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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

Note

hey I loved what you wrote for sarahbucky! You are so talented. I was wondering if you are comfortable writing any NSFW content or smut related content for this pairing? If you are I would love you to write something, anything of the sort. If you're not comfortable that's absolutely fine!!

Chasing Water Pumps

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Sarah Wilson Rating: E Word Count: 5288

Summary: After banishing Sam, Sarah gets Bucky's help reinstalling the boat's water pump.

The water pump sits there on the dock through the morning. It sits there at midday. In the late afternoon, Bucky laughs when Sam almost falls over it as he walks backwards, waving his hands to guide a reversing pickup truck into position. A neighbour bringing spare lumber so they can replace a few rotting boards on the Wilsons’ boat.

Bucky can see—has been able to see all day—that Sam’s itching to just fix the damn pump back into position. Sam’s conscientious, neat, completing one job before moving on to the next, replacing pliers in the toolbox after rewiring the radio, coiling up the cord of a borrowed drill so no one can trip over it. Leaving a hulking piece of machinery just sitting there is killing him. All because Sarah won’t let him touch it.

For Bucky, watching this claim-staking over an old water pump is hilarious. It’s also something he takes absolutely seriously, backing away from the thing the minute Sarah ordered the two of them to quit tinkering and just leave it alone. He’s got no issue ceding to her authority. Oh, he’ll argue with Sam about other parts of the project, but he’s not gonna push back against Sarah. He’s only here for a couple days and she already won his loyalty by letting him bunk on her couch last night. They might be repairing a boat, but Bucky’s not making any waves.

When the sun starts going down and the helpers from the community start heading home to their suppers, almost as many of them shake Bucky’s hand as Sam’s. Bucky feels really good about that. He likes that they’ve become comfortable with him—many of them slapping his Vibranium shoulder as they take his right hand, like it’s just an arm. He likes the lingering warmth of the day and how it’s dried the back of his shirt where he sweat through it. He likes squinting into the sun to watch the vehicles pull away and seeing Sarah standing there, smiling at him. Cupping a hand above his eyes, he smiles back.

“Alright,” Sam says, taking a big step to bring him from boat to land. “Let’s get this water pump back in place.”

Immediately, Sarah comes forward.

“Uh uh, no. That’s not your job.”

“This whole thing is my job,” her brother protests.

Bucky stands on the sidelines, content to witness Sam lose this argument. Getting to study the way the sinking, burning glow of the sun catches on Sarah’s earrings is the equivalent of being handed an ice cream. The breeze that blows her open button-down against her to show him the intimate dip of her waist is the cherry on top of that ice cream. His gaze trails unhurriedly back up to her face and he sees that she’s been watching him admire her. Normally, staring is his default expression, but now his heart hammers with giddy yearning as he holds her eye. She smiles fleetingly before looking back to Sam. Oh right, Sam’s talking. Bucky had kinda tuned him out.

“It won’t take long.”

“No it won’t,” Sarah agrees. “Not if I do it. You’ve messed around with that pump enough for one day.”

“Sarah, come on. Be practical,” Sam pleads. “You can’t do it by yourself.”

“I won’t do it by myself. Bucky here can do the heavy lifting.”

Ok, he’s surprised about that, but when she glances to him, he nods readily. He refuses to meet Sam’s side-eye. He’s sure the message is ‘You traitor.’ Ignoring him, Bucky beams at Sarah.

“That’s what I’m here for,” he tells her.

“And what am I supposed to do?” Sam demands. “Watch?”

“Since you asked,” Sarah informs him, “you’re supposed to go pick your nephews up from AJ’s friend Marco’s house. If they haven’t eaten yet, feed them.”

“But—”

Sam motions indignantly towards Bucky, but Sarah waves away his complaint.

“You asked what I need from you and I told you. Let us get on with what we’ve gotta do here. We’re losing daylight.”

“You heard her, Samuel,” Bucky says, striding to the pump.

The wrench he and Sam passed back and forth while unbolting it is in the top tray of the toolbox when he flips it open. Tucking the wrench into his back pocket, Bucky turns and heaves the pump off the ground. Sarah’s watching. He throws her a smile with a little upward jerk of his chin. She rolls her lips together like she’s hiding her own smile but stands firm until Sam gives up and stalks off across the boatyard.

“You think it’d be cruel to yell after him not to wait up?” Sarah asks Bucky nonchalantly, hand on her hip as the two of them observe her brother’s retreat.

Bucky almost drops the pump before hugging it to himself too tightly, stopping when he hears the metal creak. But he tries to be cool.

“Only if you mean it,” he says.

She spares him a glance that doesn’t tell him either way and walks past, stepping onto the boat.

“You got it?” she asks.

“Yep,” Bucky assures her, adjusting his grip and jumping down onto the deck. Coulda stepped. Wanted to show off. Story of his life since he met Sarah Wilson maybe 36 hours ago.

He follows her into the cabin and she digs through a box of supplies, grabbing a flashlight.

“Might need this soon.”

Her explanation’s unnecessary (the sky’s darkening above them) and Bucky can see the nervousness in it, how she self-consciously plays with the hem of her t-shirt and twists her earring now that they’re together in a semi-enclosed space.

“Unless that arm of yours glows in the dark,” she adds.

“Unfortunately not,” he says with a smile as they duck below deck. His feet clomp sturdily down the steps, but Sarah still looks up at him from the bottom like he might teeter. “You shoulda been there while they were deciding on the specs.”

Sarah laughs, navigating the protruding inner workings of the boat more smoothly than movie spies crossing rooms streaked with red lasers. (Stupidest fucking scenes Bucky’s ever seen.)

“That was in Wakanda, right?”

“Sam told you?”

“He did. I guess you’ve seen a lot. Been a lot of places,” Sarah amends.

For a minute, his throat’s thick. She corrected herself to make sure he knew she wasn’t being nosy about his past. He wouldn’t mind. It’d be fair of her to bring up any worries she had, what with the two of them being alone here. But then, maybe he doesn’t make her nervous in that way. She’s the one who asked him to stay. (Or just told him he was staying more than asked, really.)

“So has Sam,” Bucky points out.

“Yeah, but Sam has to come back here to avoid getting an earful over the phone. Why would you wanna be here? Right here,” she adds, motioning to the spot where the water pump sat until early this morning. Bucky was one of the people who removed it, plus there’s a clear silhouette where the side rests against the boat, inside of which shape the wood’s less weathered, but he’ll be as clueless as Sarah wants if it results in more of this—her hand on his back as she trades places with him to guide him in ahead of her.

“It’s nice here,” he says simply. “Like a holiday.”

The instant he says it, he wants to backtrack. None of this is a holiday for the Wilsons; in spite of the block party atmosphere of the community coming together to restore the boat, they’re doing all this to ensure their livelihood. A good future for Sarah and her boys. She shoots him a benevolent smile like she knows he knows he just put his foot in his mouth. He can only shake his head at himself and carry on.

Squatting, Bucky aligns the holes in the pump’s base with those in the plate it has to mount back onto. They’re a little rusty, but the old blue paint’s just flaking, no problems with the actual integrity of the metal.

“You always do volunteer manual labour on your holidays?” Sarah jokes, putting a hand on his shoulder as she maneuvers around him. She drops to a crouch at his side and directs the beam of the flashlight down onto the pump.

“I like to be busy. I sleep better that way.”

“Until your host’s kids wake you up.”

“Aw, that was no problem.”

“Wrench?” she asks.

“Back pocket.”

Bucky could pass it to her. He could take one hand off the pump, retrieve the wrench, and hold it out for Sarah to grab. Hell, he could take both hands off the pump. The thing’s just sitting here. But he’s selfish, trying to make it look like he has to keep the pump from shifting out of the position he’s put it in, because he wants to find out what Sarah wants. He hasn’t completely thought this through, but some part of him’s saying a good way to find out what Sarah wants is to see if she’ll take the wrench from his back pocket while he’s squatting, jeans hugging his ass.

She laughs softly, looking at the floor.

She slides the wrench out of his pocket.

Now, there’s no actual contact required there, but she has touched him a couple times, so when she asks, “Bolts?” he looks at her in the dim light—flashlight still tilted towards the floor—and tells her, “Front pocket.”

When Sarah elects to maintain the angle of the light by holding the end of the flashlight in her mouth, Bucky thinks she might be capable of cruelty after all; he feels his face go slack at the sight of her lips around a fucking plastic cylinder. The choice leaves her hands free though, which is perfect because she apparently needs to grasp his knee with one for balance while the other goes to his hip, feeling out the line of his pocket. Bucky tries to breathe deep and even. This has gotta be it, the scenario Sam was most worried about when he left them here together.

Mercifully, when Sarah gets her fingers hooked into Bucky’s front pocket, she removes her other hand from his knee and uses it to hold the flashlight. He shifts forward onto his knees so his pocket isn’t pulled so tight and she can get her hand in there. Clearly a bad, terrifying plan now that his dick’s started to stiffen from the lingering image of the flashlight in her mouth and the proximity of her fingers to his crotch. It’s dark. Maybe she won’t see.

“Bolts,” Sarah says, wiggling her fingers deeper. “Nuts too?”

Their eyes meet and she pulls her hand back. Not too fast. Not like she embarrassed herself, saying something she didn’t mean to. Just like she did her bit and now the plan is to see what he’ll do. All he’s really capable of doing for the moment is extracting the nuts and bolts himself, dropping one of each into the raised palm she offers. He takes over with the flashlight and purposely doesn’t touch the end. It’ll drive him crazy if the plastic’s still wet.

“Thanks.”

“Yep.”

He spends three bolts being awkward, just pinching the head of each between his Vibranium fingers to hold them steady while Sarah tightens the nuts with the wrench from underneath the mounting plate. His other hand shines the light right where she needs it. They’re a different team than he and Sam are. Somehow, they can do two parts of the same job in the smallest scale, their hands practically on top of each other without either of them getting in the way. Bucky tries to think about that rather than her leg pressing against his or the fact that the gentle rock of the docked boat reminds him of rocking his hips forward when he… well. Does something he’s trying not to think about.

The wrench is old and though Sarah flicks the adjustment with her thumb to make it grip each nut in turn, it loosens and slips. It makes the task take longer and Sarah have to work harder. With two bolts to go, she sits back and pulls her button-down off, draping it over a pipe. Her t-shirt only catches Bucky’s eye because, even in here, the yellow’s so bright. It’s just the shirt. Absolutely not the shape of Sarah in it.

She leans back in, dropping the second last bolt through the hole. She feels beneath the plate to start the nut up the bolt’s threads with her fingers. With a soft noise of effort, Sarah simultaneously applies the wrench and reawakens Bucky’s erection.

“Sorry for keeping you from dinner,” she says, still tightening in the circle of light he provides. “You must be starving.”

“You have no idea.”

Bucky doesn’t mean for the words to sound the way they do, or maybe he does. Sarah falters, then finishes, but when she leans forward to fit the final bolt in place, the side of her breast presses his arm, and that’s the beginning of the end. Or possibly the end of the middle. Anyway, Bucky lets go of the flashlight and wraps his hand around Sarah’s waist instead. The flashlight must land on its button because the boat goes pitch-black. Why didn’t either of them think to turn the overhead light on? He hears the nut fall from her hand. It’s not one of the nuts he’s concerned with at the moment, so he tells himself they’ll look for it later and focuses on Sarah leaning in to find his lips in the dark.

Kissing her is… Hell, it’s something he’s been thinking about since they met yesterday. When she marched straight over to the boat and then changed her posture the second she spotted him. Bucky appreciates clear body language—it’s something he can do a quick read of and understand. If they’d had more time at that first meeting, of course he would’ve talked to her, flirted with more than a smile, but the smiles they swapped were an effective stopgap until they could end up right here. His mouth on hers. Being careful not to trap her braids under his fingers when he skims them up the back of her neck.

“Um,” Sarah says, breaking away with a shy laugh.

He keeps his hand on her lightly and feels her tilt her head forward like she’s avoiding his eye, even in the dark. Before he can worry that something is wrong, that he’s done something wrong, she lifts her head again and her braids flick, pattering across his forearm like rain.

“You should know,” she says, “since my husband passed, I haven’t really had a lot of time or inclination for this kinda thing, but...”

“That’s ok,” Bucky quickly assures her. “This doesn’t have to be anything. I didn’t mean to push.”

“And you didn’t.”

They sit in silence for a minute before he clears his throat.

“I’ve never… I’ve never had anybody special to me in that way, like your husband was to you, nobody to lose like that. But I do understand… uh, the sort of, um, momentousness… when it’s been a while.”

“You do?”

He can hear humour in her voice. This wasn’t supposed to be a funny conversation. Is he making it that weird?

“Sure. You know about me,” Bucky says quietly. He knows she must. She never asked who he was to Sam to be showing up here, being offered their couch for the night. Never asked about the arm, though he hasn’t tried to hide it. (He can’t remember the last time he just lived like this and the relief is enormous.)

“Tell me about the momentousness.”

He’d like to be able to see her better, but it’s also nice to know she has no idea the way he’s blushing over her request. It’s his own damn fault. Trying to be tactful and generous. Trying to say he knew how she felt, only for Sarah to call him on that. He’s gotta learn that this is not a woman who lets a man speak for her and, if he blunders into doing just that, she doesn’t let him off the hook. And she has a fish business. Who woulda thought.

“Well, it’s, uh…” Bucky rubs the back of his neck with the hand not cupping hers. “It feels like a big deal. Almost like being young all over again.”

“Hey,” she interjects, “some of us are still young.”

He laughs.

“Sorry. I just mean it’s… exciting. You know, thrilling. You wanna do everything at once but you’re also so scared to just…”

“Just…?”

“To just touch her,” he breathes out.

Sarah leans her head back so his hand’s not only touching her neck but holding it up. He laughs again as she straightens. He gets the point; he’s already touching her. So maybe it’s easier than even he thinks it is. Touch. Intimacy. Defiling the belly of a fishing boat with somebody who turned his head so fast he’s the one who needs something bolted back into place. Maybe one on either side of his neck, like Frankenstein’s monster. He sure does feel alive.

“I said I haven’t done this a lot lately,” Sarah says, loosely grasping his wrist. Bucky slips his hand off her neck to line it up with hers, lacing their fingers. “Not that it’s necessarily been that long since the last time I went on a date that ended with more than a kiss at the door.” Abruptly, she laughs. “I’m trying to tell you there’s a condom in the pocket of that shirt I threw over… wherever it got to. If you want this to keep going in a direction where you’d need to use it.”

“Yeah. Yes. I want that.”

“And not just to annoy Sam?”

“Not just.” Bucky smirks in the dark.

“Ok then.”

“I like you, Sarah,” he says as her fingers play with his. He shifts to face her better. “You don’t make things complicated.”

“I think we’ve both had enough of that.”

He can only make a noise of agreement as he comes close enough to feel out her mouth. He’s wishing he’d shaved his face smooth for this—obviously not as certain this encounter was going to happen today, or at all, as the woman who’s been carrying a condom in her pocket—but with a rough tilt of his head as he takes Sarah’s mouth harder, his cheek rubs against hers and she makes a sound into his mouth. A positive sound. An arousing sound. Bucky does something he never does and holds her face in both his hands, metal and skin. Sarah’s go to his hips, hooking into his beltloops, and they both rise up on their knees to press closer.

But she says, “Ouch, kneeled on the wrench,” and Bucky’s only being helpful when he moves his hands to the back of her thighs, running up over her ass as he urges her to her feet with him.

His hands behave themselves a little better when they’re both standing; he keeps them on the small of her back, scrunching her t-shirt in his fingers when she bows into him. He could kiss Sarah for a long time. It’s something he’s always enjoyed, got a lot of practice at when he was young, kissing in the back row of a theatre or savouring every moment until a girl’s curfew with some feverish necking in the alley around the corner from her family’s apartment. Nobody’s counting down the minutes on Bucky’s time with Sarah, so it’s looking like he might be able to just keep dragging his lips across hers for ages, stroking his tongue into her mouth. The geography decides otherwise.

He hears the speedboat’s motor approaching long before he really makes sense of the noise. That happens when the choppy wake hits Sarah’s docked boat, tossing her forward against him.

Alright, tossing him forward. He’s the one whose sea legs are for shit.

It’s evident that she feels his erection against her stomach. She’d have to be really unfamiliar with how this dance went not to notice with the way he’s swelling for her.

“Yeah?” Bucky checks when Sarah digs her fingers into his hips to hold him to her body.

“Yeah.”

He pulls out of her embrace to hunt down that shirt.

“You know, I’ve done this before.”

“I know. I’ve met your kids.” His voice says he’s joking even as his hands move desperately, caressing the boat’s innards in search of soft cotton.

“I mean specifically on this boat,” Sarah confesses, laughing.

Bucky hears a pair of thumps he determines to have been her shoes hitting the floor after the next sound he hears is her unzipping her pants. Wildly, he snatches her shirt from the pipe and dumps the condom out of the pocket and into his hand. He forces himself to calmly replace the shirt where he got it from so she can find it after—just the thought of there being an after has him hardening further.

“It’s startin’ to feel like I’m not so special,” he teases, lurching back to her when the speedboat seemingly swings around upriver and makes a second pass, causing the ground to slope once more.

“You might be,” she teases back. While his legs are tensed to keep his balance, Sarah has to be stretching up on her toes to brush her lips over his. “We’re gonna see about that.”

Her hands curl around the back of his neck as she presses up into the kiss. Bucky groans and gropes for her hips, condom caught between two fingers. His hands run over the sides of her underwear, but it’s mostly skin he touches. Warm and smooth. Kissing Sarah deeply, he traces the soft grooves of stretchmarks, signs of her body’s endurance. She’s given birth twice, lost her partner, come through the Blip and out the other side. This is a survivor’s body. Although she didn’t remove her shirt along with her pants, Bucky breaks the kiss to strip off his. With trembling fingers, he guides her hand from his neck to his shoulder, letting her feel the scars.

Sarah grazes her palm over him. It isn’t hesitant and it isn’t harsh. She touches the place where metal and skin converge the same way she’s touched his neck, his knee. Her other hand strokes over his chest, dawdling to outline his dog tags, then sliding lower. Her fingertips are so light on his abdomen that they almost tickle. The river flows around and against the boat in faint slaps. Sarah’s hand falls to fondle his erection and he gasps into the stillness.

He crowds into her and she presses back against the wall of the boat.

“Is it too cold?” he wonders.

“Cold?” she asks distractedly, popping open the button of his jeans. “No, I’m good.”

Smiling to himself, Bucky ducks his head until they’re almost kissing.

“Ok,” he says. “Well, you let me know.”

His hand wanders from her hip, down, then up her inner thigh. Sarah shivers but doesn’t say anything about being cold, so, breathing harder, Bucky touches his fingers to her underwear between her legs. He can tell she finds his tentativeness a little funny—she exhales a soft laugh—but he needs this short pause to stop him from getting too eager. Though he didn’t want to clarify, he’s figuring that Sarah probably had sex on this boat during her teenage years, and he really doesn’t want his touch to remind her of some adolescent boy’s horny fumblings. Not when the setting’s already bringing up memories for her.

“No heckling,” he jokingly protests.

“I’m not, I swear I’m not.”

He can hear the humour in her voice and he likes the way her words hitch into a panted breath when he relocates his hand to her stomach and nudges his fingers under the band of her underwear.

“Second thoughts?” Bucky asks before he touches her anywhere too interesting.

“Nope. Just a lotta thoughts about you lifting heavy loads off trucks and workin’ a wrench.”

“Yeah?” He pushes his face up under her jaw, kisses there while she tilts her chin to give him room. “You been thinkin’ I might be good with my hands, Sarah?”

He hears her shaky breath when he says her name and thinks there’s a chance he’s not too bad at this. Even now. Not with somebody he seemed to emotionally fall right into step with the instant they clapped eyes on each other.

“No might about it. I’ve been watching you for two days. I know you’re good with your hands.”

Pressing his mouth hard to hers, Bucky slides his fingers down towards warmth and, it turns out, wetness. He groans against her mouth and she jerks his zipper down with demanding fingers. Wedging her hands between his skin and his clothes, Sarah begins forcing his jeans and underwear off together. Even as he’s aching for her to get him naked, he’s gathering her body against his, arm wrapped securely around her back as his fingers slip through her arousal. He curls two fingers inside her and her hips jolt in an apparently automatic attempt to get him deeper. She tries to widen her legs for him, but his hand’s intrusion has stretched her underwear across her upper thighs, so he plucks at them hastily until they fall and she kicks them aside. His own bottom layers are hanging on around his knees. Bucky can’t be fucked to deal with that. He’s punched through a lot of walls rather than going through doors; he knows what is and isn’t a serious obstacle.

Sarah lifts her thigh to his hip and their mouths part with a ragged, shared breath. The Vibranium arm around her supports her—metal fingers clamped tight on the condom between them—as his other hand works her with more pressure when she asks for it in a moan.

“Can I get you off like this, or you want me some other way?” he pants.

It’s like Steve used to say about damn near everything—Bucky could do this all day. He withdraws his fingers from inside her to scrub his fingertips up and down over her clit.

“I’m sure you can,” Sarah says, chest heaving as her hips sway in response to his touch, “but…”

Her hands, which had climbed to his arms after undressing his bottom half, creep lower. The grip of one hand catches in his elbow, thumb to his pulse. The other wraps around his straining cock.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “But.”

Insistent on putting on the condom himself, he does it with one arm still encircling Sarah. While he’s tearing it open, he drops his face to her neck again. She sighs as he kisses down her throat and goes mmm when he licks along her collarbone. She’s sweaty, like him.

Though Bucky’s just dying to sink into her, holding her this close is a whole other kind of satisfying. He flicks the condom wrapper away and dips his head, taking hold of the front of Sarah’s yellow t-shirt with his teeth.

“Bucky! What…?”

But her hand pats the back of his head in time with her laughter as he drags the material up until it stays put above her breasts. Tragically, the ghost of Sarah’s horny teenage encounter on this boat possesses him and he’s compelled to mash his face into her cleavage as soon as it’s exposed. He rubs his lips over her breast and she takes the condom from him, reaching between them to roll it down his cock. The feel of her fist makes him grunt into her chest.

“You ready?” Sarah asks him.

Bucky lifts his head and looks at her. It’s dark, but not too dark to judge by her expression that she’s not just asking casually. This isn’t a carefree, youthful hookup—a couple teenagers sneaking onto a parent’s boat or perfecting their hickey-making technique in an alley. Is he ready? He hasn’t been. Not for the occasional assessing stare of a stranger on the sidewalk, or for dating apps and the staggeringly forward pictures people send in response to a simple ‘hi,’ or even for the low-stakes combo of beers and Battleship. But now? For Sarah?

“Yeah,” Bucky states, loud and clear, angling his hips forward when she takes her hands away.

“Alright,” she says, “so am I.”

He kisses her. He believes her.

He grips the underside of her raised thigh with one hand and his dick with the other, bending his knees slightly before pressing up into her. Heat slinks up his chest and twines around his neck like a scarf. Despite the tripping hazard of his pants around his legs, Bucky shuffles forward, holding Sarah so close. She doesn’t make a sound as he fills her, but when he pulls out and thrusts again, an uuuh catches in her throat. God, it feels good to be back in business.

Fingers digging into her leg and her ass, Bucky rocks his hips steadily, huffing sharply through his nose. Sarah’s hands move all over him. They’re on his shoulders, then squeezing his arms; grabbing his hips to encourage him to drive into her harder, then seizing his ass to hold him deep. When he does something good, he feels her tighten on his cock, a quick clutch and release. When he does something really good, she moans so loud the back of his neck tingles and he has to summon every bit of discipline he has not to just let go now.

The feel of the muscles in Sarah’s leg and ass flexing to sync the rhythm of their hips when things get rougher makes Bucky’s eyes roll back. He lifts her off the ground, thighs in his hands as he slings his hips sharply forward. Sarah curls into him, nipping one shoulder as she cups her hand over the metal of the other one. Her breasts bounce against his chest. He pins her between his groin and the boat and feels (and hears) it the second the motion of his hips drags at her clit.

“Bucky!” she gasps. “Don’t—”

“Stop?” he guesses, grinning even as he pants, even as he shifts his feet to make sure they’re gonna stay under him until this is over and he can set her down gently.

Sarah nods rapidly and Bucky keeps the closeness but progresses to fast, shallow thrusts. They should hum, like a machine, like a piston, like a pump, because that’s what it feels like, fucking her and falling for her, doing their dance with just the right friction. How it really sounds is wet, filthy, oh, but her smile is beautiful as she strives, fingers tangled in his dog tags. She comes calling his name. He’s right here, right there with her. She’s clenching so firmly around him that the pleasure might not end and he’ll just have to stay here on this boat, with her, and be Bucky, and get used to the luxury of it making sense again, his name in the mouth of somebody who needs him and wants him and could know him, after a few more nights on her couch and mornings with her kids. He could stand the sound of her name leaving his mouth every single goddamn day, but he’s gonna start with one day, this day, right now.

He says, “Sarah,” and wraps his arms around her, and hopes those arms feel strong.

#Anon you knew what you wanted and you asked for it nicely and I respect that #my writing #tfatws #tfatws spoilers #The Falcon and the Winter Soldier #Bucky Barnes #Sarah Wilson #bucky x sarah #sarahbucky

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lovelylogans · 3 years

Text

i wish i knew how (your eyes are like starlight now)

warnings: vampires (blood drinking mentioned), alcohol consumption, food mentions, cuddling, kissing, death mentions, if i’ve missed any please let me know!

pairing: logan/patton

word count: 6,003

notes: for @fangirltothefullest for our discord server’s secret santa! prompted with “Preferably logan-centric and fluffy! Logicality would be great! Logince would also be good. Maybe some cute cuddles by a fireplace?” title is from “baby it’s cold outside!” the idea of vampires being able to eat red food comes from a book i remember reading as a kid, but i cannot place the title, so if anyone knows it please let me know!

Hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps and Bailey’s, it turns out, is a particularly adept calmative.

It’s made the world go hazy and lovely and beautiful, and that’s even before Logan acknowledges the way his eyes are half-lidded and he’s leaning his head a bit more against the side of his wingback armchair than he would if he were entirely sober.

Logan narrows his eyes down at his mug, the one Roman had wheel-thrown and painted him with the chemical illustration of the molecular construction of caffeine on it, which is half-drained, the whipped cream and marshmallows melted, the peppermint stick meant to stir already losing its red stripes. Logan plucks it from the mug and sticks it into his mouth, crunching it, wriggling in the armchair to get more comfortably seated, and to get a better view.

Roman, Janus, Virgil, and Patton have long since been occupied with a board game; Remus left to do whatever it is that Remus does at night, probably screaming profanities at random passerby, so it’s just the five of them left. The Christmas party’s been winding down slowly for the past hour or so, the fireplace still crackling but burning lower and lower, their hot chocolate supply depleted, and Roman and Virgil’s fits of competitiveness losing fervor as the moon creeps higher and higher in the sky. The white of the waxing moon peeks out against the clouds that distribute the fat, fluffy flakes falling from the sky.

The snow catches the light of the Christmas lights hung outside the house (goodness, hadn’t that been a trying day) so the snow gleams in technicolor reflection, the rest of the world lit by the hazy orange glow of the street lamps. It is very beautiful, and Logan, in an unusually sentimental fit that he would tell himself in the morning was brought on by the alcohol, is incredibly grateful to be alive, at this precise moment, that allows him the company of such wonderful friends in such a beautiful world.

What a statistically improbable event they all are. What an outright scientifically impossible group they all make—a vampire, a set of twins that turned out to be a banshee and a siren, a selkie, and two humans. Three years ago Logan would have scoffed at the idea of any sort of supernatural, mythical humanoid, much less even suspected he’d meet them. And now he is in love with one, and is best friends with the others, and his life is so strange, so odd, so wonderful.

Logan comes back into himself when Roman cries out in protest, making Logan’s ears ring unpleasantly, as Janus crows in victory, holding the longest road card aloft, the dark gray seal-skin on his face gleaming pearlescent in the firelight.

“Cheater!” Roman accuses, his voice still maintaining that double-pitch—a high keen layered over Roman’s typically pleasant baritone—that always makes something in Logan’s head throb.

“Just because you didn’t strategize your road properly,” Janus gloats, pointing—and yes, the yellow road winding around the edge of Catan is decidedly longer than the red road circling over itself in the middle.

All the while, Virgil is muttering darkly about how useless the Largest Army card has been, tossing it aside, and Patton looks up at Logan, dark eyes glinting brightly in amusement, freckles speckled across his face like constellations, trying his best to hide his smile around the specially-ordered red-dominant candy canes he’s been eating all season, his fangs gleaming white, freed from the fake teeth Patton usually wears to pass as human, his lips tinged artificially red.

Logan feels even warmer all over at the sight of him.

Patton’s eyes get even brighter, and he flashes a sweet smile at Logan before he turns back to the board game and breaks up the squabbling with patient declarations of “Everyone did a really great job!” and “The fun’s what matters, right?” and being so stubborn and relentless in his optimism and platitudes that Janus and Roman relent and grumble grudging “good game”s at each other.

Patton’s far more patient than the pair of them—which makes sense, as he’s been practicing at it since the seventeenth century, according to all their estimations surrounding the first edition of Human Understanding he’d acquired the month after he’d been turned, in a fit of uncharacteristically dark humor—so he always wins out when it comes to digging in his heels and cheerfully going about something with the consistency of the little bird and the diamond mountain.

Roman ducks out to sulk for a moment, under the excuse of adjusting Patton’s painstakingly maintained gramophone he’d bought in the 1920s—he still has the early prototype phonograph he bought in the 1870s, but that one is even more painstakingly preserved in the rooms full of obsolete technologies, clothes, and knick-knacks that Patton’s accrued and hoarded throughout the years like a magpie—and the sound of Bing Crosby crackles to life in the next room, crooning “White Christmas,” the snapping of the fire providing unintentionally harmonious percussion. Logan wouldn’t be surprised if this is one of the original vinyls, too—Patton’s got loads of vintage music from artists Logan had never even heard of before.

Janus bows out, next, content to allow the high of his victory usher him out the door. He even allows Patton to fuss over ensuring his coat is warm enough to protect him from the snow, considering he’s wearing his sealskin coat and not a proper winter coat, and then even lets him fret over Janus staying moisturized, despite the fact that both Janus and Logan have attempted to explain that Janus’ version of moisturized and the human version of moisturized are quite different in execution, one being smearing lotion all over oneself and the other consisting of sealing himself into his skin and taking a dip in the nearest ocean.

Logan mentally backtracks over the previous sentence and immediately blames Patton for the pun, and simultaneously promises himself to never utter it in Patton’s presence. Patton still brings up the time Logan had accidentally mentioned Patton sinking his teeth into something, and can hardly finish recounting it before bursting into giggles. He is fortunate he is so adorable, otherwise it would irk Logan to no end. As it is, when it happens, Logan can’t summon up anything stronger than resigned affection.

He’s in love with a vampire who is currently fretting over a selkie with the exact air of a concerned father. It’s a fate he’s all too eagerly accepted.

Janus usually gets snappy about being mother-henned, so Logan suspects that either the Bailey’s has done a number on him, or the Christmas sentimentality is getting to him.

And, considering that Janus had one mug of mulled wine with dinner, Logan has a fairly good guess as to which is the root cause—especially taking into consideration Janus allows Patton to hug him goodbye. Janus wishes him a happy Christmas in a tone that is not quite as drawlingly dramatic as usual.

By then, the gramophone is playing a new song, a soprano prettily warbling “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” and Roman seems to be over his discontent over losing because he joins in, singing pleasantly rather than shrieking—he usually leaves the wailing to the banshee in the family, it’s just that the whole “drawing men to their deaths” aspect of his voice emerges when his temper flares—and Logan swallows down the sudden lump in his throat at the sound of it.

Of course, Roman’s voice is supernaturally exquisite, but there’s something different about it now; Roman had tried enchanting Logan, exactly once, after Logan had pestered him for weeks out of scientific curiosity, so he can say with certainty that this isn’t like the captivating sound that put him in a stupor with the speed and subtlety of being hit by a train, but it’s like someone has captured the flame in the fireplace and tempered it to a temperature that a human could stand, the cozy sensation of being beside a fire rather than the fire itself, and set it directly inside his heart.

You’re happy, a sober corner of his brain says dryly. You know this, you’re happy.

He is.

He is stupidly, incandescently, absolutely happy.

He will blame the dryness of the room from the fire for the sudden wetness in his eyes when Virgil joins in, usually quite shy about singing, but it is almost equally as pleasant as Roman’s, even though Virgil’s vocal chords (and the rest of Virgil) were entirely, completely, mortally human.

They are excellent, the pair of them. Not just their voices, but them, as people—they are excellent. Logan is exceptionally glad to have made their companionship.

Logan takes a deep breath, downs the last half of his hot chocolate, and launches himself from his armchair, perhaps a bit wobblier than he was at the start of the night, and Roman laughs without halting his song, wrapping an arm around Logan’s shoulder to steady him.

He can only join in for the last part of the song, which is probably for the best; Logan supposes his voice is tolerable enough, but it surely cannot compare to a siren, or to Virgil’s voice, rumbling like thunder. Also, he does not want to make a fool of himself, and surely singing more Christmas carols than necessary while not entirely sober would be a surefire way to do that.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Patton watching the three of them, a fond expression on his face, even if there is a flash of sudden gloom that passes over his face as the three of them sing “ Through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow,” and Logan frowns to himself, noting it.

Intellectually, he is aware of the various burdens an immortal life forces upon its receiver; Patton has hundreds if not thousands of sketchings and, when the technology became available, photographs of people he had known through the hundreds of years of his life, painstakingly filed away.

Intellectually, he is aware that Patton was the source of unexpected windfalls that had been bestowed on Virgil’s family throughout the years, the reason Virgil and his siblings could afford to go to college; it is only after he and Virgil knew who Patton truly was that they found the reason behind the luck that struck his family once a generation. Patton had once been Virgil’s great-great-great-grandmother Violetta’s dearest friend, and she his; he’s been anonymously helping the descendants of all his friends in a similar manner for centuries.

Intellectually. He is aware that Patton fears the day that he will lose them all, and he will be left alone, unchanged, eternally in his late twenties, as he has been for centuries.

It is different to be intellectually aware of something, and to remember seeing Patton show Virgil the portrait he had personally painted of Violetta and choke back his tears because he’d missed her so much, and meeting and befriending Virgil had been a bit like having a piece of her back in his life again, and getting to know you has been such a gift, such a blessing. She would have adored you, as I do, and then Virgil had hugged him, and Patton had gotten so overcome he had not been able to say much else.

It is this memory plucking at his heartstrings that sends him stumbling in Patton’s direction.

Patton moves so quickly that Logan’s eyes can’t track it; one moment he was watching the three of them, the next he’s caught Logan around the waist, smiling down at him.

“Hi,” Patton says, and Logan takes a half-step closer to wrap his arms around Patton’s neck.

“Hello,” Logan says. He is about to attempt to say something that is emotionally adept, he really is, except Patton’s skin is smooth and cold under his fingers, and his lips are still tinged red, and Patton’s eyes dart down to Logan’s lips and then looks him in the eye and then he smiles, and any particularly subtle ideas about how to probe Patton’s emotions or perhaps to get him to stop thinking about the curse of bearing witness to the passage of time entirely flee his mind.

He barely has enough time to hope that Patton’s mind is similarly empty before Patton meets him halfway, pressing his lips against Logan’s; even though they’ve been together for years, Logan still isn’t quite used to the chill of Patton’s lips meeting his own. It makes him shiver every time.

Patton is always so sweet, so soft—Logan thinks only part of that is that he is a vampire afraid of hurting his comparatively delicate human lover, and the majority of it is because Patton strives to be sweet and soft as a default state of being, because he is a person who understands that kindness is not a state of being but constantly, consciously making mindful choices to be kind—and his kisses reflect that about him.

He almost always tastes of mint, because Logan had established early that he was perfectly fine with Patton drinking blood, he would not be facing secondary exposure to someone else’s blood, absolutely not, he holds a less than zero amount of desire to become an amateur hematologist through taste, and so Patton was incredibly scrupulous about brushing his teeth after consuming the blood he’d procured through a source of his in blood donation.

Patton tastes of peppermint now, and Logan sighs into the kiss, lips parting, and he feels the slightest, teasing pinprick of fangs against that sends a thrill zipping down his spine, and—

“And that’s our cue to leave!” Roman bellows with good humor; Logan turns to scowl at him over his shoulder anyways.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Patton begins, brow creasing ever so slightly.

“Yeah, we do,” Virgil says, an edge of a laugh in his voice. “Besides, us humans have to sleep.”

Patton usually forgets about this; he doesn’t necessarily need to sleep, but he can. Logan knows of at least three decade-long naps that Patton’s taken; he has next to no memories of the foundation of the United States, because he was snoozing for the vast majority of the buildup to the Revolutionary War and the establishment of the government afterwards.

He is, though, content to lie in a bed he’d bought for Logan’s use as Logan dozes throughout the night; sometimes Logan wakes up to Patton propped up on an elbow, looking at him with an expression in his eyes that is a bizarre mixture of fondness and jealousy.

Patton nods and says wisely, “Or else Santa won’t come to your house.”

Virgil snorts, “Yeah, that’s why.”

“I’ll have you know that Nikolass’ a close personal friend of mine,” Patton sniffs, “and it is a very long way from Gemile.”

“North Pole,” Virgil corrects. “Santa lives at the North Pole.”

“Mm,” Patton says neutrally.

“Patton, did you really know St. Nick?” Roman demands.

“No, no, you’re right,” Patton sighs, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Far too late for you mortals. Off to bed, then, and don’t forget to leave him some börek!”

“ Milk and cookies,” Virgil says, he and Roman now wearing twin expressions of desperate curiosity. Logan, who knows when St. Nick supposedly lived, keeps silent.

“He prefers börek,” Patton says, his nose twitching, a telltale sign he’s holding in laughter. “It’s traditional, where he’s from. Leave him a note that old Patton remembers him, it’ll earn you börek points!”

“Brownie points,” Virgil corrects again, “Patton, did you actually know Santa Claus—”

Patton bursts into giggles, unable to hold up the ruse for very long.

“The figure we know today as St. Nicholas of Myra lived in the 300s,” Logan explains. “He predates Patton by thirteen hundred years, approximately.”

“I can’t believe you fell for that!” Patton cackles, eyes bright, making him look as young as his face presents him to be.

“Yeah, okay,” Virgil says, as Patton pulls Roman into a hug, “you say that like it’s entirely unbelievable when you’ve shown us paintings of you and other completely unreal people like Maid Marian—”

“Aw, I miss her,” Patton says.

“— sorry if Santa Claus is too far out of the realm of belief from the vampire, ” Virgil continues to grumble, even as Patton folds him into a hug, too.

“He has also known Marie Curie,” Logan says, still unable to quite believe it even though he’s practically memorized the missives she had sent Patton. “Also, I may have elevated my threshold of belief to include vampires, selkies, sirens, and banshees, but I absolutely will not be budged to start believing in childhood myths.”

He pins Patton with a look. “And I am still unconvinced that you knew Robin Hood.”

“Well, he wasn’t actually called that then — ” Patton begins.

“Nope!” Roman practically yells. “Nope, Logan, you are not going to take the fact that I am one degree separated from the Merry Men, I refuse to listen to you debate this again, Sheriff of Not-letting-Roman-have-this-one-thing-ingham—”

“All of my research suggests the people you knew were imitators—” Logan begins again.

“As a Christmas gift to me, shut up,” Roman says.

“Roman,” Patton scolds.

“ Please shut up,” Roman amends politely—only his tone is polite, as the words themselves and the eyeroll that accompanies them are not particularly courteous.

Virgil distracts him quite handily by physically turning Roman around and nudging him toward the door.

Patton follows after them, Logan a few steps behind.

“All right, well, be safe going home,” Patton says, beginning on his spiel as Roman and Virgil pull on gloves and scarves. “Are you calling for a ride?”

“Walking,” Virgil says.

Patton makes a discomfited noise. “In this cold?”

“We barely live three blocks away, Ed-worry Cullen,” Roman says, and flaps his arms to show off his new peacoat, a gift from Janus. “We’re all bundled up.”

“All right, well,” Patton says, clearly still fretting, “Text message me when you get home?”

“Just text works,” Logan murmurs, but he can empathize with Patton’s difficulty with memorizing certain terms; it’s just that Patton’s are mostly technological in nature, and Logan’s are slang. Back when they first met, Patton still had the occasional slip-up and called texts telegrams.

“Text me,” Patton corrects himself, smiling at Logan and squeezing his hand in silent thanks before turning his attention back to Roman and Virgil.

“We will,” Virgil says, and amends, “or at least, I will,” because Roman was notorious for promising he’d text when he got home only to wake up to fifteen missed calls from Patton because he’d forgotten to do so.

“Good,” Patton says with a sigh of relief, then, “All right, bring it in!”

Logan releases Patton’s hand so Patton can step forward and hug Roman and Virgil simultaneously; Roman pulls a face at him over Patton’s shoulder, likely still stung by Logan’s accurate theory about the validity of the so-called Merry Men Patton had been acquainted with.

Though Logan is the correct one, Patton may believe that those people were the original Robin Hood and his band of thieves, but he was most likely deceived considering the earliest myths of Robin Hood originated two hundred years prior to Patton’s birth, even if Patton protests that the dates of the origin of many myths during his human life are incorrectly cited—

Logan presses his lips together in an expression that is not reciprocating the face that Roman pulled at him. Logan is correct; he can rest easily knowing this. And perhaps Christmas is not the proper time to bring up this oft-rehashed debate.

Even though Logan is right. It should not be oft-rehashed because he is right.

“Merry Christmas, Brainy Swan,” Roman says, stepping forward to give Logan a hug that Logan would describe as brotherly, except he knows Roman’s brother and this is far too tame, even if there is more back-slapping and hair ruffling than Logan would prefer.

“I am not anything like Isabella Swan,” he begins—this is an oft-rehashed debate, too, but this one is far more teasing in nature; Logan, at least, has the retort of pulling up any image of a particularly hideous mermaid mock-up or ugly fish and showing it to him with the (Virgil-taught) response “This you?”—and Roman rolls his eyes.

“Stop denying the Twilight renaissance, Lucy Weste- nerd -a,” Roman says, and reaches out to pluck at the patched elbow of Logan’s tweed jacket, even as he’s hugging Patton goodbye. “You’re dressed Victorian enough—”

“Patton isn’t anything like Dracula,” Logan disputes this time, because obviously Patton would never drink Logan’s blood or turn him without his consent. He straightens his waistcoat, and is about to reach into his pocket, grab his phone, and show Roman the image of a blobfish he has saved for a special occasion to tell him that this is clearly his long-lost twin, not Remus.

He may or may not have rehearsed this with Virgil to ensure a devastating effect.

“Can we please go before you two spend all of Christmas Eve talking about vampire franchises,” Virgil groans.

“Yeah, as fun as that is, most nights, this is kind of a special night!” Patton says brightly. If it were anyone else, Logan would wonder if he should attempt to scan his tone for sarcasm, but Patton probably does think it’s fun.

Virgil steps forward to hug Logan next; a one-armed hug around the shoulders, quick. It’s what they’re both best with, really; abrupt, swift affection that can be moved on from in a tidy manner.

“Merry Christmas, L,” Virgil says, then he steps forward to allow Patton to give him a more substantial hug; Patton wraps his arms around Virgil’s shoulders, squeezing him tight, his eyes shuttering for a brief moment, his face becoming gaunt.

“Merry Christmas, Pat,” Virgil says in a very quiet voice.

“Merry Christmas, V,” Patton says, his voice equally quiet and a touch strained.

Something deep in Logan aches at the sight of them before the look on Patton’s is wiped clean, so abruptly it’s almost as if Logan’s imagined it, and Patton inhales deeply and lets go of Virgil.

“Text me,” Patton reminds them, as Roman and Virgil step off the front stoop.

“I will,” Virgil promises.

Roman’s face splits into a grin, and he calls back, “Merry Christmas, Elena Gil-boring!”

Logan’s head whips around, and he opens his mouth to respond—he isn’t sure with what— and the world surrounding him spins, and he’s weightless, airborne, and as suddenly as it started, it’s stopped. He sees Patton smile at him before Logan closes his eyes, the world still spinning in a way that is distinctly unpleasant.

“Okay?” Patton asks, gently touching Logan’s shoulder.

“Mm. Dizzy.” Logan takes in a deep breath through his nose—the smoke off the fire, the lingering scents of their dinner and desserts, peppermint—and releases it, shaky, through his mouth, before he chances opening his eyes again.

“Sorry,” Patton says, guilt in his tone.

“It’s all right,” Logan says, and he smirks a little. “I’m sure Roman would have said something to interrupt the Yuletide peace if you hadn’t.”

“Yes, Roman would have,” Patton teases, amused, before he blurs for a moment and comes into focus just as quickly, Logan’s empty mug in his hands, one of his many fluffy blankets over his arm—Patton is almost always eager to use his preternatural speed when they are alone in his home. “Would you like another?”

Logan evaluates it; he does not drink very often, but it is a holiday, and he has eaten a sufficient amount and kept well-hydrated today. Though, he does not usually get too vertiginous when Patton moves him quickly, unless they are moving a great distance, he does have reason to suspect that the alcohol is the reason for it today. He’ll have to mention it to Patton; so long as he avoids that, and keeps it to this last mug, he should not face any unfortunate aftereffects in the morning.

“Yes, please,” he decides.

Patton kisses his temple and casts the blanket in front of the fireplace with great fanfare, fluffing it up so that it is at optimum comfort levels, before he unfolds another with an equal amount of fanfare, wrapping it around Logan’s shoulders. Logan smiles at him in thanks, as he knows the blanket is likely for his benefit—Patton frets about Logan getting too cold when they cuddle due to their disparate temperatures—and there’s a rush of artificial wind as Patton zooms to the kitchen.

Logan wraps the blanket around himself a little more securely as he settles in front of the fire, taking a moment to adjust the wood with the poker, listening to the popping crackle that allows him to lean back in time to watch the spray of sparks leap up the chimney. There’s the sound of a needle being lifted off a vinyl, the vinyl being replaced, and the needle lowered back down; Patton has switched them to an album of orchestral performances of Christmas songs.

Another rush of wind, then, a soft tap of fingers at the top of his head. Logan tilts his head back to look up at him.

Patton’s smiling down at him, eyes reflecting the last remaining sparks, his dark eyes catching the light like stars. He cradles the mug in his hand, and, despite the great speed at which he had moved, he has not spilled a drop.

“Here you are, love.”

“Thank you, dear,” Logan says, placing the poker back where it’s meant to be before he accepts the mug. Patton takes the time to settle in beside him, setting a tray on the hearth, before he wraps his shoulders in the fluffy blanket, too.

Logan smiles a little at the sight of the tray. One half would pass as a traditional, human charcuterie board, if perhaps a bit heavier on jellies than most. The other half is crowded with sectioned blood oranges, a small bowl of pomegranate seeds, raspberries, cherries, and strawberries, all foods as red as Patton’s punny Christmas sweater. It says Merry Chrismath! on it, with math formulas sketched out to form the shape of a Christmas tree, which Patton had purchased specifically because the corners of Logan’s lips had turned up at the sight of it in the store.

Patton takes a sip from his own mug—from the smell of it, mulled wine—and sighs in satisfaction.

“This feels very human, doesn’t it?” Patton asks Logan, as if he is asking for Logan’s approval, and in all honesty he probably is; Patton has been undead for so long that the memories of his human life are dim and distant. “Sitting in front of the fire, eating snacks. About to cuddle.”

It does feel rather human—all he has to do is pretend that his boyfriend is a red food enthusiast, rather than, for whatever reason, red foods being passable enough to a vampire that they are the only human foods he can stomach.

He doesn’t waste time pretending, though. Why should he, when his reality is stranger than fiction?

Logan presses his cheek to Patton’s shoulder, for a moment.

“I’m perfectly satisfied with this being a shared vampire-human experience,” Logan says, deliberately misunderstanding why Patton is asking. He likes that Patton is a vampire; it is part of him, it is why they have been able to meet. He does not understand why Patton sometimes seems to act like Logan would prefer a human boyfriend, because he wouldn’t. He prefers Patton.

“Well,” Patton says, his voice almost unbearably soft. “I suppose I’m all right with that too.”

Logan reaches for his own mug and takes a sip, before, once again, pressing his cheek against Patton’s shoulder in a way that presses his hair against Patton’s face.

Patton huffs softly in amusement. “Are you trying to get me to smell you?”

“I find it interesting,” Logan says, and he does; the amount of data Patton can deduce by one smell is absolutely astounding. He has plans for a more specific experiment, which he will ask Patton to conduct on a day he is bored and amenable to such suggestions.

Patton hesitates, just for a little bit, before Logan scoots closer, about to tilt so that some of his more major arteries will be closer to his nose.

“All right, then, for Christmas.”

Patton presses his nose against Logan’s hair, kissing the crown of his head, before he inhales, slowly, curiously, like someone trying to place what’s cooking in a kitchen without being able to see what is being prepared.

“And?” Logan asks.

“Mm,” Patton hums, getting his thoughts in order, before he inhales again, this time as if he is a sommelier inhaling the scent of a fine vintage. “Well, you, my favorite smell in the whole world.”

Logan feels very warm in a way that has nothing to do with the blanket, Patton’s arm around his shoulders, or the fire before them.

“You washed your hair this morning—oh, this is a new shampoo!”

“You didn’t like the other one, you thought it was too chemical-y,” Logan says. “I finished it yesterday.”

“Ooh, thank you,” Patton says. “Not that you didn’t smell lovely without the overtone of whatever phoenix is supposed to smell like, but I like this one much better—ooh, lemongrass? You’re spoiling me.”

Logan grins into Patton’s collarbone; really, only Patton would think that a new shampoo scent was spoiling.

“And the usual soap smell,” Patton says. “Sweat, skin, deodorant, your aftershave. You walked by someone smoking today; tobacco and herbal cigarettes, that’s unusual, those were way more common back in the forties—damiana, blackberry leaf, rose, and,” another inhale, “hibiscus and mullein. Gosh, the thought of those takes me back.”

Logan is about to ask—perhaps a past acquaintance or friend smoked something similar in those days—but Patton moves on without ruminating on it further, which makes Logan feel an odd prick of pride; nostalgia has been one of Patton’s greatest strengths, true, but also one of his greatest downfalls.

“Did you have tacos for lunch yesterday? I can smell the spicy salsa still.”

“You cannot,” Logan says, still stunned, even after years, at the amount of things Patton can detect. He’s probably smelling the capsaicin in his salsa, for one, but Patton can also smell certain chemicals the body produces: illness, for example, but also things like cortisol and oxytocin.

“Mhm, makes my nose itch a little. And I can smell the stuff we had at the party, and for dinner last night and breakfast this morning, so it wouldn’t be as fun for you if I listed that off...” Another inhale. “Oh, and I can tell you’re a little tipsy.”

“I think that’s probably why I got dizzy when you ran with me earlier.”

Patton kisses his forehead as a form of apology. “And. You’re happy.”

Logan pulls back just enough, just so he can look Patton in the eyes.

There are a great many supposed vampire stories that claim to know the color of a vampire’s eyes; blood red, commonly, but yellow or gold were popular ideas, as well. Silver, sometimes. Almost always, the presumed color was a color not found in nature.

Patton’s eyes are so dark a brown they are practically black, the iris near indistinguishable from his pupil unless someone was shining a direct light at them. They were the same color when he was human, Patton thinks; he has an illustration of his mother hidden away upstairs, and they are identical in shape and shade. They are beautiful, and captivating, and full of the warmth and love that are so perfectly, wonderfully Patton.

“I hope you don’t have to smell me to know that,” Logan says, and then, fumblingly, “I mean—I am aware you can smell my oxytocin, but I hope you know that I am without relying on that sense. That I am happy, I mean. Because I am. I do not tell you how you make me feel enough and I feel the need to do so now and articulate it clearly. You make me incandescently, impeccably happy. I am deeply in love with you. I could not have imagined the way my life is now, but I do not want it any other way, because you have made my life so much better.”

Patton’s expression has softened, his head tilting to the side, his lips tilted up into a smile, his eyes so full of affection that Logan almost has the urge to look away, overwhelmed. But Logan, bolstered by something —the Bailey’s and peppermint schnapps, the Christmas spirit, his own love for Patton, he isn’t sure which or if it’s a combination of all of them—keeps looking at him, savoring the expression, before his hand drifts up to cup Patton’s jaw.

They lean in simultaneously, and Logan’s eyes drift shut as he presses his lips to Patton’s once again; this time, without anyone to watch or heckle, Patton’s soft lips part easily for him, Patton’s fingers tangling in his hair, and Logan shivers a little with pleasure as Patton’s tongue brushes against Logan’s bottom lip. Patton is always, always so intolerably tender with him, so careful and deliberate, as if Logan is something to be savored, something exquisite and vitreous that needs to be handled delicately, something precious.

Logan tries his best to treat him in kind. He touches Patton’s face, Patton’s mouth and lips and tongue, eternally cool to the touch, with the kind of mindfulness he gives to pipettes and microscopes and test tubes, as if touching Patton in a way that is any less than the amount of devotion and love Patton deserves will irrevocably contaminate the results of his hypothesis.

But then Patton’s tongue brushes against his own, and Logan gasps, and he moves to kiss Patton with the devotion and love and passion that ignites in Logan’s stomach, burning hotter than a Yule log, his heartbeat thudding rapidly in his ears, and Logan presses himself even closer to Patton, so wonderfully chilled to the touch, the only thing that could temper the heat flaring to life in Logan’s stomach to something bearable, the only thing that brings balance, something as undeniably well-paired as the heat source and the heat sink—they bring each other thermodynamic equilibrium, romantic equilibrium, equilibrium in all things—

Patton pulls away, just in time, just as Logan needs to break away to gulp in a breath that Patton does not need to take, and Logan looks at Patton, whose eyes are flaring with their own kind of heat.

“I love you too,” Patton says, and he presses his forehead to Logan’s, inhaling deeply; Logan wonders if his body has started producing dopamine and norepinephrine and serotonin and vasopressin, if Patton can smell it.

“I love you so much,” Patton says again, his voice trembling with the weight of it.

Patton wraps his arms around Logan’s waist, pulling him into his lap, and Logan wraps his arms around him. Patton cuddles closer, rubbing his cheeks against Logan’s hair almost like a cat.

“I love you too,” Logan says, “I love you.”

Patton bundles the blanket around them, the fire crackling and the ebb and flow of string music in the background, and Logan presses a kiss to Patton’s cheek.

“I love you,” Patton repeats.

I love you, I love you, I love you, they whisper at each other, wrapped up in a blanket until the fire sputters down to embers, Patton’s cold skin keeping Logan from overheating, the pair of them exchanging kisses that only slightly tip into overly passionate, always returning to holding each other, cuddling in front of the fire, even as Logan’s eyelids slip lower and lower as the moon rises higher and higher in the sky, so comfortable and so adored and so absolutely, completely sated that he cannot help but drift off in the comfort of it, one thing ringing in his ears that carries him off to a deep, dreamless sleep.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

#my post #text #my fic #my fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #logicality

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crystalninjaphoenix · 3 years

Text

Story of the Past

Fantasy Masks AU: Chapter Five

A JSE Fanfic

It’s the backstory chapter! Whoo! djaskfh Anyway, I thought we should hear more about Henrik and Jackie, start to get the details of who they were before the Masked Phantoms. And also, it’s about time we address the missing element that Chase has been noticing...and in the process introduce a new boy! :D Hope you enjoy reading!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was snowing for the first time that year. Chase stood in the shadow of the dragon’s bones, hat pressed to his head, and watched it fall from the sky. The snowfall wasn’t particularly thick, but the flakes were fat and clumped together. It would probably leave a respectable layer by the time it was over.

It was ten days since Chase went out on his first mission with the Phantoms, and nothing much had happened in the meantime. Jackie and the two others on the mission were alright, Elin recovering from the magical burns she’d gotten from that wizard. Apparently no other missions had gone out since then, though there were a lot of messages coming in from other locations and Phantoms who were already out. Probably the most notable thing was the approach of the winter holy days. The winter solstice was only a few weeks away, and everyone was talking about preparing the celebrations.

There was the faint sound of footsteps in the snow, and soon Henrik appeared by his side. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Chase,” he said, adjusting his scarf. “I was delayed. Many people have come down with sudden cold sicknesses and I was handing out medicine.”

“It’s alright, Henrik,” Chase said understandably. “I think you should set up more fires, not just the ones for cooking. I’ve never been in a mountain house that doesn’t have a fireplace for winter.”

“Perhaps, perhaps.” Henrik nodded. “We could cut open holes in the canvas covering the storage and the skull, so that the smoke will not fill it up.”

Chase laughed a bit. “If you did that, the smoke would come out of the skull’s eyes and nostrils. Then it would really look like a dragon.”

Henrik laughed as well. “So, now then. Onto other matters. I will keep our reading lesson short today so that we can get out of the snowfall. Can I see the board you were using?”

Most of the lesson was spent refreshing and reviewing what Chase had already learned. Even though both of them had winter coats now, it was still cold standing out in the snow, and Chase’s fingers were quickly losing heat. Still, he felt like it was actually warmer than it should have been. Especially when it was snowing. Just as they were wrapping up, he decided to point this out. “You know, even though we’re high in the mountains, I feel like it’s warmer here than it would be back home. Isn’t that strange?”

“Oh, that is probably because of the skeleton.” Henrik knocked on the nearest bone. “Dragons were very magical creatures, you know. And most of their magic was fire and heat, in some form or another. Even after this dragon is long gone, its magic is still attached to its bones, and that is probably making it a bit warmer.”

“Huh. Fascinating.” Chase pressed a hand to the bone. It was cold as stone, but magic worked in strange ways, so he wasn’t going to doubt Henrik’s explanation. “For a doctor, you know a lot about how magic works.”

“Well, you have to be prepared,” Henrik said. “You could encounter injuries that were caused by any sort of magic. And witchcraft’s potions are excellent medicine.”

“Yea, but these are some intricate details. I understand Tripp and the other sorcerers here knowing about that, but you’re not a magic-wielder.” Chase shrugged.

“I keep my ear out for new things to learn. And I learned a lot from—” Henrik stopped. “From...my studies. Anyway, I think we can stop for now. You will just need to practice more, as always. It seems you’re having trouble with—”

“Why does everyone do that?” Chase blurted out.

“...do what?” Henrik asked, visibly confused.

“Practically everyone I’ve talked to has avoided speaking about something at some point or another,” Chase said. “A person, I’m guessing. I’m not one to pry, so I’ve just let it happen, but honestly it’s pretty frustrating.” His voice slowly grew in volume. “I’ve been here for half a season now. I have my own mask, I helped out last time, I’ve even done the dishes and other chores. Isn’t that enough? Am I not considered part of the group yet?! Does no one trust me?! I—” He sighed, and continued in a softer voice. “Sorry. I...It’s...frustrating, to have this happen over and over. And it...it feels...discouraging. Like I’m not really a part of everything, and nothing I do will...be good enough.”

Henrik didn’t respond for a while. Chase started to worry that he pushed too far, but then Henrik leaned in close and put a hand on his shoulder. “Chase. It is nothing to do with you, I can promise you that.” His voice was gentle, but firm underneath. “I am sorry for making you feel that way. It is just...well, it is still a sore subject for Jackie and me. But we never told anyone that they cannot talk about him. I suppose they just didn’t want to tell you in case we did not want you to know.”

“...oh.” Chase said softly. “Is it...sensitive? No, wait, you don’t have to tell me, it’s not my business—”

“No, I want to,” Henrik insisted. “Everyone else here already knows. Because they have all been here since it happened a year ago. You are the first new person we have found, so it makes sense that you are the only one who does not know.” He paused. “But I should talk with Jackie about how to tell you. It is about him, too.”

“I see.” Honestly, Chase felt relieved that it wasn’t the big secret he’d been building it up to be in his mind. It wasn’t a lack of trust, it was just personal. “I’m...sorry about all that. I guess Lukas has just been getting to me.”

Henrik scowled. “Ignore that ass. His mistrust is to a ridiculous degree.”

Chase laughed. “Hard to do that when he’s in charge of the crosses.”

“I am issuing an official decree to ignore him. Next time he does something based on suspicion, tell him I told you to ignore him.”

“Alright, I get it.” Chase laughed some more.

Henrik cracked a grin, too. “I will talk to Jackie about the matter you were worried about. We’ll tell you about it so people can stop being ridiculous about avoiding it.” He rubbed his hands together. “Whoo. Now I say we wrap this up and go somewhere warmer.”

“Great idea.” Chase brushed the snow off his hat. “We’ll be snow-covered statues if we stand out here any longer.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple days passed without anything extraordinary happening. Lukas tried to put him through more bow and arrow ‘training,’ to which Chase told him that he wasn’t supposed to listen to him. Naturally, Lukas looked upset about that, but he let off. Chase thought that was strange. Why was that what got him to ease up on his suspicions? But he was quickly distracted when Holly stepped in to give him some pointers on using his hunting knife in self-defense. Today, this involved her emphasizing that a knife of this design was used for cutting, not stabbing, and helping him to practice slashing a dummy with it. Chase felt he had the technique down, but it would probably be much more difficult when faced with a moving person.

Talk of winter celebrations continued. Evidently, every faith had a holy day on the winter solstice. Chase was most familiar with the Longest Night, which celebrated winter and paid tribute to the Elder of Dark, but that wasn’t the only one. There was also the Moonlight Festival, which Henrik told him was the Celestial Sisters’ winter holy day, and the Freezing, which Nemet said was part of the Temple of the Forge. So, naturally, practically everyone at Wyvernlair was excited to celebrate. Even those that weren’t faithful were looking forward to feasts and parties.

Then one night, about three days after his last reading lesson with Henrik, Chase was passing by the skull on his way to his tent, and he heard someone call his name. “Huh?” He stopped and turned towards the call. “Oh, hello, Jackie. How’re you doing?”

“I’m okay,” Jackie said. He had his mask off and the hood of his cloak—he still wore his waist-length red one, even though the cold might call for a longer one—pulled down. “Can you...come here for a few moments? We need to talk.”

Immediately, Chase’s nerves shot through the metaphorical roof. “Yea, of course.” He followed Jackie into the skull.

The whole place was empty, which was unusual. He hadn’t been in here that often, but there was always at least a small group of people inside. Mostly sitting at the desks or the map table. Now, there was no one. Except for Henrik. He was sitting on a chair by a small fire, enclosed by a ring of stones. The fire was placed underneath one of the skull’s eye sockets, so it wasn’t exactly in the center of the room, but it was close enough. When Jackie and Chase walked in, Henrik looked up and gestured them over. There were two more chairs by the fire.

Chase slowly sat down, trying not to appear anxious. Jackie didn’t sit, and instead merely bounced on his feet, running his fingers along the edge of his chain mail shirt. For a moment Chase was distracted by the fact that Jackie almost always wore that mail armor—they had some in storage and he’d tried a shirt on, just out of curiosity, and it was surprisingly heavy. But then he got over being impressed and returned to being nervous. “So...what did you want to talk about? Did I do something?”

“No no no, it is not that,” Henrik hurried to say. “It is just—we have decided to tell you about the subject everyone was avoiding. Do you remember that?”

“Oh. Oh!” Chase’s eyes widened a bit. “I wasn’t expecting you to actually tell me.”

“Well, of course we would.” Henrik sounded a bit surprised. “It would not be fair otherwise.”

Jackie let out a breath. “Yea.” Now that Chase wasn’t worrying about what the conversation would be, he could tell that Jackie was also nervous. Or...that wasn’t exactly the right word. Agitated, maybe.

“So, you have noticed that people are talking around something,” Henrik continued. “And you have picked up that this is a person, yes?” He waited for Chase to nod. “Yes. Well, that person...was a friend of ours.” He indicated Jackie and himself. “His name was Marvin.”

“Marvin,” Chase repeated. That wasn’t a name heard often in the mountains. It sounded coastal.

Henrik nodded. “He was the other founder. It was the three of us.”

“The other...what?” Chase asked, confused.

“The...other founder?” Henrik repeated, equally confused.

“Founder of what?”

“Of the Masked Phantoms, Chase.”

“...wait.” Things started to click into place. Why Jackie and Henrik wore masks with more colorful designs. Why they always seemed so busy. Why Henrik had been able to get Lukas to back off with such authority. Chase shot to his feet. “You two are in charge of everything?!”

“Elders, did you not know that?!” Jackie said, absolutely shocked.

“No! I didn’t! Nobody told me!” Chase shook his head in disbelief. “I thought some things were strange, but I never realized—oh elders, no wonder Lukas is so suspicious of me. I walked right up into your main camp and immediately got friendly with the leaders of the whole secret resistance.” He might have reacted the same, honestly.

Jackie threw his hands up in the air, walking away for a few paces before coming back. “Elders and Sisters, Chase.”

“What?! I’m new to this!” Chase protested. “I’ve never joined a group like this before, not a guild or a hunting band or anything. I don’t know how leadership works! And you’re all flatlanders, for all I know, this was just a regional difference.”

“So who did you think was in charge?” Henrik asked.

“I don’t know. Some far-off figure who led from the shadows. You two are just...here. Interacting with everyone regularly. Jackie went on a mission with me, what if something happened?”

“We’re not kings, Chase,” Jackie said. “We like people to know we’re working with them. And trust me, nothing would have happened to me in Skytown. It would’ve been close if you hadn’t shown up, though. We might have lost Elin. And even if something did happen to me, Schneep stayed here, so we wouldn’t have lost leadership.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize it,” Chase muttered. “So this Marvin was also a leader? What...happened to him?”

Henrik started to say something, but Jackie interrupted. “He turned into an ass.”

“Jackie, it has been a year,” Henrik sighed.

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t a bastard about it,” Jackie muttered. “Prick.”

Henrik rubbed his temples as if a headache was starting to come on. “I am still upset, too, but you are holding this grudge for too long.”

“What happened?” Chase repeated.

Henrik and Jackie glanced at each other, and Chase got the distinct feeling they were having a silent conversation. “Actually...do you mind if we tell you the story from the beginning?” Henrik asked after a long period of silence.

“Um...is this something that would make me seem even more suspicious for getting you two to open up to me?” Chase asked.

Jackie laughed. “Only in Lukas’s eyes. A few people around know this story, but I will admit, not most of them. Nemet, Tripp, Ana. The ones who’ve been around for a while. But it’s no secret. I hear there are some exaggerated versions of the story traveling around other camps.”

Chase grinned a bit. “But...why tell me? What if I’m actually a spy, or what if I switch sides—”

“I do not believe you would do that, Chase,” Henrik said quietly. “I met you once before. You are a kind, open man, and you care for your family and others. You would not side with the King.”

Chase’s chest swelled with emotion—the sadness and worry he was used to feeling when his family was mentioned, but combined with a warm feeling, knowing that others had faith in him. He nodded, and said nothing, blinking back sudden wetness in his eyes.

“So.” Henrik took a deep breath. “Let us start from the beginning.” He paused once more, then started to talk. “To understand why the subject matter is still bothering us—or, well, bothering Jackie—so much, I think the beginning is essential. Everything started fifteen years ago. I arrived in Glasúil off a ship, and headed down the coast and a bit inland. My parents had paid for me to study under a doctor named Slaine, who lived in the town of Fíornear.”

“Wait.” Chase didn’t want to interrupt so soon, but he had to hear that again. “Fíornear? As in...Fíornear Field?”

“Ah, yes. See, you would know that place.” Henrik smiled a bit, amused. “I have no doubt you grew up hearing stories of the warriors trained on the Field. But I did not. All I knew about it was the town name, and that it was a big, important area of the kingdom. Luckily, it was very easy to get directions to the town. I was glad that I had already studied your language before coming here. But it was...difficult, still. At that point, I could understand everything when it was in writing, but many people talked too fast for me to keep up.

“Because of this, when I actually arrived in the town of Fíornear, I was very confused. I was expecting something fancier, if I must say. The whole town was—and still is—very, ah...utilitarian. The only place that fit my expectations was the small castle where the area’s noble family lived, and even that was fortified with thick walls. I could tell that this was a place where warriors lived and worked, and I was very confused. And sort of afraid, if I must say so, thinking I had accidentally wandered onto a restricted area in a foreign land.

“So I thought I would get more directions. If this was Fíornear, I would ask where Slaine lived. If it was not, I would ask how to get there. I entered the first building I saw on the edge of town. It was a tavern with a name I could not understand, but that I would later learn was the Flint and Dagger Tavern. I would also later learn that this was known as a place where troublemakers gathered. Warriors who were learning the trade at the Field, but who were too ill-tempered to mingle with the others. They had taken this tavern as their own.

“Now imagine a fourteen-year-old boy walking into this tavern. A bookish-looking boy who is carrying all his possessions in a bag with him, including all his money, and who is rather skinny and likely to blow over in a strong wind.”

“I think your past self would be insulted to hear that, Schneep,” Jackie laughed.

Henrik grinned. “No, no, trust me, I was very aware of this fact. Even more so as everyone else in the tavern was strong enough to pick me up with one hand. They were all giving me looks, and I immediately felt I was not welcome. But I thought I could hurry through. So I walk up to the tavern keeper, and before I could even say anything, he says something along the lines of ‘Get out of here, kid.’ The exact details escape me.

“Of course, as I said, I do not understand the spoken language as well, so I think I misheard him. And I say, very clumsily, ‘Excuse me, is this Fíornear?’ And I mispronounced it, too, calling it ‘fee-OHR-neer’ instead of ‘FEE-or-narr.’ And from there, a few of the patrons in the tavern started grumbling at each other, sitting at a table in the middle of the room so they are not even hidden.

“The tavern keeper says, ‘Why? Are you looking for it? Hoping to become a warrior?’ and he gives me a very mocking smile at that last part. And I say, ‘No, I am looking for a doctor named Slaine.’

“And before I can say anything else, the group who are sitting and grumbling stand up and walk over to me. All of them, older than me, taller, and quite a bit stronger. One of them said something that was like, ‘So you’re a fancy foreign boy, then?’ And I am very confused. I know he is insulting me, but I am not sure how, so I just try to ask if this is the right town once more. They all laugh, and say things that are too fast for me to understand, but I know they are still insulting me. The one who spoke before leans down, very close to me, and grabs the front of my shirt. ‘You’d better get out of this place before we throw you out,’ he says. ‘You don’t belong here.’

“At that moment, I understand that this is a mistake, and I apologize, trying to leave. But this taller, older boy is not letting go of my shirt, even though he wants me to get out. I try apologizing again, and I look around for help, but everybody is looking away. Until, all of a sudden, there is a shout of ‘Hey!’ and next thing I know, the older boy is hit in the head with a shoe. I turn in the direction it came from, and there is a tiny girl standing on top of one of the tables, holding the other shoe in the pair.”

“I was not tiny!” Jackie protested.

Henrik laughed. “You were a small twelve-year-old child, all your height came from the table.”

“Okay, alright, but I hadn’t hit my growth spurt yet! And I was full of righteous anger so that makes up for it!”

“Wait, Jackie, you were the girl?” Chase clarified.

“I was,” Jackie said, turning to look at Chase. “I didn’t realize it at the time this story takes place, but I was born in a different name.”

“Oh!” Chase nodded. “You’re a man?”

“Mostly, yea.”

“I see. You look good.”

“Thank you,” Jackie grinned. “But I thought you were married.”

“Hey, don’t take it that way, I mean it as a friend.” Chase chuckled a bit. “What were you doing in this tavern?”

“Oh, I was training on the Field,” Jackie said proudly.

“Really?! At twelve?!” Chase didn’t hide his surprise. Though Fíornear Field technically trained anyone over the age of twelve to be a royal warrior, there usually weren’t students that young. “How did you convince your parents?”

“Well...I didn’t,” Jackie admitted. He finally sat down in the third chair. “See, I grew up on a farm, smack dab in the middle of the kingdom. It was boring. I had siblings, two older and three younger, and I could play with them, but I just wasn’t interested in farmwork. Mam and Dad said that I could start warrior training when I turned fifteen, but I didn’t want to wait! I’d be practically an adult by then, and it seemed so far. So I...ran away.”

“Oh, elders,” Chase gasped.

“Once I was actually receiving training, I asked the armsmaster to write a letter back to them,” Jackie said. “Because I couldn’t write yet. I didn’t want them to worry, but I wanted to be sure I had a place at the Field before that happened, so it’d be harder for them to drag me home.”

“Elders, I can’t imagine being that old and going out on my own,” Chase shook his head in disbelief.

Jackie grinned. “Well, I was a tiny fireball as a kid, fierce and stubborn. I wanted to fight villains and protect people. And as you can probably tell, one of the first times I did that was by throwing a shoe at Samuel when he was harassing Henrik.” He briefly shook his head in disgust. “That boy wasn’t worthy of that name, he was a bully in every way.”

“Let me guess...things rolled downhill quickly after the bully got hit with the shoe,” Chase said.

“Well...eventually. He certainly let go of Schneep right away. I remember shouting at him to ‘Leave him alone!’ and of course, he immediately got angry. He picked up the shoe again—which was mine, by the way, off my feet—and said, ‘I won’t be taking orders from a pipsqueak mouse like you!’ and threw it back at me. I managed to catch it, which was pretty impressive if I say so, and shouted back, ‘If I’m a mouse, you’re a brute, picking on someone half your size! Fight like a warrior!’”

“And then what happened?” Henrik prompted.

Jackie sighed. “He and all his lads charged at me.”

“Ancient elders,” Chase groaned.

“It could have gone worse!” Jackie insisted. “Apparently picking on someone so young was too much for some of the other patrons, and they all jumped in to stop them. Oh, and I leapt right off the table before any of them could get there! I...didn’t exactly land on my feet, but it didn’t hurt that much, compared to being rammed by about eight or nine sixteen-year-old warriors-in-training. You know, Samuel and half his lads got denied training before the winter. Ha! Served them right.

“Anyway, then I stood up and ran over to Schneep while the other patrons were trying to hold back those lads. I asked him if he was alright, and he said he was fine. Then I said, ‘Good, now let’s get out of here!’

“Before we could ‘get out of there,’ though, Samuel shouted, ‘Get those brats!’ and about three of his lads went to block the front entrance. So I grabbed Schneep’s hand and ran the other way, into the back halls of the tavern that connects the kitchen, and the storage, and the lavatory, and whatever else was back there, I forget. By that point, a brawl was starting, so we had a head start. I knew there’d be a back entrance to the building, but I wasn’t sure where. It was my first time going there, you know, and I’d only gone out of curiosity, not any desire to visit regularly.

“So it wasn’t long before we were lost. We took a few wrong turns, and Henrik asked me, ‘Do you know where we are going?’ and I lied and said, ‘Of course!’ But he didn’t believe me. And I could hear footsteps and shouting following us, and I knew either Samuel or one of his lads would find us soon.

“But before that can happen, I hear someone say, very quietly, ‘Excuse me?’ I jump a bit, spin around, and almost punch this tall kid who’d suddenly come out of one of the rooms. Luckily, Schneep stopped me. And the tall kid says, ‘You’re the people that got attacked back there?’ And I don’t answer right away, because I’m a bit suspicious. But this boy isn’t one of Samuel’s lads. He wasn’t built enough, if you know what I mean. Instead, he was this really tall, sort of willowy boy around Schneep’s age, wearing this fancy ring that looked like real silver with a real emerald in it. So I say ‘yea, that’s us.’ And he says, ‘Alright. I’ll help you get out.’

“This boy turns to the nearest wall and stares at it for a while, like he’s trying to read invisible words. Then he pokes his ring, and all of a sudden, the emerald in it starts glowing. I remember staring in shock as he pressed the emerald to the wall near the floor, then raised it up, around, and down. As he did, the glowing light rubbed off on the wall like chalk on a board, drawing this doorway that was round at the top. Once the doorway was done, he pressed on the wall in the middle, and it just disappeared. Instead, there was suddenly the outside, even though we should have still been in the middle of the building.

“‘You have to go through first,’ this kid says. I’m a bit suspicious, but then Schneep nods and walks right through this doorway. And now I feel responsible for him, so I follow him, and next thing I know, I’m outside the tavern, on its side. The tall kid walks through the doorway, and then it disappears. And we all just stare at each other for a while. It’s a bit awkward, but I felt like we were all connected somehow, you know? So I say, ‘I’m Jackie. Daughter of Fiona,’ because, again, I hadn’t realized my name was wrong yet. Schneep introduces himself as ‘Henrik von Schneeplestein,’ and this new kid just says, ‘I’m Marvin.’”

Chase physically started. “Marvin was a wizard?!”

“And a very talented one, too,” Henrik added. “The spell he used there was a Doorway Through Walls, and I understand it’s not usually taught to fourteen-year-olds.”

“But...” Chase shook his head a bit. “You said that wizards usually side with the King. A-and Tripp told me that was because the royal family provides their magic focuses, so how—?”

“Most focuses are temporary,” Jackie said. “They get worn out from channeling magic for so long. You might get one or two years out of them before they need to be fixed up or replaced. But there are ones that can last decades. They just...cost a hefty fee.”

“Marvin stole his,” Henrik added.

Jackie laughed a bit. “Yea. He did.” But his smile was more sad than anything. And short-lived too, as he realized he was smiling and quickly dropped it into a frown.

“So that’s how you three met,” Chase said, putting together the pieces. “So...you stayed in contact?”

“It was easy to do so,” Henrik said. “Jackie was training at the Field, I was studying with Slaine, and Marvin lived in town. We would meet up as often as possible. There were difficulties, of course, mine and Jackie’s schedules were full, and Marvin’s parents did not approve of him leaving home, so he had to sneak out.”

“We had a lot of little adventures,” Jackie said, leaning back and linking his hands behind his head. “Schneep was the brain, I was the brawn, and Marvin was the—well, he said he was the beauty, but really, he was the power, with his magic. And, uh, money, actually. You don’t get a lot of coin as a warrior-in-training or a doctor’s apprentice.”

“But I think we should skip over those,” Henrik said. “I think we may have taken too long explaining our first meeting.”

“Alright, skip to the part where you decide to form a group to rebel against the King,” Chase suggested. “When did that start? The moment he was crowned?”

“No, not at all,” Henrik said. “In fact, I was quite happy for him. Though a little shocked, to be honest. I had just finished my studies, and I felt barely ready to step out into my own. Yet he was being crowned King of an entire kingdom, and he was a year younger than me!”

“Couldn’t be helped,” Jackie sighed. “Not with the last King and Queen gone, be at peace. At least he got a year to prepare?”

“Twenty is hardly better than nineteen,” Henrik huffed. “But either way, we could not have known what was to happen.”

“What started it all?” Chase asked.

Jackie and Henrik glanced at each other. “It was about three years later, or so,” Jackie said. “At that point, I was one of the royal warriors, so I was able to notice some things. Our commands were...questionable. My captain told all of us that we ‘weren’t to hold back’ against troublemakers. There was talk of shutting down dissidence, and testing the people’s loyalty. Now, keep in mind, there hadn’t even been a whisper of rebellion before this, but this sort of talk seemed to appear overnight. And a lot of my fellows, people I had considered friends, were eating this up.”

“And then the King cut the funding for medicine and doctors,” Henrik added. “You know how most of us doctors receive supplies and salaries from the royal funds, yes?”

“Except for the travelling doctors,” Chase agreed. “They’re a separate thing. You were a town doctor once?”

“Yes, so I knew we were receiving less,” Henrik grumbled. “And now, years later, it is even less. The royal fund is not paying for supplies anymore, meaning doctors have to ask for donations so they can afford what they need.”

“And Marvin was hearing rumors about the noble houses,” Jackie said. “How they were turning on other families that weren’t loyal enough to the crown.”

“All of this was so different from what the King had been doing when first crowned.” Henrik shook his head. “And the three of us talked, and we realized that he must have been hiding his true intentions. Waiting until his position was secure, and then enforcing his rule, making sure every last person in this kingdom followed him.”

“And we had to do something about it!” Jackie shouted, standing up. “Something more! Something drastic!”

“Something that we could not do as ourselves,” Henrik said. “So, we decided to use masks, to hide who we were.”

“Little things first. But you would not believe how quickly things got out of hand.” Jackie whistled. “Something about the masks inspired something, I guess. People started following us after we went out to stop injustice, asking to join. And well, more people meant we could do more to help, so we expanded. Now here we are, five years later.”

Chase didn’t say anything for a moment. It just all seemed...so much. The Masked Phantoms was created by just three people. Two of which he was starting to consider friends. But that begged the question...why were only two of them left? “What happened to Marvin?”

Jackie took a deep breath, as if holding back a rant of words. “I know I just said our plan was to do something drastic. I just said that. But...there are...limits.” The last word came out as a growl.

“Jackie, please. Sit down,” Henrik said softly. Jackie stayed standing, so he sighed, and continued. “Our goal has always been to protect people. And so, we encourage fighting to be a last resort.”

“I’ve picked up on that, yes,” Chase said. “Holly always says you should never strike first.”

“Marvin thought we weren’t doing enough. He started to say that we should strike first. And strike...fatally.”

“How could he?!” Jackie shouted. “How could he?! The King’s warriors are just people, same as us! They have families to support, friends that would miss them! They’re following orders, and shouldn’t be blamed! Even the noble houses are under the crown! Doing what they need to! Nobody should die unless there’s no avoiding it!”

“Jackie, calm down!” Henrik snapped.

Jackie fell silent. He looked over at Chase. “One day, the three of us were talking about our plans. The long-term ones, our goals. And Marvin—he—just—so casually—like it was nothing, he said we should kill the King.”

“What?!” Chase stood up as well. “You can’t do that! The royal lineage hasn’t been broken for centuries! It goes all the way back to Samuel the Green-Eyed, it’s entwined within the land itself. You can’t end it!”

“Yes! See! This is it!” Jackie shouted. “People care about the line! They care about the legend of it! They care about our history!”

“I can see where Marvin was coming from, though,” Henrik said. “The King has abused his power for years, and people are suffering. Killing him might end it, and it would mean he would never return to try and regain his rule. But we cannot kill him right away. Not unless the people agree with that decision. And if we assassinate him now, people will definitely not agree. Half the population will immediately revolt against whatever new rule we try to establish. We must strip the King of his powers, then plan what to do.”

Chase forced himself to take a step back from the immediate indignant anger he’d felt upon hearing someone was planning to end the Glasúil line. Really, did it matter that much? Well...yes, actually. The royal family had ruled peacefully for centuries, and people loved them. Not just because of who they were, but because of what Jackie said, the history and legend. But if this King ordered villages burned down for no reason? Yes, he could see where Marvin was coming from, too.

But Henrik was right. People would be raging at the idea. His own reaction was proof of that. Killing the King now would just lead to chaos. “So you kicked Marvin out, then?”

Jackie laughed. “Oh noooo, we didn’t do that! The bastard said he was too good for us, and stormed out! What an ass!”

“To be fair, we did have...quite a large fight, leading up to that,” Henrik pointed out. “Personal insults were said.”

“Mostly between me and him,” Jackie admitted. “Schneep tried to mediate.”

Henrik laughed bitterly. “For the first minute, yes. I got caught up in it, too, do not pretend I didn’t. I would apologize, if I could.”

“I wouldn’t,” Jackie muttered. “Not unless he does first.”

“Not even for punching him?”

“Nope.”

Chase looked back and forth between the two of them. He wasn’t about to press, but he could tell that this fight had been bad. “So...he left.”

“A year ago, yes,” Henrik confirmed. “We hear about his...activities, occasionally. A wizard in a mask, acting on his own. Mostly destroying noble property and warrior forts.”

“With no regard for casualties,” Jackie added angrily. He grunted in frustration, then looked back at Chase. His voice softened. “...sorry to dump all this on you. It’s just been so long since we’ve talked about it, I guess we needed to.”

“No, it’s fine,” Chase assured him. “I understand, you can’t keep your feelings buried forever.”

“Well...alright then.” Jackie let out a long breath, then leaned in and gave Chase a quick one-armed hug. “Thanks for listening.”

Henrik stood up, gave Chase a similar quick hug, then stepped back. “We have been talking for a while. We told everyone not to disturb us, but...”

“More busy leader duties?” Chase asked humorously.

Henrik gave him a wry smile. “More busy leader duties.”

“Don’t worry,” Chase said. “I understand. And really, I’m just glad that you took the time to tell me all this. You didn’t have to.”

“We wanted to,” Henrik said. “And now, when others try to avoid the subject, you can say that you already know about Marvin, so it is not a problem.”

“Do you...think you’ll ever cross paths again?”

“I hope we do,” Jackie said. “So I can punch him again.” He hit his hand in demonstration. “But...on a more serious note, I think it’s inevitable. Our goals are the same, even if our methods are different. Eventually, we’re going to have to meet him again.” He paused. “And the more time goes on, the closer that moment becomes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Southern Moors of Glasúil were not built for permanent settlements. They were wetlands, with watery soil that wasn’t fit to farm on, without gems or metals to mine, and with mud that could easily ruin books, art, and clothes. But still, people found a way to live there, using the resources native to the moors to trade for what they needed. Most of the time, people lived on boats that floated down the many rivers, migrating seasonally as certain areas got difficult to work with. But a few locations had become home to permanent towns, towns that floated in the middle of still water or had their buildings tower on stilts.

This was a town that fit into the latter category. Houses, shops, everything was on stilts that were at least twice as tall as the average man, built like that to avoid the rising waters that would come every spring.

But for now, in the winter, the waters were just thin streams that wound around the tall buildings, some of them covered in a thin layer of ice. But the biggest stream was unfrozen. And this night, under the light of the stars and the waning moon, a single rowboat was floating down this stream. A boy, probably around ten to thirteen years old, was paddling it to his destination. He kept glancing up at the stilted buildings, waiting to see someone on the wooden bridges that connected them. But it was late, and it was winter, and although the Southern Moors weren’t all frozen yet, it was still cold. So the boy paddled on.

Then, he glanced up at the wooden bridges again. And there he saw...a cat. Sitting near one of the wooden ladders leading down to the ground, its eyes reflecting the starlight as it stared at him. The boy stopped paddling, tied up the boat, and climbed out, grabbing the wooden ladder. Once on the solid wooden walkway around the building, the cat darted around him and across the bridge.

He followed the cat to the next building, a house, where it stopped and sat outside the door. Swallowing nervously, he pulled open the door.

The inside was filled with a wide array of candles, all of various colors, but mostly orange and black. They sat on every possible surface, even the floor near the walls, but only a few were lit. The layout was that of a normal one-room house, with a bed in one corner, a rocking chair in another, and a table with two chairs in the middle. And there was a man sitting in one of the chairs.

The cat darted past the boy and leapt onto the table. Its fur was mostly white, but its ears were dark gray, and its tail was striped gray and black. Its legs were similarly striped, though with brown and white, and the fur on its face had a pattern of brown stripes. It stared at the man with big blue eyes, and the man started petting it.

The man himself was...unusual. Most of his clothes were hidden by a thick black cloak, leaving just his gloved hands and his head visible. Though, that wouldn’t do much. His features were hidden by a white mask in the shape of a cat’s face. Colorful markings decorated the surface, red whiskers on the cheeks and green spirals in the ears, with the four card symbols in black in the center of the forehead. Brown chin-length hair framed the mask in waves.

“Um...” The boy hovered in the doorway.

“Close the door,” the man said, and the boy did so. “What did you find?”

The boy walked closer to the table, though he didn’t sit in the chair. “Um...well...my cousin, Ryenn, she works at Portmota Castle. Does their laundry and cleaning. And she...she says that the King has chosen them for his Longest Night celebration. H-he’s arriving soon, maybe within the week.”

“I see.” The cat hopped into the man’s lap and curled up, where he continued to pet it. “How does your cousin know this?”

“Well, they were doing preparations, cleaning things more than usual. And she asked why, and the others said that the lady was getting ready for the King’s visit. Apparently she got a letter in secret, saying that the celebration at Fíornear was a ruse and it was actually going to happen at her holding.”

“I see,” the man repeated, nodding.

The boy hesitated. “Um...can I...? The, uh...”

“Yes, of course.” The man reached into his cloak and pulled out a small leather pouch. He set it down on top of the table. It made a clinking sound as the coins inside rattled against each other.

The boy stared at it, then slowly reached down, waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, he snatched the pouch up, checked the inside, and saw it was filled with golden coins. His eyes widened. He looked at the man and quickly nodded. “Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a problem. I should be thanking you for what you told me.”

“Right.” The boy took a few steps back, suddenly uneasy. “Uh...” Then, without another word, he turned and scrambled out of the house. The man could hear him running all the way back to his boat.

“He shouldn’t be so scared,” the man said to himself. The cat in his lap purred and sat up, stretching. He winced. “Draco, your claws.” Of course, the cat didn’t say anything. In fact, it started kneading his legs. “Ah!” The man gasped, then sighed. “Silly boy.” He picked up the cat and set it on the floor, where it whined at him. “Sorry, but you can’t be up here. I need the space.”

The man then reached into his cloak and pulled out several things. A map, some parchment, a quill and bottle of ink, and finally, a necklace with an ornate pendant: a flat, palm-sized emerald in a thin silver frame, smooth on the front but with golden patterns inlaid on the back. The man ran a finger along the edge of the pendant, and it started to glow. He flicked the light off his fingers, and it scattered, flying to all the unlit candles and lighting them, providing more than enough light to see.

“Now, let’s get to work.” The man picked up the quill, dipped it, and wrote down a name: Portmota, the noble family the King would be visiting for the solstice. He’d heard rumors that the celebration wasn’t actually going to be at Fíornear, but this confirmed it. Now, he just had to come up with a plan. Something more subtle than his usual heads-on approach. This was too important to risk.

He’d make sure the King didn’t live to see the spring.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #jacksepticeye au #chase brody #jackieboy man #dr schneeplestein #marvin the magnificent #brigid writes fanfiction #fantasymasksau

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lovingrosewho · 3 years

Text

Fake Dating (pt. 3)

Part 1 // Part 2

Here’s part 3! As usual, I hope you enjoy and any feedback is highly welcomed! 💕

MULTICHAPTER

Pairing: Crowley x Reader

Rating: T. More fluffy this time

Word count: 1.3k

Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester need your help with a case, which involves pretending to date the King of Hell.

Warnings: I think none, some cursing maybe

The evening goes as planned. You don’t talk much except for the occasional question directed at you, so you mostly dedicate to eat, report to Sam and Dean discreetly on your phone, smile, and squeeze Crowley’s hand under the table. He’s been a charm to be honest, his entrancing smile and deep chuckle could definitely make anyone fall for any lie, you’re not surprised he’s sold sin to saints for centuries.

It’s weirdly... easy, pretending to be a couple. And you’re astonished to see and listen just how much he knows about you just by indirect comments with the boys. Your favorite bands, your favorite color, he even knows you think roses are lame, and much deeper stuff, about your family, your past. It could be catalogued as weird, but thing is, it isn’t. It just seems normal. And truth be told, you know a lot about him as well. All those late nights doing research on the bunker’s library, on your own, with just the company of a single lamp and a pile of books, and him popping in, looking for the Winchester brothers, not realizing what time it was, trying to make just a little of small talk with you, it surely looks like you picked one or two things about him. It’s nice, not having to pretend to hate him for once, but quite the contrary, you can, for a few hours, let him peck you on the cheek and smile, or kiss each others hands, taking special care on the knuckles, running your fingers mindlessly on the surface of the skin of either your legs, palms or arms. Yes, it’s nice.

Now it’s been almost three hours and you think you’ll go crazy if you hear one more anecdote about some luxurious art gallery where rich people go to satisfy their ‘spiritual needs’.

“Excuse us but,” you say when they’re finished speaking “we should get going. You know, Queen and King of Hell and everything”.

Crowley’s eyes spark when you refer to yourself as the ‘Queen of Hell’.

“Of course!” the lady says in a tone you don’t quite like “But wouldn’t you prefer if we moved the party to our house?”

You consider the possibility for a second, if you could get there, perhaps you could help Sam and Dean too. You look at Crowley, who is watching you expectantly, waiting for your verdict. When he sees the silent sign for approval, makes an affirmative gesture.

Crowley pays the whole tab, which you’re certain wasn’t cheap, but he insists and doesn’t even let you nor your companions see the bill. Not that, being the King of Hell, matters a lot, apparently. You get going, driving along the shifters on an, also fancy, surely private, cab. The whole drive you don’t talk and you can barely look at Crowley, but his hand never leaves yours, and you’re relentless to let it go even if it seems, and probably is, wrong, given the facade is supposed to be over by now. He respects the silence filling the space, and keeps to himself any kind of comments he might have about the evening, or about you, conforming with watching you admire through the car window the few snow flakes that have started to fall from the sky.

About thirty minutes later, you arrive to a medium-sized house, considering you were expecting a mansion.

“What is this?” you ask quietly to Crowley.

“They’ve got plenty of houses all over the country, this one might just happen to be near, they move all the time” he explains in a shrug.

Even if Crowley’s explanation seems logical, you still have a bad feeling right in your gut, you take a firm grip at the silver blade you’re carrying to at least be prepared.

When you enter the household, the coziness of it immerses you; wooden floors and warm light surrounding you all of a sudden. You’re frankly impressed and glad to have left the luxurious side of it all back at the restaurant, but when you turn to Crowley, his face tells you something’s off.

“Everything alright?” you mutter closely to him.

“Yes, it just seems... weird. There’s no security system in this one and, one other minor detail, where are the Moose and Squirrel?” he mutters equally. Damn it. You forgot.

“Maybe they got the house wrong?” you keep speaking the same way, but the shifters interrupt you, conducting you to the living room, taking your coat off your hands and putting it on the rack. You obey, following carefully, looking for Sam and Dean on every corner, until they push a button at the side of the switch, hence you and Crowley are surrounded by metal walls, being left with only the center portion of the living room, meaning, just the sofa, a rug, and a lamp on top of the end table, the room being illuminated only by that single light, leaving you almost in gloom. You immediately take out your phone, but of course, it reads ‘no signal’.

“Ah” Crowley expresses “There’s the security system”.

You look at him in irony and turn to the nearest wall, punching it several times, like if it was gonna make a difference.

“You really thought we wouldn’t recognize a stupid hunter whore?” the shifters say through the wall.

“Bite me!” you scream, punching the metal again, taking your silver knife out and stabbing it too, only causing it to blend and almost break. You throw it furiously across the room and Crowley barely dodges it.

“Somebody’s got a temper” he mentions but regrets it the moment you storm towards him, ready to beat him too, he catches your fists in the air and backs you against the wall, his hot breath against your mouth “Easy there, love. I’m the last person you should be aiming your dandery nonsense to”.

“Really?!” you yell, liberating from his grip, not being able to control yourself “Cause it seems to me you set this all up and now you’re gonna snap someplace else and leave me all on my own!”

He rolls his eyes in a bored way.

“In case you haven’t noticed, which wouldn’t turn up as a surprise given the insane amount of anger you have in you as of now, there are devil traps right in this wall,” he starts pointing at the right one “and that other one”.

He’s right. The light makes it hard to perceive, but there are devil traps set with stainless steel all over the right and left walls.

“They’re not idiots, love” he tells you calmly “They know what they’re doing”.

“I should have known...” you say, more to yourself than to him.

“Kitten...”

“I should have fucking known. Fucking stupid. Flashed by the decor. Fuck!” you scream. Crowley comes up to you and engulfs you in a hug. You shake him off and walk a few steps away “Leave me alone”.

He looks in awe at you.

“You’re not about to behave like five hours ago, are you?” he exclaims, not exactly angry, but unsettled at the very least “Are you really going to pretend we didn’t share a moment back at the restaurant?”

“I said. Leave. Me. Alone” you repeat, going to the furthest corner of the room, sitting down and bringing your knees close to your chest. Crowley stares at you in disbelief.

“Suit yourself” he says, tone still calm but more severe.

A couple of hours pass. Room is still dim, the only light creates some harsh shadows and the temperature has started to drop since you’re in the middle of January. You can’t help the shivers, and the cold metal on your skin isn’t helping at all, but you’re too prideful to walk by the sofa, where Crowley is.

“Love...” he murmurs, trying to sound irritated still, watching you “You’re gonna freeze to death over there. Come here”.

You don’t make a single move, but are tempted to. Degrees keep lowering by the second, every time you exhale, a puff of steam comes out. Even thinking about a way out is becoming more and more difficult, with the lack of heat you’re unable to concentrate.

“Love?” Crowley calls again, this time there’s more concern in his voice. Your mind has started to drift, it feels as if any minute you were about to faint or quake uncontrollably. Lights begin to fade, Crowley’s voice too, your body seems to be shutting down to prevent you from going into shock from the unbearable cold.

Part 4

MASTERLIST // TAG LIST: @enby-thesbian (if you’d like to be tagged feel free to let me know! 💕)

#supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #crowley #crowley supernatural #crowley x reader #crowley spn #crowley x you #crowley x y/n #supernatural masterlist #supernatural multichapter #multichapter #crowley multichapter #crowley x reader fic #crowley x reader fanfiction #crowley fic #crowley fanfiction

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fanfic-corner · 3 years

Text

Wrapped In Red

Merry Christmas, @masterofevilmonkeyness! I’ve really enjoyed writing your secret santa for @destielsecretsanta2020 this year, and it has actually ended up being the longest fic I have ever written!

First of all, here’s the playlist. My friend found some perfect songs for the different scenes, and we had a lot of fun trying to find songs with specific vibes!

Without further ado, here’s the fic. And, if you’d prefer, the link to it on AO3.

{o0o}

“So you’ll do it?” his brother’s voice crackles though Dean’s cracked phone, and he sighs. So yeah, maybe he hasn’t been on a case in a while and has been going slowly insane just hanging around the bunker, but he also doesn’t want to leave Cas alone. Since his grace had faded completely a few days ago, the former angel had hardly left his room, and Dean wasn’t sure what he could do to help.

He rubs his forehead, already feeling a headache coming on simply from this conversation, and replies, “I’ll ask Cas.”

“Okay, text me if you’re going,” Sam responds, the phone making the muffled noises that Dean has learnt means that he is holding his phone on his shoulder, freeing his hands to talk to Eileen.

“Stop worrying, anyway,” Dean tells him, cracking his back as he stands up. “You’re on holiday. Leave the cases for a while, and I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“Alright, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Dean slips his phone into his back pocket and wanders down the hallway, so engrossed in his plan to invest in some thick socks because the bunker floor is freezing that he nearly walks straight into Cas. His dark hair sticks up in every direction and he is wearing an old Zeppelin shirt of Dean’s and a pair of Sam’s sweatpants, which look like they are being held up by some kind of miracle. Paired with the bags under his eyes which are so dark that Dean mistakes them for bruises, he could be mistaken for a ghost.

“Hey, uh,” Dean stutters, not sure what to say. “Sam has a case that I was thinking of going on, but we don’t have to, we can just pass it on to Garth or-”

“I’ll go with you,” Cas interrupts, his voice hoarse and croaky.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You don’t look...great. No offense.”

“I’m fine, Dean.” Cas’ steely blue eyes had always been able to pull off a frighteningly good stare, and Dean just decides to go along with it. It would do them both good to get out of the bunker, in any case.

“Okay,” he agrees, “shall we go in about an hour? That’ll give me enough time to pack for both of us and you enough time to have a shower.”

Cas nods, and they part ways, Dean watching the angel hoist his borrowed pants up and disappear around the corner before shaking his head and fishing his phone out to text Sam.

We’ll take it. Send me the details, setting off in an hour.

{o0o}

Dean had tried his very best to hold a conversation when they set off on the fourteen hour drive, but he had long given up and they were only at the two hour mark. Every question he asked so far had either gone unanswered or had been graced with a monosyllabic response. It was like trying to hold a conversation with a brick wall. Well, no one could fault him for trying.

Flicking his wrist out lazily, he turns on the radio without looking with the kind of graceful expertise that only comes from years of driving his baby at night. It takes a full ten seconds for him to realise that the sound of jingle bells is coming from the speakers before he groans. “Nope.”

A surprisingly warm hand shoots out to stop him before he can turn it off, and Dean looks up in surprise at Cas’ imploring face. “Please can we listen to it?”

Considering what the dude had lost recently - and the fact that apparently his puppy eyes are almost as effective as Sam’s - Dean was hardly going to deny him this one thing. He did, however, have one condition. “Okay, I’ll leave it on, but only if you fish out my Christmas mixtape from the box.”

Dean never took his eyes off the road, but he was acutely aware of the way Cas stared at him for a moment before excitedly rummaging through the old box of tapes. Eventually, he pulls it out, admiring the battered stickers and fading drawings that he and Sam had added when they made it all those years ago. Cas gently slides it in and the first few notes of Mariah Carey grace the air.

“Hell yeah,” Dean says, grinning wildly. “You, Castiel, are about to be educated in some proper Christmas music.”

By the time the mixtape finishes, they are both in a much better mood, so Dean decides it is probably a good idea to stop for a little bit to get some snacks and some gas. Frowning, Cas informs him that he needs the toilet, before disappearing towards the nasty looking bathroom. Dean can’t help but feel bad for him; as much as he loves being human, he knows it must be annoying to suddenly have the weird experience of a human body. They always seemed to hurt or need something, and he could tell that Cas found the whole thing incredibly repetitive and exasperating.

The gas station is like every other gas station Dean has ever seen; empty, with a layer of grime that seemed to cover everything and the bright lights that ensured that no matter what time of day it was, it always seemed to look the exact same. This one, however, is also covered in Christmas decorations. Glittery tinsel and rainbow paper chains swing from the ceiling, the air conditioning coaxing them into a gentle dance. Fake snow covers every surface, and flashing fairy lights force him to blink and look away.

Dean moves on autopilot, picking up snacks that Cas hasn’t tried yet and a couple of bottles of water, before reaching the counter. He has to yell to the cashier - who is decked out in a festive jumper and Santa hat - in order to be heard over the deafening Christmas music.

“Here,” she practically sings, disappearing into the back room for a second before reappearing with a ridiculous pair of reindeer antlers. “These are for you, sweetie! No charge. Cheer up, it’s Christmas!”

Dean tries to refuse the antlers, but the lady - Lucy, her name tag reads - is not taking no for an answer, so eventually he gives in, telling himself that it is just so he can leave this Christmas Hell and get back to driving. Cas is waiting for him outside, leaning on the car and watching as the first few flakes of snow start to fall.

Dean hesitates for a moment before offering the antlers to him. Cas just stares at them, his head tilted to one side. Sighing, Dean just steps closer and puts them on Cas’ head, laughing when the bells jingle as he tries to look up at them without taking them off. He slips his phone out and sneaks a picture of the bewildered former angel, hastily putting it away and bundling Cas in the car so that they can set off before the snow gets too bad.

“Why did you give me a pair of fake antlers, Dean?” Cas asks as they set off, turning them over and inspecting them in his hands. Much to Dean’s dismay, they wouldn’t fit in the car.

“Thought you liked Christmas stuff?” he replies, grinning.

“What do fabric antlers have to do with Christmas?”

And so, Dean finds himself spending the last leg of the journey attempting to explain Christmas traditions to Cas, who can’t help interrupting and pointing out the real facts, rather than Dean’s Christmas cracker knowledge. They go over Santa and his reindeers (“reindeers can’t fly, Dean”), the birth of Jesus (“I remember Balthazar telling me about that”), and mince pies (“why are they sweet? Mince isn’t supposed to be sweet.”). By the time they arrive Dean is so eager to escape the onslaught of questions that he doesn’t know the answer to, he hits someone with the car door as he gets out.

The actual reason that they have driven into the middle of absolutely nowhere dangerously close to Christmas is because a couple had gone missing last week and hadn’t been seen since. Usually, they would assume that this case wasn’t their kind of thing, but Sam had been asked to check it out by another hunter who knew them (and who apparently had some beef with a ton of shapeshifters), and so here they are..

Dean suggests that FBI agents might be a bit too suspicious for a small town in the middle of nowhere, so instead he and Cas decide to pretend that they are just family visiting them for the weekend. They knock on next door under the pretense of asking for the spare key, and are greeted by possibly the grumpiest people Dean has ever met.

“Fine,” the lady snaps, the half of her face visible from behind the door frowning at them in disgust before turning back into the house. “Harold, get the spare key for next door!”

“Do you happen to know where they have gone?” Dean asks politely, the pleasant smile on his face starting to ache.

“No.”

Cas raises his eyebrows at Dean, before he tries. “When was the last time you saw them?”

The woman huffs impatiently. “Probably when they went to that stupid office Christmas party. We could hear the music from here. It was so inconsiderate.”

“Oh,” Dean replies, sharing a look with Cas. “Where was this party?”

The door opens fully, a man appearing behind the lady - Harold, Dean assumes - who hands the key over to them. “It was those blasted Mitchells.” He turns to his wife, his bushy eyebrows raised. “Did you hear that they are throwing another goddamn party tomorrow, Ann?”

“Thanks for all your help,” Dean interrupts before they can get too carried away.

“Merry Christmas!” Cas adds, already backing away.

They speedwalk back across the victims’ house, making sure that the neighbours’ door is shut before they completely break down laughing. Dean can barely open the door, but when he finally manages to correctly align the key in the lock, they both tumble into the front room, shaking uncontrollably.

Dean collapses next to the couch, sliding to the floor. He takes a couple of deep breaths before managing to speak. “Sounds like we’re going to your first Christmas party, Cas.”

{o0o}

After making their way through most of the people in the town, two things have been made very clear. First of all, the last anyone had seen of the victims - Adam and Amelia Knapp - was at their office Christmas party. Which nearly everyone in the town had been at, and yet no one knew anything remotely helpful. Secondly, there was another Christmas party being held tomorrow night by the somewhat popular Mitchell family, and the chances of their mystery monster striking were high, in Dean’s opinion.

The most logical course of action would be for Dean and Cas to pretend to be guests at the party, so they could stop their creature before anyone else went missing and then they could disappear back home in time for Christmas. However, Dean had found that nothing in his life could ever be that simple, so instead he found himself standing in front of a wide array of hats, trying to wrestle a fez away from a former angel of the Lord.

Because of course it had to be a costume party, and just as the icing on the cake, it had to be a couples only costume party.

“Dude,” Dean says, finally managing to wrench the fez from Cas’ iron grip, “if we’re wearing hats, at least try a good hat.”

Dean plops an example on Cas’ head, laughing as it slips over his eyes. “These aren’t Christmassy, Dean.”

“Sure they are,” Dean says, grabbing a hat more in Cas’ size and a matching one for him. He strolls over to the till, grabbing a couple more things on the way. “You’ll see.”

Since they have a few hours to kill before the actual party, Dean decides that they can waste some of the day doing some Christmas shopping, especially after he finds out that Cas hasn’t got any presents yet. He drives them to a nearby mall, throws Cas a handful of notes and his antlers, and gives him strict instructions to buy some presents and then meet Dean in the food court in an hour.

“Why can’t we do it together?” Cas asks, and Dean could swear he was pouting.

“Because the presents are supposed to be a surprise,” he explains, shooing Cas away with his hands. “Look, I’ll see you in an hour, and if you need anything you can just call me, ‘kay?”

Cas nods and meanders off, disappearing into the crowd without further complaint.

It is nearly ten minutes later, while he is rummaging through some shirts in an attempt to find one in Sam’s size, when Dean realises that this is the first time that Cas has been alone since he lost his grace. A sudden jolt of panic rushes through him, and he has to force himself to take a deep breath.

Castiel was older than humanity. He had led armies of angels. He had fought against demons and archangels and every monster under the sun. He could handle buying a few Christmas presents.

But, at the same time, Dean can’t help but worry. The dude has questionable social skills at best, and he is still trying to get to grips with his brand new human body. He often has to be reminded to eat or drink water or sleep, and there were several embarrassing occasions in the beginning where he had forgotten entirely.

Dean’s hand itches, his fingers curling towards his back pocket, but he resists the urge to call and check up on Cas. He doesn’t need a babysitter. He tells himself that he should just get his presents for people and then he can meet back up with Cas as soon as possible.

The mall is packed, the usual last rush as people get the last few things they need for Christmas. Conversations and the sound of toddlers crying fight to be heard over the echoing music, festive music adding to the deafening noise. While dodging people, making his way to their meeting place, Dean tries to remember the last time he was in a mall. Certainly not recently - he thinks it may be some time before he met Cas - and he definitely doesn’t remember them making him feel this claustrophobic. The sea of people pushing against him makes him want to throw up, and he finds himself having to duck into the nearest shop to avoid the crowd, shutting his eyes and leaning heavily against a railing.

“Dean?” a deep, familiar voice asks him, concerned. “Are you alright?”

Dean cracks one eye open, laughing when he realises what shop he found Cas in. He knew he should never have introduced him to Hot Topic. “I’m fine, Cas. Just hungry.” he deflects, standing up straight and patting his friend on the shoulder.

Cas gives him a look that says ‘I know you’re lying but I’m going to let you get away with it just this once’ and instead says, “Let me pay for this, and then we can go and get some lunch.”

Not even twenty minutes later, Dean is watching Cas eat a taco for the first time and has completely forgotten that he ever felt bad, because he is laughing too hard to care. Cas looks highly bemused at the stain on his precious trench coat, but Dean thinks that, secretly, he doesn’t mind.

{o0o}

There is no question that they are in the right place when they pull up outside the address they were given a few hours later, if the ridiculous amount of fairy lights and assorted decorations are anything to go by. They can’t help but stare at the blinding display for a moment, before Dean turns to Cas to make sure he remembers the plan. “Okay, so we go in, find our mystery monster-”

“Sam thinks it is a shapeshifter.” Cas interrupts.

“Okay, so we grab this shifter, gank it, grab some food on the way out and then drive home in time for Christmas. You remember the cover story?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Yes, Dean. We’re the Bassons, and we’re thinking about moving here. Do I need to repeat the rest?”

“Alright then, you ready?” Dean intertwines his fingers with Cas’ - in order to keep their cover, obviously - takes a deep breath, and then opens the door.

A wave of heat rolls out from the crowded house, contrasting with the painfully cold air outside. As they step inside, Dean picks up a delicious smell wafting in from the kitchen, a mixture of turkey and cranberry sauce and mulled wine and gravy. The third thing he notices is the music blaring in from the other room, loud enough that he can feel the vibrations thrum through his body. He laughs when he realises what song it is. Space Cowboy; he couldn’t have picked a more fitting song.

After they had come home from their spontaneous shopping spree, Dean had spent an hour making the perfect couple’s costume. Considering the only supplies he had were ones he had picked up from the dollar store, he was actually pretty impressed with his handiwork. Both him and Cas were wearing their normal fed suits, however, it was the hats that really sold it. Dean had affixed - using an alarming amount of superglue - a strand of purple and blue glittery tinsel to his cowboy hat, and a set of fully functional Christmas lights to Cas’.

Cas had protested at first - “How are cowboys Christmas related, Dean?” - until he had been convinced by the hidden practicality of it: any weapons they brought with them could be written off as part of the costume. Also, cowboys are awesome. Dean has yet to find someone who can prove him wrong on that point.

Cas squeezes Dean’s hand to get his attention, nodding towards two people who appear to be the hosts of the party. The music shifts into some Christmas classic, and they make their way over so they can start ruling people off the list of suspects.

An hour later, Dean officially decides that he is never attending a Christmas party again. Luckily, they’ve only had to deal with one homophobe, who Dean ‘accidentally’ dropped a whole plate of food on, but that doesn’t mean that none of the other guests are driving him up the wall. It seems that everyone is slightly drunk apart from them, and the only reason Dean hasn’t joined in is because of the dirty looks Cas sends him every time he so much as glances towards the punch bowl.

It’s the karaoke that does him in. Cas is somewhere (Dean couldn’t tell if he genuinely needed the bathroom, or if that was his attempt at saying he was going to scout the house) and there is a woman wearing a skimpy reindeer outfit and wailing along to Last Christmas. God only knows what caused her to get on top of the table and join in while crying, but Dean suspects the answer includes lots of alcohol and the fact that the man who she had arrived with had disappeared upstairs with an elf some time earlier. Her rendition certainly isn’t going to win any awards.

With Cas not there to see, Dean manages to finish two plastic cups worth of surprisingly nice punch before he can be stopped. Considering the dude has flashing lights on his head, Cas can be remarkably sneaky when he wants to be.

“Dean, I don’t think-”

“Oh, what wonderful costumes!” a woman interrupts, and Dean forces a smile back on his aching face before he turns around to face her, just in time to see wink at him. She is wearing a green dress and is covered in baubles and tinsel, and the man standing next to her is literally wearing a massive cardboard box, wrapped to look like a present. It takes all of Dean’s self control not to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it.

“Thank you,” Cas says, and Dean wraps an arm around his waist in order to confirm that they are, in fact, a couple. The few times he had touched Castiel, he had been cold; it had felt like touching a corpse. As a human, Cas was like a hot water bottle, and even though the house was boiling, Dean couldn’t help but latch onto him whenever the opportunity arose.

“I’m Natasha,” the woman continued, staring at Dean in what he had to assume was her version of ‘seductive’ and completely ignoring Cas. “Oh, and this is Cole,” she adds as an afterthought.

Cole also winks at Dean. He has never felt so uncomfortable in his life, and he went to Hell. Although, he has also never had both members of a couple separately flirt with him while fake dating someone else.

“I’m Dean, and this is Cas,” he replies, pulling the former angel even closer into him. “My husband.”

“Oh,” Cole says, and Dean doesn’t think he is imagining the disappointed tone.

“Sorry,” Natasha adds, not sounding in any way apologetic. “I didn’t realise you were a couple!”

Dean didn’t think he could make it more obvious, but… if she didn’t believe them, then they might be at risk of blowing their cover. There were already at least seven people who had been avoiding them after the usual weird questions and some not quite realistic ploys to get them to touch a silver coin that they had brought with them.

“Why’s that?” he asks, and regrets the question almost as soon as it comes out of his mouth.

“For starters,” Natasha proclaimed, way too eager for this to end well. “You’ve been standing under mistletoe this whole time and haven’t kissed!”

Dean’s whole body freezes as they both look up, and sure enough, the bastard plastic plant is hanging directly over their heads.

“I didn’t realise,” Cas says, somewhat dazedly.

Dean takes a deep breath - there’s nothing they can do now, not with these nosy, weirdass people watching and waiting and expecting a kiss - and pulls Cas closer, turning to face him so their bodies are pressed together. In the dim lights, the lights on Cas’ hat make his startling blue eyes twinkle like starlight, and Dean wonders how he never saw how gorgeous he was before now. Maybe he had, and it had just been buried along with everything else.

“Dean,” Cas’ low voice rumbles, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.

Kissing a man is not so different to kissing a woman, and Dean can’t help but notice how much he likes the feeling of Cas’ chapped lips on his own. Something lights up inside him like a firework, and he realises exactly how much he wanted - no, needed this. He feels better than he has in a long time, as if a missing puzzle piece had suddenly slotted into place.

Cas pulls away first, and Dean’s mind suddenly catches up with his body. Holy shit, he just kissed Cas. He barely registers Natasha and Cole walking away, still transfixed by the fact he finds a former angel of the Lord - who is a man - devastatingly handsome.

“Dean. Dean, are you okay?” It is only the feeling of Cas’ body heat leaving him that gets him to look down, absentmindedly fixing the shorter man’s hat.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, choking on the words. “Yeah, I just gotta - I’m just gonna…”

And, like a complete and utter cowardly dick, he walks away.

{o0o}

It has been twenty minutes, so Dean can be fairly certain that Cas isn’t gonna come looking for him. Which is fine. It’s not like he was expecting him to. They only kissed to keep up the pretense, and Dean’s weird behaviour has probably ruined that anyway. It meant nothing.

The problem is that Dean can’t stop thinking about how amazing it had felt to kiss Cas. He had tasted like mulled wine and honey and the promise of a thousand lazy mornings. It had felt like flying and drowning all at once. Dean had never understood when people had described kisses as things that had nothing to do with the act, like earthquakes or lightning or fireworks, but the only way he could explain the ecstasy he had felt when their lips had touch was an act of God.

And that thought only spiraled into another: Dean had kissed an angel of the Lord. An angel. Even though Cas was human now, he still remembered the birth of existence and every word that came out of his mouth was fueled by eons of knowledge and memories and experience. He held himself with a grace that only a true warrior can execute, and to him, Dean must seem so small. How insignificant was he compared to that brilliant man?

Finally, there it is. The real issue. Castiel is a man.

It had taken some time, but Dean had taught himself, eventually, that John Winchester was a terrible parent. In fact, it was generous to call him a parent at all. It was Dean who had raised Sam, raised himself. And, even now, he couldn’t help but fall back into his old mindset, into an old version of Dean who would have done anything for his father’s approval. But, if he is being honest with himself - and, let’s be frank, it’s about time - Castiel was not the first man he had liked. He probably wasn’t even the third.

In that moment, Dean decides that he doesn’t want to be a coward any longer. If he never expected his life to be a long one, then it is all the more reason to go for what he wants now, rather than later.

Yeah, maybe he’ll lose Cas, but… the possibility of what could await him if Cas does reciprocate is far more frightening than the former angel laughing in his face.

{o0o}

Castiel considers himself very knowledgeable in Dean Winchester’s emotions. He knows exactly how long to avoid Dean after eating a slice of his pie, he knows that he can hold full conversations with just a look, and, as an example, he knows that after their kiss, Dean Winchester was panicking. Badly.

That was fine. Castiel was fine with that. It wasn’t like he had been secretly in love with a man who had repeatedly called him a brother for over ten years. Nothing like that.

Sighing, Cas gently puts his paper plate on the corner of the kitchen table, the food he had been so excited to try half an hour ago now making his stomach roll. He figured that Dean had just needed some air; he would cool down, shove all of his emotions down in true Winchester fashion, and then return and pretend that nothing ever happened. The problem wasn’t just with the fact that Cas would very much be remembering that kiss until the day he died, but that Dean had been a really long time.

Time moves differently now that he was human. As an angel, everything seemed to move so much faster. There was always something to do, the faint crackling of angel radio like a comforting background noise or a million particles to study. A blink of his eye and a century could have passed, and yet here he is, thirty minutes feeling like an eternity.

It’s by the time Cas has checked every room downstairs that he really starts to worry.

Dean is not in the kitchen stuffing his face, and he is not in the dining room drinking punch, and he is not dancing to the rather annoying upbeat song that is playing in the living room. He is not in the hallway, or on the stairs, or in the bathroom. When Cas starts asking, people give conflicting answers. A bauble saw him go upstairs, a Christmas tree could swear he was in the kitchen, an elf insists that he went outside.

Since it is the only place he hasn’t checked, Cas heads outside. There, on the floor, is Dean’s stupid hat, the tinsel loose on one side, dangling pathetically into a puddle of melted snow.

Cas immediately calls Sam, who picks up surprisingly quickly. “Cas? What’s up?”

“ImighthavekissedDeanandnowIdon’tknowwhereheis-”

“Cas, slow down,” Sam urges, forcing Cas to take a deep breath before continuing.

“We’re, uh, at a couples’ only party, and we had to kiss and then Dean freaked out but he’s been gone for ages and I think he is in trouble,” Cas says, only marginally slower than before.

“Shit. Okay, send me the address. We’re on our way.”

Sam, Cas thinks as he tries a door handle that he missed before, is excellent at coming up with plans. Maybe it’s the time spent in college, maybe it’s his years of hunting experience, but even over the phone he had pointed out things that Cas had failed to spot. Like, for example, the door to the basement.

Cas turns the phone flashlight on like Dean taught him, the beam still not strong enough to light up the impenetrable darkness. The music fades to a distant hum in the background, becoming distorted and frantic as Cas feels. His eyes have barely adjusted enough to see the familiar but unconscious form on the ground - “Dean?” - before something solid connects with the back of his head, and Cas tumbles forwards, crumpling at the bottom of the stairs.

{o0o}

“Cas?”

Cas groans. When he had finally fallen completely, he had been surprised by how much being human hurts. Something always aches, and everything is so easy to damage. Even the smallest of injuries - a stubbed toe or a papercut - hurts way more than it should.

Apparently, a combination of blunt force trauma to the back of the head and the general bruises one acquires from falling down a flight of stairs hurt a lot more than a stubbed toe.

“Hey, buddy, you okay?” A familiar voice asks, and Cas tries to turn his head so that he can see Dean, instead finding out that that particular head movement causes his vision to blur and swim. When he attempts to bring his hands up to survey the damage, he can’t understand why they don't move for a moment, before his brain finally manages to catch up and he remembers the night’s events.

So, maybe he wasn’t expecting his first kiss with Dean to be followed by being kidnapped and tied up in a basement, but this is a Winchester they are talking about here.

“Come on, talk to me here.” Dean says, sounding worried.

Cas swallows, aiming to say something to ease Dean’s concern and instead causing a coughing fit. “I’m fine,” he eventually manages to gasp.

Dean snorts. “Sure sound like it.”

They are silent for a moment, the only sounds in the room an echoing drip and Cas’ raspy breaths. Cas isn’t sure how long they have been down there, but since Dean isn’t wriggling about in an attempt to escape, it has probably been long enough that he has already checked whether or not he can untie himself. From what Cas’ fumbling fingers can tell, though, the knots keeping them bound to this stupid pole are very good.

He feels utterly pathetic. He used to be a soldier - he had led armies, fought battles that humans couldn’t even comprehend - and here he was now, entirely useless, taken out by a baseball bat and kept prisoner by a length of rope. If he was still an angel this would have never happened. He could have saved Dean, he would have killed whoever did this, and they would have been back in time to enjoy the end of the party.

“What do we do now?” Cas asks, finally breaking the silence.

Dean sighs, and Cas can feel him against his back as his whole body sags down. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do but wait.”

Cas didn’t think he had ever heard Dean give up so easily, and it scared him. “What?”

“I don’t exactly see a way out of this, Cas. I’ve been trying to get these ropes off for half an hour and I think they’re probably just tighter than they were when I started.”

Cas gave an experimental yank, and Dean hissed in pain. Suddenly, the wetness on Cas’ hands made sense. “You’re bleeding, Dean.”

The hunter didn’t reply.

Cas had always thought that his death would be noble. Previously, it had always at least been in battle or a sacrifice, but this was just… pitiful. He was going to die at the hands of some random shapeshifter in someone’s disgusting basement, while wearing a cowboy costume.

“I - uh, I just wanted to say,” Dean starts, sounding unsure, “that I’m sorry about earlier.”

“It’s fine, Dean,” he replies, shutting his eyes in an attempt to block out the conversation. If he was going to die, he would rather not be rejected first.

“It was a dick move,” Dean continues, as if he hadn’t heard Cas. “I was just - I mean - I want to say…”

“What, Dean?”

Dean’s voice is barely a whisper. “I think I’d like to kiss you again.”

Cas’ eyes snap back open, and he hits his head on the pole in his confusion. “You would?”

“You don’t… I thought… I mean, I’m just kid-”

“Shut up,” Cas interrupts, not wanting Dean to panic all over again. “I would like that.”

“Oh. Really? Okay,” Dean replies, and Cas shuffles around until he manages to hold his hand. It’s sticky and wet with blood where Dean’s wrists have been hurt by the ropes, and every aching muscle in Cas’ body screams at the awkward position, but he thinks it might still be the happiest he has ever been.

{o0o}

Dean isn’t sure how long it is until he hears the footsteps on the stairs, but it’s long enough for him to feel much too tired for a fight. Can’t the universe just let him be happy for once? Is it too much to ask to not have to fight tooth and claw for one scrap of peace?

“Well, hello there,” a man’s voice says, and Dean feels Cas stiffen. It sounds oddly familiar, but he can’t quite place his finger on where he would have heard it before.

That is, until a second voice speaks. “What have we got here, Harold?”

The next-door neighbours. The old couple who had been complaining about the parties. Of course the only two people in this godforsaken town who they hadn’t checked were the bad guys. He should have seen it. They should have asked them more questions when they weren’t tied to this stupid pole in this stupid fucking basement.

“A pair of cowboys, Ann,” Harold tuts, and Dean cannot believe he is about to be killed by a weird old couple, of all things. He had prevented the apocalypse at least twice, had defeated God, and yet he was going to be killed by the monster of the week. Who looked like they were about three hundred years old, owned fifty cats and knitted in their spare time.

Ann walks around them, her heels clacking on the stone floor, until she comes to a stop in front of Dean. “What a shame,” she says, looking down at him like he was a stain on her shoe. “I was hoping we’d get a crier. Men rarely cry. Apart from that last fellow, of course.”

Dean’s stomach rolls, and he suddenly regrets eating so many pigs in blankets at the party.

“What are you?” Cas practically growls, his hand squeezing Dean’s to comfort him.

“Whatever do you mean, son?” Harold asks, and he sounds genuinely confused.

Oh shit, Dean thinks, letting out an amused huff of breath. Great. He isn’t even going to be killed by the monster of the week. He’s gonna be killed by an actual old person.

“Is something funny, sweetie?” Ann demands, frowning.

Dean smiles up at her, deciding that he may as well die how he lived: a snarky bastard. “Sorry, I just can’t believe that I got kidnapped by someone’s grandma.”

Ann steps closer to him, crouching down so she is his height. A sliver of silver reflects in the dim light like a shooting star, slicing downwards and cutting a thin line across Dean’s neck. “Don’t give me cheek, boy.”

“Let’s kill the other one first, sweetheart. Then that rude fella has to watch his boyfriend die.” Harold suggests, spitting out the word ‘boyfriend’ like it physically hurts him.

Dean clutches Cas’ hand tighter, trying not to let the panic that is welling up inside him, cold and merciless, show on his face. He tugs desperately at the ropes around his wrists one more time, hoping for a miracle that he knows isn’t coming.

“Say goodbye, now.” Ann says, and Dean shuts his eyes. He knows that he can’t deal with losing Cas again, even if he’ll be gone soon after. He spares a brief thought wondering where Cas will go when he dies; is he human enough to avoid the Empty? And even so, would he go to Heaven or Hell?

“I love you, Cas,” Dean whispered, because even though he is scared, he knows that Cas deserves to know.

If Cas says anything back, Dean doesn’t hear it over the gunshot.

{o0o}

Dying was not a new experience for Castiel, nor was dying as a human. What was a new experience was the pain he felt in his chest that no bullet or knife could replicate. It was the knowledge that he had the opportunity to be happy and it had been ripped from him. It was knowing that someone loved him and cared for him and was being taken away from him.

When Harold dropped dead instead of Cas, his heart fluttered. Maybe he did have a chance.

“Dean, are you alright?” Sam’s voice calls out, and Cas finally allows himself to relax slightly.

“Sam?” Dean asks, surprise and confusion and relief all mixed together.

Eileen appears from nowhere and stoops down, grinning at Cas and slicing through the ropes. She winks at him but doesn’t say anything, simply helping him to his feet when it becomes obvious he can’t do it by himself. Sam has backed Ann into the corner of the room, his gun pointed at her with an unwavering hand, but Dean whispers something in his ear and he lowers it slightly. He signs something over his shoulder, not even glancing away from the threat, and Eileen rushes off upstairs, essentially shoving the injured Castiel into Dean’s side.

“Hey, buddy, you okay?” Dean asks gently, wrapping his arm around Cas’ waist to hold him up. His wrists are still bleeding and they are both cold from sitting in a freezing basement for ages, but the simple action fills Cas with a warmness.

“I’ve been in love with you for twelve years, you assbutt,” he mumbles.

Dean smiles down at him, somehow looking charming even covered in dirt and blood, only looking up when Sam clears his throat.

“Look, we should get out of here,” Sam suggests, standing up. He’s tied Ann to the same post that they thought would be their deathbed only a few minutes ago, and he is shooing them towards the stairs back up to the party. “Eileen’s getting someone to call the cops and we don’t wanna be here when they arrive.”

Cas ducks down, for a moment, holding Dean’s hand so he doesn’t completely keel over, and grabs the two hats off the ground. Reaching up, he puts his on before gently placing Dean’s on his head. The tinsel is falling off on one side, the lights have run out of battery, and they are both caked in dirt, but it still makes Dean smile.

“Let’s go home,” Dean says, leaning down and softly kissing Cas.

{o0o}

Much to Dean’s surprise, Sam and Eileen said nothing about his new relationship with Cas. In fact, when he tried to bring it up - he knew Sam had seen them kissing for Christ’s sake - Sam just shook his head and rolled his eyes at Dean. “Jody owes me fifty dollars,” was all he said, and their discussion was over.

Cas didn’t seem too perturbed by the whole situation, and Dean found himself wondering whether it was just him who found their new relationship strange. Not that anything much had changed, for that matter. They both behaved the exact same way, with added kissing. So what if Sam thought Dean was weird for still calling Cas ‘buddy’? He wasn’t the one dating a former angel.

What Dean had decided, after their fun little kidnapping escapade, was that Cas deserved an awesome Christmas. It was his first one as a human, after all, and what kind of boyfriend would Dean be if he didn’t show Cas all the wonders of the holiday season?

And that is how they found themselves turning the drive home into a Christmas road trip.

Cas wore his reindeer antlers wherever possible, and Dean took a million photos of him. On the first day, they visited a Christmas market. Dean thought it was much too busy and annoying, but it was all worth it for the smile Cas had after drinking his first hot chocolate. On the second day, they went to a drive-in movie. Cas gave both the funniest and most irritating running commentary that Dean had ever heard, having to remind him every five minutes that “it’s a romcom, Cas. It’s not supposed to make sense.”

On Christmas Eve, they spent most of the day driving to make sure they got home in time for the dinner that Sam and Eileen had promised. They sang carols at full volume and blasted Christmas songs and Dean taught Cas how to play the air guitar. Dean couldn’t remember a time when he had felt such a sense of freedom and happiness. Maybe it was just a Christmas miracle.

Christmas day rolled around, and it was the nicest Christmas that Dean could remember having. Sam and Eileen had decorated the entire bunker with tinsel and streamers, and had even managed to bring in a huge tree from outside. So maybe not all the decorations on it were technically Christmas related, but the silver bullets were shiny and although no one was quite sure what the pentagram they were using a star on the top did, it looked pretty cool.

By the evening, they had eaten enough food to feed twenty people for a week and had exchanged presents. Sam was sitting at the table with his new fancy pens, Eileen had disappeared to take a shower with her new soaps, and Cas and Dean were firmly planted on the couch. Cas’ new fuzzy socks were warm and ticklish against Dean’s feet, and the angel was a surprisingly good cuddler.

All of a sudden, Dean sat up, dragging Cas with him. “Come on, dude. We should dance.”

Cas snorted but agreed, wrapping his arms around Dean tightly. They swayed slowly to the music, his head on Cas’ shoulder, gently singing along to the slow music.

Now you hang from my lips

Like the Gardens of Babylon

With your boots beneath my bed

Forever is the sweetest con.

Dean’s mouth twists into a smile. “I could spend forever with you,” he whispers, and he leans down to kiss his angel again.

#i hope you enjoy!#destiel #destiel secret santa #my writing #fanfic

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gracedpersassonality · 3 years

Text

The Best Present - A Little Christmas Story

I wish we were kissing under mistletoe

The stars on the sky just can't match your glow

Now I can't wait 'til you're by my side

We'll be warm by the fire all night, oh

I wanna hold you while the bells are all ringing

Want you to be here while the angel's singing

Days are perfect when I got you near

My only wish is you here

Christmas Without You - Ava Max

The snow was slowly falling in big white flakes to the ground and covered everything with a beautiful thick coat. The streets were empty and everything was peaceful silent. Percy was shivering from the cold and pulled his scarf a bit tighter. He was running late as usual. Leo invited all of them for Christmas eve to his home like he did every year. He loved the tradition. And the food. And the decorations. And the fact that mostly everyone of their friends was able to come. It was far too seldom that all of them saw each other.

Percy went a bit faster which wasn't easy because the floor was icy and slippery and he was carrying his Secret Santa present for Annabeth in both hands and balanced the blue homemade chocolate chip cookies from his mother on top of it.

He almost made it safe to Leo's front door. Almost. On the path to the house was ice under the snow and Percy slipped, pressing the gift and the cookies to his chest, trying to catch himself. "Woah! Watch out!" Jason shouted before he grabbed him in the last second and made him standing still again. "Gotcha" he chuckled.

"Oh gods thank you. You saved me and the cookies." Percy said breathless.

"For the sake of the cookies look where you're going the next time." Jason joked.

"Yes... You're right. The next time I just fly to the door. No big deal." Percy replied sarcastically looking into Jason's bright blue eyes. They sparkled in the Christmas lights and reflected all the different colours. Percy can't help it and a goofy grin spread over his face which Jason mirrored. The snowflakes has covered Jason's blond hair, which made it look white and his cheeks where light red from the cold. This was one of these moments Percy got totally lost. He just want to take a picture and framed it that's how beautiful Jason looks in these light.

He was shaking his head to clear his mind, he was getting creepy again. He really had fallen for Jason in the last year. There were these moments when they looked at each other a second too long or when they touched accidentally. But it never happend more than this. They never cross the line that would end their friendship. Percy still waited for the perfect moment to confess his love. He was to afraid that he just interpreted too much in their interactions. Maybe Jason was just too dense to get the hints Percy dropped time by time. Maybe Percy was just wishing that Jason always seemed to making excuses to touch him or be in his near.

Jason cleared his throat. "Maybe we should go inside."

It took it's time till Percy realised what Jason said. " Yeah I guess so." But both didn't move. They still locked their eyes, smiling like idiots and no one want to look away first. It hit him like a sudden and blinding realization and it dawned to him. This moment seemed to be perfect. "Uhm, Jason? I have to tell you something." Suddenly he was getting really nervous. What if Jason didn't feel the same? Would he believe him? What if he even laugh at him? What if Percy was about to destroy their friendship right now? Maybe he should wait with it after the party. Then he wouldn't ruin it by make it awkward at least. He felt like a coward. He just was searching for excuses.

"What now? Say what's on your mind." Jason face turned serious.

He got an urgent feeling of throwing up. "It's freaking cold and I'm freezing. Let's go inside. Why doesn't the cold bother you too?" He said laughing. Hopefully Jason didn't hear that it was forced. Yep, he definitely was a coward.

They knocked at the with ornaments decorated door and Hazel opened it. The smell of pine, cinnamon and hot chocolate filled the cold evening air and Christmas songs are played in the background. "Ah there you are, we're finally complete. You two are late. What happened?"

"Nothing" Percy said a little bit too fast as he entered the house, hoping that everyone attributed his red face to the change from the cold outside to the warm inside.

"Percy's just being clumsy not more", Jason laughed and entered the house as well.

Both took off their thick coats and scarfs and hang them on the wardrobe. "Nice sweater Percy" Jason teased him.

"I can only give that back." Two years ago Jason had Percy as his secret santa and he got the ugliest sweater Percy could found. It was baby blue with lighting bolts on it which actually can blink. The next year Percy got his payback. Jason bought him a green sweater with tiny waves on it. There were also a button which caused an awful sung christmas song when it was pressed. Percy secretly loved it.

Hazel led them to living room. They were welcomed by 'Merry Christmas Everyone' that was blasted by Leo's sound system. Percy couldn't stop to be surprised how much efford Leo put in the decorations every year. And he tops himself year by year. There was a huge christmas tree with every kind of decoration you could put on. The whole room had it's own christmas themed light installation and Percy really become worried that all of this would end in a short circuit.

The whole crew was spread out in the room. Frank, Reyna and Piper were sitting on the couch chatting and eating from the with sweets filled plates in front of them. Leo and Annabeth standing in the corner bowed over some cables and it seems like he was explaining how he managed the power distribution. Grover, Will and Rachel were standing in front of the music system singing along. Only Thalia wasn't there. She was on the other side of the country and didn't make it this year.

Jason and Percy put their presents under the tree while Hazel took the cookies and put them in the kitchen. As she came back she shoved Nico in the room with the words "You can't stay in there forever." "But there I don't have to deal with all these happy people." He mumbled, but everyone knows that Nico secretly was enjoying the Christmas Partys.

"I'm going to grab us some hot chocolate" Jason declared and vanished in the kitchen. He came back with two steaming cups. Percy has joined their friends on the couch and so did Jason. As he recognized that there were only blue marshmallows in his cup, a smile stole on his face again. He was always smiling when Jason was around.

And so the time passed away with a lot of laughter, crooked sung songs and many happy faces. Even Nico smiled from time to time and everyone was filled with love for their friends.

After everyone had handed over the presents, Percy just leaned back and enjoyed the scene which was chaotic as usual. Annabeth already has started to read in one of the books Percy got her, while Leo was leaning over her shoulder and pointed at something in the book. His socks he got from Grover were flashing like a Christmas tree. Frank with his new purple sweater from Reyna was about to put a necklace around Hazel's neck. Jason gave Nico a new necklace as well and Rachel got a new sketchbook set from Piper and was about to draw her sitting under the Christmas tree. She was reading the voucher she got from Will and Reyna got a new pair of dog leashes and collars from Annabeth. Will was presenting his new shirt from Hazel which fits the one Nico was wearing. Rachel's gift for Grover was a new pair of shoes she has customized. Leo tried to get Thalia home for Christmas but it wasn't possible so he organized a video call for Jason as a compromise solution. And Percy has to keep himself from starring at Jason who was laughing with his sister. Little tears of joy in the corner of his eyes. He himself received new gloves and a matching scarf from Nico.

He was so happy that he can count so many people as his friends. No they were more than friends. This was his second family. And he knew that everyone was feeling the same.

After some time has passed, Jason ended the call and looked a bit sad for a moment, but quickly recovered. His sister was the only one left from his family and it was the first time he was supposed to be alone on Christmas and new year. Percy leaned over to Jason and whispered: "Don't tell anyone but remember me to give you your Christmas gift when we are leaving." Maybe it was against the rules of Secret Santa but he couldn't stop himself to get Jason a present as well.

"That's not fair! I haven't a present for you." He whispered back.

"Nah it's fine. It didn't cost anything so it's totally okay"

"So you made it by yourself? Now I want to know what it is."

"You will see." Percy made his troublemaker smile and looked into Jason prying eyes.

"Hey you two lovebirds, " Reyna interrupted their eye contact with a snap and both turned their heads towards her, "I've asked if you want to play charade with us but you seem to be busy."

"No no. I would love to play! What about you Jase?"

"I'm in!"

Laughter filled the house and in the end nobody knew who won.

It was late. Very very late. Well past midnight. Maybe Percy fall asleep once or twice, he wasn't really sure by himself. "Maybe I should go home soon", he declared with a yawn, his head resting on Jason's shoulder.

"Yeah me too." Jason shifted a bit, so he can look in Percy's tired eyes. "I drive you home. It's cold and dark outside and I don't accept a 'No'."

Percy knew he didn't have a chance to deny. Jason could be very stubborn when it come to situations like this. So he didn't resist and as a bonus he has time to give Jason his gift. After a lot of hugs they were driving to Percy's.

"So the present I was talking about... You still alone on Christmas?" Percy asked softly.

"Yeah but it doesn't matter I'm fine, just having myself a little Merry Christmas you know" Everybody would believe him but not Percy. Jason's voice was a tiny bit rougher than normal.

He could feel his heart nervously beating in his chest. "You can stay with us. I asked mom already and she said she would be very happy if you would join us."

"No I can't." Percy felt his heart stutter. He planned this since he knew that Thalia wouldn't make it. Nobody should be alone. Especially not Jason.

"Why not?"

"It's your family and I don't have any presents. I can't crash Christmas without presents."

Percy let out a released laugh. "That's what you are worried about? Well than you can come with me. I bought too many gifts anyways. We just change the tags. And for me it's really enough when you celebrate with us. How about that?"

A defeated smile stole on Jason's face. "Only if I can give you your money back."

"Alright. If you want to drive home first, you need to pack your things, you can stay at my home. It's already late and so you can't oversleep. " in the joy of Jason saying Yes he invited him spontaneously but regretted it right after saying it. He didn't want to overdo it so hopefully it wasn't a big deal for Jason.

"Unlike you I never oversleep but I would love to stay at your's"

Percy looked with a wide smile outside the car window. This was one was on it's best way to be the best Christmas ever.

As they were finally parking by Percy's mom it's started to snow again. Luckily they didn't have to drive anymore. His house wasn't decorated like Leo's but at least there were Christmas lights and one look at Jason was enough to be reminded of earlier this day. His eyes, it were always his eyes that made Percy fall in love with him a little more. And the way he was smiling at this moment brightened his heart. “You know this is one of the best presents I ever could get? I thought I would be lonely on Christmas." There were tears in his eyes and without thinking Percy hugged him.

"Nobody deserves to be alone if they doesn't want to. And I am so happy you are here with me."

"Thank you." Jason voice cracked and he cleard his throat. Percy let go and before he could start a second try to confess his love he pulled out his key awkwardly and said: "You don't have to thank me. But I'm freezing, let's get inside." At which point in his life he turned in this little coward? The problem was Jason was way too important for him and he didn't want to lose him.

"I guess my family already fall asleep, so we have to be silent." Percy whispered as he opened the door. They entered the house and walked as quiet as possible through the hallway till Jason suddenly stopped.

"You okay?" Percy turned around an looked at him. He seemed to be a bit nervous. Maybe he was afraid what his family could say.

After not answering his question Percy tried to calm Jason. "Hey, you don't have to be afraid or something. My family knows that you are coming with me. And especially Estelle is glad to see you."

"Yeah I know, that's not the problem."

"Then what is it?" Percy started to getting nervous too. What if Jason didn't want to be here and was just too polite to deny and now he regretted it? But Jason seemed so happy to be here a few seconds ago. So what was making him so nervous?

"Look up." He didn't suspect this reply at all and look at the ceiling in confusion.

A mistletoe. There was a mistletoe above him and while Percy still was wondering why it was there, because his mom never hung up one, Jason take a step towards Percy. Percy slowly look back to Jason. He could feel his heart beating in his chest. Jason was starring on his lips. He couldn´t breathe. He couldn´t think. With a glance in his eyes Jason made sure if Percy was okay with this and finally overcome the last few centimeters. Cross the line of their friendship.

And then he kissed him.

Once, twice and then a third time. They couldn´t stop and soon it happend that Jsaon was pressing Percy against the wall. It taste like Christmas and chocolate and it felt like finally coming home.

They only broke away from each other to catch a breath. Jason leaned his forehead against Percy's, while their hearts were racing, both with a big smile on their face and a little bit of disbelive in their eyes. Like this was a wonderful dream. "Merry Christmas, Percy." Jason whispered.

Percy was way too overwhelmed to reply but one glance was enough to know this wasn't just a kiss under the mistletoe. This kiss was the certainty that his feelings wasn't one-sided. This kiss was all he ever wanted. And this kiss was the best present he ever could get for Christmas.

#jercy #percy and jason #jason and percy #jason grace #percy jackson #and yes I still don't know how to use the tags correctly 😂#There is a chance that I wrote the first 1000 words in the end of May and yes I listen to Christmas music in the summer and I'm proud of it

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westallenfun · 3 years

Text

Home for Christmas - 2/3

WestAllen secret santa gift

From: @backtothestart02

For: @cheryls-blossomed

Merry Christmas, Mailina! I did my best to write up a short multi rom-com au for you. I hope you enjoy it and have a wonderful holiday!!

Chapter 2 -

As the hours ticked by, the snow slowed to a stop until, when they reached Central City, and pulled up to a familiar house, not a single flake could be seen falling from the sky. In its place was a crisper, icier night sky, though it was only just around dinner time. The whipping wind had become a gentle breeze, but it was still cold nonetheless.

“What are you going to do if they don’t let you in?”

Barry frowned. He hadn’t considered that.

“You said you haven’t seen them for fifteen years, right?” Walt sought to clarify.

“Yeah…” Barry trailed off. “They’ll let me in though.” He turned to face his driver. “We’ve been in contact since I left.”

“With Iris?” Walt asked, somewhat surprised.

“Uh, no…with her dad.”

“I see.”

“He owns the house though, and Iris might not even still live here, so…”

“Well, I’ll wait for you just in case. I can always drive you to a local motel and pay for a one-night stay.”

Barry’s eyes widened.

“You don’t have to do that, Walt. You’ve done so much already. That’s…that’s too much.”

“A thank you would be nice.”

His jaw dropped.

“Go on now. You might not even need it. Let’s see if the man will let you in.”

Barry’s lips twitched.

“Right. Okay.” He opened the door and stepped out into the cold night. He missed the warmth of the car already. He turned around to say something, but Walt cut off whatever attempt he might have made.

“Go,” he said, and Barry nodded and closed the car door behind him.

Six inches of wet, heavy snow had fallen in Central City. The front walkway was clear of it though, so Barry presumed Joe had shoveled it. Salt had been sprinkled on the pavement too, so there was no fear of slipping and falling.

Taking a deep breath, Barry made his way up to the porch and knocked three times on the door, shaking a little in the cold and starting to lose his nerve.

He was just about to turn around and take Walt’s offer when the door opened.

There, in the flesh, was Joe West. He wasn’t as tall as he remembered, which made sense since he’d been 10 the last time he’d seen him. In fact, he was either just as tall as he was or an inch or so shorter. It was strange being at eye-level with the man, but the sight of him warmed him all the same.

“Hello,” Joe West said, his brows furrowing in confusion, and that was when Barry remembered. Over all those years, they’d never exchanged pictures. “Can I help you?” he asked.

Barry shook himself out of his memories.

“It’s Barry, Joe,” he said, a crooked smile adorning his features. “Barry Allen.”

Joe’s eyes widened, and the confusion in his eyes disappeared. He appeared to find Barry familiar all of a sudden – whether it was the way he stood or his eyes or how he talked, Barry didn’t know, he was just glad.

“Barry!” He clapped his back and urged him inside. “Come in, come in. Wow, what a surprise. And look at you, so tall!”

Barry chuckled a little nervously, then turned to look outside before the door closed, to say goodbye and thank you to Walt. But the car was gone, and his opportunity with it. Still, he hoped Walt knew how truly grateful he was, and hoped that perhaps one day he would meet him again.

“We’re just about to have dinner,” Joe said, pulling Barry back into the living room of the West house.

He blinked as he watched Joe set another plate, presumably for him.

“We?” Barry asked, unzipping his coat, then tossing and missing the coat stand near the door.

“Iris is upstairs,” Joe said, practically giddy.

Barry’s breath caught in his throat.

Iris was upstairs. She was just one floor away from him. Just up the steps and down the hall, and there she’d be. He felt faint just thinking of how he would cope with the sight of her. She must be stunning, more beautiful than anything he could imagine. Her voice would be like silk, her eyes deep enough to drown in, and those perfect lips would be impossible not to stare at, especially if they were painted with a gloss or lipstick of any kind. Maybe more so if they weren’t.

“Barry?”

“Huh?” His head snapped up, his eyes entirely focused on Joe’s.

Joe chuckled.

“Why don’t you go say hi? I’m sure she’s missed you.”

Barry’s hand wrapped around the back of his head, as he sheepishly said, “She probably doesn’t even remember me.”

“Don’t be silly,” Joe said. “You were her childhood best friend. You knew each other since you were five. You were inseparable.” He pursed his lips. “I’m sure if you just tell her your name…”

“Actually,” Barry said, “There’s something I wanted to talk about with you first, Joe.”

“What is it?” He frowned.

“I kind of…don’t have any place to stay while I’m here, and I don’t have money either. Is there any way I could-”

“Stay here?”

Barry looked at him hopefully.

“Of course. Wally is away at school and won’t be here till the Christmas party in five days. Iris just signed a lease for an apartment here in town, so she won’t be using her room either. You’d be better off sleeping in her room for when Wally comes home, but I suppose up until then you can use either.”

Barry smiled tremulously.

“Thanks, Joe.”

“In exchange though, I do want to know how you got here and why you’re penniless.” He paused for a moment, then leaned in. “Is everything okay with-”

“My relatives?”

Joe waited.

“Everything’s fine. I haven’t lived with them since before college. I just…have had a few things happen today that have prevented me from looking like I’ve got it all together.”

“Such as?” Joe pressed.

“My car was totaled, and my landlord kicked me out. Not before taking double my rent though.”

Joe’s eyes widened.

“Why’d he kick you out?”

“Well…there was sort of an…explosion.”

“A what?”

“I’m a forensic scientist!” Barry burst. “I couldn’t do all my testing at work, so I moved some of the chemicals into my spare bedroom, and-”

“Lord save us,” Joe muttered, closing his eyes and pressing his fingers to his forehead. Barry stopped talking. “Just…go say hi to Iris. We’ll talk more about this later.”

“Okay,” Barry said, accepting.

“I’m going to go finish dinner. When you’ve finished your reunion, come on down, the both of you.”

“Right.”

Barry turned then, kicked off his shoes on top of his jacket, and braced himself for the inevitable.

After 15 years, he was going to reunite with Iris West.

…

Barry’s damp socks stained the wood stairs as he took them two at a time. The stairs creaked as he put his weight on them, and it gave him pause, made him suck in a breath and cringe. How was he ever going to surprise Iris if he made such a racket going to the room she was in?

The hallway was worse. He’d forgotten the squeaky spots – the ones he’d avoided during sleepovers and his time staying at the house before he left. Still, Iris didn’t pop out of any of the rooms when the squeaks were made, and for that he was relieved.

He peeked into the first room on his left – Wally’s room, and found it empty. He dismissed Joe’s room entirely, because why would Iris be there? The bathroom door was wide open, and the interior appeared to be empty, so he didn’t attempt that either.

But from the room to the immediate right, Barry heard some mumbling and moving of things followed by the most beautiful laughter he’d ever heard in his life, and he knew he’d hit the jackpot.

He knocked lightly on the door before opening it and was enraptured by what he saw.

Iris was stunning, just as he’d imagined she would be. She was petite, hardly having grown to more than five feet. The height difference between them almost made a possessive growl escape his lips. He wanted to protect her like she had him. He wanted to hold her and love her and kiss her, and-

He shook his head, wondering how something as simple as her height had such an effect on him.

Maybe it was because it wasn’t just her height. It was her silky shoulder-length raven hair and the curves of her hips. It was the maroon sweater that sparkled in the light of the room, hugging her curves – and the jeans too that accentuated every inch of her lower half. She had fuzzy slippers on, which he found adorable. It made him imagine the two of them snuggling on the couch, her legs draped over his lap, and his fingers in her hair, and-

“I’ll be right there, Dad!” she called, and the sound of her voice while melodic and angelic, also brought him back to the present.

“It’s…not your dad.”

Iris dropped the book she was holding and froze. Slowly she turned around, as if prepared that he was a burglar of some sort.

“Who are you?” she asked, a threat in her eyes, and something inside of him broke.

Sure, he looked much different than he had at 10, but some part of him had hoped she would see past the height and the lanky figure and see her best friend.

“It’s me, Iris. It’s Barry.”

It looked like she still didn’t believe him a little, but he could see her working it out, looking into his eyes to see the truth of what he was saying. Finally, she caved, almost a whisper passing through her lips.

“Barry?”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she raced to him. She jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist, burying her face into his neck. The force of the impact sent him backpedaling into the hall and up against the wall where they came to a stop.

He chuckled and played with the ends of her hair, satisfying part of what he wanted to do, until she pulled back and lowered herself onto the floor.

“S-sorry.” She laughed nervously. “I just can’t believe it’s you. I never thought… Oh, God, you must hate me. Fifteen years it’s been, and I stopped writing when I was 13!”

He shook his head, eager to soothe her.

“It’s okay. Your dad picked up where you left off. We’ve stayed in touch over the years.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hardly the same thing.” She licked her lips, then met his searing gaze. “Are you staying for dinner?”

He grinned. “I’m staying for the week!”

Her jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

“Uh-huh. Your dad said I could stay in your room, since I’ve got nowhere else to go.” Her lips parted, and he started to worry. “I mean, as long as that’s okay with you.”

“What? Yeah, of course. I just hope you fit on my bed.”

He winced. He hadn’t thought of that.

“Right.”

“You’re so tall!” She laughed, and he blushed.

“I did have a growth spurt in high school,” he muttered.

“I’ll say. I used to be taller than you.”

“You grew too.”

“That’s putting it nicely. I’m a munchkin, and you can’t tell me different.”

He chuckled. “Munchkins are cute though,” he said without thinking, and that caught Iris off guard.

“Yes, well, should we go down for dinner? My dad said it would be done soon, and I’m sure he sent you up here to bring me downstairs.”

“And to say hi,” he added. “He said you’d missed me.”

“Oh, I did. I did miss you.” She smiled. “Even though I didn’t write.”

“Iris, forget about it. You’re here now, and I’m here all week. We’ll catch up. It’ll be like I never left.”

“I’d like that,” she said, then looped her arm through his. They made their way down the hall and down the stairs, where their looped arms dropped for hand-holding, completely stealing Barry’s breath.

When they reached the first floor, Iris dropped his hand, and Barry’s racing heart slowed to normal.

“There you two are,” Joe said. Looking between them, he smiled. “I see you’ve been re-introduced.”

Iris rolled her eyes and moved past Barry to help bring in food from the kitchen. Joe’s eyes stayed on Barry whose eyes stayed on Iris and reluctantly moved to the table when she disappeared from sight.

Barry felt Joe’s eyes on him and knew exactly what he was thinking. He’d probably confront him about it too after Iris had gone home.

This man, no longer a boy, had come home for one reason, and it wasn’t just nostalgia.

He was going to win his daughter’s heart.

Barry glanced up at Joe before sitting down and saw satisfaction in his eyes and a pleasant smile.

Did he approve? Did he even know?

“Dinner time!” Iris announced after bringing out the last of the dishes.

The two men focused back on her, but for entirely different reasons.

#westallen #westallen secret santa #submission

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woodzwrites · 4 years

Text

good to me | song mingi

► genre: enemies to lovers!au, high school!au; angst, fluff

► pairing: reader x mingi

► word count: 8.8k

► warnings: explicit language, underage drinking/alcohol

everyone has had their fair share of first times. but for you, this surely wasn’t your first time attempting to get half-wasted: drunk enough to have fun with your friends who aren’t as half as giddy and energized as they are during the school day, but to also be able to drive back home safely before midnight and fall sound asleep in your room as if nothing happened. and it’s not your first time at mingi’s high-scale hilltop pad. everyone knows that he probably came from a line of old money, but he was never treated like the new kid. miraculously, he immediately fit in when he transferred to your high school in the first year.

you stood on the side of the ping pong table, which had turned into an impromptu beer pong table for the sake of mingi and his friends’ constant gaming bets on each other. your close friend was up against mingi, who was standing on a wooden stool as if he wasn’t already a tree himself. he just had to make sure that everyone knew that this was his house. “y/n! help me out here huh?” she smirks from cheek to cheek and raises her cup too high with a little too much power that a couple of drops of beer spill out. “what am i gonna gain from this?” you shouted at her over the loud trap music. “a chaance!” she shouts even louder than you as she tilts off the side of the table, tipsy. she falls back onto the couch behind you. “jesus....” only she knew about your slight, perhaps very minor, attraction to mingi since... sadly, freshman year. it had gone on and off, but it got worse as you got closer and closer to his friend circle and he started to (at least) acknowledge your presence. you still felt like a nobody to a lot of people but tonight, you wanted mingi to remember your name in the worst way possible. “hey mingi!” you screamed as you raised a solo cup filled with the beer you were still iffy about. he laughs with that stupid smile he’s had for years and squints to see that your friend isn’t there anymore. “y/n, who you tryna fight?” he takes a step down from his stool as he continues laughing. “you, headass.” his friends around the table all boo in unison towards mingi at the outlash from a girl like you. “oh, MY bad. let me put a fight with you, and we’ll see.” “wanna bet?” mingi’s head freezes and turns at you as he realizes, even over the entire commotion of his party, that you stole his line. his iconic line. “you win, you leave. cause i know you wanna leave. you lose, you’re stuck at my house until the crack of dawn until you make this house crystal clean,” he smirks and takes a larger sip of his beer as he gains a little more confidence from talking big with you. he always has. “damn......” almost the entire group around him echoes. “deal.” you smile even brighter at him and toss the first ping pong ball without his cue and immediately make it in. after countless rounds and the commotion around the game room getting louder and rowdier, it’s finished when mingi tosses the last ping pong ball. “KOBE!” splash. an instant win as the ball floats on top of the solo cup, ever so gently on the cheap store-bought beer. everyone around mingi starts crowding around him as if he’s made the nba playoffs of the season, and you flip him off. your friends all laugh it off as you take your last shot of beer, and of course, you join in on the laughter. you text your mom that your friend is taking you and the “girls” out for boba, and that you’ll be home by midnight. yes, you were expected to be home by 10 because you sleep extremely early for a high school upperclassman. instead, you’re stuck with mingi and his dog cleaning up his house—which seems to have no end to it, from what you’ve been sweeping after for almost 30 minutes now—and being the slight gentleman he can at least be, he offers to take you home. “no, it’s fine,” you say from across the humongous kitchen with a swiffer in your hand. “my car’s parked down the street. i’m sober now, so i can drive.” “what, did you sneak out here?” mingi looks up with a questioning look. “maybe, maybe not,” you shrug and continue sweeping. “i didn’t expect the party to end that early,” he sighs and takes a nice, cold glass of water from his (take this) third samsung fridge in the house. “maybe because it’s the middle of summer and people are actually tired? the best parts of summer are when it starts and ends. in the middle, you’re kinda scraping to make plans and do something,” you say from experience. “damn facts,” he laughs and places his elbows on the side of the acrylic island as he gazes at you. you pretend not to notice, but walk farther away from the kitchen. “i’m gonna turn on some music, it’s too quiet.” “aren’t you already sick of being at your own party with the music ten times louder than it should be?” you turn around before you can maneuver away from the living space. “what? can’t hear you!” mingi had already planted his body into the silky soft couch by the fireplace as the spotify sound rang through the room. you dropped the swiffer and called it a night. whatever, his cleaning ladies would come over whenever he would need them. before you could put on your lanyard attached with your car keys, mingi called you. “yo wait.” you didn’t look back. “you never look like you’re having fun at my parties. these are so exhausting for me to try and sneak all of these when my parents are out!” mingi whines. you don’t feel like replying so you flip him off again, signaling to him that every time you get caught up in his summer parties, you always end the night feeling ticked off. “just dance a little.” you roll your eyes at him. “you’re literally one of the best dancers at school, i’ve never seen you dance normally at a party.” the compliment he sneaks in between the conversation makes the heat rise up to your cheeks a little, but somehow, you still find yourself walking back to the living room. “cause maybe,” you step harshly. “i don’t. want to.” “tuff,” he stands up and changes the song to goldlink crew. “how the hell do you want me to dance to this, this is like our chill song.” “damn you listen to my playlists?” you immediately object. “what? no- no, no. i mean like, everyone knows this song but i’m not gonna dance to it.” little did he know that you always listened to his playlists. you guys had similar music taste but you never fully admitted it to him and always said to people that you were open to all genres. in complete and terrible pitch, mingi throws himself around the countertop to face you. “she see money all around me, i look like i’m the man” you roll your eyes at how obnoxious he’s being because it feels as if the party never ended. and yet somehow, you end up cracking up at him as he continuously becomes more and more drunk as the song continues. you tiredly give into singing along. “you came out of hiding, girl don’t act like i’m your man” you point at each other as mingi uses the crushed red solo cups left on the floor and you use the beer cans accidentally thrown into the sink as mics. now you know he’s completely drunk when he decides to stand on the counter top, his 6’1 looking ass nearly touching the ceiling. you try to pull him off by tugging on his arm, but end up losing balance yourself. you almost fall back when mingi comes down in an instant and catches you before you hit your head on the fridge as crew still plays in the background. you’re in this position for what feels like forever, but what hurts more is the fact that mingi has never looked at you like this for more than 3 seconds. you’ve been nothing but an acquaintance to him, maybe even a vision. barely a friend until tonight. from the constant bickering in your friend group, to the multiple plans that both of you have flaked on for being “busy,” many of your friends thought you guys genuinely hated each other. truth is, it’s just that you’ve never had these moments like these with him. the feeling of him getting comfortable with you made you uneasy, but to him, it doesn’t feel foreign. but you thought, hey, seize the moment before the moment seizes you. and everything after that happens in a blur. you grab his wrist to pull him closer and immediately crash into him, eyes already closed. it doesn’t feel foreign at all. it’s almost as if this has already happened in a past life, a deja vu with the same feelings. mingi doesn’t believe what’s happening. the girl he’s always thought of as one of the boys is kissing him right now as if nothing else mattered. and it wasn’t just a normal kiss. it felt like the climax of a kdrama, when the main lead couple finally confesses to one another. a person in the couple is shocked and keeps their eyes open as the kiss unravels, until they finally melt. but mingi didn’t fall so easily. his eyes were indeed open, but the way your hand effortlessly grabbed and fit into his, and the way that everything that just happened in the past 5 minutes seems rehearsed is insane. you’re insane. you know that this doing this would immediately fuck up any kind of friendship or relationship you guys had going on, but you knew that this was the only way to have mingi remember you that summer once and for all. you pull away from the kiss and can barely look him in the eye. he’s looking at you even deeper now, almost as if they’re screaming at you “what the hell just happened.” you brush off his wrist and remind yourself where you’re supposed to be going. fuck, it was probably already midnight. “i.. i. i’m going now,” you shape your left hand like the figure of a prospector’s hand pointing towards a river full of gold. “u-uh. yeah.” “going.” you put on your sneakers and throw around your keys, feeling more conscious than ever now. “b-bye,” you wave and bow to mingi besides the fact that him and you only have a small age difference. “yyeah. bye.” he waves with no emotion. and the first thing mingi does when you close the front door is touch his lips with his fingers to feel that same weird, burning feeling. and though he doesn’t put his hands up against his chest, he can hear his heartbeat beating so loudly and fast in his ears. and the first world that he can spew is: “fuck.” — “you’re off.” “off? who’s off?” mingi smiles at his childhood friend, hongjoong. out of the entire friend group, hongjoong had been the one who had matured greatly and could easily tell whenever his hyungs didn’t feel like themselves. their crazy group has been through a lot, and hongjoong knows he’s spent his high school days well. “i don’t know man, who do YOU think?” he stuffs a french fry in his mouth as mingi, hongjoong, yunho, and wooyoung huddle around a carls jr. table after a summer class lecture. yunho, being the scholar he is, recommended all of his friends to take the early summer classes since they had more space and it generally felt better. but everyone knew he used that as an excuse to sleep in for the rest of the day until he would get wasted at mingi’s house again. “you’re not saying much,” wooyoung shakes his head. “yeah... cause i’m hungry, i don’t know. today’s lecture was boring,” you try to change the topic. “this is the first lecture this summer that you didn’t manage to fall asleep in the first five minutes of. something on your mind, man?” yunho noticed. “no. you guys are so dramatic!” “and this is how he changes the subject. go ahead mingi, tell them you’re having another party tonight for pete’s sake,” hongjoong remarks. “i’m not having a party tonight.” “WHAT?” all the guys go googly-eyed towards mingi. “wh.. why? my dad is coming home tonight,” mingi insists. “you said BOTH your parents were gonna be out all week. yeah, something’s definitely up,” wooyoung immediately directs his attention to his phone to look up nearby cafes because he couldn’t stand eating this cheap fast food anymore. “you stopped texting me at like 1. AND you were drunk, so how did you knock out so easily? you weren’t even on league...” yunho tries to recall all the little details he knew from last night. “i don’t know. it’s kinda foggy but after the party, i remember drinking a little more and then knocking out on my bed.” “that’s... that’s never happened. ever,” wooyoung almost laughs at the statement. silence fills up space on the fast food joint’s table until hongjoong looks up from his phone after scrolling a good amount on instagram. “oh shit. did you...?” “did i...?” yunho catches onto what hongjoong is suggesting immediately. “bro. y/n.” “well like, no. kinda yes but no.” mingi sighs and knows he’s gonna immediately get grilled for this. he doesn’t worry too much, though, he knows that you have probably told at least 5 of your close friends at this point. “when we were cleaning because of that bet, i accidentally tripped, she caught me, and we kissed,” mingi said it so effortlessly, the fact that he said it with no worry in his tone scared the guys even more. “DUDE!!!!!!” chaos amongst almost-grown men in a fast food joint after your third lecture of the month feels unsettling. it feels like he’s in a mirage. ”what the hell are you gonna do now? er i don’t know, maybe cause you have someone named yerin on your dick right now?” yunho’s eyes dilated at the way he said yerin. if yerin ever knew... “apologize or something. we were both drunk, so we just gotta acknowledge that whatever happened in the past is already over.” and you’ve had your fair share of meltdowns. this time around, you haven’t left the house since the party and you still haven’t told your closest friends. and so what? you were busy with summer classes and you didn’t feel the need to hang out or text them. you distracted yourself as much as you could at home, and every time you would have go on campus, you ignored him. you knew damn well that he was there living his best life acting like the kiss probably never happened. because of her. because of the stunning, mysterious yerin. yerin, in short, could probably be the love of mingi’s life. when you first barely befriended him, you only heard and saw bits and pieces of conversation of how much he loved her and how she didn’t reciprocate that love back. and that’s got you thinking. would mingi ever tell yerin about this? it seemed like they “like” each other, but you couldn’t imagine all the tea she would be able to stir up if she ever found out mingi kissed you when first of all, she wasn’t even officially dating mingi. mingi would always hold her hand and look at her like a little puppy, but it was almost as if she was slightly embarrassed by him. you’ve seen the pictures and videos they’ve had together, but it seems like there always had to be a friend there too. it had never been just the two of them. the most unsettling part of their so-called relationship is that every time a dance would come around, yerin had to confirm that they were going out as friends. even when mingi kissed her multiple times when asking her out to prom. confusing, isn’t it? so you’ve been doing well by dwelling at home and attempting to distract yourself in all ways possible and going out with family more. until he texts you. mingi: hey mingi: you free rn? we should talk y/n: uh why mingi: typing... mingi: wdym why mingi: you good mingi: i haven’t seen you at class for a while y/n: yeah y/n: mingi just get straight to the point and don’t waste my time “yikes, she’s fierce. this the same y/n who was the big nerd in first year?” yunho sat next to mingi as he sent these texts as he was the one who convinced him to send them. mingi: have you told anyone about ... y/n: no y/n: i’m being fr mingi cringed before he could finish his thought. “dude, why do i have to say this!” mingi groans as his head falls back on his sofa. “because your ass won’t stop thinking about it. so it’s better if she just lets go of everything right now, and it’ll be good on both of your sides. don’t you have a date with yerin tonight?” yunho asks. “no, she cancelled. she keeps cancelling but she still nods and says hi to me on campus,” mingi wonders. mingi: why did you mingi: er do it y/n: typing... y/n: cause i was drunk headass y/n: i have pretty vague memory past that party but i do remember having to stay longer at your house y/n: i knocked out p badly.. i think i slept in my clothes you held your knees so tightly in bed and bit your fingernails after making up that lame excuse. you were completely sober when that happened, so you’re just gonna act like you knew nothing. y/n: we didn’t...? mingi: oh god nonono “DUDE WHY ARE YOU AVOIDING IT!” yunho groans louder. “because she genuinely doesn’t remember! if she doesn’t remember, it never happened,” mingi justifies his awkward texting. “or maybe, she’s just saying that because she doesn’t wanna get into the talk about yerin. or worse, get this. her feelings for you.” mingi is on the verge of screaming and losing his mind. “since when has she liked me, jesus christ!” “ooo...........” yunho whistles and turns his eyes into the other direction. it was his way of showing through actions to mingi “you absolute complete moron.” mingi: so you good then? mingi: you’re not sick or anything from my party right? y/n: nope y/n: nice talk mingi: uh yeah mingi: nice and that was the last message. “god, that was so exhausting,” you fall back onto your bed before you can scream even louder into your pillow. “dude, you’re fucked,” yunho smirks. “but hey, no date tonight? looks like we’re going to wooyoung’s pad tonight.” he stands up and pulls mingi up from the sofa. “wooyoung? what, are we watching movies tonight?” “no, party tonight. have you completely lost your sense of time?” “oh,” mingi voluntarily nods. he kind of forgot wooyoung still held parties during the summer, but he was more focused at the fact that it’s almost been a week since the kiss. and going to this party became one of the worst decisions if not his life, then this summer. “truth or dare, mingi!” hongjoong, slightly tipsy, shouts amongst the crowd in the outside pool area. “aight, truth,” he raises his cup towards hongjoong. “do you think yerin really fucks with you in that kind of way?” hongjoong laughs and his friends around him echo that same laugh. mingi knows hongjoong wouldn’t pull those type of questions in front of his friends, but it geniunely made him think a little bit. yerin cancelled almost every date this summer, and many of them are without excuses. mingi, being the gentleman he is, lets her and doesn’t ask why. but now, it’s reaching july, and the last time mingi talked to her one-on-one was at an awkward encounter at hongjoong’s place with all of her girl friends. “i mean, yeah, why wouldn’t she?” mingi shrugs and smiles with the side of his mouth. and that question lingered until later that night. mingi has been childhood friends with wooyoung. though they weren’t the closest of the bunch, their families were friends and they always ended up going on vacations together. it wasn’t until high school when wooyoung finally moved to mingi’s school and he immediately fit into his friend group as if he was the missing puzzle piece. he was sure the crowd-pleaser, but mingi knew he was an ambivert, and enjoyed a lot of his time alone, reading a book too. maybe that was why mingi thought he was so eccentric back when they were kids. mingi was exhausted, but it was merely eleven. maybe thursday wasn’t his best party day? mingi: yo woo i’m coming up to your room mingi: i’m gonna play smash on your switch ok he ran upstairs and made a beeline to wooyoung’s room, clearly identified with a poster of the smiths taped up on the front of the white door. he rattled the doorknob and realized it was locked. “silly wooyoung,” mingi knew the trick since they were little. he shook the knob three times and then turned the knob counterclockwise completely until he heard some sort of cracking noise. what he didn’t expect to hear was a moan coming from inside the room. and he doesn’t wanna believe what he sees when he opens the door. “m-mingi.” wooyoung looks up from the bed with disgruntled hair. and there lays yerin, literally fucking him on the bed mingi and wooyoung grew up on. “what the fuck.” “it’s not what it looks like.” “yeah, i’m pretty damn sure it’s not what it looks like when both of you look like you’ve been fucking each other for the past hour.” yerin and wooyoung look at each other after realizing that he’s right. “min-“ wooyoung calls him louder this time. “fuck off.” mingi storms out of the house and goes out the back way so no one can see him leave. he’s always gone this way when he and wooyoung would go on late night skating trips back in middle school, but never in his life would he expect yerin and him together in that situation. angrily, he holds his driving wheel even harder with his fists hardening with each turn. before he gets home, he decides to drive around town, maybe grab a cup of boba before he heads home. anything to distract himself. he heads to the asian strip mall a couple miles away from his neighborhood and parks upfront to the boba shop. and there, he sees you. he doesn’t know whether or not he should be surprised, but it was extremely late and he wanted to ask why you were working this late during the summer. you notice him. and you notice how much longer his face had become since the last time you saw him. something must have happened. you knew that he didn’t even like boba that much! why was he here? “oh, hi mingi,” you gather the last ounce of respect you have for him and wave to him as if everything’s splendid. “hey y/n. could i just, uh, get a wintermelon milk tea. with boba.” “y-yeah. what’s good man? you never come here,” you refuse to make eye contact with him. “yeah uh. rough night. why do you work here?” “summer job. late-night shifts pay more so i thought, hey, why not?” you smile. he hated the fact that you smiled like nothing was wrong all the time. except all the times you’ve smiled like that, there was always something wrong. “can... c-can we talk? are you free?” mingi hands you his money. “oh! uh.. yeah, we can. i can’t take breaks during night shifts but whatever. there’s like 2 dudes in the back, we’ll be fine,” you grin. he never noticed how free-spirited you were until now, and it kinda makes sense from the way that you hated parties but you would much rather be down for cliff diving or late night drives to the city. “so uh, what’s good?” you try to make the atmosphere not awkward. especially the fact that you were still in your boba shop uniform and your hair was completely down, a violation if your boss ever caught you. “uh... god how do i even say this.” “no, take your time,” you smile. you were incredibly nervous. there’s no doubt he was gonna talk about the kiss again. why else would he look so down? “i kinda uh. caught wooyoung and yerin fucking in his bedroom during his party tonight.” fuck. “oh, shit...” “god, this doesn’t even feel right, i feel sick.” “how’d you even end up there?” “i texted wooyoung that i was gonna go play smash in his room during the party.” “and instead, you ending up seeing him literally smashing your girlfriend.” “oh my god, if you put it that way,” mingi wanted to scream. you were laughing so hard and he was wondering how you could take situations like these so not seriously. “yeah uh... i don’t even know what to say about this. my childhood friend and the girl i was in love with... literally hooking up.” “was?” “i hate to say this, but i think i’m falling out of love with yerin.” “that’s crazy. it can’t just be because of this,” and you’re hoping he still forgot the kiss. “yeah, you’re right. she’s been canceling every date, literally acting all embarrassed whenever i come hang out with her and her friends, and she just doesn’t feel the same.” “as in?” you hope that they hadn’t hooked up before. you knew mingi had strict parents from whenever you came over and did projects with him, and it probably took his parents a while to adjust to the fact that he was dating her in the first place. “i think i was just so over my head back then and i kept thinking that she was the one even though she didn’t do anything to me. hasn’t mina already told you this?” he seemed slightly annoyed that he has to say this to you, but you were more. “mina doesn’t have to tell me everything. i can get to know a person however way i want them to. but i guess we’re doing this in a boba shop,” you laugh it off. mingi liked that about you. you didn’t need anyone to tell you what to do and you gave zero fucks. “hey, come with me,” you guide your hands to the fire exit. “what?” “don’t ask. just come.“ you ran through the fire exit door (which surprisingly didn’t beep this time) and ran up the stairs, causing mingi to run up against you at the same pace. “and welcome to my secret haven.” it was the roof of the three-story strip mall and you could nearly see the entire city from here. “god whatever, i’m over this,” you take off your brown visor and apron with the boba shop’s logos on it and threw it into the direction of your backpack, which was already up on the roof. he somehow found it 10 times more attractive when you fixed your hair and laughed over your stupid boba shop uniform. “i go up here almost every night when i get breaks to myself, and i don’t really talk to myself, but no one can hear you up here. so i SHOUT LIKE THIS!” mingi’s startled and you laugh even harder. “WHY LIKE THIS?” “BECAUSE I CAN TELL PEOPLE TO FUCK OFF AND THEY WON’T KNOW!” then mingi starts cracking up and you see that classic eye smile. if only he knew how hard your heart was beating. she was living her kdrama cliche right now. the dude that she’s given up on is suddenly giving interest to her and it feels so out of place. “whenever i got fed up at home with my parents, i would go to work then come up here. i would just scream these long strings of curse words until i got exhausted.” “it’s really pretty up here though,” he looks around the entire rooftop, then back to you. “yeah... a lot of my emotions were just spilled out here and i’m glad they did.” “what about the night i kissed you?” and there it was. “the night i- what?” “don’t lie to me, y/n. i know you weren’t drunk.” mingi didn’t look at you. it was silent for a moment. “i lied because i was so fed up over the fact that i probably made you so uncomfortable...” your voice faded into the night air. “why?” “because you were literally dating the love of your life, what the hell was i supposed to say to justify an entire kiss?” mingi almost laughs. “can’t wait to hear what yerin has to say about her and wooyoung hooking up. she would fuck anything with a pulse except me.” “listen, i’m sorry if i kind of left you hanging. we don’t even talk much, so it felt so out of place after that.” “we used to. so let’s make that change,” mingi suggested. “dude, if you want her to feel ok after what just happened, treat her well. take her to the mall or something and just make her feel like a good friend. she’s not your good old mina, but she’s done something that i know it would take a long time for her to forget. make her forget,” yunho tells mingi after he counsels him about the kiss. “what?” “we should just... talk more. maybe it wouldn’t have felt so weird and out of place if we actually talked. i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable before,” mingi adds on to his long overdue apology. “no.. no it’s fine. don’t apologize,” you wave him off. “so we’re starting fresh? something like that?” “starting fresh.” you reach your hand out to signal him to shake hands with you, and he gives you a big, genuine smile. — two weeks later “oh my god, you’re joking.” “i’m not, look at this order!” a postmates order pops up on the kitchen ipad as you come running in. 20 whole orders of boba that have to be done by 8 pm. “an entire fucking fraternity just pulled up,” mingi laughs. “how are we gonna finish this?” you read over the entire order just to completely sure that there are twenty, two zero, orders of boba. “leave the newbies to do it and we run back up?” mingi smirks. you hate him. “mingi, you’re literally a newbie.” he shrugs and laughs as he rings up his last order of the night, that is, if he doesn’t take care of that fraternity order. “i’m just saying...” mingi opens up one of the cabinets atop the kitchen exit with his backpack and his nintendo switch peeking out of it. you grunt, but you seriously want to leave too. “hey newbies?” two sophomores in high school turn around from behind the tea jugs. “do you mind if we take our break for a little bit? it’s been a while. one of you take the cashier and one of you take care of the online orders. is that alright?” “yes miss!” you snicker at the “miss”. “no need for formalities. just call me y/n,” you grin and flip your hair back unintentionally as you take off your uniform visor. so fucking flawless. mingi thought to himself as he stared at you from the door. why were you so good at everything? and why were you so incredibly nice to everyone? except him, of course. it had been a week since mingi had called it off with yerin. it wasn’t really official, it was more like a breakup text that wasn’t really a breakup. it was essentially yunho and hongjoong giving emotional support to mingi as he wrote lame replies to explain to yerin that he wasn’t in love with her. it took a lot of manpower, but the job was done. what job wasn’t done was you working at your part time job at the boba shop. and what you didn’t expect was a day after being exposed by mingi about the kiss, the man himself walking in with a resume in his hand once he was accepted, he wanted to have as many shifts with you as possible even though you hadn’t been working there for long so you weren’t considered a senior. you also wondered why he wanted to have a summer job, out of all things, to spend one of his last summers as a teenager. “imagine this. huge letters on a newspaper. local asian fuckboy works at boba shop instead of having parties at his parents’ rich place because quote, he’s tired of it,” you sit back on the beach chairs you two set up on the roof a couple weeks ago. “i am! why don’t you believe me?” “you’re not me, mingi. you’re party animal mingi, the cool basketball player every girl looks up to both figuratively and literally because you’re a living tree.” “i mean... so?? it’s nice to have a break since i’m done with my exams and i can get extra money. and free boba, of course,” he still felt kind of flattered after you said every girl looked up to him. it was a stretch. “imagine needing extra money when your parents already have that much money...” you sighed. he threw a piece of popcorn chicken at you. “shh. watch the movie.” you guys decided on “the interview” tonight. every night shift, you guys alternate on choosing movies on netflix to watch on your laptop up on the roof. things have changed for the better or worse. it’s only been a couple of weeks into summer now, and your life has been surrounded by mingi. same goes for mingi. all his parties have been cut down to night shifts with you, shopping for his dog and his own wardrobe with his personal stylist (you), and even driving to summer classes with you. just when you thought you could finally get rid of him, he becomes your honorary annoying best friend. though yunho and hongjoong were rooting him on, they didn’t expect him to be so involved in it. when he forcibly apologized to wooyoung and he did the same, things with yerin were still uncomfortable. to make things easier, mingi announced to everyone that he would never date her ever again. and although wooyoung doesn’t want to lose mingi’s trust, he knows. mingi knows that they’ve been secretly going on dates ever since the apology and not much as changed. so much for a girl and his childhood best friend, huh? mingi meanders over to check his phone and sees that some of his group chats have blown up. “yo, fourth of july is tomorrow. i think wooyoung wants a party,” mingi nudges. “sure. i mean, not at his house. ptsd for you,” and then mingi remembers the situation all over again. “god, yeah. my place then?” “sure. haven’t been there in a while,” you laugh. the shift ends in less than 30 minutes and the two of you have missed nearly the entire shift. you take the back entrance and wave him goodbye as he’s assigned to lock up for the night. you drive back to your house to see your older brother already asleep, the rest of your parents out of the house to visit family up in the city. the lame excuse of “college preparations” was how you escaped a week-long trip upstate to do nothing but babysit your cousins. mina 🤢 is calling... you take a beeline to the almost entirely dark living room and fall on the couch to pick up your friend’s call. mina? Y/N WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ? I’VE BEEN CALLING YOU ALL NIGHT what? girl i- you open up your phone app during the call to see 8 missed calls from the devil herself, mina. oh shiiit. sorry dude, i was at work. work? this late? i thought the shop closed at 10. nope. closes at 12, mingi locked up for me so i’m home a little earlier. well. mina seemed fazed by you and mingi and more concerned about her “issues.” anyways, i was TRYING to call you because i had a little emergency. you worried a little bit since she had been in quite a serious of a relationship with her boyfriend. oh, what’s wrong? well nothing’s wrong. actually, i know this is something you’ve wanted to do for a while since we’ve made our freshman bucket lists. remember that? you laugh softly into the phone and nod, forgetting that mina can’t see you. anyways, my boyfriend wanted to take me down on the coast highway after the 4th of july party that wooyoung? i think, is holding. you know him right? man, do you. we wanted to watch the sunrise together and bring a couple of friends. mina, that sounds fun. you’re right it’s been on my bucket list for a while. great! oh, not great. right. your ass took 70 years to reply so my boyfriend already left town and his sister doesn’t want to take us. no hard feelings of course, but it’s kinda awkward when this was meant to be a romantic thing and with you of course. oh. mina! why’d you tell me?? i don’t know, maybe we should keep this on a tab. don’t forget about it, and you should definitely have someone to go with next time besides me, if you know what i mean. i don’t, mina. i wanna go with you! these were my teenage plans with you back then. sis, you might wanna check your notes. you got up and turned on the kitchen lights — not the living room lights because they were way too bright and you were planning to knock out on the couch immediately after this call — to open up your notes and read better. you scrolled through the long checklist that had been updated constantly throughout your high school years, to find “drive up the highway and watch the sunrise with my s/o <3” in bright orange text, somewhere embedded in the even longer bucket list. oh god. how do you even remember me writing this? you’ve been wanting this ever since you’ve been wanting a solid relationship with someone. and when you did have a boyfriend, this never worked out so... mina! sorry sorry! i’m just saying... keep it in mind. mina, i’d still love to take you tomorrow after the party because yes i’m dying to see this sunrise but. you have someone, i don’t. we’ll save this one for next summer, ok? before you can let mina finish, you say goodnight. wait, y/n! you cut her off and turn off your phone. sweet dreams, you whisper to yourself as you delve deeper into your couch. then the annoying marimba ringtone of your generic iphone rings once again. mina- mingee the frog is calling... mingi? yo, can you take the shop keys for tonight? i feel like i’m gonna misplace this with the party being tomorrow. oh, oh yeah, sure. you straighten yourself up and (finally) turn on the living room lights. you can come over now, i’ll be at the door. actually, i’m already in front. WHAT? you run to your front door to see mingi in (not but maybe) your favorite black hoodie and keys in his right hand in front of. no. you unlock the door and jog out in the freezing midnight mist. “SONG MINGI! the ROVER?” “what’d you think, huh? thought it would be good revenge against wooyoung. gotta take her for a ride one of these days before i leave,” he laughs. mingi spins the lanyard of keys in his fist in resemblance to a teenage girl who just got her license and you immediately recognize that he’s only carrying wooyoung’s lanyard and not the lanyard with the shop keys. “where are the shop keys?” you tilt your head. “gave them to the sophomore who took care of the frat orders. now, the range rover. isn’t she a beaut,” he steps away from the huge car and shows it off like a golden trophy. you facepalm and know that he only brought you out of your house to show you that he had balls to steal from his own (also rich) cousin. “ok and... what about it? it’s cold mingi, go home,” you yawned and waved him off even though you weren’t that tired. you exaggerated because you just wanted to be in the safety and comfort of your own home. “come with me.” “what?” you turned around. “come with me. i’m still super awake because i put like, 4 shots of monster in that last cup of boba i had,” mingi points to the empty boba cup in the white range rover’s cupholders. “mingi, very funny. now drive yourself back to wooyoung’s house before he beats your ass and go to sleep. you have a party to plan tomorrow, don’t you?” “i don’t plan parties, babe, i just let them happen,” your heart skips over the slight pet name mention. you don’t wanna reply and hope your speed walk back to your door will make him go away. “oh and... your bluetooth is still connected to wooyoung’s car from last time he gave you a ride. not sure when.” “oh, sorry. disconnect me, would you? good night, mingi,” you bow and wrap your hands around the silver knob of your door. “i might have heard you and mina talking.” you stop. “and... i might have heard about you wanting to watch the sunrise. with someone. preferably someone who could drive you up there who isn’t mina or her boyfriend.” you want to smile, but also kind of scared that he heard everything you said to mina. you still don’t look back at mingi. “so here i am. making an excuse to be at your house at 1 am to drive you to the beach until sunrise using wooyoung’s car, in which i’m gonna get killed for anyways.” “mingi, just go home.” your sudden sternness as you look into his eyes comes out of nowhere, maybe out of anger. held back feelings. it comes off as rude. “see you at the party tomorrow,” you finally step into the house with the door unlocked. “i’ll let you listen to my playlists because i know you secretly like them. i’ll let you wear my hoodie. i’ll let you lie down next to me watching the stars because i don’t wanna be anywhere else when i’m near you.” you close the door. “song mingi, is this how you asked out yerin? am i just your emotional fill-in for yerin?” the way you said his full name shocked him. you’ve called him everything for the past month except his full name. but everything he just said about you made your heart race faster than it did in years. the atmosphere was stiff despite the sudden one-sided confession. “i-“ “i’m kidding with you, jesus christ, kid. you should have seen the look on your face. and thank you, i’ll be taking your hoodie, it’s getting cold,” you lock the door behind you and run up to mingi. mingi’s left breathless. y/n is nothing but trouble for him. you run into the shotgun seat and grabs the black screen printed hoodie on the seat. it’s from a j cole concert he went a couple years back and it still smells like good old mingi. you don’t want to say it, but you want to keep it forever. you also don’t wanna say much in general, because mingi may or may have not just confessed to you. “sunrise is at 5 am. you ready?” he jumps into the driver's seat with nothing but a smile on his face as he sees you already in his hoodie. “born ready.” he starts the car and backs up from your driveaway, and puts his arm on the back of your head cushion to see behind him. “oh-“ and your horny ass thought he was about to pull you in for a kiss because of the vicinity his body was to you. “what?” he turns around, knowing exactly what he just did and smirks at your flustered face. “nothing. just hope my sister doesn’t kick me out for coming back at home at literally 7 am.” “don’t worry, just sleep over at my house after and say you accidentally knocked out after work,” he shrugs as he leaves your neighborhood and enters the junction into the larger highway towards the city. “i feel like she already heard me coming home...” “so? i’m sure she wouldn’t mind you coming home from a guy as good looking as me,” you wanted to throw up but still had the urge to keep looking at the way he drove the range rover like a master. this was only his second time driving it, but you didn’t need to know. you spent the rest of the half hour drive listening to his night playlists (undoubtedly some of the best songs that you both know and like) and stop by a 7/11 and a couple of gas stations for some snacks and soda to take to the beach. by the time you two reach the coastal highway, it’s almost 3 am (oddly) and the highways are almost completely empty. when mingi sees you rapping along and holding his hoodie tighter, he wants to say something but he can’t. it’s the wrong timing. he’ll have to wait just a little, but he hopes you still want to return the half-lived confession. “couple more hours. what are we gonna do?” mingi asks over the music. “i don’t know. talk. walk around the coastline. push you into the water.” “if you do, i’m gonna make sure you do bathroom duty next shift,” mingi threatens with zero intention because he knows he really wouldn’t. the kindness he felt towards you had also occurred out of nowhere and it felt way too foreign. “i’ve never done this before so... enlighten me, lover boy.” “who said i’ve done this? only i would take your lanky ass to the beach at 3 am because, wait-“ he rolls down the windows and turns down the music. “smell the air.” you both take deep breaths in of the cold, salty air and grin. you’re so grateful to be alive right now. mingi turns and stops by the side of the cove to drive down to an empty parking lot. the beach is closed so mingi will manage to park in front of the huge beach mansions on the side of the streets. rich people won’t care about another rich person trying to park in front of their house now, will they? it’s almost 4 and it’s beyond freezing now. as you both exit the rover, mingi grabs his keys but notices you slowly walking out of the car without saying anything. “still cold?” “... uh... just a little bit,” you say slowly, hoping that mingi won’t even be able to comprehend you. he walks to the back of the car and opens the trunk with a button on his keys. there inside the trunk is a stack of blankets, food from the convenience stores, and his backpack. on top of the blanket stack is your favorite blanket that you left on the boba shop roof since it was your favorite. “song mingi. have you been planning this ahead of time?” you laugh at the sight. he rolls his eyes cutely and shrugs while mouthing i dunno. you walked down the side of the street while still looking at him. he could feel your gaze as you walk down towards the beach, but at this point, both of you were too nervous to say anything. you find a spot mid-way to the coast and the fencing off the cliff of the beach and set down all your stuff. it was nearing 5 am and you noticed the sky getting lighter. you were also extremely exhausted, but you let it pass. as you yawned and put down all the blankets, your first move was to lay down and close your eyes. “hey don’t sleep yet!” mingi threw a pillow at your head. “i’m tired as fuck, leave me alone,” you groaned as you pulled his hoodie tighter and turned your body to the side. mingi sat down and made the area around you comfier, then pulled out another blanket to put around himself. he checked his phone for the time, then looked towards the horizon. “ya... ya! it’s almost sunrise!” you were still facing the other way. “oh my god...” he said in the worst accent possible as he tried pushing you off the blanket. “y/n!” at this point, you knew you were just teasing him. but instead, he pulled your arm closest to him, hoisting you up, but all too fast that your entire body was within 1 cm of his, too close for comfort. “u-uh, i,” you said as his face was a little too close to yours, all while you attempted to look away at the sun that was beginning to rise up the horizon. mingi knew it was now or never. and he wasn’t gonna let you have the chance of initiating it again. “y/n.” you looked back at him dumbfoundedly. he had been staring at you this entire time, right until he pulled the side of your face closer and crashed. his lips meeting yours wasn’t foreign at all. despite the spontaneity of the last instance, both of you still remembered the taste of it. and both of you secretly wanted it again, so badly. you were still shocked at how fast he managed to do that, but you regathered your senses and wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer. shocked at the movement, mingi pulled away from the kiss and looked at you. “wait wait wait, hold on. do you even..?” your arms still hung around his neck as you gazed at him. “yes. a lot. for a long time. having to act like i didn’t care about you for the longest time was so exhausting. glad we’re on the same page now,” you winked and smiled. “oh my god,” he gazed at you with all the euphoria in his chest. how were you so perfect? and how was he so oblivious to how perfect you were for him this entire time? this time, he couldn’t hold back. he pulled you in even closer by holding your hoodie ties and deepened the kiss from last time. you closed your eyes immediately, and held one of your hands on his neck. his chest was bursting and although he couldn’t feel it, both of your hearts were beating erratically. you still couldn’t believe that the song mingi, the boy who you crushed on from the opposite side of your math class-then-turned somewhat enemies, is the reason for your happiness right now. mingi grabbed your hand and tightened it as he felt the cold within your palm. he pulled away again, but just to look at you and smile. he then turned towards the sunrise that had been going on the entirety of the confession, and the reflection of the warm hues that had been painted on of you. you were so beautiful in this light, and you never wanted this moment to end. “so...” “so...” “wanna head back to my place and sleep over?” and you knew that that meant an entirely new definition of going back to his place now that you both have basically spilled your feelings to each other. “hmm... maybe.” you wanted to keep him guessing, just for fun. he stood up and picked up his blanket. “alright then, i’m leaving,” he started turning away. “okok, i’m joking, take a joke,” you giggled and stood up. you ran over and tippie toed so that your arms could reach around his neck. you placed a kiss on his cheek and smiled even more brightly than before. he smiled back. he was so lucky to have you, and you wanted to know every single part of him as you fall deeper and deeper into him.

—

a/n: hi ! my name’s chae and this is my first writing published on tumblr. because this is my first work, please excuse any grammatical mistakes and writing errors!! ive been reading fics and au’s for a while on tumblr for a number of kpop groups, but i hope that i can debut some of my blurbs on here in the future.

please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, it’s gonna help me a lot in the long run : ,,)

also my requests are open!! i don’t have any restrictions on what prompts/pairings/groups are allowed right now, but i mainly write reader x, and my ult groups are ateez, skz, and x1/produce male trainees (see header).

#mingi #song mingi #mingi ateez #mingi x reader #mingi au #mingi fanfic #mingi imagine #mingi fluff #ateez #ateez imagine #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #fluff #kpop imagine #kpop au #blurbs #ateez blurb

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brightsun-and-darkmidnight · 3 years

Text

Bonds

TITLE: Bonds

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 5 / ?

AUTHOR: brightsun-and-darkmidnight

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki assuming your nephew is your son. He’s not totally wrong, though, since you’ve been the boy’s legal guardian for a couple of years now. Plus, you do play a convincing “mother” role. (more to the imagine in link)

RATING: M (Swearing, maybe some violence and MAYBE some smut)

NOTES/WARNINGS: Abandonment, adoption.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I am sorry I haven’t posted anything fic related in a long time. I have been busy and life happens. But here is an update. 😊

My Ao3: brightsun_and_darkmidnight

LENGTH: 2,700ish

*FINALLY..Read the warnings. Once you agree you can handle it...

~ ~ ENJOY ~ ~

Raelynn yawned loudly as the movie rolled into the credits.

“Past your bed time?” Tony jabbed.

She nodded, “Yeah. WAY past my bed time. In bed by nine.” She tapped into her phone for the time. “It’s freaking midnight. Oh god… I’m so going to need coffee.”

“Can’t stay up anymore?” Loki teased with a smile.

Raelynn grinned, “I feel like you now. Ancient and needing beauty sleep.”

“Hey!”

She giggled at his slightly offended but also highly amused face. It was nice to joke around with him again.

Clint spoke through a groan as he stood, “As long as we all have energy for Travis tomorrow that’s all that matters. I’m going to bed now.”

Natasha smiled, “Travis does have a lot of energy. Perhaps all of us should rest?”

Raelynn nodded, with yet another yawn. “Yeah we should get going. It was nice hanging out again. And, uhh. I guess I will see you all tomorrow?”

Tony went walking for the door to his lab. “Yep. Just let us know when you are on the way. I will be up preparing my latest lesson!”

Raelynn looked to the others who rolled their eyes. They all shared a look of amusement after though.

“Alright, I will see you all tomorrow. Let’s go Natasha.” Raelynn waved awkwardly and went to get her jacket and purse from the place Loki put them. She smiled to herself as she remembered how he helped her. She looked to Loki, who was debating with Thor about the nine realms and what they would talk about. She followed Natasha to the elevator.

Natasha smirked. “Did you like sitting next to Loki?”

Raelynn sighed heavily with a slight groan. “I guess I did.”

“Are you still unsure about getting Loki involved?”

“Well, yeah.” Raelynn was becoming annoyed with the frequent question.

Natasha shrugged, “Well. One day and step at a time.”

Raelynn watched Natasha with accusation. “Who’s idea was it so Loki and I would be placed together for the movie?”

“A bit of everyone’s. We all know of both sides. Before and after the adoption.”

Raelynn looked down and bit a dry flake off of her lip. “I know I was bad.”

Natasha leaned against the elevator wall. “Loki was… Well, Loki. Hid it well, but he was lost. He never knew what to do with his free time.”

Raelynn pushed herself against the opposite wall, staring at the door. Willing the elevator to hurry up, wishing to escape the conversation. “We spent every second with the other. I think leaving called for an adjustment. For both of us.”

“It was an adjustment for everyone.”

Raelynn chose not to say anything. Instead, playing the past in her mind.

Travis feared the situation, the screaming, the declarations of hate for her taking him from his family. Learning his likes and dislikes. Teaching herself how to be a care giver to a child. Finding doctors and schools. Trying to teach him not to hate his ability of talking to animals.

She remembered the constant headache from stress and anxieties. She had to give up her life, the life she might have had, and her dreams, to care for Travis. Her life was instantly altered to revolve around a little boy who was scared, alone, and unfamiliar. She remembers the few times of wanting to give up but with the connection of abandonment from family, she couldn’t and refused to give up on Travis. He was much younger than her when she was cast out.

Raelynn forced the thoughts away and pushed past the people in the lobby. Natasha keeping the pace with her to the car. She slammed the car door shut and stared out the window. Natasha was quiet for a little while.

“Thinking of the beginning again?”

Raelynn nodded, quickly wiping a tear away. “Yeah.”

Natasha sighed, “Look. You have done so well. Look at how things are now, how happy Travis is. He is well taken care of-all of his needs met, and most of his wants. He is spoiled but he knows how to appreciate everything. I cannot say that for many children.” Natasha was silent for a moment. “I know I said everyone went through an adjustment but I know you had it the hardest. It’s not fair what happened to you.”

Raelynn’s tears flowed without wanting them to. A strangled sob left her throat with the last of Natasha’s words. It was a relief someone knew her struggles but hearing it spoken made her heart ache with how unfair the blood bonds were. How unfair her life truly was.

Natasha rubbed her shoulder as comfort. “You’ve done more than I think I could handle.”

Raelynn looked to Natasha in shock. Natasha was who she admired most. She was capable of anything. Natasha adapted to everything extraordinarily quick.

“I bet you would handle it better.”

Natasha gave Raelynn a small smile filled with doubt. She looked to the road again, putting both hands on the steering wheel. “I can stay up for a dangerous situation, no problem. But loosing sleep for a child, at Travis’ age, that completely turned my life in a different way?” Natasha sighed roughly. “I’m not sure how I would handle that.”

Raelynn soaked up Natasha’s confession. It was strange hearing someone like her admitting to not being able to do something. “I will not lie and say it was easy.”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

Natasha pulled into the driveway and both of them went into the house. Raelynn made tea for each of them and they made themselves comfortable on the couch. She tapped into the watches and Travis was asleep according to the stats.

“Thank you, Natasha. …I feel a little better.”

“Glad to hear that. Let’s try to get some sleep, Okay? It will probably be a very interesting day tomorrow.”

Raelynn made herself more comfortable by pulling the blanket over her shoulders. “Probably.”

Raelynn woke to Natasha making coffee. Tapping into the watch, it was a little past 7am and Travis was starting to wake up. Raelynn stretched and threw the blanket off of her, an attempt to instantly wake herself up with the chilled air.

“I am going to shower.” Raelynn waved to Natasha tiredly as she walked down the hallway.

“Coffee should be done soon.”

“I’ll be quick.”

Quickly scrubbing herself and refreshing with a clean scent she went to her bedroom with just a towel around her body. She sighed heavily looking at the outfit laid out on the bed. She yelled, “Really Natasha?” before shutting the door loudly. The outfit was a pair of light blue jeans, a black button up blouse that was obviously Natasha’s, black socks and the pair of boots she wore yesterday. She looked at herself in the mirror and felt the weird about the blouse, it didn’t look right. She went to Natasha and gestured to herself, “I can not pull of this top.”

Natasha smiled and a little chuckle. “Because it is supposed to be tucked in and leave the first few buttons undone.”

Raelynn rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” Raelynn was happy to undo the first button and felt less constricted. She took the coffee that Natasha pushed her way across the counter and went to fix her hair into curls and light makeup. Her phone was ringing in the living room and she went to get it.

As soon as she answered Travis spoke, “I’m ready for you to pick me up!”

Raelynn smiled at Natasha who had a little smirk. “Did you eat breakfast?”

“Yep. Pancakes.”

“Alright, Brush your hair and teeth.”

“Done.”

Raelynn laughed a little. “Okay Kiddo. We will leave in a few minutes.”

“Okay! See you soon!”

“Bye-“

Natasha tilted her head a little with raised eyebrows, smirk on her lips. “I guess we better hurry.”

Raelynn went back to the bathroom to apply chap stick and look over herself. She felt a little more confident with her hair seeming to fall just right and her makeup was actually decent too. Going to her room to tuck the shirt in, it did look better tucked into the pants. She went to get her jacket as she shut off the lights on the way out.

“You look good.” Natasha nodded to herself and turned for the door, ready to leave.

Once close to the house, Raelynn updated Tony on an approximate time they would arrive.

Once picking up Travis, who practically ran out the door once they were there, they were on their way to the tower. He was excitedly talking through his first slumber party and night away. John’s mother did not lie when they had a lot planned. Travis was excited to be inside the tower and was in awe of how huge it was. He excitedly pressed the buttons for the elevators when prompted by Natasha.

Travis ran to Clint and gave him a big hug. “HI!”

Clint smiled with a groan, “you are getting strong kid. You miss me?”

Travis groaned as he was squeezed back. He pulled away and spoke sarcastically, “What do you think the hug was?”

Clint chuckled, “well I missed you too.”

Tony was there in the common room, band shirt and comfortable pants on. “Nice to meet you kid. -Wanna go to the roof?”

Travis looked to Raelynn and she shrugged with a smile. Then immediately nodded his head in excitement. Raelynn followed them and was immediately unsure of targets set up. Their was a safety area with a notepad and computer and an Ironman suit. Raelynn went to the computer and touched it. The information she received was a program set up for math but the targets were for subtraction, to literally be eliminated if the problem was solved correctly. More targets added for addition. The program written to make sure there were constant targets. Tony was apparently bored with the simplicity and added much more advanced math, Algebra, Trigonometry and whatnot.

Raelynn gave Tony a look of amusement. “How much sleep you get?”

“All of this? Only took a few hours, Jarvis did most of the work.” Tony waved for Travis to approach the table and made him sit in the main chair. “Let’s learn some stuff.”

Travis looked upset for a moment but saw the Ironman suit. He pointed to it, “does it involve that?”

Tony smiled a little, “Maaaybe.”

Raelynn observed Travis while Tony helped him through a problem, then let Travis put the answer in the computer. The Ironman suit shot three of the targets and made Travis jump in excitement.

“LET’S DO MORE!”

Raelynn laughed with Clint and Natasha.

Bruce came to the roof and chuckled nervously, “Tony is actually teaching Travis?”

Raelynn smiled at Bruce. “Yes. Travis is extremely excited about this.”

Bruce nodded. “Well I suppose as long as he is excited and learning that is what matters.”

Thor and Loki and Steve came up as well.

Steve crossed his arms, “are we sure blowing things up is appropriate for learning?”

Raelynn shrugged. “So long as Travis is safe, I don’t mind too much. I can barely get him to sit down and attempt math and here he is, actually trying to do it.”

With another answer correct more targets were added. Then Travis was scribbling down things and showed Tony who shrugged and told Travis to try. Then most of the targets were destroyed with different poses of the Ironman suit. Travis cheered excitedly and high-fived Tony.

Raelynn smiled at Loki, catching him staring. “Good morning. How are you?”

Loki gestured to Travis and Tony. “Amused.”

Raelynn nodded and tried to hide her huge smile as they cheered again. “Same.”

Thor went to Travis with his booming voice, “Let me try! I wish to teach the boy things as well.”

Raelynn looked to Thor oddly but spoke to the others, “Is this some sort of contest?”

Clint shrugged, “Thor is just excited. Asgard apparently does not have many children.”

Raelynn spoke softly, “Oh.”

Loki spoke up, “children are highly prized on Asgard. They are celebrated since infertility is common and many rituals take place for successful pregnancy.”

Raelynn observed the way Loki was watching Travis. He seemed to be excited Travis was there but concern as well. She wondered what was actually going on in Loki’s mind.

Loki was worried that something might go wrong with Tony’s lesson. He agreed with Steve about it being a concern.

Travis was obviously important to Raelynn, so Travis was important to Loki as well.

Children were far more common on Midgard than Asgard but that did not make them less cherished.

Thor’s evolving relationship with Jane was taking the route of long term goals. Thor has stated his thoughts of marriage with Jane once in the past month but also mentioned the lack of Odin’s approval. The lack of Odin’s approval was obviously there but Frigga was more than happy to listen about Jane on their visits.

Or rather, check ins for Loki.

Loki knew he was in the same situation as Thor.

In love with a Midgardian and Odin did not approve.

Loki looked at Raelynn, he noticed the shirt was Natasha’s. It was a nice look for Raelynn but he knew it was the spy's intention for Loki to notice Raelynn put effort into her appearance. The group has always wanted them together and it seemed no different now.

However, Travis was in Raelynn’s picture now which meant there was another as well..

Perhaps, since the team did not bring her up for the longest time was because she was involved with someone. The thought alone broke his heart but the ache was worse since she did not tell him.

However, the team was putting active efforts into involving Raelynn and finding ways for them to be together.

Perhaps, Travis’ father was no longer involved?

Maybe Loki had a chance?

Raelynn glanced at him and Loki realized he was staring at her.

He smiled at her and she gave a small one in return.

“Are there other subjects Travis has issues with?”

He watched her eyes narrow slightly confirming what just blurted out of his mouth was in fact, an insult.

Loki rushed with an explanation. “I was just wondering what other subjects were needing further expansion. -Or maybe something new. ..Perhaps?”

She seemed to calm significantly as Loki struggled with words. Smiling, “He loves new knowledge on animals. Anything about animals he is fascinated with. His ability has a major impact on his vast knowledge.”

Loki smiled at the mention of his ability, happy Travis inherited something from Raelynn. “A great ability.”

Raelynn’s smile remained but something danced in her eyes for a moment. “Yes.” She smiled hearing Travis cheer, turning to see the suit aiming at the targets and effectively destroying them. She turned back to Loki as she pointed towards Travis, “He likes this!” She laughed with joy. “I’m happy he is actually excited about math for once.”

Loki couldn’t help the smile as Travis cheered and excitedly took his spot to do the work for another problem. “Tony certainly had this in mind for a child. The poses of the suit are….”

“Dramatic?”

Loki laughed, “there is a word to describe them.”

Raelynn’s eyes shifted slightly as she tapped into electronics.

---

Raelynn’s alarm went off for the lunch reminder. It was important Travis was fed regularly, other wise he became angry. Irritation to rival Hulk.

She turned completely to shout at them. “Travis, are you hungry?”

“No. I wanna do more problems!”

Raelynn smiled, honestly happy he was into the lesson. “The next subtraction problem you are done,” he groaned dramatically but Raelynn finished, “until you eat.”

#bonds #brightsun-and-darkmidnight #chapter 5 #loki

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allsassnoclass · 4 years

Note

Can you do Mashton with #62 & #2?

Yes I can!

62. “Do you have a ride home?”

2. “Stay here tonight.”

Sometimes, Michael really wonders what his younger self would say if he could see him now. For example: at this precise moment, he's puking in Ashton's bathroom and Jack Barakat is halfheartedly rubbing his back. Fifteen year old Michael would lose his shit. Current Michael just wants a glass of water and for Jack to stop making fun of him.

"Still I lightweight I see," Jack muses.

"Fuck you. I'm not a lightweight," he grumbles, trying to push his hair out of way again and spitting into the toilet. "I was already drunk by the time you got here, then you convinced me to do shots with you. This is your fault!"

"Or you just don't know your limits, you lightweight."

Michael flips him off, but he can't respond with words because he's retching again.

It's been a while since he's gone overboard with the alcohol, but this time he cannot be blamed. It wasn't his idea to get drunk and talk about the album (although he has to admit that it's probably going to make for a great video series), and it wasn't his idea for Ashton to start a party, and it definitely wasn't his idea to do shots of tequila (tequila! of all things! he doesn't even like tequila!) with Jack Barakat once they stopped filming.

"Hey, is he alright?" Ashton asks from the doorway. Michael gives him a thumbs up and spits again, sitting back on his heels to look up at him. Michael thinks Ashton looks good drunk. His face gets nicely flushed and he smiles easier.

"All good in here," Jack says. "Mikey drank too much."

"Which is your fault!"

"Don't blame me for your own mistakes, young one," Jack says solemnly. Michael flips him off again.

"I can take it from here," Ashton says. "The party's winding down, so you don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"I don't need to be taken care of," Michael says. "I'm a bit drunk, not an invalid."

"Think I'll probably call an Uber then," Jack says, completely ignoring him. Michael pouts before he can stop himself, but Jack pats him twice on the head when he stands up. Slightly drunken head pats from Jack Barakat are another thing that fifteen year old him would be in awe of.

"A few people are getting ready to leave now. You can see if someone lives near enough you to carpool," Ashton says. Jack nods and leaves the bathroom. Ashton takes his place and makes a face when he looks in the toilet.

"Gross, dude. Are you done?"

Michael nods and Ashton closes the toilet lid, flushing everything down. Michael grips the edge of the bathroom vanity and hauls himself up. He stumbles a little bit, but Ashton steadies him and turns on the sink so he can rinse out his mouth.

"Do you have a ride home?" he asks. Michael shakes his head, which makes the room spin a bit more. That was a stupid question. He drove here and he's obviously in no state to drive home.

"Yeah, that was a dumb question," Ashton says, reaching out and brushing his hair away from his face. Michael grimaces, because his hair feels weird and sweaty and he doesn't want Ashton to be grossed out. "I think Luke and Cal already left."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" he grumbles.

"Stay here tonight, obviously," Ashton says. "If someone's passed out in the guest bedroom you can sleep with me. I mean, not like--I'm still drunk."

"Smooth," Michael says, patting his shoulder. "It's too late to "no homo" me. I've seen you naked. I've seen you make out with boys when drunk. I've thought you were hot since we were teenagers. I had a sex dream about you three weeks ago. It's okay if it's a little homo."

Ashton makes a strangled noise halfway between curious and scandalized. Michael fully processes what he said and wishes that the ground would open up to swallow him.

"I also am still drunk," he says, turning away. He's ready to leave Ashton's house and walk into oncoming traffic. Maybe he can get Jack's Uber to run him over.

"No, hang on," Ashton says, pulling him back. Michael is unsteady enough on his feet that he knocks Ashton's chest (which has been partially on display and very distracting the Entire Night). "You had a sex dream about me? Was it good?"

"Was it--that's what you want to know? If dream-you was good in bed?"

"Yeah. I have to be sure that your subconscious understands how skilled and sexy I am."

"You could just prove it to me yourself."

Ashton blinks. Michael has never successfully rendered him speechless before. It's a very exhilarating experience.

"I meant that you could have sex with me, in case that wasn't clear."

"No I got that," Ashton says. "But you just threw up, so I'm trying to decide if that's gross enough to kill the mood."

Well, shit. That's a good point.

"We probably shouldn't be drunk if we have sex, either," Michael says.

"We won't be drunk tomorrow."

That is also a good point. This is why Michael likes getting drunk with Ashton, because everything he says sounds like a good point, even if it isn't always.

"So, we go to bed now, then have sex in the morning?" he asks. Clarifying questions are very important when drunk. Michael is invested in the answer now, and he wants to be sure that they get on the same page.

"Yes," Ashton says, "which is why we should go to bed immediately."

Another brilliant idea. Ashton starts to usher him out and Michael grabs his hand, stumbling together through the house to Ashton's bedroom. Michael trips on a pair of shoes that have somehow been abandoned in the hallway and Ashton giggles at him. He doesn't mind it nearly as much as when Jack was laughing at him earlier.

When they get to the bedroom, they both strip down to boxers. Ashton offers him a sleep shirt, something soft and worn that smells a bit like him, and Michael takes it before diving under the covers. He blinks at Ashton for a moment, waiting for him to reevaluate and pull away maybe, or to move closer. He does the latter, grumbling and shifting until they're cuddling in a satisfactory way, Michael half on top of Ashton. It's a lot of skin on skin contact, and he really, really likes it.

"You're going to remember this tomorrow, right?" Ashton asks. "You're not going to forget and flake out on me?"

"If I do forget, I'll still have sex with you," he says. "Sober me is going to like that idea, too."

"Good," Ashton says. "Sober me is going to want to talk about it but will also be on board."

Michael grunts, because he's already starting to fall asleep. His last thought before he drifts off is that he hopes his younger self is proud that tomorrow he finally will get to sleep with his longterm crush.

#my writing #mashton #cocktail chats have been on my mind lately so here you go #enjoy the jack barakat cameo #there you go this has been So Much mashton content in like. 2 days

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tropicalsuki · 5 years

Text

Do You Copy? - Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Y/n, Steve’s girlfriend of over a year, is gone all of summer for a camp counselor job in the middle of nowhere, meaning the only way to stay in contact is through letters. Dustin and the party are sick of seeing Steve mope around, so they decide to set up a surprise date between Y/n and Steve.

warnings: FLUFF, some angst, language, sexual references/making out, slight season 3 spoilers if you squint

word count: 2,566

A/N: this was supposed to go up Monday but my internet went down Sunday night and we just got it back today, so sorry for the delay! I hope you all love it and enjoy! Also, I’m up for writing a part two if enough people want it.

---------------

Dustin, Lucas, Max, and Will were all at Steve’s house, arguing over what movie to watch. It was their monthly movie night, and everyone was there. Well, almost everyone.

“Does anyone know when the hell Mike and El are gonna be here?” Dustin asked, annoyed with their constant flaking.

“How are we supposed to know? They show up whenever they’re done kissing. It’s bullshit,” Lucas answered.

“Woah, language!” Steve acted offended as he walked into the room with two large bowls of popcorn. Max quickly grabbed one and sank into the couch, shoveling the snack into her mouth. “You better share!” Lucas yanked the bowl from her and the two began bickering like they usually did.

Everyone stopped talking when the doorbell rang.

“Is it them?” Will asked as Steve went and opened the door. He came back in the room a moment later with a letter in hand. “No, not them. Just the mailman,” Steve said as he opened the letter with a slight smile.

“Is that another letter?” Lucas asked. Max sat up, interested, “from who? Y/n?”

Steve didn’t answer their questions as he read the letter, a stupid grin on his face.

“Ooh, let me read it!” Dustin went to grab it but Steve quickly yanked his arm away, “no, absolutely not! This is a private letter for my eyes only.”

“Aw come on! Let me see!” Dustin complained. As Steve and Dustin were arguing, Max came up behind Steve and grabbed the letter, running to the other side of the room to read it. Steve ran after her, but Lucas, Will, and Dustin tackled him as Max began reading aloud.

“’It’s only been a month since I left, but it feels like forever. I’m counting down the days until I come back to Hawkins. I miss the sound of your voice and the smell of your cologne and the way you kiss me and how you-’ ohmygod, you two are disgusting!” Max stopped reading, her face going red.

“What? What does it say?” Lucas demanded.

“Read it for yourself! I’m not saying that out loud,” Max shook her head.

“Will you all stop?! That’s a private letter!” Steve yelled.

Lucas and Will ran over to Max, peering over her shoulder to read the rest of the note. Dustin didn’t budge from his spot on top of Steve. As the two boys scanned the page, they went wide eyed. “That is... graphic,” Lucas finally said, trying not to laugh.

“You two must really love each other,” Will spoke, making Steve sigh. “We do. And that’s why the letter is so important. So can you please give it back?” he asked, defeated. Dustin got off of him and Max handed over the letter.

“Why don’t you just call her? I don’t see the problem,” Lucas said.

“Because they don’t have phones in the middle of the woods, dipshit,” Max snipped.

“Jesus, I forgot. No need to be so rude,” Lucas huffed as Steve got up, the doorbell ringing once more. Will ran towards the front entrance.

“Mike and El are here!” Will called, walking back into the room a moment later with the the two teens in tow.

“About time” “Great! We can finally start the movie now!” Max and Dustin said at once. Lucas went over to the tv, shoving the VHS into the slot.

“What movie?” El asked, picking up the bowl of popcorn that Max left on the table.

“Monty Python and the Holy Grail; only one of the best movies of all time,” Will stated excitedly. “Ooh, good choice,” Mike flopped down on the couch, pulling El down beside him. The others got comfy and happily chatted away as the movie began. Max shushed loudly when the opening credits were over and everyone quieted down.

Throughout the movie, as everyone was laughing and making comments, Steve stayed quiet. Dustin took notice and waited for his chance to talk to the others. When Steve left to go to the bathroom, Dustin ran over to the tv and paused the movie.

“Dude! Why’d you stop it? This is the best part!” Mike complained. Lucas and Max chimed in with agreement.

“The movie can wait. But right now we need a plan to help Steve. He looks miserable,” Dustin answered.

“Maybe he does not like Monty Python,” El suggested. Will sighed, “No, Dustin’s right. He’s been acting like this all summer.”

“Why? Because of Y/n? She’s coming back in, like, three weeks,” Mike shrugged.

Max rolled her eyes, “please, Michael, if El was gone for half that long, you’d be complaining everyday.”

Mike didn’t respond, knowing she was right.

Dustin nodded decidedly, “alright then. What’s the plan?”

Steve told the group he was going to the bathroom, quickly leaving and heading up to his room. He wanted to have a fun evening, he really did, but the letter stuck in his head and he couldn’t think of anything else.

Walking over to his desk, Steve opened a drawer and set the new letter over a pile of identical ones. You and Steve sent letters back and forth at least once a week, but it still wasn’t enough. All he asked for was to hear your voice, but not even that wasn’t possible. Two months away as a camp counselor in the middle of fucking nowhere. Steve thought he would be fine without you for that long.

He was wrong.

Steve snapped out of his thoughts and closed the drawer, taking a deep breath before heading back downstairs. As he reentered the living room, the kids immediately stopped talking, all turning to look at him.

“What did I miss? Did something happen?” Steve asked, looking between the six of them.

“Nope. Nothing at all,” Lucas said casually.

“We were just waiting for you to come back. So we can keep watching,” Max added. Dustin quickly got up and started the movie again.

Steve was too mentally exhausted to care what they were talking about, so he sat back down without question.

A week passed before you got another letter in the mail. But it wasn’t from Steve. This time, it was from Dustin Henderson, claiming that Steve was in the hospital and you needed to come home immediately.

As soon as you read the letter, you ran to your boss with tears in your eyes, begging to be sent home early. Your boss knew there was no hope in arguing, so he complied, and you sent off a letter to Dustin saying you were on your way back to Hawkins as soon as possible.

“Y/n’s coming back!” Dustin announced, waving the letter in his hand as he walked into Mike’s basement.

“I still don’t think it was a good idea to lie to her about Steve,” Max replied.

“She’s probably gonna have a heart attack before she gets here,” Lucas agreed.

“Listen, I know it was messed up, but we literally haven’t seen Steve leave his house in over a week. It was necessary,” Dustin defended himself, but the others didn’t seem convinced. Dustin continued, “Y/n will be at the airport tomorrow at noon. We need to meet her there before she goes looking for Steve.”

“That’s nice and all, but how are we going to get there? None of us can drive,” Max pointed out. The others looked at each other knowingly, already having two people in mind.

“You told her Steve was in the hospital?!” Nancy exclaimed, looking at the six kids in front of her like they were insane before turning to her boyfriend, “Jonathan, did you know about this?”

Jonathan shook his head, “I did not. Because if I did, I would of told them it was a stupid and cruel idea.”

“That’s what I said!” Will huffed.

“Look, I fucked up. I get it. But it’s already done, so can we move forward please?” Dustin said, frustrated.

“Yeah, whatever. It’s 11:30 so we need to go,” Nancy and Jonathan got up, leading the younger teens outside and to the car. Nancy got in the drivers seat and took them all to the airport.

When the group finally saw you coming off the flight, you were a mess. Your eyes were red from crying and your clothes and hair were all over the place. You spotted the eight of them and ran over, dropping your bags to pull Nancy into a hug, “oh god, it’s so good to see you.”

Nancy smiled, hugging you back, “I know, I missed you. We all did.”

You pulled away, looking at everyone carefully. “Is... is he okay?” you asked quietly, scared of what the answer may be.

They all glanced at one another, silently arguing over who was going to tell you that Steve was perfectly fine. You took their silence as the exact opposite, and suddenly began crying. Jonathan pulled you into a comforting hug as Mike elbowed Dustin hard, forcing him to speak.

“No! No, don’t cry. Steve’s ok. He’s perfectly fine, and not in the hospital. He never was... I, uh, lied. to get you to come home early,” Dustin explained quickly.

You moved away from Jonathan, your sadness and worry turning to confusion then anger, “what?”

“Yeah, uh, sorry about that,” Dustin gave you the sweetest smile he could manage.

“You lied about my boyfriend being in the hospital?! I left my job and paid for a last minute plane ticket - and for what? What was this all for for?!” you said angrily, trying your best to keep your voice from rising.

“Steve has been miserable all summer. But it’s gotten worse the past few weeks. We wanted him to feel better, and the only way to do that was to bring you home,” Will stepped in to explain. You sighed, having a hard time to get mad at Will; he always meant well no matter how messed up the idea.

“Where is he? Does he know I’m here?” you questioned, wanting to see him as soon as possible.

“No! No, he doesn’t. He can’t. We have this whole plan and we’re gonna surprise him so you can’t see him until tonight,” Lucas said quickly.

You didn’t want to wait that long, but you doubted the kids would let you anywhere near Steve before their plan was complete. So you looked to Nancy instead, “this has all been very emotionally draining. And I need a drink.”

Nancy smiled knowingly, “I got you covered. Let’s go back to my house.”

You nodded heavily and turned back to the kids, “you can tell me your ridiculous plan on the way there... and this doesn’t mean I’m not still beyond pissed at you all.”

The six of them nodded quickly, not wanting to push you. You followed Nancy outside, Jonathan grabbing your bags for you and hurrying after the group.

Dustin, El, and Mike banged on Steve’s door. He didn’t answer the first time, so they persisted. Finally the door was yanked open and Steve answered with groan, “what?!”

“We have a surprise for you,” Dustin grinned.

“Does it involve going out?” Steve asked. Dustin nodded. “Then I’m not interested,” Steve decided.

“Just listen to us! It’s about Y/n,” Mike said quickly.

Dustin began explaining before Steve could say anything, “we’ve been trying to find away to get into contact with Y/n, and we finally figured it out. You know my ingenious invention, Cerebral? Well, we sent a letter to Y/n and there’s a way you’ll be able to talk to each other!”

Steve watched him, a blank expression on his face, “nice idea, but that’s not possible. If phones don’t work there, how is your stupid little radio going to?”

“It’s different. Landlines and radios work on different frequencies, and interact in different ways. There’s no phones at Y/n’s camp, but there’s radios. So it’ll work. We’ve tested it,” Dustin insisted, trying his best to be convincing.

“It’s true,” El nodded. Mike smiled at Steve in support.

Steve was desperate, and willing to try anything, “fine. When?”

“In an hour. So go take a shower - you smell awful,” Mike said.

An hour later, Steve was hiking up to the highest point in Hawkins, while you hid a bit further down on the other side of the hill with Lucas and Max. Dustin, Mike, El, and Will lead Steve to where Cerebral was set up, talking to him about how you were waiting on the other end.

“This better work or I’m going to beat you with your own equipment,” Steve said to Dustin, no hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“It’ll work. I promise,” Dustin assured, sitting down by the main radio. Dustin pretended to work on getting a proper connection, but it seemed to be failing, and Steve was growing impatient.

“I swear to god, Henderson, you took me all the way up here and got my hopes up and the damn radio wont even work,” he said angrily.

Dustin didn’t reply, turning a few more knobs as you sneaked up the hill and stood behind Steve.

“Steve?”

When he heard your voice, Steve quickly moved closer to the radio, surprised that it was actually working and how clear your voice sounded, “Y/n? Y/n, is that you?”

“Steve,” you said again, a bit louder, and he froze, realizing the voice wasn’t coming from the radio. Turning around, his eyes landed on you and a grin spread across his face.

“Hi,” you grinned back and Steve ran over, scooping you up in a tight hug and spinning you around, both of you laughing from happiness.

He put you down and pulled you into a deep kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck. The kids watched on, proud of their work.

“You came home,” Steve stated, keeping you close.

“The kids told me you were in the hospital. I came home as soon as I could. They were lying, obviously,” you explained. Steve was too happy to have you back to be mad about that right now, so instead he just pulled you closer to him.

“I missed you so much,” you breathed, running your hands down his chest and kissing him. Steve kissed you back with an almost desperation, and the six kids realized things were about to get heated.

“Should, we uh...,” Lucas trailed, pointing down to the bottom of the hill. “Yep. Mmhm,” the others nodded and the group quickly ran off, leaving you and Steve on your own.

You pulled Steve down so the two of you were laying on the grass, never breaking the kiss in the process. He moved you on top of him, running his hands through your hair. You pulled away slightly to catch your breath, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too. It hurts how much I love you,” Steve answered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Did you get my last letter?” you asked as you ran a hand across his cheek.

“I sure did,” Steve smiled slightly.

“I meant every word. And those things I promised I’d do to you when I got back...,” you started playfully, but was cut off when Steve rolled you over so he was hovering over you.

“I know you’d never break a promise. So just kiss me, idiot,” Steve said teasingly. You grinned and pulled him down to meet your lips once more.

End.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington reader insert #stranger things imagine #steve harrington #stranger things reader insert

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darkwritingsnshit · 5 years

Text

Living the Dream

Chapter 2

Warnings: This is a dark fic, please don’t read if you are uncomfortable with noncon, kidnapping, and dark characters

If someone isn’t looking, it’s hard to see a dark car following them home. If someone isn’t looking, it’s easy to miss a single stranger in New York, especially in the dark. It really wasn’t safe to live in these old NYC apartments, the old locks were easy to pick, easier to break with a strong wrist. The single paned windows offered very little insulation or noise control, and again, their locks were easy to pick or break. Steve knew that their house would be an enormous step up for you, a leap even. The two of you wouldn’t live downtown NYC, it would be somewhere more beautiful, may even have that picket fence he knew you secretly dreamed about. He’d also make sure you were much more careful in the future. Be able to spot someone tailing you, check for hidden cameras you seemed to not notice, keep your kids safe from strangers. Yeah, things would be a lot different.

You woke up the next morning with half a dozen apology texts from your brother, and by noon he had called your office phone.

“Hey, I’m really sorry about last night.” He seemed sincere, you knew that he didn’t like to leave you hanging, as often as he did.

“It’s chill, I went over anyway. Tinkered around in the lab, watched a movie. Next time give me a heads up though, you’re ridiculously bad at responding or communicating in any way.” You scolded him over the phone.

“I know, I’m really sorry. It was super last minute, we got the call and I was out in 5 minutes. Will you come down tonight?” You gave out a lengthy sigh as your only response.

“I’m leaving for a while.” Your brother said in a monotone through the phone.

“Leaving? Where are you going?” You hated to see your brother go again, but you knew it was part of the job.

“You know I can’t tell you that.” You had learned not to ask questions a long, long time ago, when he first signed up for the Army. That was always his response “I can’t tell you.” It used to drive you up the wall, but now it was pretty routine. Still it left you miffed.

“I’m your goddamn sister, I’m not going to tell anyone, why do you still have to be like this?” You still knew that he wouldn’t give you a straight answer.

“Look, I’m going to be gone a few months and I have to leave tomorrow. Will you please come over so I can see you and say goodbye? I’m going to miss you.” It was hard to admit but you had come to rely on your brother’s presence in your life. You tried not to, you knew that he would have to leave like this for his job, that nobody was going to take care of you but you. It made you feel defeated, and mad at yourself. Gone were the days of cold indifference to your absent brother, you were close now, you cared now. This was one of the reasons why you tried so damn hard not to care about anyone.

“Fine. I’ll be over after work. But I swear to god if you flake on me again, I’ll kill you before you have a chance to leave, you hoe.” Your brother laughed, mumbled his agreement before you ended the call.

You wound up arriving late at the tower. Your coworker had been kind enough to jump your car, it clicked when you tried to turn the key, but from the sound of it, it was probably just a shorted fuse that ran down the battery. After a go with the jumper cables everything had turned out okay, and you promised yourself to take it to the shop in the morning, as you didn’t have the time to fix it up yourself.

Walking into the tower, it was again Mr. America himself that showed up on the first floor.

“Come here often?” He joked as the two of you made your way to the elevators.

“Are you the official greeting party now?” you wanted to see your brother, not some blonde super soldier.

“Hey, I think I’d make a great greeting party, who doesn’t love seeing Captain America when they walk in the door?” You just rolled your eyes at his comment, happy when the doors slid open to where you could find your brother.

“See you!” Steve called after you. You waved behind your shoulder, missing the scowl he had at your indifference. Everyone loved Captain America, he didn’t get why you seemed impervious to his charm, especially when he was nothing but polite. Plenty of women were falling at his feet for this superhero gig, what was with your sour attitude?

“What up asshole?” You banged the door open to your brother’s room and flopped down on his bed.

“I’m organizing, you messed up all my packing!! Move!” He waved his hands at you as you realized you had indeed flopped on his folded black shirts and a pile of socks.

“Whatever dude, where are you going, when will you be back? What’s for dinner?” You rolled off most of his clothes, but he made a point of yanking the shirt back that was still under your knee.

“You know I can’t tell you. But I’ll probably be back in a few months, like three or four. Six max.” He was focused on rolling all his gear and clothing into his tac bags.

“Six months?” Your brother hadn’t been gone for six months since before your parents had died. He would do a few weeks here and there, but you were grateful Stark kept him pretty close to home. “What am I supposed to do for six months?” you hated the thought of not seeing him for that long, not texting or calling him, just not knowing. He never checked in, he said it wasn’t safe. It was going to be six months of nothing.

“I don’t know, what did you do before? You have a life and stuff, just stay busy.” He was still more preoccupied with packing than realizing what he was saying.

“You know what I did before.” Your voice was icy.

Before, when your brother had been away, you had looked after your parents. You would take care of their lawn and garden; walk the dogs and every Sunday you would make dinner. It was usually three times a week you would read the papers to your father in the evenings, play cards with them until it was time for bed.

“Shit- I’m sorry I didn’t… I mean everyone here loves you! You need to hang out more, come watch movies, work on tech with Stark. They’re good people here, they care about you, you’re family to them.” His speaking was rushed, he was trying to cover his misstep.

“They’re your family. They’re more like coworkers to me.” You flopped back on the bed again, studying the ceiling.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. If you do that, you’re just going to wallow. You know that there’s enough tech here to keep you busy for years, not just six months. Come down here when you’re bored. Also, I think Steve may have a crush, he’s been asking about you a lot.”

You rolled your eyes at your brother but knew that he was right about the wallowing. Depression came quick if you let it, it was always best to head it off.

“Fine, I’ll come by more often to stay busy. Tell that golden retriever to stop sniffing around where he isn’t wanted though.” Your brother laughed out loud at that one, more used to your snarky attitude and flippant jokes than anyone else.

“You pick dinner, we can do anything. Small possibility I snatched the company card this morning…” He held a small piece of plastic between his fingers with a smile. You threw a pillow at his head.

“You’re the worst person ever.” You said.

“Hey, whatever. I figure Stark should buy me dinner before fucking me with this six-month assignment he’s got me on, right?”

Dinner came in the form of Chinese take out containers, as reruns of The Office played behind you and your brother’s conversation.

“Did I miss anything exciting? More importantly did you get anything good with my credit card?” Tony swiped the plastic card your brother had left on the table next to the takeout.

“Yeah, I bought a few Lamborghinis, a couple private islands, you know, nothing too fancy. Thought we could take a vacation once I get back.” Your brother replied around his eggroll.

“Well, as long as they’re my colors, it shouldn’t be a problem.” Tony replied, snatching a wanton and sitting down in a lounge chair. “Let me tell you, it’s gonna be pretty weird here without my house full of the team. I’m actually going to miss your horrible attitude and constant backtalk while you’re gone.”

“Wait, you mean it’s not just you leaving?” You turned to your brother.

“Nope, almost everyone is outta here tomorrow. Nat, Sam and Wanda are coming along. Bucky is somewhere in the steppes of Russia doing recon, and Bruce is doing what exactly? Helping out with Ebola, or is it clean water? Something about doctors, right Tony?” Your brother mused.

“Bruce headed to Yemen, he’s implementing our new filtration system for water, while providing free medical care to refugees.” Tony corrected.

“So, who’s left?” You asked.

“Well let’s see, it’ll be our golden boy Rodgers, he’s helping me with a huge PR nightmare, Pepper is always around, Thor likes to stop in occasionally, and the kid swings by when he’s not helping old ladies cross the street or playing video games after school. You know what?” Tony remarked, “Why don’t you stay here until everyone is back? Pepper would love it if there was a more talkative lady around, and no offence, but the guys here really trash the place. You could also pop into the lab whenever you want, get some late-night tinkering in when you can’t sleep. That’d be a lot of fun.” Tony looked like a five-year-old with a new bright idea. You laughed, sitting back against the couch.

“Believe it or not, I actually like the peace and quiet, that’s why I live alone. Besides, I am never, ever staying in his room. I saw what it looked like when he lived at home, I’ve found some weird shit he’s left in the corners.” You pushed on your brother’s shoulder.

“Hey! I never asked you to help me clean my room, and I was like, fourteen. Stay out of my room, Jesus.” You just laughed some more.

“See, exactly what I’m talking about. I really appreciate the offer though.”

“Okay, I won’t push it. On the condition that you come by at least once a week. No scratch that, two or three times. I’m going to keep calling you down to the lab, I don’t have Banner to balance me out.”

“You’re going to have to start paying me Tony.” You replied.

“No problem, I’ll have Pepper put you on payroll. Actually, you’ve got a ton of back hours logged, I’ll get that set up.” Tony stood and was already on his tablet.

“No! Stop, Tony it was a joke, of course I’ll come by. I’m usually free after five, just give me a call or text and I’ll come over.” Tony mumbled something that sounded like ‘yeah, yeah’ and continued out of the room.

“I hate to leave but it’s getting late.” You didn’t want to leave. You really didn’t want to leave your brother, not knowing if or when you would see him again. “Don’t fucking die, you hear me? Come home.” You looked him directly in the eye, you needed him to know that you were serious. He wrapped you in a hug and squeezed tight. You didn’t want him to let go.

“Hey. Hey, look at me,” he held your shoulders, “I’m going to be great. I promise. It’s not dangerous, and if it is, you know I can take care of myself. With my backup, the only person you should be worried about is the guy in my crosshairs. Okay? I promise that I’m coming home to you.” You nodded and he squeezed you tight again. “Now go home and get a good night’s sleep. I’ll be home before you miss me.”

Regretfully, you parted ways with your brother, and headed towards the elevators. Down, down, down until it stopped on the 5th floor with a ding. It was golden boy Rodgers himself, who greeted you with a smile.

“Going down?” He asked.

“Yeah, it’s late, I’m heading home.” You were sad now you missed your pain in the ass of a brother already.

“Let me walk you to your car.” Steve offered, and you were too tired to turn him down.

#dark!steve rogers #dark!captain america #my writing #steve rodgers x reader #captain america x reader #this is dark

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juliussneezerfics · 4 years

Text

New Year’s In

Much to Germany's dismay, Italy wants to drag him out of the house to go to America's New Year's Eve party. Germany has no choice but to use his charm to get his husband to stay home.

Ao3

*******

Italy wrapped the scarf around his neck, making sure that the buttons to his peacoat were done all the way up to his throat. “Don’t want to catch a cold!”

Germany stepped up next to him, also grabbing his coat. “You realize that’s a myth, right?”

“Perhaps!” Italy gave a final tug of his scarf, looking up at Germany. “But there’s no harm in staying warm!”

“I’ll grant you that.” Germany buttoned up his coat. He took a look around the house. “Did you get all the lights?”

Italy followed his gaze. Despite the fact that it was New Year’s Eve, Italy allowed Germany to keep up the Christmas tree. It was his favorite holiday, after all. At the beginning of their marriage, Italy had initially been annoyed with how long his husband wanted to keep the decorations up. But as the past few years went by, Italy could see the appeal of the warm lights brightening up the dark living room they were about to leave. “Yup!”

“All of them?” Germany asked, checking his pocket for his keys and his wallet.

Italy rolled his eyes, but grinned. “Yes, all of them.”

“Even the closet?”

“You were in the closet last!” Italy reminded him, knowing what Germany was doing.

Germany shrugged slightly, shoving both hands in his pockets. “Perhaps I should go check.”

Italy smiled. “It’s just a New Year’s Party. Quit stalling.”

Germany sighed, but he reached forward and opened the door. He waved Italy out. “I know.”

“I don’t get what the big deal is!” Italy said, stepping through the doorframe.

“Hold on, hear me out.” Germany said.

Italy stopped and turned, raising an eyebrow. He felt the corners of his mouth lift as Germany frowned earnestly. If Germany had a version of puppy eyes, this was it. The slight frown, the pleading gaze.

Germany reached forward and grabbed Italy’s sleeve. “Listen: It’s not too late to, say, get sick. We could stay home! I could light a fire, we could make some coffee, I’ll even do all those ridiculous extra steps you like. The measuring, the bean grinding, everything. We could sit under a blanket and watch a movie, or read, or anything else! We could just stay home. Just this once.”

A couple years ago, this proposal combined with the look in Germany’s eyes would have persuaded Italy. But he was a man that had grown accustomed to Germany’s little mannerisms and persuasions. He loved Germany dearly. But he also knew the man’s aversion to parties. “America was kind enough to invite us all to his New Year’s Party. All our friends will be there and we already said we will go."

Germany grunted, releasing Italy’s sleeve. “Why do I even try?”

“Because you try that trick for every party.” Italy gestured Germany forward, out into the cold. “And besides! You moan and groan at home all the time, but then you go and you have fun. Right?”

“Okay, I get it.” Germany said, though the corners of his mouth were turned up. He hid the smile as he turned to lock the door. “We’re going, and we’re going to have fun, and we’re going to like it… and you despise me and don’t want to spend any time with me.”

Italy laughed, grabbing Germany’s arm as the two walked out to the car. “Oh, stop being a baby!”

“You’re right. It’s my fault for marrying an extrovert.”

“Oh, stop it. If you had it your way, we would spend every night in.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Germany asked, unlocking the doors. The two got in the car, Germany turning the key and hoping for the air to warm up. “Is it so bad that I want to spend time with you?”

Italy shot Germany a firm, but not unkind look as he buckled his seatbelt. “Not going to work this time!”

Germany grunted and pulled out of the driveway, beginning the drive to America’s house. He glanced over at Italy.

He was facing away slightly, glancing out the window and watching the snow fall. Ever since he had moved to Germany’s country, he had delighted at the smatterings of snow they would get. Even watching them fall seemed to be a pleasure to him. His hair fell to the nape of his neck. He was due for a trim. Germany was all for personal upkeep, but there was something so appealing about the way that Italy’s hair curled slightly when it was long enough to brush the nape of his neck. Italy’s breath steamed against the window as he leaned closer to watch the fat flakes fall.

Germany grunted. Noticing these little things about Italy made it that much harder to drive to America’s. Or perhaps… “Feliciano?”

“Hmm?” Italy hummed, not looking away from the window.

“Is it just me, or is the snow falling faster?”

Italy turned to Germany. “Ludwig, my love, I know you don’t want to go to the party. But-”

“No, I’m serious. Look.”

Italy peered out the window, his brow furrowing. “It looks like it.”

“The snowflakes are getting bigger, too.”

Italy faced Germany. “Is the weather getting too bad to drive?”

“I don’t think so.” Germany checked to make sure that there was no-one behind them, then experimentally pressed down on the breaks. Though it had not been snowing much, they already slid against the pavement. Not enough to cause fright, but definitely enough to cause concern. “Hmm.”

“We should go back.” Italy said.

“Feli, you’ve wanted to go to this party for weeks. If I drive safely, we can make it.” Germany said.

Italy shook his head. “It’s not worth our safety. America will understand! I’ll call him on our way back.”

“Are you sure?”

Italy pulled his phone out of his coat pocket, turning to face Germany. “Caro, it is unsafe to drive. Besides, a night in sounds good. We can celebrate New Year’s in our own home tonight.”

Germany said nothing, but as he made a cautious turn around, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

As he found America in his contacts, Italy spotted the grin in his periphery. “Try not to be too disappointed.”

Germany started the drive back to his house, turning up the music on the radio as they made their way back.

They entered the house to a chorus of dogs barking. Germany let out a short, harsh whistle as he pulled off his coat.

Distantly, from Italy and Germany’s room, the two could hear the scratching of dog’s nails against the hardwood floor. The three dogs skidded around a corner, Berlitz unable to turn quick enough and slamming into the wall on the opposite side of the corner. Undismayed, he stood and continued the chase to his master. They crowded around the two, Germany kneeling down to pet his dogs.

Italy stood, rubbing the head of Aster as he leaned his weight against Italy’s legs. Though Italy would claim otherwise, Aster was his favorite. He also dared to guess that Italy was Aster’s favorite, too.

“Are you happy to see us home?” Germany asked, Blackie licking his cheek. Affectionately, Germany lightly pushed Blackie’s face away. “Good dogs! We’re staying home tonight!”

Italy smiled down at his husband, giving Aster’s head a final pat as he toed off his shoes. “And he’s so disappointed!”

“We went to that party last year.” Germany said, standing and untying his shoes.

Italy pulled off his coat and stretched. “Well, we won’t know what we’re missing if we don’t go out for New Year’s, I suppose.”

“Yes, because spending time with me is so difficult.” Germany teased, reaching forward and wrapping his arms around Italy’s waist.

Italy turned, smiling. “Perhaps not.”

“Mm.” Germany leaned forward and touched his lips to Italy’s.

Italy kissed back, giving a slight hum before he pulled away. “You’re unusually affectionate!”

“Just happy to be home, I suppose."

“Me too.” Italy tucked his head under Germany’s chin. “I’m going to go get my comfy clothes on.”

“What do you want to do tonight?” Germany asked, resting his head on top of Italy’s.

“Movie.”

“Christmas movie?” Germany suggested.

Italy sighed, smiling. “It’s New Year’s. Why do you want to watch Christmas movies?”

“We don’t have to.”

Italy hummed, pulling away. “No, it’s okay. After all, we agreed on New Year’s day being the end of Christmas celebrations. I’m sure we can squeeze one more Christmas movie or two until the time limit is up.”

“Go get your comfy clothes on. I’ll set up the movie.”

“Thanks.” Italy pulled away. “I’ll be right back!”

Germany made his way to the living room, sitting on his couch and picking up the remote. He smiled to himself slightly. He considered the Christmas tree his husband allowed him to leave up for this long. He considered the fireplace that would soon be crackling with warm light. His left hand resting on Aster’s head and absently scratching behind his ears, he pulled up a Christmas movie. Perhaps it was the nostalgia getting to him, but he found himself pondering the first Christmas they spent together two years ago as he started a fire. The awkward process of figuring out how to integrate both Italian and German Christmas traditions. The discovery that Italy, while he liked Christmas, simply preferred to celebrate for a shorter amount of time, while Germany preferred to draw out the celebration.

But they had figured it out. They always have, whether for holidays or not. They navigated their relationship. They had their arguments, sure, but their marriage had come to a comfy, yet clumsy arrangement that Germany found himself settling into gladly. Whether it was Italy’s laziness or Germany’s timidity in expressing affection, the two had sorted through it. Now, Italy went out of his way to do things for Germany. Germany found it within himself to say loving words to his husband. To care for him in a more expressive way. The fire crackled to life, Germany settling back into the couch and waiting.

“Feliciano?” He called out.

“Coming!” Italy replied.

Germany frowned. Did that come from the kitchen? He turned, grinning slightly as he spotted Italy in a knit sweater and comfy pants, holding two steaming mugs. “What is that?”

“Hot chocolate.” Italy answered, rounding the couch and setting the mugs down on the table.

“Coasters.” Germany reminded.

Italy reached forward and grabbed two coasters, setting the mugs down on them.

“Thank you. For the hot chocolate. And also for the coasters.” Germany said, grabbing the throw blanket off the back of the couch and unfolding it.

Italy hummed a response, sitting on the couch and leaning against Germany. “My pleasure.”

Germany lay the blanket over the two of them, adjusting his position so he had his arm wrapped around Italy’s shoulders. “Comfy?”

Italy hummed.

Germany started the movie, sighing and sitting back.

The two sat in silence, enjoying the movie and enjoying each other.

Italy stirred, lifting his head and kissing the junction between Germany’s jaw and his neck. “Never mind, this is kind of perfect.”

“Told you.” Germany pulled Italy closer. “We should make this a tradition.”

“Now, I wouldn’t say that. We can’t ignore everyone else forever.”

Germany hummed. "I suppose not."

Italy grinned into Germany’s side.

Time passed slowly, the two turning on movie after movie, enjoying their time together. After a couple hours, the two turned off the television. Germany retrieved a book they were reading off the shelf. He propped his torso against the armrest of the couch, his legs swung up onto the cushions. Italy had his chest to Germany’s, his legs curled between Germany’s. Germany read the book in a low, muted tone, Italy occasionally shifting his position.

Italy lifted his head. “It’s eleven thirty.”

Germany glanced up at the clock. “So it is.”

“Save your New Year’s kiss for me?” Italy asked, teasing.

Germany looked at him, shaking his head. This was a tradition that started while the two were dating that lasted into their marriage. Around this time, Italy would always approach Germany and interrupt whichever conversation he was a part of to request that Germany save his New Year’s kiss for him. Germany had initially blushed heavily at the request and stammered out a response, not liking the attention the proposal drew from their friends. However, as time passed, he found it endearing. It was almost a ritual for them.

“Of course.” Germany answered.

Italy hummed, satisfied, returning his head to its place on Germany’s chest as Germany continued his reading.

A half hour later, the two still lay chest-to-chest. They were staring at the face of Germany’s watch as the minute hand ticked by. They were in the last ten seconds.

“Ten,” Italy began. Germany joined as they counted down the seconds.

Three…

Two…

One…

Italy leaned forward and kissed his husband, his arms wrapping around Germany’s neck.

Germany’s hands settled on Italy’s waist.

The two drew apart, a few inches separating them.

“Happy New Year, Ludwig.”

“Happy New Year, Feliciano.”

******

Caro: Darling

#hetalia #hetalia fic #hws germany #aph germany #hws italy #aph italy #gerita #aph gerita #hws gerita #gerita fic #gerita fanfic #gerita fanfiction #New Year #fluff #fluff fic #hetalia fluff #gerita fluff

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