin when she closes her eyes. Her hand settling briefly on his hip before sliding up over his rib cage and around to his back. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know. Pretty early, I think. Kids are still asleep.”

“Did you get up with the baby last night?”

“Just once. Around two. She’s been sleeping since.”

“She’s growing up.”

He grins. “She’s not even a month old yet and six pounds soaking wet.”

“She’s starting to change. She’s only getting up once a night now. And she’s getting longer and heavier. Maybe the newborn clothes will actually fit soon.”

“Maybe. She’s still a tiny little thing. I’m still afraid of hurting her when I pick her up. I’m not used to one THAT small.”

“You’re a good daddy. A VERY good daddy. You know what you’re doing. Did you sleep good?”

“I did, actually, No dreams.”

“That’s good,” she presses a kiss to his Adam’s apple. “I had a dream.”

“About what?”

“Us.”

Tyler grins. “Oh really…”

“Not THAT kind of dream. And not a Dhaka dream, either. Just a nice, somewhat normal dream.”

“Somewhat normal?”

“We met in a grocery store. In the produce section. And you had your old haircut and you were barefoot and you had on these low riding shorts and no shirt. I was buying cantaloupe and I had one in each hand and you said ‘nice melons’.”

He can’t but laugh at that, which in turn has her bursting into giggles.

“It was so cheesy but so charming at the same time. Because you said in that voice and with your accent and that makes everything that comes out of your mouth sound so sexy. So yeah...you said ‘nice melons’...and I gave you my phone number and that was it. We would have had crazy hot sex but you woke me up before things could get that far.”

“Why just dream about it when you can actually do it?”

“We had crazy hot sex twice last night.” She reminds him.

“There’s a rule we can’t have it in the morning too?”

“There’s no rule. But….”

“No buts. I don’t want to hear any buts. Only but I care about is this one..” his hands tightly grip her ass, fingers digging through the fabric of her pajama bottoms and into the soft, supple flesh. Pulling the bottom half of her body against his and letting her feel the state of his morning arousal.

She grins. “Almost forty one and you still wake up like that.”

“I’m a guy. I’ll wake up like this ‘til the day I die.”

“The kids are going to be up soon,” she says, but doesn’t protest when he reaches between them to undo the drawstring at the waist of her cotton bottoms..

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, as he sits back on his heels and yanks the pants down and off her legs, leaving them at the bottom of the bed.

“If I was to suggest that, you'd be offended.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do, yeah?”

“You’re very needy lately,” she teases.

“I have my reasons..”

He doesn’t want to tell her how scared he is. That he’s ’s fully aware of just HOW dangerous and complicated it will be going into Mumbai. Mahajan has placed an enormous bounty on his head, and his reach and influence extend far beyond what Amir Asif had had in Dhaka. He may be able to get away with killing off two of three of Mahajan’s ‘people’, but after that it would be open season on him; Mahajan will know exactly who is behind the kills and in turn will order for things to escalate. It will be hard to get around Mumbai without being spotted. And it won’t matter how many people he brings with him. The target on his back will only grow bigger.

“And what reasons are those?” she asks.

“Ever thought maybe I just love you? That I like having sex with my wife?”

“I think you’re very lucky to have a wife that loves you back and also likes having sex with you. And puts out as much as she does.”

“I definitely don’t take any of that for granted, trust me.”

He places a kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other; palms on her knees as he pushes her legs further apart. Lips pressing against each juncture of where thigh meets hip, then moving up her body; hands lifting the bottom of her t-shirt. Pace quicker than the night before as he kisses, licks, and sucks all the way to her mouth. Tongue impatiently pushing past her teeth; calloused palms cupping and massaging her breasts, strong fingers plucking and toying with the painfully hard nipples.

“Get on top,” Tyler gently orders, gripping her hips as he rolls onto his back; one hand moving down to her ass while the other slips up the front of her t-shirt to fondle her breasts.

“You giving up control?” Esme grins, as she kneels between his splayed thighs. “This doesn’t happen often.”

“You better enjoy it while you can. Might be another seven years before it happens again.”

“We’ll see about that.” Her fingers hook in the waistband of his boxers, tips soft and teasing as they glide against his skin as she pulls them down. Grinning..almost victoriously...as a hiss escapes his lips when her nails dig painfully into the cheeks of his ass. “What?” she teases. “All of a sudden Tyler Rake can’t handle a little bit of pain? You of all people?”

“I’m about five seconds away from throwing you down and spanking your ass.”

“Promises, promises.” She leans down to place a trail of kisses along his pubic bone and then lower; lips grazing against the inside of one thigh before sucking and biting at the flesh. “You’re so beautiful,” she breathes, and bite down particularly hard on one spot, causing him to flinch. “...so...so...so beautiful…” She speaks between kisses to the juncture between hip and thigh, tips of her fingers skimming along one side of his cock. A sly grin on her face and her eyes locked on his when she swipes her thumb across the head and proceeds to lick off the precum.

“Get up here.” he breathlessly demands.

“You don’t want me to..”

“I said get up here,” he orders, pushing a hand through her hair and dripping tightly, gently yanking at it and urging her to do as she’s told.

“You’re very bossy this morning.” she chides, her eyes focused on his wide, dilated pupils and flushed cheeks and the sweat that glistens on his forehead. Her top teeth digging into her bottom lip as his fingers bite into her hips as he assists her in straddling him; sighing as she feels his length running along her slick folds.

“Just shut up and fuck me,” he growls, a low groan rumbling deep within his chest when her hand wraps around his cock to position it at her entrance. Hands moving from her hips to her ass; tightly gripping it as she lowers herself onto him, both of her hands on his chest for support. His eyes closing and his head tipping back at the sensation; her tightness and her moist heat. It’s so familiar yet still feels incredible each and every time he gets the chance to be inside of her.

“So good…” she whimpers, his face in her hands as she leans down to kiss him; breasts flattened against him, one of his hands sliding over her ass and up underneath the back of her shirt. “..you feel so good, Tyler. You’ve always felt so good.”

He grips her ass painfully tight and his short nails rake against her back as he slips his tongue past her teeth; the kiss hungry and aggressive as his hips lift off the bed, pushing further inside of her. And she gasps into his mouth, the feeling of him being so deep inside of her is almost overwhelming and too much to take; filling her like no man before him ever had. He moves his hands from her back to her front; palms cradling and fondling her breasts and fingers teasing and playing with her nipples as she begins to move. Slowly and patiently rocking into him at first; eyes never leaving us, her hands planted firmly on his chest. Tyler can’t stop watching her; transfixed by those hooded eyes and her flushed cheeks and the way her hands tumbles down the sides of her face and over her shoulders. And he groans when she allows his cock to slip completely out of her, only for her to sink back down again in one quick movement. His hands becoming rougher as her movements pick up pace; squeezing and pawing at her breasts, pinching and pulling at the sensitive nipples. Knowing exactly what she needs...what she wants..to bring her closer to the edge.

“Tyler…” she whispers, head falling onto his shoulder, nails dragging down his side. “...make me come...please make me come.”

“Look at me,” he manages through harsh, ragged breaths. “I want you to look at me. I want to watch you come.”

Her head lifts and her eyes flicker open; a slight blush creeps into her already flushed cheeks.

“Don’t be embarrassed, babe,” he says. “Never be embarrassed with me. Keep your eyes open and look at me the whole time.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can. It’s okay. I love you and there’s no reason for you to ever be embarrassed with me.” He reaches up to cradle the side of her face in his palm, lifting his hips to encourage her to keep moving. “It’s okay, Esme,” his tone is gentle. Soothing. “I got you.”

His confidence in her sparks her own. Her chest heaving and soft, breathy sighs and moans begin to tumble from her lips as she rides him harder and faster. His one hand still on the side of her face; soft and loving, his thumb caressing her cheek and under her eyes and brushes over her lips and chin. A startling contrast to his other hand; rough and aggressive against her skin.

“You close?” he asks, and when she manages a feeble nod, he removes his hand from under her shirt and places his palm against her lower stomach; thumb pushing through her folds and finding her clit. Pressing against it and firmly rubbing at it until she’s coming undone. Her eyes dark and wild and her face flushed, entire body trembling; his name leaving her lips in a strangle cry as she struggles to keep the volume down. “You’re so beautiful,” he praises. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come.”

He gathers her in both arms and pulls her down into him; kissing her deeply as his body takes over; those few trusts rough and punishing as he loses control. Her name and a slew of profanities slipping from his mouth as he empties himself deep inside of her. And her body goes completely slack against his; her face buried in the space between his neck and shoulder. His heavy, uneven breath tickling her skin and fluttering her hair.

“I love you,” he breathes. “I love you so much and I don’t want to lose you.”

“I love you, Tyler,” she says in return, lips against the side of his neck. “Tell me it’s going to be okay. That WE’RE going to be okay.”

“We’re going to be fine.” he assures her, and presses a kiss to her sweaty forehead. “I promise.”

****

Addie is the first to wake; her incessant crying filtering through the baby monitor speaker that’s kept in the nightstand next to his side of the bed. Groaning loudly, he untangles himself from a mixture of sweaty limbs and sweat dampened sheets. Careful not to wake his wife as he gingerly removes both her arm and head from his chest; gently placing the latter upon her pillow before sliding out of bed. Wincing when the simple act of pulling on a pair of sweats causes immediate pain in the small of his back. The arthritis is getting worse; a deep ache that seems to travel straight through into the bone. No amount of over the counter medication takes the edge off anymore, and he briefly considers trying to hunt down someone...anyone..that can get him something strong. Not necessarily Oxy; he’s determined to NOT go down that road again. But something at least equivalent to it. The doctor will be of no help; his addiction no secret.

All thoughts of pain meds and other vices disappear when he hears the rustling of sheets and Esme's soft voice behind him.

“Tyler…” she lifts her head from her pillow; so cute when her hair is messy and she’s completely disoriented. “...do you want me to get her?”

“I’m already on it. Go back to sleep, baby.”

He waits by the side of the bed until she settles and proceeds to draw the comforter up past her shoulders; tucking it tightly around her and then placing a kiss to her cheek before leaving the room.

***

Ovi sits at the kitchen table; hair mussed and eyes blurry, a massive bowl of Lucky Charms cereal and a glass of orange juice in front of him. And he manages a smile that comes across as pained and miserable.

Tyler knows a wicked hangover when he sees it.

“You look like shit,'' he comments, Addie laying stomach down along one of his forearms as he grabs a bottle of formula from the fridge. It’s been almost six years of daddy duty and things are routine now; able to do them in his sleep if he had to. Boiling water in the kettle and pouring it into a measuring cup and letting the bottle sit in it for no less than a minute.

Even at three weeks she’s incredibly picky. And demanding. Already taking after her older sister.

“I FEEL like shit,” Ovi grumbles.

“You were already pretty trashed when I stopped by. Did you give up after that or…”

“Drank until I puked. Then drank some more.”

“I remember those days,” Tyler smirks. “Trust me when I say no pussy is worth that.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if Esme left you,” Ovi counters. “You’d probably go on a week-long bender.”

“Probably a month. If not more. But there’s a huge difference. That’s my wife. Not just some girl I’m playing house with. Little worse I think if my wife and mother of my kids took off.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. She’s never going to leave you. No matter how bad you fuck up. All the times you messed up and she still sticks around. She even took you back when shit got really bad. For some reason.”

“Maybe because she’s a grown ass woman and not some little girl. Maybe because she actually loves me. And maybe because three years and three kids with one another means a hell of a lot more than the six months you spent with Chloe. Don’t even compare the two, mate. They’re not even close. Alright, calm down,” he addresses Addie now, as he plucks the bottle from the boiled water and vigorously shakes it; dripping some of the formula into his mouth to test the temperature. “It’s coming, I promise, Don’t freak out now. Don’t be such a drama queen. You’re not gonna starve. You’re getting more like Millie every day.”

“Knee?” Ovi asks, noticing the wince and the sharp intake of breath when Tyler sinks into the chair across from him.

“Knee. Back. My whole fucking body.” He adjusts Addie’s position on his arm; laying her on her back with her head tucked into the crook of his elbow, then offering her the bottle. A smile curving his lips as he looks down at her; those huge dark eyes focused intently on him, her hand coming up to rest on his and her entire fist closing around one of his fingers. It’s been three weeks and he still can’t get over just how small she is; much daintier and more fragile than all the others had been.

“Daddy’s girl already,” Ovi remarks.

“I think so. Her big sister must be rubbing off on her.”

“It’s always a little weird when I see you doing dad things,” Ovi admits. “Even after all this time. Because I still remember what you were like in Dhaka. And then I see you like this...with a baby...especially a little girl..and it doesn’t seem like those two guys are even the same person.”

“‘Cause they’re not. I’m not the same person I was back then. Far from it.”

“Maybe not in some ways. But in other ways you still are. You’re still Tyler.”

“Old Tyler, new Tyler,” he muses. “That’s what Esme calls them. I like to think I’m more new Tyler, but to be honest, these days I’m not so sure anymore. I’m starting to feel more and more like the old one again. And I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

“Getting back into the job, you mean?”

“It’s gone way past just getting back into the job and starting my own business. We’re so far past that.”

Ovi’s head cocks to the side, a quizzical look on his face.

“When were you going to tell me about your old man?” Tyler asks. “That you’ve been talking to him?”

The younger man’s eyes widen in surprise. Maybe even a little fear.

“You weren't going to tell me, were you. You had no intention of telling me.”

“I thought I could handle things,” Ovi feebly explains.

“On your own?”

He nods.

“Didn’t handle things so well seven years ago, did you? When you were so scared you pissed your pants. When you shot Gaspar and cried to me about wanting me to go home. You know who put you in that mess? Who put ME in it? Who got Esme mixed up in it? Your old man. That’s how much he loves you and respects you. Couldn’t even stay on the straight and narrow for his own kid.”

“I know that. I know ALL of that. I know what kind of person he is.”

“Wouldn’t take no for an answer, would he. No matter how many times you said it. He can’t handle the fact that you want nothing to do with him or his business.”

“I DON’T want anything to do with it. That’s not who I am. That’s not who I want to be.”

Tyler’s eyes remained focused on the baby happily feeding; her gaze still on him, her fist holding his finger as tightly as it can. He knows he can stay calm if he just looks at her; at that dark hair and the look of trust and adoration she has for him. Even the purple, pink, and yellow stripes on her sleeper. If he concentrates on all of that, he knows he can keep it together.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

“I didn’t want you getting involved,” Ovi replies. “There were so many other things going on. Esme was just getting ready to have the baby and things were stressful and you were worried about them and…”

“You should have told me,” Tyler insists. “We could have stopped it before it got as far as it has. Did he threaten me too? Did he say anything? About me? About my wife and my kids?”

“How do you know all of this? How…?”

“Did he? Mention my wife and kids?”

“He was angry, That I wouldn't go back to Mumbai and take things over. He blamed it on you. Said that you had brainwashed me into into hating him. Into disrespecting him. And that if you weren't careful, you’d pay for it. Because he knows how to hurt a man where it hurts the most.”

“He say anything else about them? About my family?”

“Just that if you didn’t watch your step, they’d be the ones to pay the price.”

Tyler gives a derisive snort and shakes his head. “And you didn’t think it was a good idea to tell me this? That he was threatening my wife and my kids?”

“I thought I could handle it another way. That I could get into the job and then I’d be able to protect myself. And you guys, My family.”

“That is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. You’re a kid.”

“I’m twenty,” Ovi argues.

“You’re a kid,” Tyler stresses. “That is my wife and my kids your old man is threatening. And I would do anything to protect them. No question asked. And you didn’t think it was a good idea to tell me about all of this?”

“I thought I could handle it. Especially once Nik got on board and…”

“Oh fuck Nik,” Tyler snarls. “Who gives a shit about Nik. This is my family your father’s threatening. Not Nik’s. And you should have told me. Not her. Because now the shit is really hitting the fan and things are fucked up and if anyone gets near Esme and my kid because of your old man…”

“I think it’s just threats. Harmless one. To scare you.”

“There’s nothing harmless about them. They’re legit. They’re the real deal. You know the next door neighbour?”

“Salena? What about her? What…?”

“Her name isn’t Salena. It’s Allison. Allison Rav.”

Ovi frowns. “She’s related to Saju? How?”

“She was married to his youngest brother. They started a private security company. To honour Saju and the absolute fucking disaster he got dragged into. Your father threatened his family, too. Did you know that?”

Ovi nods.

“Seems to be his thing. Threatening a man’s family. Seven years later and he’s still after Neysa and Aarav.”

“What? Why?”

“Revenge. Saju didn’t complete his mission. Not all of it, anyway. And now her and the kid are in hiding and your old man’s people can’t find them. They’re pissed. So guess who they’re going to take it out on?”

“You?”

“Not just me, mate. Esme, The kids. It could be today, it could be tomorrow. Could be a week. Maybe even a month from now. I’ve got a big fucking target on my back and they’re going to come for my family first. Because they know that will break me. They know my family is my weakness. And they won’t stop until my wife and my kids are dead.”

“So what are you going to do?” Ovi asks. “What…?”

“It’s what WE’RE going to do. Me and you and Nathan. That ex Marine I told you about. We’re going to Mumbai.”

“No,” Ovi vigorously shakes his head. “No. I’m not going there. I’m not going back. I won’t go there.”

“You ARE going. Even if I have to drag your ass onto the plane. You let things get this far. It didn’t need to get worse. If you'd told me right from the start, I could have stopped things before they got worse. But now it’s a regular goddamn dumpster fire. You got me into this mess, you’re going to help get me out of it. Understand me?”

“I can’t,” Ovi insists. “I can’t go there. I can’t.”

“You’re going. There’s no way out of this. You fucked up. You put my wife and my kids in danger. You put this target on my back. Now you’re going to help straighten this shit out. You think I’m just going to sit back and let these people come here? Think I’m just going to wait for them? Fuck that. I’m going to hunt them down. Every single last one. And I’m going to put a bullet in each of their heads. And your old man is the last one on my list.”

Ovi blinks. “You’re going to kill him?”

“You going to stand in my way?” Tyler retorts. “Because if you even try to stop me…”

His voice trails off at the sound of little feet rushing down the stairs. Accompanied by boisterous chattering and giggling from the three oldest and Declan’s broken speech and ear piercing shrieks; a tired sounding Esme begging them ‘turn it down a notch,” And soon they’re flooding into the kitchen; little arms wrapping around his neck and kisses being pressed to his cheeks and their ‘good morning daddy’ in those tiny voices. Always happy to see him. Even if it’s only been ten hours since he tucked them into bed. Always trusting that he’ll be there. Never worrying they’ll come downstairs and find his chair empty.

“Good morning.” Esme places her hands on his shoulder and kisses his temple. “Everything okay? You guys look pretty serious.”

“Just having a little chat,” Tyler says. “About what we talked about last night.”

“Not right now, please, Not with the kids here. They don’t know about any of this. Normal, remember? We need to keep things normal for them.”

He nods in agreement, and she pecks his cheek and tousles his hair before heading to help the kids with preparing the Sunday morning family breakfast.

“You won’t stop me,” Tyler says to Ovi. Voice low. Menacing. “You CAN’T stop me. And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t even try.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

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trillian-anders · 4 years

Text

amor de mi vida - 1941

pairing: bucky barnes x latinx!reader

warnings: racism, prejudice, fluff, angst, death

word count: 5449

description: Bucky Barnes is a sweet young Brooklyn boy, just on the cusp of manhood, a hopeless romantic that falls in love with almost every girl he sees. when he sets his eyes on a young girl fresh off the boat from Cuba he finds out how hard love can really be.

for @cake-writes 1940s challenge.

Lips were pressed softly against his. Bucky’s heart was singing. It was a pure tonic. A drug. Something he’d never give up. He’s not a quitter. Lips parting and joining, a wet sound between them as he buried his fingers in your hair, shifting you back against the seat of the car. Thank god for bench seats. A movie neither of you cared about playing in the background.

They pressed against each other in the small kitchen of your apartment. His hand fisted in your dress at your hips while your hands we’re wrapped around his neck. The edge of the counter digging into your back. Billie Holiday’s ‘God Bless the Child’ playing softly over the radio. Soft moans as his tongue brushed yours, heads titling and breath catching.

In the back office of Barnes & Son’s Autorepair. Blinds half pulled sitting on the couch in the office, his fingers twisted in the ends of your hair, leaning over you. Legs laid over his lap as he pulled you close to him, the tension thick but unbreakable. This forever buildup that will result in both of you parting with shuddering breaths and half lidded eyes.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered against your lips, thumb brushing the skin of your knee through your hose. “What are your plans for today?” It was a rare day off for you, Bucky had been frustrated that he had to work, but you stopping by with a Tupperware container of leftover pisto from last night made up for it. Only slightly.

You shrugged, picking at the letters on his uniform. ‘Bucky’ it said there. A childhood nickname he’d explained to you before.

“I dunno how it came about,” He had shrugged. “My Pops has been calling me that ever since I could remember.”

You rolled your head to the side, leaning your cheek on your palm, “Probably groceries, some cleaning.” The heavy winter had just been lifting from New York. You’d opened the windows this morning, letting the chilled air flow through the stuffy apartment for the first time in months. The apartment needed a good wipe down, rugs needed to be beaten, and some fresh linens.

“I’ll be done around six,” He explained, trying to fix a curl he’d mussed in your prior activity. He raised your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “You’re coming for my birthday dinner right?” It was not unknown to Bucky that you specifically planned to come around to the shop on days where his Dad was off nor was he naive that every time he’d tried to bring you home you’d get cold feet.

You’d always offered to bring him around yours, Claudia loved him and he’d fixed the whole apartment so well that he’d probably gained a good five pounds from the torticas de moron that you loved so much. The ones you sent him home with after your Mother had none so kindly stuffed about ten down his throat after feeding him a minimum of two plates at dinner.

“Engordar a un hombre [Fatten a man],” Claudia said, “El nunca te dejará [He’ll never leave you.]” He laughed as you rolled your eyes, clearing the plates from the table. He watched your hips sway as you wiped some crumbs of the counter, looking at him over your shoulder with a look that made his cock twitch in his slacks. He cleared his throat, standing from the table before helping you wash the dishes.

It was routine.

What wasn’t routine was you coming by his house for dinner. You never have. You’d been avoiding it actually. And both of you knew it, but Bucky just couldn’t understand why, “My folks are gonna love you, I already know that.” You nod, and Bucky watches your pouty swollen lips pull into a frown. “What are you so worried about dahlin?” Thumb still caressing your knee. It wasn’t the concern of them being progressive that was the issue. The acceptance of minorities had been made clear by George Barnes after he’d integrated his auto shop. That wasn’t the issue here, the issue was,

“What if they don’t like me?” What if you weren’t what they wanted for him? The fact that he’d never brought a girl home before was daunting. What made you so special? Bucky laughed, your face flushing with heat.

“Of course they’re gonna like you.” His teeth were perfect, how were his teeth so perfect? “I talk about you all the time. They basically know everything there is to know about you.” His other hand met your chin, lifting your head and bringing your lips back to his. So soft. “If it makes you that uncomfortable we can try again another time, but I would really like you to come tonight.”

He was always like this. So accommodating. He worked everything around you, and that is what made you feel so guilty about this. He would meet you out wherever you wanted, he came to your house for dinner almost every night he could. He worked around your schedule mostly and the pale pink bolt of fabric that sat next to your sewing machine was your latest gift from him.

“Spring is here, you’ll need some lighter dresses right? The girl at the shop said--” He’d walked into the fabric store not knowing anything about anything and walked out with this beautiful soft pink cotton fabric, enough to make both you and your mother dresses with a little bit left over to make him a shirt as well.

He always showed up with flowers, the vase of flowers on your kitchen table replaced every time a bloom began to droop. Every leaky faucet and creaking floorboard was repaired as soon as it was noticed and you swore you put on a pound or two from no longer having to walk anywhere you needed to go.

You’d fallen for him, and fast. The ease at which he’d slipped into your daily life had been almost alarming. It was if he was this missing piece, like he was meant to be there all along.

“I want to go.” Your hand covered his, now cupping your cheek. “I’m just nervous, it will be alright.”

The Barnes’ lived in a brownstone in the middle of a pretty nice park of Brooklyn Heights. Just blocks away from Sunset Park, but almost a completely different world. The bubbling in your stomach wouldn’t settle as Bucky parked his car in the street, looking at you reassuringly,

“C’mon babydoll,” He lifted your knuckles to his lips, “My sisters are a little bit of a pain, but once everyone’s eating it’ll be okay.”

Steve was already at the house, sitting with Suzy as she wrote out a paper she had due for English class the next day, he was scribbling on his sketchbook beside her as she rambled,

“I don’t really care for Hemmingway,” Suzy, 13, was telling him, Steve looked up at her from his scribbling, “I heard he’s a drunk.”

There was a scream from upstairs and two girls, Ginny 17 and Ruth 15, were arguing, “You ripped it!” Ginny yelled, tears in her eyes as she held the bundled fabric in her fists.

“I only ripped it because you wouldn’t let go!” Ruth stomped her foot, “I was only borrowing it!”

“You have to ask to borrow things otherwise it’s stealing!” Ruth made hands for the garment again, Ginny pulling it out of her reach and screaming in frustration, “Mom!” There’s a clatter of pots and pans under the sound of the radio playing in the sitting room where George Barnes was reading a book, ignoring the chaos building in his home.

Becca skid into sight at the top of the stairs, “Y/N!” She yelled as her sisters disappeared into the kitchen, she lay herself dangerously over the banister before attempting to slide down, Bucky quickly stepped from your side to catch her as she fell over the side, laughing in his arms. “Y/N, I’m so happy to see you!” Becca had gone through a bit of a growth spurt as she neared her eleventh year. The beginnings of puberty shown in the few little dots on her face and the way her attitude was now easily sparked.

“Let her breathe Becks.” Bucky hung his coat up on the rack, Becca parted from you, rolling her eyes at her brother but still grinning. Bucky moved to take your coat,

“I couldn’t wait for you to come,” She grinned, taking your hand as Bucky hangs your coat next to his, taking your hat and gloves as well. “Here, come meet my Dad.”

Bucky Barnes was a spitting image of his Father, right down to the blue of his eyes. If you wanted to know what Bucky would look like in his late forties, George gave you a good idea. Hair stark grey at his temples and salt and pepper throughout, George kept a thick beard. His hands were rough from working with machinery for so long, but the man cleaned up well. He wore wire rimmed glasses that sat low on his nose, ones he peered over to look at you for the first time. A smile crossed his face, “Well Hello!” Jovial. Cheerful. Downright jolly. He was soft in the middle. “You must be Y/N.” The book was discarded and the radio close to him was turned down low as he stood from the armchair. He crossed the room in two quick strides, taking your hand and shaking it softly as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Buck you weren’t kidding,” George smiled at his son, “You’re absolutely stunning.”

“Thank you,” A flush on your cheeks, Becca was holding your hand to the side.

George’s hands on your shoulders, he patted them once before turning to his boy, “Have you said hello to Mom yet?”

“No,” Bucky hugged his Dad, coming back to your side and wrapping an arm around your waist, “We just walked in the door.” The girl’s screaming could be heard from the kitchen, George winced.

“Best give her a minute to get them to calm down, Steve’s in the dining room with Suzy doing homework. I’m going to go help your Mother.” With that he disappeared down the hall.

“See?” Bucky whispered to you, “Not bad so far?” The butterflies were still there, it wasn’t George you had to win over, it was Winnie.

“Do you like to read?” Suzy asked, shifting her papers aside. You shrug,

“There aren’t many books here in Spanish,” You say, “I have a few from Cuba, but I’m not very good at reading in English.” Suzy smiled,

“I could help!” She reached into her bag, pulling a book out. Jane Eyre. “This is one of my favorites, you’re speaking really well so I don’t think it’ll be that hard for you to put two and two together maybe-”

“Suzy.” Steve interrupted, “I’m sure Y/N appreciates the enthusiasm, but I’m sure she’d want to do that another time” She blushed heavily. It was no secret she was harboring a little crush on Steve. Whenever he was at the Barnes’ residence, which was often, she was sure to be stuck to his side. The blond didn’t notice though. He would never notice.

“She’ll come over again, I’m sure.” Bucky nudged your shoulder, “I hope so anyway.”

“Did you want to go to Coney Island this weekend?” Steve asked, “I’ve seen plenty of people there before.” People like her. Steve has been searching for places they could all go together. Like a real pal. The three of them had spent some time together, mostly at the park, occasionally at the drive-in and once Bucky and Steve had taken you to that diner down the road almost without issue.

You could still remember how red Bucky’s face had gotten when that woman had accidentally spilled her milkshake on you. He ”...couldn’t believe it”, he said to you later, “That you just let her do that. You didn’t even--”

“What am I supposed to do?” You asked him heatedly, “Punch her?” Bucky’s knuckles gripped the steering wheel even tighter as he stopped at the light.

“Y/N, how many times do I have to tell you I’m sorry.” His teeth clenched, “I wasn’t thinking--”

“No,” You sighed heavily, rubbing your forehead, “I’m sorry.” There was a dark stain in the front of your dress, covered by your coat, something you hoped would come out. “There’s just not much I can do.” And you can’t solve problems with your fists.

“Buck,” Steve spoke from the backseat, “Things will get better.” Eventually. You gave him an appreciative look. There were people out there, some just like the Barnes’ family. Some like Steve who believed in racial equality. For every bad experience you’d had since you came to New York you’ve had an equally good one.

Two days ago a woman kindly asked you to hold her child while she dug in her purse for some change at a food cart. The sweet little thing cooing in your arms as she said, “I love your lipstick,” The harlot red some people called it, “I’ve been looking for a shade just like it, but my husband isn’t keen on me spending so much on makeup.” She was sweet, blonde, a couple years older than you are.

“You should do whatever makes you happy,” You smiled, the baby’s pudgy hands coming to grip a strand of your hair. A gentle tug, a harsh tug, and the blonde was apologizing. You gently worked the hair from between the cherub’s fingers, “She’s fine.” You laughed, “That’s what babies do.”

And the men at Barnes & Son Auto Repair were always so courteous and nice to you. Bucky seemed to only remember the bad things, but that’s life isn’t it?

Bucky was looking at you with hope now, “I’d love to.” Steve grinned, looking at his friend.

“I wanna go to Coney Island.” Becca whined to her brother, gripping his arm.

“Me too.” Suzy shifted down in her seat, agreeing softly. Bucky sighed heavily,

“Let me ask Ma, see what she says.”

“Ask me what?” Winifred Barnes was a sight. The four Barnes daughters were beautiful, so she had to be too. And she was. Her hair in a polished chignon, green eyes, and a beautiful green velvet number that made you feel like you were very under dressed.

“She likes company,” Bucky will explain to you later, “That’s just how she always dresses.”

Her nails were perfectly lacquered in a soft nude color and her heels matched perfectly. A single strand of pearls lay around her neck. A perfect figure you couldn’t believe birthed five children, but here she was. The perfect American wife. The one you see in adverts and who coo over commercials about what dish soap they prefer.

“Oh!” Her peachy lips grinned, “No one told me you’d arrived.” Her hand went to pat the side of her hair and she removed the white apron from her front, laying it over the back of the chair as you stood to politely greet her. Her hands gently grasped yours, soft, the kind of soft you get from not having to work a day in your life. “Let me get a look at you.” And she stepped back, taking you in.

You’d felt a little uncomfortable, nervous. The dress you were wearing was a bit older, but nice, it buttoned down the front, it had little blue birds on the white fabric. Your shoes were a little worse for wear. The scuffed black kitten heels you’d been trying to get an entire life out of.

“You really are a gorgeous thing.” She cooed lovingly, looking at her son she glared, “James why haven’t you gone and changed?” He pushed back his chair and stood,

“Sorry Ma,” A kiss to her cheek, a playful look to you and he disappeared upstairs.

“Here,” She smiled at you, “Come help me in the kitchen.” It was very organized, a practiced orchestration of dishes and side dishes, “James’ favorites.” She said, Winnie must have been cooking all day. Brisket, mashed potatoes, string beans, a whole roasted chicken with rosemary and a garlic butter sauce, sweet corn, and freshly baked dinner rolls. An iced pound cake sat to the side, nineteen candles jammed into it. “You can thank Becca for that,” she had explained laughing.

Their house was noisy, crowded for the space they had. The four girls were fighting almost constantly, playfully bickering over who was going to get the leg of the chicken, Bucky because it’s his birthday and Ginny for being the oldest, and who was better at singing also came up at the table causing the two youngest girls to belt out what they could remember of I’m Yours.

Steve and Bucky talked about what Howard Stark’s latest invention had been and news of the Stark Expo he was trying to put on next year, while both Winnie and George asked you about the factory you worked at and how Bucky had told them you make all of your own dresses.

“You must be very talented,” Winne motioned towards your dress, “It’s very beautiful.”

“Are you okay?” Bucky whispered, his hand gripping yours in your lap. He had a little mashed potato on the corner of his lip that you wiped with your napkin.

“I’m okay.” There were some words that you’d never heard before that Bucky had translated for you, but the girls seemed eager to learn some words in Spanish as well. The discussion of language breaching the table as Winnie disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing with the fire hazard of a cake and a silence before the tune of Happy Birthday was sung. Bucky’s hand not leaving yours as Becca yelled,

“Make a wish!” And his candles were blown out. You didn’t know if you belonged here, in this world. It had always been you and your Mom and you’d always been poor. This house, these sisters, this family. You doubted they’d ever had empty stomachs. The girls had talked about buying new dresses for Spring. They begged George for money so they could go over to Neiman Marcus and go shopping. And he’d given it to them.

They had everything they needed, and things they wanted. It made sense how Bucky was kind of naive in some ways. Sometimes he couldn’t understand why you weren’t able to just do certain things, but he was getting better about it. Steve would knock some common sense into him from time to time.

He looked so happy right now, it was hard to say anything about how you were feeling.

Bucky pressed his lips to yours in the darkness of his car, hand cupping your cheek. “I’m so glad you came babydoll.” His mouth was sweet, sugary from the two slices of cake he’d eaten. His tongue brushed yours and a heat developed in your core. He whispered against your lips, “I’m gonna take you to Coney Island,” Kiss, “And I’m gonna win you a teddy bear,” Kiss, soft moan, “And then I’m gonna take you on the ferris wheel,” Slower kiss, “And I’m gonna kiss you when we get to the top.” His fingers sunk into your hair, “Cause you’re so damn sweet.”

“Happy Birthday James.” You whispered against his lips, eyes half lidded looking at him. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before exiting the car, walking around to open your door and help you out. Stealing another kiss as he shut the car door behind you.

Mateo was standing in the hallway when you’d reached your door. The man hadn’t given you much trouble after the night at the club. Your Mother had talked to him once about leaving you alone, about how she didn’t like the way he would grab you sometimes. He left seething and every time he’d seen James from then on he had a steady glare and a hard grip on whatever he was holding.

“Your Mother needs you.” Was all he bit, before disappearing into his apartment and slamming the door. You wished Bucky hadn’t left. But he’d seen you to the door of the building, stealing one last kiss before skipping back down the stairs. You wish he hadn’t left.

The room was still when you’d entered the apartment, where radio was usually always playing it sat silent in the corner. You dropped your house keys on the kitchenette, slipping your coat off your shoulders as a heavy cough sounded from your Mother’s room. “Mama?” You called, “Estás bien? [Are you alright]?” The sound of your heels clicking was so loud it was almost deafening as you walked down the hall, she was laying there in bed, pale as a sheet. A pile of used rags next to her, and they were covered in blood. You gasp, covering your mouth at her sweaty pallor.

What were you supposed to do now?

You stopped going to the shop. Bucky would come by the apartment and you would tearfully tell him it wasn’t a good time. Your Mother was sick and there was nothing Bucky could do to make it better. His heart ached with the sudden distance. She’d been sick for a while apparently, and she hid it well. He could only hope you wouldn’t come down with the ailment as well.

He’d asked his family Doctor to stop by, the one that had been at his own birth. It was lung cancer, and a late stage. It was only a matter of time. Bucky began dropping off groceries, you’d woefully sat on the step of the apartment building with him for a few minutes thanking him and saying, “What do I do without her?” Because you both knew it was coming, and soon.

“I’m so sorry dahlin.” His arm around your shoulders. He could remember when Sarah died. Steve had been a mess, trying to be strong, level headed about it. But now the things Claudia had been telling him made sense,

“La amas? [You love her?]” She’d asked him once as he watched you sway side to side to the radio, dusting a picture frame.

“I do.” He remembers his heart being warm, smiling.

“Prométeme que cuidarás de ella. [Promise me that you’ll take care of her.]” Of course he would take care of you. You were everything. “Promise me.”

“I promise.” Her hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Bueno.” She shuffled around in the kitchen, repeating, “Good.”

She knew. She knew she was dying and did nothing. There was no cure. She complained about poking and prodding, the Doctors who would just destroy her life faster than she could live it. She decided against treatment. She decided against telling you until she had to. Until she couldn’t hide it anymore.

Bucky didn’t know what to say, but Steve did.

“When my Ma died it was really hard, and it’s going to be really hard.” They were at your kitchen table, a bowl of ropa veija in front of the three of you, mostly untouched but still steaming. “But you’re strong, and she’ll want you to be strong.” His hand lay on yours comfortingly. “My Ma told me women are survivors and much better than men at pulling themselves together and pushing against all odds.” And you’ll survive. You will.

Her last words are a gentle affirmation. “Eres el amor de mi vida. [You are the love of my life.]” Her chapped lips pressing against your hands, weeping eyes not being able to focus as her breath rattled and then stopped all together.

Her funeral was small, a couple of men and women from the neighborhood, you, Steve, and the Barnes family. George Barnes bought a plot in the cemetery for her and paid for the casket himself. “It’s the least we can do.” And you were grateful, because you wouldn’t have been able to afford it. Bucky held your hand tightly in his grip, pressing a kiss to your temple as they lowered your Mother’s casket into the ground.

The six of them were now shoved into your tiny apartment, the girls helping their Mother roll out dough and fix dinner in the small kitchen, George and Bucky were stripping the bed and Steve had just gotten back from starting a load of laundry in the basement. You didn’t know what to do, sitting out on the fire escape, blankly watching the cars pass by on the street below.

“Hey honey.” Winnie Barnes leaned out the window, pulling one leg up and then another to scoot herself outside. It would look almost ridiculous if she hadn’t been so put together. She gently pulled you into her chest, letting you wrap your arms around her tightly, crying into her shoulder. It was quiet for a beat, then another, then she said, “We have a guest room if you want to stop by, ever.” Hand soothingly rubbing up and down your back. “James aside, if you don’t want to be alone.”

You doubted you’d take them up on their offer, but “Thank you,” You sniffled into her shoulder, “Thank you.”

Comfort food. That's what they’d made. A large pot of beef stew you’d eat on for almost a week. Rolls, pie. You were okay throughout dinner, you ate some, but your appetite hadn’t fully returned yet. And Bucky didn’t leave you.

After dinner was put away and the family left, the two of you lay in the dark above the covers, staring at each other. This was very improper. Some say it would ruin your reputation. But at that moment you just really didn’t want to be alone. His hand outstretched and softly holding yours, the comfort of him just being there.

“I don’t have to leave,” He whispered, “But if you don’t want me here I understand.” You gripped his hand a little harder and he pulled you closer to him, letting your head lay on his chest as he pulled you in tight. Eyes dry and puffy from crying all day. “I love you babydoll.” A kiss to your hand while he stared at the ceiling.

“I love you too.” Voice watery, spoken into his chest.

Life goes on. Life went on. The apartment was just emptier. Quieter. Lonelier. Your Mother had done everything for you. She created this life. She brought you to America knowing you’d have a better life here than you did in Cuba. More opportunity. And if you hadn’t came to New York you would have never met Bucky.

Sweet, gentle, caring Bucky who brought you groceries every week now. He stayed for dinner every night. Sometimes he would even try his hand at cooking, as unpracticed as he was. He started doing laundry on days where you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. He cleaned on days you couldn’t get out of bed.

He bought you new shoes when your old ones began ripping up at the soles, “You have to take care of yourself dahlin, you need a new pair of shoes.” He had argued with you about it until he decided to just go get you a pair himself. He knew you were struggling to pay for this apartment and every time he brought groceries, every time he’d brought you some new fabric, and every time he’d slip money into your purse you would argue, but he would always win.

He just wanted to help. And he did. Wherever he could.

Arms wrapped around your waist from behind as you stirred a pot of rice. Lips pressed against your neck as he sung softly in your ear, Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered.

I'm wild again

Beguiled again

A simpering, whimpering child again

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I

“I love you.” You whispered, placing a hand over his on your stomach. “So much.” He let out a heavy breath,

“Marry me.” Your stirring halted, head turning to look at his flushed cheeks.

“James…”

“I’m serious.” He stepped back, bringing you to face him in his arms, swaying you side to side. “Be my wife,” A gentle kiss against your lips, then his blue eyes searching yours, “You’re so smart, so beautiful,” Another kiss, “I wanna be with you, I told you that on our first date.” He did. “I don’t have a ring or nothin’ yet, but just say the word and I’ll have one by lunchtime tomorrow.” Fingers twisting in your hair as he tilted your face. “I love you.” A gentle kiss, tongue brushing yours, fingers entwined in your hair, scratching your scalp. You moaned into his mouth,

“Ask me again.” He parted from you, pressing a kiss to your hand as he sunk down to one knee in your small kitchenette.

“Y/N,” Your hand held to his cheek, “You are the most caring, beautiful, intelligent woman I’ve ever met. I knew from the moment I saw you standing outside of the corner store that I would marry you. I love you, and I want to love you for the rest of my life. Everything I do and everything I will do will be to give you everything you ever wanted. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” You blinked, teary eyed, nodding.

“Yes.”

“It is no joke, this is a real war.” Spilled over the speakers of the radio in the Barnes’ living room. Pearl Harbor had just been bombed.

It was a quiet Sunday morning until that point. At lunch the family was sitting down to, the entirety of the Barnes clan, you and Steve. You’d just gotten back from church, George turning the radio on to have some background noise when the broadcast came on again. The United States were now part of the war. Troops were going to start being sent out any day now.

Steve and Bucky shared a look and the three men shut the doors to the parlor. Your fiance avoiding your eyes. Winnie lay a hand on your shoulder, turning you back into the kitchen as your heart dropped out of your chest.

“You’re not going.” You said sternly. “No.” Bucky sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

“You don’t understand dahlin, I have to go.” His hands reached for yours and you backed away out of reach.

“No, you don’t have to go.” You spat. “You want to go.”

“Stevie isn’t going to be able to, both of our Pops fought in the 107th and I have to continue on. This is for us, I’ll still be sending checks--”

“You think I want money?” You couldn’t help it, you started to cry. “I want you, here. With me.” He ran over to you, pulling you into his chest.

“Listen, baby.” A kiss pressed against your hair, “It’ll be fine.”

“It won’t.” You hiccuped, “Men die in war every day, James.”

“I’ll be fine.” You pushed your hands against his chest, trying to get away.

“No, you won’t be.” He held you tighter, “You’re leaving me.” Bucky let out a heavy sigh, beginning to rock the both of you side to side.

“Not forever,” He whispered, “Only for a little bit. I have to serve my country, to keep my family safe.” He moved to cup your cheek, tilting your teary eyes up to meet his, pressing a kiss to each of your cheeks before pressing his mouth to yours. “They bomb Pearl Harbor, who's to say they won’t bomb New York, huh? Gotta keep them off our shores.”

“James,” His face was serious, determined. There was no talking him out of this. This legacy he needed to fulfil. A war. A stupid fucking war. Wars gave a promise of work and promotion, they gave young boys like him good money to go out and put their lives on the line for men who sat in offices and just pointed fingers. It chewed young men up and spat them back out, you’ve seen it before. And you were going to lay witness to it again.

“There are people over there, innocent people,” He said softly, “Being persecuted for being who they are.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, scratching the nape of your neck with his blunt fingernails, “I would never be able to forgive myself if I didn’t fight to free them.” You sighed, closing your eyes and looking down at his chest.

“I just lost her, James.” You hiccup, “I can’t lose you too.” Silence filled the apartment for a moment, the gentle rocking side to side continued on before he responded,

“You’re not going to.”

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#bucky barnes #1940s bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers #captain america #winter soldier #cake's 1940s challenge

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honeymoonjin · 5 years

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A/N: a sequel to Seven (read it here). The boys return backstage to a shocking surprise. Special shout-out to my best girl @jeonau for this gorgeous banner. Her services are always appreciated and she deserves the world xx

The dressing room was in chaos when Jimin and Taehyung finally returned backstage. The two of them had stayed out a little longer to watch the fireworks, with no idea of the drama they were missing. All the other boys were bunched up in the far end, and Jimin couldn’t see past them to work out what exactly had caught their attention.

“What’s going on?” he calls out to nobody in particular, receiving no answer over the several layers of entangled conversation. The two of them hover on the outskirts of the group, trying to discern snippets of rushed speech.

“…thing is that she’s safe now and…”

“I know, but why can’t she just…”

“…not up for discussion.” It’s not until Sejin, who’s the one saying this, pulls away and notices them that they’re finally filled in. “Boys, you’re here. We’ve had a slight mishap-”

“Mishap?” Yoongi interrupts incredulously, a passionate fury across his face that is rarely seen on the normally-calm man. “A mishap? I come off stage and bump into my girlfriend in the corridor, bawling her fucking eyes out because you wouldn’t let her see us and that’s a mishap?”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Namjoon eases quickly, “I’m as upset as you are, but-”

“Y/n’s here?” Taehyung interrupts, so softly the leader almost misses it. He furrows his eyebrows and pushes his way inwards, past his other members, Jimin following quickly behind. Behind the mass of people is a sofa, on it is their Y/n, shaking like a leaf, knees up to her chest. It was immediately obvious that she had been crying like Yoongi said; with puffy cheeks and a running nose, she looked absolutely miserable.

Jimin felt his heart twist. How long had she been like this when he wasn’t here? “What happened?” he asks of Jin, who’s currently sat beside her, rubbing her back and burying his chin in her hair to keep her head pressed against his chest. He smiles sadly and speaks over her sniffling. “Y/n came all the way here to surprise us. Manager Sejin wanted to send her back home because we’re so busy,” he fixes the older man with a disappointed glare, “but that wasn’t such a good idea. But it’s okay, baby,” he murmurs into Y/n’s here, “we’re here now. We’re all here. Look, do you wanna say hi to Jimin and Tae?”

Jimin’s heart breaks again when his girl looks up at them balefully, before her face crumples and she starts sobbing again, hands reaching out to them. Instinctively, he links his fingers in with hers on her right hand as Taehyung gets down on his knees in front of the couch to look up at her, his hands almost the size of her face when he brings them up to cup her cheek, rubbing the tears away with his thumbs.

“Baby, you flew all the way here to visit us?” Taehyung waits patiently as she tries to speak, produces nothing but snuffles, and nods instead. “It’s okay, you don’t have to cry, pretty girl. We missed you so much, but you’re here now. Everything’s okay now.”

She raises one hand up to lay it over one of his, squeezing tightly to anchor herself. Before she speaks, she clears her throat, and everyone subconsciously shifts closer. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice cracking as it barely carries far enough for them to hear, “I didn’t mean to disrupt anything. I wanted to be here early, but the flight got delayed, and then when I got here, I couldn’t get through to you and-” she breaks off before she gets too overwhelmed, and takes a deep breath, exhaling heavily as Jin pulls her into a tighter hold, resuming the soothing circles on her back. Her morose eyes flicker over to Sejin, before falling back down to Taehyung’s much warmer gaze. “I had some good news to tell you guys, and I wanted to tell you in person, that’s all. I guess I didn’t think it through.”

It’s Hoseok that realizes what she’s saying first. His eyes go wide and his voice soft. “Y/n, are you…”

Jimin feels the grip on his hand get tighter, and he looks down at Y/n in confusion as she nods. “I’m pregnant,” she utters weakly, and Jimin’s heart stops.

Feeling like the world has slowed down to two frames a second, Jimin takes in the reactions of those around him even as his eyes begin to sting. Hoseok’s eyes are sparkling with wonder, just like Jungkook, whose mouth has formed a tight ‘o’ in surprise. Sejin has a disappointed turn to his mouth but his eyes show nothing but sympathy. Yoongi has a disbelieving smile playing at his lips, slowly spreading into the gummy smile Jimin could never get enough of. One of Taehyung’s hands had left Y/n’s face to cover his mouth, blinking up at her like she held all the stars in the universe in her eyes. Namjoon, for the most part, looked scared.

Once Jimin opens his mouth to speak, he tastes salt on his lips. He’s crying. “Are you really? We’re gonna have a baby?” Upon saying it, he gasps wetly and falls to his knees besides Taehyung, leaning on his broad shoulder for support.

Jin, who for the most part looked like he hadn’t reacted at all, turns to gaze up at Sejin. “You were gonna send her home? Not tell us our pregnant girlfriend was roaming the halls of the venue bawling her fucking eyes out? You’re meant to take care of us. Us means her too.”

“I didn’t know,” the man says simply. “I apologize, Y/n. Had you told me, I would’ve-”

“Could you please give us some time with our girlfriend, manager-nim?” Namjoon questions flatly. “We can speak with you about this later. She’ll be staying with us for the rest of the tour as well, so you can take this chance to go update the accommodation and flight details.”

Sejin, knowing he’s no longer welcome, turns tail and leaves quietly. Y/n goes lax once the door shuts behind him. “I’m so sorry,” Namjoon says immediately, “everything shouldn’t have gone like this. Baby, if you told us that you were coming, we could’ve pre-” he cuts himself off with a rueful smile and shakes his head. “No, let’s not worry about that now. It’s done. I’m just so glad you’re safe, baby girl. Come on, chin up. Let’s go back to the hotel, yeah? Everyone must be hungry, it’s getting late.”

----------

If there was a perfect number, you thought it must be eight. It was an even number, so the eight of you would walk down the street in pairs; Hobi and Jin taking the lead, drinking in the sights. Jimin and Taehyung would go next, they went everywhere side-by-side. Namjoon and Jungkook would often bring up the rear, as JK loved practicing English with his hyung, but would often come to a halt in the middle of the footpath when he couldn’t think of a word. You and Yoongi walked together. You couldn’t remember the last time you went anywhere with them without holding Yoongi’s hand. The two of you would swing your joint hands idly between you, sending messages of comfort and love back and forth by the simple gesture of giving the other’s hand a squeeze every now and then. Eight was also, incidentally, a perfect amount when it came to sleeping. The dorms had been repurposed after you moved in, so that there were two rooms with two beds pushed together, and one with three. Most of the time, you split off into two groups of four. You wedged in the middle of the rap line, Namjoon at your back and the other two snuggling in front of you. Jin would spread out on his back in the other room, with three maknaes curled into his side under his arms like small children. But occasionally, often when it had been a while since you’d seen each other, or on nights where you didn’t just use the beds for sleeping, you’d pile into what used to be Jimin and Hoseok’s room, and you’d line up, different arrangements depending on how you collapsed into the bed when you were done.

Tonight was a night for the big bed. Since you were staying in a hotel, it took a while to stack three beds side by side, but you spent that time being coddled by seven caring men who were determined to cheer you up. Jin ordered some plain rice and steamed vegetables since you weren’t sure you could stomach anything heavier than that, and sat with you, even feeding you with his chopsticks when you felt too weak to even lift your arm. Jungkook had rushed down to the hotel’s laundromat with some coins taken from the staff, returning with a dryer-warm t-shirt for you to get changed into since you hadn’t thought to even bring a suitcase with you. Taehyung distracted you with photos he had taken on their travels so far, Jimin watching with his chin resting on your shoulder, hugging your back. Namjoon was on the phone with somebody, talking in a hush with his hand cupped around the receiver end, and you didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to even try and work out who he was speaking with or what he was saying, but you had faith it was something for you. Yoongi and Hobi were fluttering around you with water bottles, face wipes, and scented hand cream since you didn’t want to shower.

Finally, you’re carried into bed by Jungkook, who immediately turns you onto your side and wraps his arms around your middle. One by one, your other boys come and join you. Jin, Yoongi and Hoseok go behind Jungkook, Jimin is directly in front of you and Taehyung and Namjoon are behind him.

You bury your face in his chest, smelling the light perfume still lingering in his pajama top from the last time it was washed, and let the taxes of the day slip away. It doesn’t take you long to fall asleep with the collective harmony of their breathing mingling with yours, and the hand that has slipped under your shirt to rest on your belly, keeping the life inside of you safe.

(I’m just tagging everyone that explicitly expressed interest so that you don’t miss it! @prettybubblesintheair @ayyeaestheticgirl18 @hopetookmysoul @its-livemylife33 @honeyspillings @whitefeatheredwyvern)

#bts x reader #bts angst #ot7 x reader #ot7 fic #bts fluff #bts oneshot #jin #yoongi #hoseok #namjoon #jimin #taehyung #jungkook

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kanna-ophelia · 4 years

Text

Love’s Pure Light

31 Days of Ineffables Day 7: Silent Night Dedicated to the lovely and talented @alltheprettygirlsintheworld

On AO3

On Wattpad Somewhere in New Zealand, 1990

The starry night was silent, or as silent as nights generally get, which is to say there were the sounds of wind, bugs, sleepy sheep noises, and, in this case, cursing and pleading.

"Turn around, just fucking turn around, you stupid bloody sheep, I--"

Glory streamed from the sky. Golden light pulsed, trumpets sounded, choral music swelled. An angel descended, white wings spread, arms held out, their face concealed by radiance too great to look at. "BE NOT AFRAID."

"Fuck fuck fuck--" The shepherd, if that was what it was, scrambled back in panic, utterly failing to be not afraid. "Look, don't get mad, can see you're busy, I'll be getting along now, popping back to Hell, no need for a fight."

The glorious angel tittered. Distinctly tittered, as the radiance faded and they took a more ordinary, if immaculate, human form.

"*Aziraphale." Crowley hesitated, torn between relief, fury, joy and amusement, and settled on the last one. He flung his head back and laughed and laughed. "Oh, you bastard. Come here." He lunged himself forward and his arms around the angel, and it was only when Aziraphale stopped giggling and stood suddenly stock still that Crowley realised he had never embraced him before. He stumbled back for the second time this evening, and they stared at each other. For lack of anything else not revealing to say, Crowley repeated "You bastard."

Eventually they found themselves sitting side and side on a log, staring at the sheep. "You really are a bastard," Crowley said. "I thought you were Gabriel, coming to announce the next messiah. Or Sandalphon announcing the first. Did you ever get a firm confirmation from Headquarters on that one?"

Aziraphale pursed his lips, wrinkled his brow and looked unhappy, which Crowley knew well enough to read as She doesn't talk to us about things anymore. He felt slight compunction over his urge to keep prodding, keep encouraging Aziraphale to question, keep--keep what? He didn't really want his angel to fall. Just to keep him company. That would be more evil than even a demon could contemplate.

He wanted to apologise and couldn't. Instead he rambled on. "Or Michael. You have no idea how terrifying that would be."

"Why Michael?" Aziraphale, looking curiously at him, sidelong under perfect long lashes. Crowley wished he wouldn't, and wished he would, and couldn't sort it out at all. "You always seem to have it in for her. She's a bit strict, but she's not so bad, really."

"You imagine sitting in a paddock full of sheep and your Dad shows up. Especially when she's a straight-laced wanker."

"Oh." Those pretty lashes blinked. "I don't know why that surprises me. You had to be Created somehow. Born from tears, eh?"

Crowley would do anything to stop Aziraphale looking at him in that tender, compassionate way. "So what are you doing here, angel? I thought you hated this neck of the woods." Aziraphale hummed under his breath and didn't answer. "On assignment?" Aziraphale stared at his plump fingers, twining and entwining, and still said nothing. Crowley was very good at seeing in the dark, and he was almost sure there was pink creeping up from Aziraphale's neck.

Is it me? Did you come see me? Oh, angel, it's been twenty-three years. Tell me you missed me. Tell me that was slow enough. Tell me you came looking. To New Zealand, of all places.

"What are you doing? You seemed to be yelling at some sheep."

"Oh, yeah. Well, it was a great idea." Crowley beamed. "This was practice. Do you know there's thirty-nine million sheep in this place? Imagine how much terror and chaos it will cause if one morning the humans wake up and every sheep is facing in the other direction."[1]

"Brilliant, my dear," Aziraphale said politely.

"Yeah. Only they're stubborn, sheep. And apparently have no terror of demons. Or at least of me." Crowley sighed, resisted with practiced skill the impulse to take Aziraphale's hand, and leaned back, staring at the sky.

"I'm sure you're very intimidating."

"Oh, shut up." Crowley felt ridiculously happy. Here, under the stars, the baaing and bleating of sleep, the warm presence of his angel by his side. He felt a surge of courage.

"Let's have a picnic tomorrow," he said casually. Aziraphale tensed by his side, and he rushed on. "The cheese here, it's amazing, you need to try it." Every time he had tasted some, he had thought of Aziraphale, what he would look and sound like taking the salty creaminess into his mouth. "And they have these coffees--flat whites. Ristrettos with the glossiest, most velvety textured milk. They think they invented them."

"Didn't they?"

"The Australians think they invented them." Crowley grinned to himself. "Simultaneously. But each thinks they are first and the other country tried to steal the credit. You have no idea the amount of bickering and bad feeling between the nations it causes."

"And who invented them, or do I really need to ask?" sighed Aziraphale.

"I always did like coffee." Crowley grinned. "And pointless hostility and resentment between otherwise friendly nations. Ask me about pavlova some time."

Aziraphale gave him a suspicious look. "No flavoured syrups in flat whites?"

"Who do you think I am? I'm not that evil."

"I think you are someone who has four sugars in your tea. Pure chaotic wickedness."

Crowley laughed, tried not to hug him. "Come on." He couldn't manage puppy-dog eyes, not with these yellow snake-like things, but he was good at pleading eyebrows. "A picnic. You promised."

Aziraphale's mouth and brow were worried, but his eyes were very soft and liquid. "All right. See you tomorrow night. Here, at the same time."

And he was gone, leaving enough time for Crowley to panic thoroughly and over-cater. Even if you could over-cater for Aziraphale.

* * *

Aziraphale oohed and aahed satisfactorily over the local cheeses Crowley produced. Buffalo mozzarella,, camembert, burrata, maasdam, washed-rind, ash-coated goat's cheese, ricotta, haloumi.

"I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I bought them all," he said nonchalantly, pulling out some old gouda and blue cheese. Bread, crisp around the edges and fluffy white inside. Manuka-smoked cultured butter. Local honey. Crayfish salad. A pavlova, creamy with cheese and miraculously unsquashed, adorned with berries and kiwi fruit. Flat white coffees, miraculously still hot and velvety. And in pride of place--

Pan-fried pāua, nestled back in their shimmering blue shells.

Do you remember Rome, angel? The first time you approached me, rather than the other way around. The first time you asked me to spend time with you and seemed eager for me to agree. I was so sad, so sickened, on the point of giving up on the humans and going back to Hell--and then you. Luminous, kind, and taking such joy in those damned oysters, so much pleasure, so that I kept forgetting to eat and just kept watching you. My light, hope to a demon. Look at these, Aziraphale. Pretty oysters--well, pretty snails, I guess. Gleaming like you. Remember, remember.

He has no idea if oysters in Rome even meant anything to Aziraphale.

"Oh, it looks all delightful," cooed Aziraphale, spreading gooey camembert on a stick of bread, and Crowley tried not to smirk bashfully. He leaned back to watch the show.

It should be daylight. He should be watching his angel lit up by sunshine, playing in the pale curls, warm and golden on the soft curves of his cheeks and neck. But if moonlight and starlight was what he got, he would take it. Aziraphale unselfconsciously gathered up some camembert on his finger and licked it off, and Crowley shivered. Yes, he would take it.

He watched in fascination as Aziraphale tried everything, chewed and tasted and made small sounds of appreciation. He wondered if the angel had any idea how enrapturing he was in his unabashed enjoyment.

"Won't you eat too, dear?" Aziraphale asked softly. "You went to all this trouble."

Crowley cut a slice of aged cheese, popped it in his mouth, savoured the umami and salt as he chewed slowly and swallowed, but the real pleasure was in Aziraphale's increased joy, the gentle lifting of his thin expressive lips.

"Are you happy, Crowley?"

Crowley blinked. He had never, in his entire existence, been asked that except in angry, blaming tones. Now he was here with Aziraphale, looking at him kindly, looking as if his happiness was important. He wasn't sure how to handle it.

"Demons aren't supposed to be happy. Pleasure and enjoyment, yeah. Happiness, no." Aziraphale's face fell, the wrinkles in his forehead deeper, and Crowley reached out, clutched his hand. "Yeah." He passed a thumb across the back of Aziraphale's hand, and told the truth. "I'm happy."

"I'm so glad." Aziraphale was actually glowing in the dark. "Do try this honey, it's amazing." He dipped a spoon in the honey and held it out to Crowley. Honey. RIch and golden and sweet and--oh, it felt like Aziraphale was offering himself, and that was a ridiculous, insane, dangerous thought. Crowley parted his lips, and let the honey pass into his mouth, held it there, let it dissolve.

"It's beautiful." His voice was thick.

"Try the butter." Aziraphale's voice was strange too, his movements quick and jerky as he spread butter on bread. "Here." He broke off a piece, and held it to Crowley's lips.

Crowley had imagined, so many times, hand-feeding Aziraphale. Dreamily imagined it, as they shared meals together. Meltingly, when he saw something his angel would like. Desperately, frantically, ashamedly, alone and consumed with craving, carried away with the thought of doing something, anything, that would mean he was causing the angel pleasure, admitting to himself that he would rather make Aziraphale made a pleased sound with than any carnal pleaure with anyone else, admitting to himself that desire was fiery and demonic and, yes, carnal.

Crowley had never imagined Aziraphale hand-feeding him. He felt vulnerable and exposed, and saw the same expression in Aziraphale's face. Eating--eating was special to Aziraphale. A special pleasure. And he was sharing it... Aziraphale's hands were trembling, which was only fair, because Crowley was trembling from head to toe.

He took the bread into his mouth. The cultured and smoked butter was tangy, nutty. Sweet from the honey, creamy. And the salty, burned taste of the smoking, a whiff of Hell in all the heaven. Not ruining it. Making it better.

"I've missed you," breathed Aziraphale, and Crowley surged forward and kissed him.

Too much, too fast, he warned himself, but Aziraphale's shoulders were rounded and warm under his clasping hands and Aziraphale's lips, sweet and salty with cheese and honey, were returning the kiss, warm solid arms coming up around him as if helpless to do anything else. He was kissing the angel, and the angel wasn't kissing him away, he was returning the kiss so sweetly, so tenderly, so longingly. Crowley didn't dare deepen it, didn't dare risk losing this miracle, the lips against his, the arms around his back in the quiet night.

Just let me have this moment, he prayed, to--God? Satan? Aziraphale? I can live in this moment forever, whatever else happens. I love him so desperately.

Aziraphale pulled away eventually, and Crowley stared into his face, so pale in the moonlight, his eyes looking dark for once--night time or desire? He didn't know, could only hope. "Aziraphale," he whispered. "Please."

Aziraphale shook his head violently, the moment passing, fear coming back. He dropped his arms. "Not here. Anyone--anyone could see."

I want to kiss you here, Crowley thought rebelliously. Kiss you and kiss you and claim you, right under heaven, so they can see you belong to me, see you choose me, see you are mine.

And then what? his conscience asked. And why did he even have a bloody conscience? The pathetic angelic remnant was just a disadvantage to a demon. You want to take being an angel away from him?

"Come back to my hotel, then," he said, anyway. He was a demon. Selfish. "We can be alone--angel. Please." He was pleading without hope.

Aziraphale shook his head. It was inevitable, but it still hurt. "Don't make this harder. We are enemies--with an Arrangement."

Crowley wouldn't cry. Wouldn't manipulate Aziraphale that way. "Then let me buy you coffee tomorrow. You haven't drunk yours."

He thought Aziraphale would refuse. The angel was chewing his lip and looking down as if he was going to say no and flee.

"Yes. You worked so hard on flat whites. I owe it to you to taste them."

"Thank you."

Aziraphale's mouth twisted, as if Crowley wasn't the only one trying not to weep. "Don't thank me." He took a breath. "Anyway, I should thank you. This picnic, it was marvellous."

"Don't thank me," Crowley echoed, bitterly.

Aziraphale stood, fussily brushed crumbs off his neat trousers--and what was wrong with Crowley that watching those pampered hands brush Aziraphale's wonderfully thick thighs still sent fire lancing through him?--and looked down at him.

"Well. At least let me show my gratitude." Aziraphale flicked his fingers in the air, and there was a disturbed bleating.

All the sheep in the paddock were facing in the other direction.

"Angel." Despite all his mixed emotions, Crowley felt a grin creep over his face. "Just here?"

"All over New Zealand, I'm afraid." Aziraphale paused, then a glimmer of a smirk crept across his face. "And Australia."

"Angel," Crowley repeated, adoringly.

Aziraphale's smirk increased, then Crowley was alone in the silent night.

* * *

Something like thirty years later, when there had been many kisses, and many picnics, and much much more, when they could walk openly together hand in hand under the sky, and kiss there, Crowley stopped at a coffee stall and bought a flat white.

Aziraphale made a face. "They don't make them properly in England, you know that."

"Don't care. " Crowley looked at the slimy mess that was supposed to be milk microfoam, and sipped it dubiously. They had used a long shot of espresso, not ristretto, and burned it to boot. "It's a good memory."

"Yes, it is. The first time my husband kissed me."

"My glorious, terrifying angel."

Aziraphale pouted. "Oh, you make have quaked a bit, but you've never been afraid of me."

"No. No, somehow I never have been." Crowley snapped his fingers to dispose of the awful excuse for coffee, and went for Aziraphale's mouth, which was much sweeter instead. "But don't pretend to be Gabriel again."

Aziraphale shuddered. "Never." He smiled up at Crowley, whose heart turned over and over. "Shall we have another picnic today, my beloved?"

"Only if you promise to hand feed me," he said, and Aziraphale laughed happily, and, oh.

All was calm, and all was bright.

* * *

1 Inexplicable phenomena were not in themselves unusual on the Discworld. Rains of fish, for example, were so common in the little landlocked village of Pine Dressers that it had a flourishing smoking, canning and kipper-filleting industry. And in the mountain regions of Syrrit many sheep, left out in the fields all night, would be found in the morning to be facing the other way, without the apparent intervention of any human agency. --Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man.

Notes:

1) I've never actually been to New Zealand, but gosh, their cheese. Fun note: I'm lactose intolerant.

2) Pāua are incredibly beautiful mollusks (of your choice). Fun note: I hate seafood.

3) Seriously, thank you again for all this support for this series of fluffy first kisses.

4) See you tomorrow for "Choir"! @drawlight

#31 days of ineffables #azicrow #Aziraphale/Crowley #Good omens fanfic #Ineffable husbands fanfiction #silent night

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1-800-seo · 4 years

Text

— 1-800-SEO'𝗌 𖧷 '𝖲𝗈𝗅𝗈 𝖲𝗍𝖺𝗀𝖾' — \ 1 | 2 | /

— 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝗃𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗄𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

— 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿/𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍

— 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌: 2655

— 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋: 2

— 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 90'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖩𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗄𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐.

Your joints crack as you sit up in bed, you stare at the poster covered wall as your eyes adjust to the morning light. Taehyung shifts on his mattress on the floor a few metres away. The sun streams into the room through the slats of the blinds, honey glow lighting up the room. Your back aches as you stretch out your worn muscles. Last night’s activities tired out both your brain and your body.

You pad over to the chunky computer over by the window and switch it on before searching the room for your leather jacket. It’s on the floor underneath Tae’s feet, likely because it was discarded in a hurry to get some sleep. You rummage through the pockets until you find a small folded piece of paper, an old receipt, with a phone number and email address written in neat handwriting.

Once the slow computer has booted up, you load up the internet. The familiar ear piercing dial up tone You scramble to turn the volume down but it’s too late. Taehyung had already stirred and you’d jumped out of your skin. It scared you so much you have goose bumps and almost fall off your chair in the process of finding the volume button on the monitor.

Taehyung slowly sits up on the mattress, cradling his pillow like his life depends on it. His hair is ruffled and eyes heavy.

“What are you doing?” He mumbles out, voice croaky and low with sleep. “Sorry TaeTae, I was trying to ring up the internet but forgot that we played games on it on Wednesday night and didn’t turn down the sound.”

Apologetically you squeeze his knee, hoping he’ll be able to go back to sleep. You don’t like an overtired best friend, especially when yours gets extra cranky like a toddler. Luckily he lies back down and pulls his blanket over his head, most likely blocking out the light. You turn back to the computer and boot up the email program.

You input the email written on the paper, hands shaking as you type. You weren’t used to this, the email read ‘[email protected]’, it made you hyper aware that this doesn’t happen every day.

You begin writing your email to him, as you did so thoughts of gratitude and sentiment welled up inside. You u had to thank him for his kindness, after all, he spared you from a concussion.

The email read: Dear Jeon Jungkook/JJK,

Thanks for everything last night, it’s greatly appreciated. Your show was radical, and I’m sorry I bummed so much of your time. Hope we can meet again soon.

Sincerely, a loyal fan of yours, ~ ________~

You finished typing up your message and read it and re-read it for any mistakes. You wanted it to be chatty and casual but not overly casual so as to look like you don’t care. You left it at that and hit send. The paper airplane emoticon bounced in the digital wind as your email was sent though code to Jungkook himself. You got back in bed and hoped for your heart to stop fluttering.

By the time you received an email in your inbox that wasn’t from a school friend or an advertisement, it was the following Wednesday. You were having your usual hang out with Taehyung when the computer pinged in the background of your chatter. You just ignored it since a ping on your computer is usually just your school friends gossiping about how they want you to set them up with Tae, and went back to your sewing session.

By sewing, you and Tae weren’t exactly doing cross stitch, you were sewing on patches to his back pack and your denim jacket. After you had finished that, that was when you checked your ivory coloured, cube shaped computer monitor and spotted the sender’s name: Jeon Jungkook/JJK.

Tae almost had a heart attack when he saw it with his own eyes. To double check he brushed his fringe out of them. He grabbed you by the shoulder, and shook you back and forth. “Don’t tell me that’s the JJK! Are you serious?!” He exclaimed as he rocked your brain in your skull.

“I mean I think so, I emailed him on Saturday morning.” You scanned your brain for any reason why it wouldn’t be the real him, maybe a scam?

“Open it quick!” Taehyung jumped on the computer, spamming the enter button repeatedly. The email took its time opening, the loading bar going up bit by bit. Too slow for Taehyung’s liking. A few “come on, come on!”’s later and it popped on the screen in all its anticipated glory.

It read: dear ______, im glad to hear that youre ok. dont worry about ‘wasting my time’, you made a normal day exciting, and i cant thank you enough for that, doll. hopefully we can meet up some time? id like to invite you and your friend to my next scheduled show, don’t stress about travel, ill sort it, it’d just be nice to see you again and catch a bite to eat before the show. i want to see your pretty face again, angel. let me know asap.

yours truly - jjk.

As soon as you read the email, you shook with excitement and screamed. Taehyung had wide eyes and his mouth agape. “No. Freaking. Way.” He gasped, completely in shock.

“How did this happen to me? This is a dream, right?” You shake your head as to clear a non existent sleepy fog that could be making you hallucinate.

You look back at the monitor; the email is still there. “This can’t be real?!” You exclaim, turning to Taehyung on your swizzle chair, wide eyed.

“It has to be? This is a real email, it has his email address right there!” He pokes the screen at the point of mention. “It all seems legitimate?” You ponder, searching the screen any tell tale signs of a scam.

“I hope it’s not too good to be true... I want to be your future children’s godfather.” Taehyung said with a giggle, covering his bashful smile.

“You have to be kidding me, as much as I’d like to have his children, we’ve only met once!” You blush, cheeks going warm.

After all the fangirling, you decide to sort out the arrangements of your next meet-up, and exchange more heart fluttering emails as you smooth out the plans. A few emails later and the plans end up being that you’ll start the evening with catching something to eat on the boardwalk and then you’ll go to the venue for his next concert, meet Taehyung there, chill out in the green room, and then watch the show from front row seats.

The whole plan was unreal to you, unrealistic at its simplest, but you were excited nonetheless. The day came around sooner than expected and soon enough you were picking out the perfect date outfit with your best friend, as well as wondering whether to do pre-game shots to steady your nerves.

“Are you sure you’re ok with this plan, TaeTae?” You ask hesitantly, staring into the mirror and meeting eyes with him across the room.

“Of course I am, I’m just happy I get to see my favourite artist again in concert; never mind be wingman for my favourite girl. It’s extra special when those two events align though.”

Boxy grin on his face, he looks at the ground. “You’re the best, honey bear.” You say and pull him into a befitting bear hug.

“I’ve not heard that name in a while.” He chuckles under his breath and places a firm kiss on the top of your head.

“I know your mum used to call you that when we were little so I thought it fit you; my big honey bear, intimidating to others but so sweet to me.”

You release him from the hug and share a look that holds the bond of a years long friendship. “Right, what’re you going to wear then?” “Shall we coordinate outfits?” Tae asked picking out a camouflage bandana. “You could wear your camo print pants, and I’ll wear this?” He wraps the bandana round his head and fluffs his long dark wavy hair. His change of conversation kickstarts you back into the present reality. After that, you pick out a black sleeveless crop top to go with his advised pants, layered necklaces/chokers, and boots and put them on after you’ve adorned your pants with metallic dangling chains. Once you’re in your grunge get up, you shove your across the shoulder bum bag with any essential item you might need, such as lipstick, tampons, money, etc. and sling it over your back like a quiver. If you need it you’ll have to turn it round but it’s for the aesthetic so you ignore the inconvenience it creates.

A few hours later and you’re driving down the Cali roads in Taehyung’s 60’s Triumph TR6 with the wind in your hair and nirvana blasting on tape. Miles and miles of beach zoom by until you reach the board walk and you don’t stop until you reach the high end sea restaurants built to feed tourists.

Taehyung pulls up by the entrance and lets you out. He looks stunning in the golden sunlight, dark hair glowing amber in the rays. “Don’t have too much fun.” He lifts up his sun glasses before sending you a wink, saluting you goodbye, and driving away.

“See you at 8pm!” You shout over the roaring exhaust. He never turns around but raises a hand in a wave of acknowledgement as he drives away.

You step in to the restaurant to be met with the smell of sea salt and braised steaks. You scan the tables for a familiar face until you see a hand waving over the sides of a booth in the corner.

“Didn’t expect to be seeing you here.” You say coyly, sliding into the booth opposite him.

“Well, you know, I was just waiting for a beautiful girl, but I think I’ve found one who’s more to die for than the desserts here.” He pushes a lock of hair out of his eyes, it has a slight curl to it, even more prominent now that it isn’t as sweaty as when it’s most commonly seen.

“Oh, and who might that be?” You fold your legs and place your hands underneath your chin, looking into his eyes with a smile.

“I believe it’s you, babycakes.” A flush forms on your cheeks and he winks at you.

“So what do you fancy eating tonight? I think I have my eye on something...” He fully takes in your outfit, but you’re not sure his eyes are only on your outfit, maybe this croptop was a good idea after all.

“I don’t know, can you recommend anything? I like things that are creamy.” You reply, batting your eyelashes, feigning innocence.

“I’m sure I’ll be able to whip up something delicious for you, darling.” A waiter comes and starts their opening spiel, this sends fits of giggles through you both.

A date full of getting to know each other, flirty comments, and general adoration for each other later, your cheeks were hurting because of how much smiling you had been doing. JK was so charismatic it hurt.

Soon dinner was over and it was time to make your way over to the venue. Hand in hand you stroll across the board walk to get there. The way the sunlight hits the waves is enchanting and you find yourself stopping to gaze into the bay.

“What’re you thinking about?” He asks whilst resting his hand on the boardwalk railings.

“Everything, nothing... I just keep thinking about how surreal this is, I feel like I’m in a dream. Partially because I’m in the presence of a super gorgeous singer and partially because said singer asked to spend time with me and now I’m on a date with them. If that doesn’t sound like a dream, I don’t know what does.”

You laugh and cover your face. Suddenly you feel two warm hands on yours, peeling them back from your face. When you open your eyes you are met with Jungkook’s emoting doe eyes looking back at you.

“I completely understand, I have felt the same before, like reality isn’t the same, or like I’m dreaming; but we’re here now, we’re present, you’re here with me and it’s real.”

He pulls you into a hug, his arms enveloping your body. Most people would feel uncomfortable, especially since you just met Jungkook, however here with him on the boardwalk, in the setting sun, you feel safe. You feel like you are where you’re supposed to be. You stand there hugging him on the boardwalk for what feels like a long time, and then you pull away and grab his hand, continuing the journey once more.

“Thank you Jungkook, that was so comforting, I can’t imagine you’ve been in a similar situation but I really am grateful for being here in your company. Can I ask, when have you felt like this?” You feel his thumb rub small circles into your skin, such a soothing notion.

“I don’t know, from time to time... I guess it’s just the perils of the job. Don’t get me wrong, I love this, it’s what I’ve always wanted to do, but their is just some days where I really do feel disconnected. Show after show, blurring face after face, I’m on a high when I’m on stage but when I come down, I come down, if you know what I mean?” You notice his gaze is on the cracked sun bleached wood of the boardwalk.

“I get that. It must be hard every night to go from having the time of your life, to go back to normalcy once your feet touch backstage. I get that you’re just a normal guy who feels like a normal guy, but when people treat you like a god, it can’t sit right, can it?”

“Yeah, it’s like when I’m up there I’m deified but when I’m at home I’m the farthest thing from likeable.” He’s looking up, eyes turned towards the sky now, you wonder whether he’s doing this to stave off the tears.

“Jungkook, I know I haven’t known you long, but I can guarantee that when the lights are off and you’re home in your pyjamas, you’re just as likeable as the guy with the heavenly voice on the stage. I’m not saying this as a fan, I’m saying this as someone who wants to get to know you better, to see you when you’re not on stage, when you think you’re unlikeable, and to be able to tell you all the reasons why you’re so so likeable and worth so much more than you realise. No one is worthy of being deified, but you are certainly worthy of feeling loved.” You squeeze his hand tight in your palm to reassure him.

“Would you be the one to love me?” He turns to you and looks you in your shocked eyes. His are softened and tear filled. “I am not adverse to that... however could I maybe get to know you a little better first?” you say back, as lovely as this boy is, and no matter how much you wanted to love him, you couldn’t really say that yet.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so stupid, sorry for that, why would I ask that on the first date? What the hell? But also yes yes that’d be amazing. I’m so sorry though.” His cheeks flush and you can tell a mile off that he’s flustered, he’s still cute though. You giggle in return, “You’re too cute.”

And so you continue along the board walk, hands clasped together, you both make your way to his next show.

𖣔 𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾��𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀! 𖣔

𝖫𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽

𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀, 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽!

#bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts #bangtan #jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook fic #jungkook angst #jungkook oneshot #90’s jungkook #grunge jungkook #jeon jungkook #taehyung #taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung #bestfriend taehyung

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fictionalabyss · 6 years

Text

Death by Snu Snu.

Pairing : Benny x Reader, Dean, Sam.

Word count : 1,989

Warnings : All the fluff. Minor smut (mentioned)

This series is a commission.

Part 12 of The Arrangement.

Just before 8 months, the supply was running low. You were honestly a bit surprised it got you this far considering they had told you they left some behind. That’s when it hit you. “Benny?”

“Ain’t morning yet, ‘Cher. Back to sleep, you need your rest.” His eyes were closed, arms wrapped around you.

“I need to ask you something really important.” You rolled over and looked up at him

“What’s so important it can’t wait?” He cracked open one eye.

“What are you eating?”

“Darlin’-”

“You’re not drinking my blood, your not feeding directly from me, what are you eating, Benny?”

He licked his lips. “Dean picks me up a bag or two every now and then. If it’s the right blood type, I add it what you need. If not, I drink.”

“Benny!”

“I’m fine, Cher.” He smiled. “As long as you’re okay and that baby is kicking, I’m fine. I promise, I’m eating. Dean’s been making sure of it. Worried I’ll feed on his precious brother if I go too long without.” Benny chuckled.

“You saying you wouldn’t?”

Benny shook his head. “He knows how to take care of you. Dean goes first, looks delicious.” He joked with a wide grin and you laughed.

“I heard that!” You heard from across the hall and laughed louder.

“Don’t you worry about me. You worry about that little bub you’re carrying. Got it?”

“Sir, yes sir.” You snuggled against his chest. “Benny?” He hummed, his eyes already closed again. “Think Sam would mind checking the heartbeat again?”

“I don’t think Sam would mind at all. Why?”

“I love how you light up every time you hear it.” You smiled and let yourself drift off to sleep to the sound of his heart beat.

Sure enough, later that morning, as soon as that quick little heartbeat filled the room, Benny’s eyes closed, a soft smile on his face. You were sad you couldn’t get regular ultrasounds as well. One had happened around three months when the boys snuck you into the hospital, and into an unused ultrasound room. He didn’t know know how to read all the information he saw there, but no one cared. You saw your baby. And to you, it was perfect. You glanced over at the pictures Sam had printed before you all snuck out again, sitting by the bed in a wooden frame Dean had picked up on the way back to the bunker. You smiled at them as that little heartbeat filled your ears.

“I’m no doctor, but it still sounds healthy.” Sam smiled when you turned back to him. “If you want, I can probably find somewhere to get a handheld ultrasound too, maybe see what you’re having?”

As much as you wanted to see it again, you shook your head. “I want to be surprised.” You smiled. “As long as we both make it, I don’t really care what it is.”

Sam gave you a nod and a smile again, holding the wand over your belly and letting you hear it for a bit longer. The sound seemed to relax everyone. Even Dean was standing near by, smiling as he listened.

Then there was a ‘Thwump’ and you felt the baby shift, the heart beat getting weaker. Sam laughed, and moved the wand, following it, just to hear the sound again, and the baby shift.

“I think someone wants a bit of privacy.” He chuckled. “But as far as I can tell, everything’s good. It’s heart is going strong, and you’re not experiencing anything new. I think it’s safe to say you’ll both survive this. And I’ll admit, I had doubts.”

“I think we all did.” You admitted softly, hands moving over your stomach, ignoring the stickiness from the gel. “But I’m stubborn as hell.” You smiled.

“And strong.” Dean mused from where he stood. “I don’t think anyone else could do this.”

Your cheeks blushed pink and you glanced down as Benny kissed your head. “Thanks Dean. That means a lot to me.”

Three days, if you were lucky. But more often than not it was every other day. And if you knew it was coming soon, Benny would help you relax in the best way possible. Either with his hand between your thighs, or the drag of his cock and a thumb on your clit. More often than not, you’d pass out from your orgasm, a look of pure bliss on your face. And he’d get you both decent and hold you, stroking your hair while Sam checked on you.

But the bigger the baby inside you grew, the weaker you got. Soon, meals started coming to you. Sam still insisted you get up once in a while, even just to walk in your own room.

Dean would drag Benny out with him sometimes, just to get him out for a few hours. Sometimes they were just getting supplies, sometimes hitting a bar for a drink, once or twice Dean dragged him on a salt and burn. But you were always fine. Sam would set himself up close by and study up. You chuckled when you found out he was figuring out how to bring your child into this world. “Midwife Sam Winchester.” You teased.

“Hey, if there are others like us, tons of people are fucking something supernatural. I could make a killing.” He winked making you laugh.

“You’ve-”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Werewolf, and a demon, at least.” He sighed. “Dean fucked an angel and had a kid with an Amazon.”

“Like, wonder woman?” Your eyebrows furrowed. “That’s real?”

“I think it was more like that futurama episode…” He tilted his head to the side a bit as he thought about it.

“Snu Snu!” You laughed.

“Yeah, yeah.” He laughed with you. “Death by snu snu. Those kids grow up fast, and then kill their fathers.”

“Oh.” Your eyes went wide.

“Fun times.” Sam smiled with a nod.

“Sounds like your sex life is about as ‘Normal’ as mine.” You teased, nudging him.

When you hit 36 weeks, you felt like you hit the point of no return. Even though you had hit that long ago, everything was very real, and coming up fast. You hadn’t seen much of Dean in the last few days, and you were worried he was mad at you. “Sam?”

“Hm?” He looked up from where he sat with his laptop across the room

“Is Dean really that mad that I ate his food last week?”

Sam chuckled remembering Dean’s face when he walked into the kitchen, and his burger was long gone, and you were half way through his pie. “I think he understands that the baby wants what it wants. Don’t worry about him. He’s been keeping busy.” You worried your bottom lip between your teeth. “He’s not mad, I promise.”

About two hours later, there was a gentle knock on your door. You had been watching a movie on Sam’s laptop with Benny, and when you looked up, Dean was standing there. “Hi..” You said quietly, unsure.

“Come on, I got something to show you two.” He smiled.

You glanced at Benny who shrugged as he put the laptop aside and got up to help you out of bed. You followed quietly behind Dean, wondering where he was taking you. Just two doors down from his room, and a bit closer to Sam’s, he stopped. Motioning towards the door, you once again gave Benny a confused look.

Benny let go of you so you could step forward and open the door. You gasped what you saw inside. “I told you he wasn’t mad.” Sam smiled as he came up the hall from his own room.

Stepping inside, your mouth a gape, you couldn’t believe your eyes. The only original furniture left in the room was the bed and a single dresser. The room was now painted a soft mint green, there was a beautiful white crib and change table that housed drawers. The bedding for both the crib and the bed matched everything else in the room. “Dean..” You breathed out softly, completely in awe.

“Figured you guys might stick around for a bit, it’s safe here. When you leave, you can take it all with you. It’s yours. We’ll call it a baby shower gift from the Winchester Uncles.” He gave you a soft smile.

“Look in the drawers.” Sam smiled.

You slowly shuffled to the change table, hearing Benny hug and thank the brothers behind you. The top shelf had diapers, wipes, creams and tiny little baby shoes. Opening the first drawer, you let out a noise half way between a chuckle and a sob. “Oh my god.” You gush, pulling out a tiny pair of socks. “Oh, Dean.” You laughed picking up a tiny Led Zepplin Stairway to heaven onesie, and then an ACDC t-shirt that matched his own. Everything in the room was neutral colors, and the clothes weren’t any different.

Turning and taking a good look around, you had tears running down your cheeks. There was a shelf full of books. Upon closer inspection you shook your head. Some were fairy tales, some just simple children's story books, but one looked homemade. Pulling it down, you flipped through the pages and found yourself looking at a child friendly monster 101 guide book. It was hand drawn cartoonish pictures of what they’d look like, with the names written on top. But for Vampire, it also said “Daddy” and there was a drawing of Benny that made you chuckle.Then on the last page, there was a space for a family picture that said “Not all monsters are monsters. Some are family.”

Looking back to the front cover, you saw ‘Written and Illustrated by Samuel Winchester’. You turned to him, crying freely and rushed over to hug him, book still in your hands. “Thank you.”

“You’re family.” He smiled, arms going around you for a moment before you pulled away and grabbed hold of Dean.

“Anything else you need, you let me know.” Dean said as he rubbed your back and you cried as you hugged him. You gave him a nod before pulling away and wiping the tears off your cheeks.

“Seriously.. Thank you.”

You spent the next hour just taking in the room, Benny standing behind you with his arms around your waist so his hands could rest over his unborn child.

As you lay in bed that night, curled up into Benny’s side, you decided to finally say what you had been wanting to tell him for so long. “Benny?”

“Yes, Darlin’?”

You shifted and looked up at him, watching how the right side of his lips curved into a smile as the baby kicked at him. “If anything happens, if you might lose me.. Change me.”

He looked at you. “Cher-”

“I know you don’t want to, Benny. But I want to be a family with you more than anything. Please at least think about it. I’d risk it all for you, Benny. Again and again. This is the happiest I’ve ever been.” You chuckled. “I don’t want it to end.”

“I’ll think about it.” He answered quietly, and you nodded before snuggling backup and drifting off to sleep. Benny did just that, staring up the ceiling and thinking about it while he felt the little kicks in his side. He had decided long ago you were his choice, it would always be you. He could live without the child, but not you. Now, with that heart beat, with those kicks, and a possibility of forever, Benny felt like he’d just be selfish if he gave into the idea of both. Because if there was one person he did not want to meet up with in purgatory, it was you. After hours of staring up, he rolled onto his side, pulling you closer. Kissing your forehead, he finally let his eyes close.

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demonhuntersspn · 6 years

Text

Say a Prayer for Me Chapter 5

Prior Chapters:

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

@negans-network@neganmorgan@mypapawinchester@jeffreynegan @ask-kakashihatake @death-unbecomes-you yedi16 bobasheebaby lolalexturnerlol@heleyeah

Continued Story. John Winchester x OC. If you’d like to be tagged for future chapters please let me know.

Chapter 5

1988

“Morning, Carter,” I smile hearing Sammy’s little voice welcome me in the kitchen, “don’t miss me too much, K? I only get to go to school half the day. Not like Dean. He gets to go all day.”

I ruffle his brown hair pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I am gonna miss you like crazy. I won’t have anyone to watch cartoons with me this morning.”

“Don’t worry so much,” Dean poured a bowl of cereal for himself. “Just wait until you have to be in class all day with Mrs. Anderson.”

“I doubt Mrs. Anderson is as bad as you’ve heard. I double she’s the wicked witch of Southern Illinois.” I kiss Dean’s forehead and he immediately wipes it off. My heart sank to the pit of my stomach. Dean was growing up.

“As long as she’s not a bitch like everyone says,” Dean snorts into his coffee.

“Dean Winchester, what did you just say?” I narrow my eyes at him, “I don’t care if she is the biggest bitch to ever walk the face of the fucking Earth. You don’t talk about women like that. You treat them with respect.”

“When’s Dad coming home anyway?” Dean snaps back.

“Tonight, I hope,” I take a sip from my cup, “he’s hunting.”

“I hate when he goes off and leaves me here with /you/,” he snorted.

“Well, you’ve got me. And I’m not going anywhere,” I answered trying not to let Dean’s nine-year-old asshole mouth bother me. It’s a phase, I hope. “I love you, kid. Stop being a jerk.”

“Sorry,” Dean finished up his cereal, “I just miss Dad.”

“I miss Dad too,” I smile, “his snoring helps me sleep. You, me, Sammy, park after school, deal?”

“Deal,” he gives me a hug, “hurry up Sammy so we can go to school.”

I waited until after Sammy got situated in his kindergarten class before I let the tears flow. He wasn’t mine, at least not biologically but I loved him. Dean, Sammy, and John were my family. I never had that before.

John looked into my mother’s death. The crime scene photos showed her laying afraid, her eyes burned from their sockets.

“There’s no monster I’ve heard of that would do that, baby,” he told me, wrapping his arms around me, “I wanted to find answers for you. I just found more questions.”

__________

My eyes light up when Sammy rushes from his class and throws his arms around my neck. “I had fun but I missed you, Carter,” he says climbing up in my lap.

I groan, “I missed you too, Sammy. You’re growing up on me. Pretty soon you’re gonna be too big to crawl into my lap.”

“Guess we’ll figure that out when it happens,” he squeezes me. “I like sitting in your lap.”

“Did they feed you in there? I thought we could have a picnic until Dean gets out of school. What do you think?”

“K, we can do that,” he hops down and tugs me in the direction of my car. “How’d you know I’d want to?” He grabs the basket that was as big as him from the passenger’s side.

“I’ve met you,” I place my hand on the handle of the basket letting him think he was doing most of the work as we walk to the picnic table under the tree. “Did you learn trig today? Calculous?”

“Nope it’s kindergarten, Carter,” he laughs pulling a bag of carrots and celery from the basket, “I don’t think I’ll learn that stuff till fifth grade.”

“You’ve got a couple years then,” I hand him a sandwich and take one for myself, “I’m glad you had fun though. School should be fun.”

“Dean hates it though,” Sammy crunched on his carrot, “I don’t know why. My teacher is cool.” I watch his eyes look at something behind me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“You got one of those for me?” my lips curve into a wider smile hearing that baritone behind me. I stand, wrapping my arms around John’s neck and pressing my lips to his. “I missed you too, sweetheart.”

My hands cup his face as I look up at him, his face scratched and bruised, “What happened?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. Took out a nest of vamps. I’ll be fine,” he answered.

“Sit, eat, let me take a look,” I took a step back, even bruised, John was smiling. “Sammy had a good first day. Dean should be out of school soon and will meet us here.” My fingers comb through his dark hair as he takes a seat at the table. I could see the boys in his face or I guess his face in theirs.

“You ok, Carter?” Sammy asked, “You got that dumb look on your face that Dean has when he sees a pretty girl.”

“I’m OK, I like looking at your Dad’s face,” I run my thumb lightly over his cheek. “It’s perfect. I guess it looked worse in the sunlight.” The cuts and bruises faded to almost nothing. I press a kiss to his cheek.

“I like looking at your face too sweetheart,” he lowers his voice leaning in so only I can hear, “among other things.”

“You can take a look at those other things later tonight,” I press my lips to his again before taking a seat beside him, “all of the other things.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he grins taking a bite of his sandwich.

____________

I massage lotion into my legs as I wait for him. The boys wanted Dad to put them to bed. Well, Sammy did. Dean was far too old to have anyone put him to bed. But he was there, listening to John tell them about the monsters. Watching as he spread the salt over the window sill and the threshold. It was the nightly ritual. Other fathers may have read stories to their sons but John, he wanted to make sure they were protected from all the evil that the world was hiding.

“The boys asleep?” I smile as he walked in. “Yeah,” he crawls up the bed beside me, “they are” He slides his hand under my shirt gripping my breast in his hand and I moan louder than I had intended. “Don’t want to wake them though,” he presses his lips to mine, his thumb circling my nipple to a hardened peak. “Fuck, I missed you.” He groaned into the kiss. I tug his shirt up breaking the kiss only enough to toss it to the floor. He peals mine off as quickly. My legs wrap around his hips and I grind up against him. Feeling his erection through his jeans pressing against the thin strip of my panties. “I missed you too.” My hand moves between us massaging him through his pants. He raises up catching my wrist and pushes it to the bed beside my head, “I think someone promised to let me take a look at you.” He raises up, his eyes moving over my bare breasts. Rosey pink nipples hard from the cool air. I bite my lip as I watch his gaze. Just the way he looks at me intensifies the flame inside me. He licks his lips as his eyes move further down, he hooks his fingers in the waistband of my panties and tugs them down.

“Beautiful,” he says just staring at my naked body. His gaze alone sent chills through me. He looked at me for what seemed to be hours and finally I spoke, “Touch me, John. Please.” He lays on the bed beside me resting his head on one hand and letting his other move lightly over my body. His fingertips brush lightly over the flesh of my breasts, thumb circling the nipple. His touch light and deliberate. Enough to fan the fire but not ignite it. Slowly he inched his fingers lower, ghosting over my hips and then back up my thighs. My eyes locked with his. It was erotic and frustrating at the same time.

Finally, his hand cups my mound and his fingertip trace my lower lips, finding how wet just his eyes and light touches had made me. He smiles watching my lips fall open in a silent moan when his thumb runs slowly over my clit, his middle finger dips inside me. My hand moves to find his face and pulls it to mine. I needed the connection of his lips to mine. I loved how weak he was able to make me. I’m sure that’s something he loved also. “More, John, please.” I whimper against his lips as I came undone against his palm. He grins against my lips as he pops open his jeans and kicks them off. “God I love you,” he said as he positioned himself between my thighs. He hadn’t said the words before, in all the time we’d been together, I knew it was the one thing he was scared of. I knew he meant it. “I love you,” I moan as he guides his thickness between my warm wet walls. He fit perfectly inside me. Like a hand in a glove.

My knees hook high up on his hips as he thrust slowly at first, letting me feel every inch of him. My back arches, letting him sink deeper inside me. He pulls out and thrusts again, this time harder. Causing me to cry out. He continues the brutal pace. Hard and fast. Letting me know I was his, I would always be his. I lift my hips to meet each one until I feel him pulse, my thighs squeeze around him milking his release. Needing to feel every drop.

He rolls to his back pulling me to his side as he comes down from his high, “I meant it.”

“What?” I rest my head on his chest.

“When I said I love you,” he said, “I wanted you to know.”

“I know you love me, John,” I relax next to him, “the words are nice to hear though.”

#spn john winchester x oc fanficjohn winchester fanfic oc supernaturaljdmsmutnegan negans thirst squad negan smut negan story the walking dea

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winchester-reload · 7 years

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Pairing: Dean/Cas Length: 2.5k Tags: Fluff, Mild Angst, Pining, First Kiss, Canon Divergent Read on AO3

A special thank you to @braezenkitty for being my awesome beta <3

“You just gotta get laid,” Dean said, reseating the burger beside the pile of fries on his plate, this time with a big bite missing. “Or a decent kiss, at least.”

He crumbled a napkin between greasy fingers, tossed it to the middle of the table. Shoved his shirtsleeves up one more time as he tucked his black fed tie under the table ledge and away from the plate. “It’d loosen you up, buddy. And maybe you’d quit tryna live vicariously through horny eighteen-year-olds.”

This was because of the door-to-door canvas. The couple at the park who’d been all over each other, that Castiel hadn’t been able to stop looking at—even after the old, blue-haired lady at 512 Bakersfield Court had made a comment. “Your partner likes to stare…” like she’d never in her seventy-five years of life seen someone curious about such a thing.

“If only that was the first time I heard it, too,” Dean’d smiled back from her stoop, the sharp sun cooking them both in the stuffy Tennessee heat. A marked jab to Cas’ ribs, and a walk to the nearest pub later, and Dean was bringing it up again, because, of course he was. Why talk about the case?

“I only glanced at the couple in the park,” Cas sighed. “It’s not a recurring issue. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Dean laughed, lipped his beer bottle, and took a stout drink. “Sure,” he said. “Glanced at them. Glanced at those girls holding hands last week—though, I’ll give ya that one. I gave ‘em a couple once-overs too.”

“Dean—”

“Point is, it ain’t the first time, and you’re a damn liar.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “My being, or not being with people has nothing to do with anything—”

“Has everything to do with everything when you’re touch-starved.”

“I’m not starved. I’ve been… touched.”

Dean scoffed, swirled his beer bottle. “Sure, if you wanna count Reaper-Fools-Day.”

“I’ve kissed more people than April,” Cas bristled back. “How about we talk about what you know of touch starved instead?”

Dean snapped shut, cocked his head as a follow-up comment seemed to slip from his mouth quick. He replaced the words with a couple fries and averted eyes. “Fine,” he relented around the bite. “And?”

“And… What?”

He looked back up, eyebrows jumping. “Were they any good?”

“Who? The people?”

“The kissing, idiot. Was the kissing any good?”

Cas’ heart flopped. He slipped a hand down his beer bottle, and then back up again nervously. The motion pulled Dean’s attention in a glance, so Cas tucked the rogue thing back onto his lap instead. Fingers lacing together under the shelter of the slick waxed top where no one could see. “I don’t know. Yes?” he offered carefully.

“Are you tellin’ me, or askin’ me right now?”

“No—I mean… ” Cas cleared his throat, shifted in his chair, and listened to the wood slats groan. “They were fine. They were… wet.”

“Wet?” Dean repeated. “Cas, wet is how you describe a swimming pool… Oregon in the winter, maybe… Not a kiss. Never a good kiss.”

“Then how should I describe it?”

“No, I mean… if they were wet, then they were wet—”

“No, please. You tell me.”

Dean’s face suddenly fell wide in mock innocence. “What? You want me to describe a good kiss to you right now? In the middle of a restaurant.”

“If wet is insufficient—”

“Oh, yeah. It’s like, miles of not-sufficient-ness, dude.”

Cas chewed a smile down and gestured Dean’s way. Crossed his arms, and sat back. He watched Dean waffle before finally sliding back in his chair to think. He splayed wide, elbows up on the armrests and knees hugging the corners. His face caught the dim overhead lights, and the sun-kissed healthy pink of his skin shone back like warm earth.

He had white in the creases beside his eyes where his smile lines had shaded him from the harsh afternoon sun. A little cut of tan at the bridge of his nose where his sunglasses sat after he’d gotten sick of squinting through the reflections of every bright midday door.

“Okay, it’s like this,” he said finally, tapping an erratic finger on the neck of his bottle, and pausing to worry his lip. “A kiss is a kiss is a kiss, til it ain’t. If you’re with the right person, then the tension between you’s gonna be thick enough to cut. It’s gonna feel like you’ve got a firecracker in your gut, and that other person’s just flicking the Bic. The minute the two of you kiss, the fuse lights. That bastard explosive rips up through your chest, and pops behind your eyes, and I’m talking—screw seeing colors at that point—you’ll be so wrecked, you’ll know what they sound like.”

Castiel smiled as Dean came back in with a languid look, and a tongue tip between his teeth. He peeled forward, hovering over the table, so much closer than before, that there was only the dragging smell of his burger all tangled up in his woody cologne for Cas to breathe.

“That’s a good kiss,” he said slowly, and maybe it was Castiel’s imagination, but the sun kiss on Dean’s cheeks had spread to his ears now. “Sounds good, don’t it?”

“It sounds very good,” Castiel agreed. “Very surreal.”

Dean let a long, animated sigh into the room and it mixed happy with the gentle murmur of the busy forks and glasses around them. “Oh, it’s very real,” he said. “Just not very common.”

He poked absently at the pile of cooling fries, and sucked the salt from the end of his finger. The gorgeous smacking sound it made curled red ribbons in Cas’ stomach. “Still, you find someone who’ll give you that, and it’s the kinda thing that’ll right some wrongs. Know what I mean?”

Cas took a long drink, smile falling as the carbonation from his beer prickled reality back into his tongue. “Sure,” he said quietly. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Dean’s mouth thinned, and his eyes ping-ponged away uneasy. He tailed and tacked down the waitress, kept locked on her as she floated behind the counter poking something into the mounted LED screen beside the register. “Doesn’t that rub you, though?” he asked, “not knowing for yourself. Don’t you… want that with somebody?”

Cas puffed surprised, and his mouth went dry. Try as he might, the beer wouldn’t wet it. “I mean, yes…” he said earnestly, and the admission ate holes in his stomach.

“Then… how come you ignore all the waitresses I send your way? You’re never gonna get it if you don’t even try.”

Cas was suddenly, and shamefully aware of his attention at Dean’s lips, and when Dean snagged a glance at him, Cas tore his eyes away, shoved them onto the table instead. Focused everything he had on the bleed of condensation below the cool, brown bottle to his left.

“Those people wouldn’t change anything,” he said to the ring. “Colors were never meant to make sounds for some.”

Dean fidgeted the fries again, finally pushed them aside, and brushed the salt off his hand this time instead of eating it. “I guess we better head out,” he said, flagging the waitress. “Sam’s waiting.”

They paid, and headed back out into the melty summer heat. It was sunset, but the air was still laying in the city thick as a wool blanket. Shadows stretched through the streets like plastic-capped Halloween fingers, crowding up in the alleyways and turns, painting the dingy brick walls black.

Cas flared his coat to check his back pocket for his wallet as they passed a couple people with hungry eyes, but just as quickly remembered that he’d dropped his last twenty for the meal, and let the impulse to feed them drift out. Still, he welcomed the brief breeze it gave him, and he wondered if maybe it was getting time to rethink the coat. Grace or not, he seemed to be touchier to the temperatures these days, and it was starting to seem like wardrobe was becoming more important—practically speaking.

Dean shed his own suit coat as if he’d just read Castiel’s mind, and slung it over his shoulder with a hooked finger. His shirtsleeves were still shoved up to his elbows under the blazer, as if he’d put it on after dinner, distracted. “Nothing fancy,” he murmured to his feet.

“Pardon?”

“Hmm—?” He looked over quick, eyes wide, before blinking them back down. “What?”

“I just didn’t catch what you said.”

Dean shook his head. “I didn’t—” But when Cas frowned, opened his mouth to contest, Dean relented. “Oh, you mean the, uh, thing I said out loud…” He cleared his throat, added “apparently” under his breath, and slowed down for some oncoming foot traffic.

“I was just thinking about the, uh, Nichols’ story,” he said, temporarily falling in line behind Cas as a group of people passed. He touched the small of Cas’ back out of nowhere, and kept his hand there. Cas’ chest snagged. “The alibi Brent was peddling didn’t feel right.” His voice was soft in Cas’ ear, almost breathy—but brief, and when he pulled up beside Cas again, sidewalk clear, Cas grabbed a shaky glance, but Dean wasn’t watching.

“You, uh, think they have something to do with the black magic we’re seeing?” Cas asked, and his voice managed to pour out level, despite his stomach coming off that quick rollercoaster dip.

“I mean, the house was a little much for a twenty-hour a week gas-slinging gig at the local area Gas n’ Sip, don’t you think?”

It was the most they’d talked about the case all day.

“Fancy,” Cas reiterated, then, “I certainly never would’ve been able to afford that place when I worked there.” For some reason, the comment pulled Dean tight at the joints. “But I couldn’t even afford hourly motels.”

“Well… the hourlies charge more.”

Cas frowned again, started to ask why when Dean squirmed past it. “But, you’re right,” he said. “Doesn’t add up no matter how you flip the numbers.”

“So, do you suspect they’re the source of the black magic, or victims of it?”

They hopped down the curb, checking the way for traffic, and ended up on the grassy side of Spring Street, just down from their motel. Dean popped a piece of gum in his mouth, balled the wrapper, and stuck it back in his pocket instead of tossing it away.

“I suspect there’s something screwy going on,” he said, “and that’s as far as I’ve got.”

He plucked the gum from his mouth a moment later, and flicked it to the bushes, ran a hand down his face. “Sam’s doing backgrounds as we speak. Here’s hoping there’s a smoking gun in there somewhere. But, ‘til we get that, we’re pulling straws.”

The streetlamps kicked on, buzzing like fireflies in the thick night, the light falling on the street in goldweave strings as they hustled past a defunct sporting goods store—hollow bones brick and mortar now. No one missing what used to be inside.

Dean scanned the streets, watched another few strings of dusk foot traffic pass on the left while he chewed his cheeks.

“Did Sam find anything at the morgue?” Cas pressed, because the silence seemed oddly unnerving.

“No—I mean, uh, I don’t know. Haven’t talked to him.”

“I thought we were meeting him.”

Dean’s attention caught up in a little alcove at the end of the street and he gripped his jacket tighter, tucked his chin and let a heavy breath out. “We are,” he said quietly.

“Not at the morgue?”

“Um, no, he’s at the motel,” Dean said, and he sounded nervous. “Waiting to take us.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and we’ll find a hex bag, or—”

Dean suddenly shoved Cas’ sideways, off the street and into the alcove, shadows tangling up in the corners of it, all those long witch fingers bleeding to flat black. Castiel grunted, surprised. “What’re you—” and his throat went dry as Dean pushed him into the stuccoed brick backside of a closed Chinese restaurant, hands curling up on both sides of Cas’ jaw, but fingers combing a soft arc “—doing?”

“Nothin’, if you don’t want me to,” Dean whispered, conviction skippy at best. His body was hot against Cas. Heavy and hard. Nothing like April’s… Meg’s… Hannah’s…

The question—and it was a question—coiled in Cas’ belly like a fever dream, but an answer never had a chance of bubbling back out. Because a response would’ve been moot before it ever left his lips. Castiel’s pause was too long to be a no, and his fingers had already found their way to Dean’s waist. They were making note of the way his blue button down clung to his sides, like the tee underneath had been soaking in all that sudden, nervous heat since before they’d ever even left the bar.

And so, Dean brushed their lips together, not a hesitation so much as dipping a toe, and a rush of butterflies went right to Cas’ head without mercy. Cas whimpered without meaning to, and Dean landed the meat of the kiss, hands falling down Cas’ neck and dragging that unruly sensation through. His lips were soft and his cheeks, five o’clock gritty. He worked Cas’ mouth open with a roll of his jaw, and a flirty burst of mint graced Cas with the pass of Dean’s tongue.

Castiel melted into it, fingers curling around the back of Dean’s head as he tried desperately to get a handhold on something. Their hips rolled together. Cas stole himself a handful of Dean’s ass. Felt Dean hard against him as he moved against Cas’ thigh.

Dean’s breath went rocky, like he was fighting some kind of tightrope walk of heavy and thin, and the sound he made was dirty enough to sin. Castiel nosed him, combed fingers through his hair as Dean pulled back. His eyes fell hot on Cas’ mouth. The shadows ate the flush from his face, but not the burning heat of it.

“Now tell me again,” he whispered, voice licking at Cas ear and coming out like gravy. “Tell me again what a kiss feels like.”

Castiel huffed, tried to catch his running brain. He couldn’t help himself, hands still at Dean’s waist, he held him there. The both of them were hard, and neither of them were in a hurry to do anything about it. “I would say… green makes a helluva sound,” he whispered back.

He watched a wicked smile crawl through Dean’s face. “There it is,” Dean hummed, dragging a chill with his thumb from the skin he’d bared at Cas’ side, and chasing it to Cas’ neck with a soft breath, a kiss. “An’ I’m just getting started too.”

Then, he pulled away, the absence of his sticky heat leaving Cas bare. The gravel chewed under Dean’s heels as he headed for the street, pausing only to stoop for the jacket he’d shed at some point on the way. He shook it off, straightened his tie. “Let’s go! We’re late!”

Castiel swallowed, hand to his stomach, and peeled himself from the brick.

#destiel #destiel art #destiel fanfic #destiel fanart #my fic #my art #canon divergent #season 12 #first kiss #flirting #pining #mild angst #kinda like me when i was drawing this: mild angst #please bear with me while I totally eff around in photoshop experimenting #sketchy sketchy

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tokyoteddywolf · 7 years

Text

Super Sickness part one

More Super Pining AU since people have been asking for a sequel.

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"I'd really prefer it if you'd let me go, thanks. I have work today and I'd rather not-" A fist slammed on top of Lance's cage, effectively shutting him up as the ceiling dented.

"Quiet, hostage. Or I'll feed you to my lovely pet here." The villain sneered, the webs surrounding the area moving as the huge ass spider clicked its fangs menacingly.

Lance shuddered.

He hated spiders.

The Villain, Bugman or whatever, was fiddling with a second cage containing a half human, half assassin bug fusion. Lance was to fuse with a silk spitter spider, and he was in no way looking forward to that. Again, he absolutely hated spiders.

He wondered if he'd ever see his friends again, see his crushes again, God, what about his Mamá?! He bit back the threatening tears and focused on wriggling his wrists to free himself from the rope.

That was when the wall exploded.

No, seriously, the wall literally exploded. Fire billowed out and melted half of the metal around the entry point, the rest shattering like glass from the strength of the blast and shrapnel slamming into the fusion machine, burning holes through the spiderwebs.

"You're going to regret putting your filthy hands on Lance, asshole." The furious superhero, Red, snarled. Crimson scales lined his slitted eyes, decorating his bare arms and glimmering on his neck like heated rubies.

The Villain screeched and sent his 'pet' to attack the hero, the distractions enough for Altea and Black to slip in unnoticed and begin to free the captive humans.

"Guys! Thank god you're here, I really didn't want to become half spider!" Lance whispered as loud as he dared, Altea bending the bars and Black slicing the ropes off of the captured man.

"YOU DARE FREE MY FUTURE PETS?! UNFORGIVABLE! YOU WON'T LEAVE ALIVE!!!" The Villain roared, opening the cages of the few fusions he had managed to make.

The horrifying creatures shrieked and went wild, thrashing and slamming into Red, who was struggling enough with the venomous monster spider.

"Black, go help Red, I have Lance. I'll get him and the other civilians out of here, so don't hold back." Altea said once the rest of the captives were freed and huddling away from the blasts of fire and screaming mutants.

Black nodded and bolted away to help his partner, leaving Altea and Lance to guide the civilians to the melted opening the Heroes had arrived through. Below, Olkari had whipped up a large cushion out of leaves and several cupped vines, Balmeran also ready to catch the humans several stories above.

One by one, the terrified people jumped and were caught by the vines and bulky hero, until only Lance and Altea were left.

Lance was about to jump when a hissing spider pinned him to the ground. Claws dug into his body and he cried out in pain as clicking fangs crept closer to his neck.

Altea sprung into action, tackling the monster away from Lance, practically tearing the beast apart.

Lance struggled to his feet, bleeding and panting, but the Villain grabbed him and held him up at needlepoint. "One more move and he gets poisoned!"

Everyone froze. Except for Lance.

The Cuban man was absolutely sick of this nonsense, this had been the fifth time this month! How bad was his luck anyways? Lance was no damsel in distress, and he intended to make sure this asshole knew it. Besides, he did not intend to be late for work again. Iverson was a ruthless boss and ten times more terrifying than this asshole and his stupid bugs.

Shuddering, he pulled water out of the blood that was sluggishly dripping down his side and managed a discreet whip about two feet long, five if he stretched it.

In a flash the water was wrapped around the Villain's face, cutting off the man's air supply and forcing him to let Lance go.

The struggling bad guy gurgled for air and in a final, defiant act, jammed the poison syringe into Lance's back as the man scrambled away, missing the neck where he'd planned to hit but effective all the same.

Lance cried out and collapsed, Red roaring in rage as the civilian blacked out.

Lance didn't remember much after that, just a ton of hot flashes, then sudden cold, then pain and the feeling of needles in his skin, before everything went quiet and he could get some decent rest.

It felt like hours before he woke up to a familiar ceiling. He was stiff and sore, and he felt as though his body was boiling. He wasn't in his bed though.

He blinked awake a little further and froze in place when a gust of warm air, tinged with the smell of campfire smoke, brushed the back of his neck. He turned his head just enough to see exactly what he was lying on, and he really had to stop to appreciate the view.

Keith, in full dragon form, curled around him and currently sleeping in Lance's apartment.

The occasional puff of black smoke curled out from his muzzle, and his scales were smooth and enveloped Lance is a sea of warm reds and the occasional glimmer of purple.

His horns curled down the side of his head and followed along the line of his muzzle until they jutted sharply down, like giant fangs.

A bladed tail curled over Lance, the deadly spines facing outward so as not to impale the small human, and spike tipped wings were tightly folded on either side of the ridged spine so as not to accidentally destroy Lance's apartment.

A soft mew interrupted Lance's admiring, and Blue, the kitten that Allura had given him a few weeks ago as a birthday present, jumped up onto his lap with a purr.

"Hey beautiful, did you miss me?" Lance murmured, scratching behind the delighted gray kitten's ears. Behind him, Keith rumbled softly in his sleep.

Lance was too tired to move, so he readjusted himself against Keith's side and fell asleep again.

It felt like only a few minutes when he stirred again, a cool palm against his forehead that was absolute bliss to his heated skin. He groaned weakly, and someone shushed him while a hand ran through his hair soothingly.

He could barely make out the sounds of people talking.

"The doctor... antidote... most of the poison... sweat out the rest... shouldn't move... spider... cracked... his ribs."

"... been... days, Allura! ... fever should have ...by now... temperature... too high... normal!"

"Shiro, I know... worried... nothing we can do... doctor instructed... keep him in the hospital, but..."

"We... do something!"

Lance tried to listen a little harder, sound not quite back with him yet.

"I know. Keith usually doesn't lose it like he did, and trying... Lance away... disastrous. We have to cool him down... none of us... ice powers... I don't know what else to do."

"He could be dying, Allura! I can't lose anyone else!"

The sudden yelling jolted Lance into lucidity for a brief moment, the sick man watching as blurred shapes suddenly became a distraught Shiro holding his face in his hands while Allura pulled him into a gentle hug. He wondered what Shiro meant.

"Who's dying?" He croaked out, startling the other two humans in the room.

"Lance! How are you feeling, buddy?" Shiro asked, pulling away from Allura and making his way to where Lance lay. The white haired woman disappeared into the kitchen while Shiro knelt next to the sick Cuban, prosthetic hand brushing over Lance's cheek.

"Sore. And hot. I mean I'm usually hot but this is, like, uncomfortably hot? I'm boiling alive, that's probably how my Mamà would put it." Lance groaned, leaning into the cooled metal of Shiro's prosthetic. Keith was awake now, and scrutinized Lance with a critical eye.

"I know. I'm sorry, but you need to sweat this fever out. You have to stay warm for a little while longer, okay?" Shiro soothed, running his other hand through Lance's sweaty hair.

Lance whined in the back of his throat, displeased. "I don't like sweating. It's icky and gross and the salt damages my skin. I wanna shower."

Shiro chuckled. "You can shower in a little while, when you feel better. I don't want you to fall over in the bath, okay? Get some more rest and we'll see how you do in the morning."

Lance grumbled but snuggled back into Keith's scales, much to the dragon's pleasure.

"You shouldn't cry, Shiro. 'M not dead. Too cute to die." He mumbled as he drifted back off to sleep.

Shiro's startled face would be the last thing he saw until the dawn.

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Okay so I'm splitting the sequel into 2 parts. One: for dramatic effect and Two: because the next part has a bit more angst and a shit ton more fluff that tastes sweeter after a day or two of angsty cliffhangers ;3

Hope you enjoyed! Part two should be out soon, if school doesn't drag me to hell ^~^;;

#my writing #Shallurklance #sick fic #superhero Au #voltron #next part shall have more Shallurklance :3

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