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taylizmasterpost · 3 years

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Swiftgron Shows Up, Liz Spirals (March 2012 - September 2012)

This is not going to be a timeline of Swiftgron and their relationship. For that, you can go to the @swiftgronmasterpost. This is just to show how, when things got serious with Dianna, things deteriorated between Taylor and Liz:

25 March 2012 - Swiftgron go watch the Hunger Games together. Taylor follows Dianna on Twitter afterwards. This is likely their first actual date:

27 March 2012 - Liz tweets this:

Was this in response to Swifgron’s first date? Maybe. Was Liz jealous Taylor had pulled the exact same move on Dianna that she’d pulled on her back in 2009 when she took her to Valentine’s Day? Also maybe. But also maybe not. Still, #Lizgototherapychallenge.

30 March 2012 - Taylor introduces Dianna to her mom, they all get dinner together:

12 April 2012 - Dianna blows a kiss to Taylor on Jimmy Kimmel.

18 April 2012 - Mutual friend Chantelle tweets that she spent the night and early morning hanging out with TayLiz.

Chantelle will post a picture of her, Taylor and Liz hanging out in a kitchen together almost a year later -- when the girls don’t seem to be on speaking terms -- making me think this picture was taken on this night:

24 April 2012 - Swiftgron Shirley MacLane party happens:

27 April 2012 - Taylor and someone (possibly Liz) are papped getting lunch together in LA. The secret message for the song “The Last Time,” which will be written in a few months, is “LA On Your Break.” They’re certainly in LA, and the tour is certainly on break. Perhaps this is Taylor finally ending things with Liz.

Liz tweets at Taylor about Skittles later that day, making me think it was her at lunch.

28 April 2012 - Dianna’s birthday party. Taylor dresses as a tiger and leaves a note on the door with a joke they’d made that reads “I’m a little kitten and I need to nurse because I’m a runt and I’m likely to fall victim to predators.”

10 May 2012 - Taylor posts on Instagram “Going back to Nashville. Thinking about the whole thing. Guess you gotta run sometimes.”

This is from the song Nashville by David Mead. Other interesting lyrics include:

You’re a distant memory, you’re an exit sign I was talking crazy on the driver’s side

I was talking crazy on the driver’s side I will always love you like a long goodbye

The driving references are interesting, considering that Red has the theme of driving all over it. “I will always love you like a long goodbye” also seems to support the theory that Taylor has just finally broken things off with Liz.

15 May 2012 - Taylor finishes writing Everything Has Changed with Ed Sheeran then gets dinner with Dianna Ashley and Claire. The original lyrics of Everything Has Changed talk about “falling for a Gemini,” which describes Gemini Liz, but Taylor seems to have re-fitted the song to be about Dianna and removed those lyrics:

27 May 2012 - Liz’s birthday. Taylor does not tweet at her. No pictures are posted of the party, if there is one.

28 May 2012 - Taylor and Ed record Everything Has Changed:

Late May 2012 - Taylor writes The Last Time:

Here’s what she had to say about the inspiration for the song:

The Last Time is a hard song for me to analyze, not because I don’t have theories about what it means, but because I think Taylor is oversimplifying the story here. To me, looking at this song, assuming it’s about Liz, it reads less like a pleading “baby I want you back” song, and more like an “I’m losing you to addiction song.”

We haven’t fully gotten into this yet, but Liz was dealing with a lot of mental and internal shit at this time. According to rumor, she’s about to be let go from The Agency due to getting “out of control,” and the songs she writes this summer, including Wreck of Who I Am, definitely seem to imply she was trying to claw her way out of a spiral here. When I listen to The Last Time through this lens, it feels more like a last chance, pleading intervention.

Wreck of Who I Am:

And the tide is strong that it keeps me from the land

And I’m low on faith and I pray with shaky hands

Well it hurts like hell tryna tell myself

This ain’t the only thing that’s meant for me

Gotta piece back together the wreck of who I am

The Last Time

This is the last time I’m asking you this

Put my name at the top of your list

This is the last time I’m asking you why

You break my heart in the blink of an eye

And there’s also the fact that The Last Time seems like it was written on if not around Liz’s birthday (May 27).

3 June 2012 - Dianna jokes at the GLAAD Awards about having kissed girls before:

4 June 2012 - Liz does some songwriting of her own with Seth Jones and Megan Mace:

Taylor and Liz’s dresses from Mean are placed next to each other at the Speak Now Tour Exhibition:

10 June 2012 - Taylor diaries about recording 22, and IKYWT, says she’s already written WANEGBT:

Story behind WANEGBT: I wrote it with Max Martin and Johan Shellback who are two of my songwriting heroes, they’re amazing. And we were in the studio, and we were writing a different song and this guy walks in who I- was- A friend of someone I had previously… dated. And he comes in and he’s like “Oh, I hear you and [redacted] are getting back together” and um that was like his opening line. And we weren’t. We’d done that whole like on/off on/off just the worst. Bleh. And um… And so when he left I just turned to Max and I was like “We are never getting back together. What? That’s ridiculous!” Um and I told them the whole situation as I do ‘cause I tend to share, as you know. And so uh he just looked at me and he was like “I know the song we’re writing today. Let’s start a new one.” And so I got the guitar and it just sort of happened and so uh this is that song.

So what we know from this is that it is HIGHLY more likely that a friend of Liz just happened to walk into the studio that day than a friend of either Jake or Dianna (I’m guessing someone from The Agency maybe? Taylor seems to fumble when choosing how to describe them)

Martin and Shellback are credited on three songs on red -- WANEGBT, IKYWT, and 22. We know Taylor wrote 22 here. She also says she “came back to trouble.” From that I can assume they were trying to write IKYWT when this story took place.

The secret message for WANEGBT is “When I stopped caring what you thought.” To me, this really signals things have broken down between them. Rather than the pleading in The Last Time, this is song is much more distant and moved on, where Taylor is able to have a sense of humor about the breakup.

18 June 2012 - A friend of Liz’s tweets this at Taylor (am I the only one sensing some shade??):

1 July 2012 - Liz does some songwriting in Nashville:

Between this session and the session on the fourth, presumably the songs she’d release later that winter (One Hand On the Wheel, Wreck of Who I Am, and Blessed Are the Brokenhearted) are written here, making it seem like Liz is processing both some depression and a breakup of some sort.

8 July 2012 - Taylor takes pictures with a fan at a coffee shop (presumably in Nashville). According to the fan’s account, Liz was also there, sitting at the table behind them. The fan ends up taking pictures with both Liz and Taylor:

I’m not entirely sure what this means for them. Obviously Taylor has just written The Last Time (presumably about Liz) and then gone off to Hy(i)annis port with Dianna to go frolic in the waves and all that, so I don’t think this means TayLiz is back on. However, we know from fan accounts (which I’ll get to in a second) that Liz thought she was going to be coming on the Red Tour until she was let go from The Agency in September. Perhaps this is some amount of reconciliation? A check in? An ultimatum to get her act together or she won’t be allowed on tour?

Truthfully, we can’t know for sure. But this is one of their last hang outs together (that we know of) this year.

13 August 2012 - Taylor’s Red Youtube Webchat. She describes what some of the songs on the album are about

22: This is a song that I wrote with Max Martin and Johan Shellback and it’s a song about the way I spent my summer when I was finishing this album. Kind of hanging out with my friends all the time and I really decided that I love being twenty two. It’s um kind of my favorite age that I’ve ever been. I kind of have like different theories of the years in my life and like what they meant and 22 has been so much fun. It’s- it’s been so much fun and I decided to write a song about that and just all the ridiculous nonsense that my friends and I got into. And, um, so this one’s called 22.

Treacherous: This is a song that I wrote with Dan Wilson… I’ve always wanted to work with him. So I called him and um it turned out that he was into the idea of working with me. And um so I went in with this idea and uh we wrote a song about when you’re falling for someone and you know that it’s dangerous. And you know that it could really really really really really just annihilate you if it were to not work out and it could possibly not work out and it probably won’t work out, but you go for it anyway. And so this is called Treacherous.

31 August 2012 - We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together is released as a single. The MV features the rest of the Agency, but not Liz. Fans take notice.

13 September 2012 - The news breaks that Liz is leaving The Agency and will not be on the Red Tour:

Interestingly enough, according to the L Chat, Liz had been telling fans that she was planning on going on the Red Tour before this point, so something must’ve happened:

And because of this fan encounter below, we have somewhat of an idea of what it was:

So from the combined events of this summer we know this about Liz being let go:

1) Liz wrote songs that summer about having a hard time and trying to claw her way out of it.

2) Taylor and Liz met up twice that summer, and Taylor did not acknowledge Liz’s birthday publicly.

3) Taylor may have written The Last Time, a song about begging someone to choose you over other things (possibly addiction) on Liz’s birthday.

4) Liz thought she was going on The Red Tour.

5) Liz was fired for “getting out of control.”

The picture this paints to me is that, while Liz was spiraling, Taylor was trying to help her, using coming on the Red Tour as a reward for getting her act together. When she ultimately couldn’t, presumably after that meeting in July, Taylor had no choice but to ask her to leave the Agency, since hardcore intense tour life is likely the last thing Liz needed to get better. This is a really difficult and hard situation, regardless of whether or not the two women were ever sexually or romantically involved.

Fortunately, as we’ll see moving forward, this seems to be the wake up call Liz needed to start the process of getting back on her feet. However, it’s clear that for at least a little bit after this, Taylor became a taboo topic around Liz. But ask anyone who’s dealt with addiction or helped a friend/family member through it -- there’s some resentment that’s bound to happen, even towards the people trying to help.

20 September 2012 - Liz spends “quality time” with Claire and Taylor:

I personally read this as one last hurrah of the trio after Liz was not asked back for the Red Tour. The “not mad at this day” feels a little weird to me too, and I can’t tell if it’s supposed to be shade or not. Either way, this is the last major interaction between Taylor and Liz for a while.

IN CONCLUSION: Liz had her demons. Whether this is what caused the end of her and Taylor’s relationship or something else, it’s almost certainly what caused her to not be asked back on the Red Tour. In the winter, she would release the music she was writing over the summer, making it clear she was going through some shit, probably not helped by seeing Taylor so obviously move on with Dianna. But this is the low point. Things with Liz can only go up from here.

Liz After the Agency (September 2012 - September 2014)

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thedefinitionofendgame · 3 years

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I Love You, Baby

Sullivan X Andy one-shot | Rated M | Canonverse

A/N: Amidst my Surrera breakdown tonight after reading the episode synopsis for 4x16, I wrote this to settle my heart rate. I have no idea how the Station 19 finale will go, but hints about a Surrera baby are running wild, so this fic inspired by those and everything else *Rated M for non-explicit sex/TW regarding the mention of George Floyd’s death (briefly)*

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You can read this work on ao3 and fanfiction.net as well

Written & cover by @thedefinitionofendgame (aka me)

The cover is split between 3 different sections, just because :)

Alarms blared and sirens wailed but Lieutenant Andy Herrera heard none of them. Her thoughts were too crowded with her husband’s voice. No, not the way he whispered sweet nothings against her skin in the early mornings or the outrageously sexy way his voice deepened when he fought with her over control in the bedroom. Instead, it was the things he had told her over the last few months when the whole world had flipped upside down. The coronavirus started which put enough strain on a marriage alone. Then Andy’s husband, Robert, and a member of her Station 19 family, Dean, had wound up in jail mainly due to the colour of their skin. Robert had even had a gun pointed at his head, as he rushed to his wife who had been shoved to the ground. Less than two months later, a man across the country had died claiming he couldn’t breathe, filmed for the whole world to witness and make opinions about. None of it made sense to Andy, but then again she didn’t see things in the same way she had just half a year ago before she married her husband.

She loved his eyes. They were kind and held so much emotion. She loved the way his hands held her face when his lips brushed hers, no matter how gentle or rough their kiss was. His firefighter-status fitness level was a definite bonus; his hands were way larger than her own but she liked that they fit around hers like a glove. These were just some of the physical features she loved about her husband. Not once did she think about the colour of his skin and how that affected her love for him. It simply didn’t, at least not in a negative way. Robert was her husband; the colour of his skin never made any difference to her one way or another. Until it did matter, although not in a bad way. Suddenly, he was a target and Andy was thrust into a world that didn’t see a kind and dedicated man when they looked at Robert Sullivan. They saw someone that Andy would never compare to her husband, all for the colour of his skin.

Our marriage is the only good thing in my life, he had told her. The only good thing was her. They both had no one else, no parents or siblings. Sure, they had Station 19 who were basically family and Andy’s aunt, uncle and cousin. But in terms of immediate family, it was just them. Robert’s comment had left Andy’s head turning. Maybe it was the truth in his words, maybe it was the desperation he had said them to her in. Maybe it was because Andy wanted more than just their marriage to be good in his life. And maybe it was a little bit of all three.

Whatever it was, Andy was sure the problems couldn’t be fixed with what she had in mind. Although her idea wasn’t rational, it was the only thing she could think of. Robert and her had talked about the prospect of it before but it hadn’t gotten farther than that. The question remained whether or not it would break them up or make them stronger. At this point, Andy wasn’t ready to find out.

Yet somewhere in the universe, a light shone. A spark was lit, a flame caught on and from there, it was an inferno. One thing led to another and soon a giant ball of fire was heading for the only good thing in Robert (and Andy’s) life. It was only a matter of time before it crashed into them, leaving nothing but a mist of smoke behind.

“Hey, are you okay?” Robert’s concerned murmur washed over Andy, as she slid back into bed next to her husband.

Andy nodded, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin against hers again. The early-morning air was cold and the firefighter wasn’t ready to get up yet. “Just had to use the bathroom.”

“Mhm.” An arm wrapped around her shoulders, making Andy feel safe. Home was wherever Robert’s embrace was. “Some long trip to the bathroom you took. Also did I hear you throwing up?”

Andy’s heart thumped in her chest. “No, why did you think that?”

“Thought I heard it. If you didn’t, it’s fine. Just wanted to check,” Robert pressed a kiss to his wife’s forehead. “We have ten more minutes until the alarm goes,” he informed her.

“So kiss me.” Andy’s reply was quiet but Robert reacted immediately. His lips moved from her forehead to her eyelids, her cheeks, her nose and landed softly on her lips. Andy shifted so that she was more upright, and Robert’s hands moved to cup her face. The kiss deepened, and the sheets soon ended up on the unoccupied side of the mattress.

Morning sex was something Andy hadn’t really indulged in during her hookups with Jack and Ryan. Sure, it was a better way to wake up than turning over and hitting snooze on the alarm but she was mostly concerned about not getting caught by her father or anyone else at the station.

The alarm blared, interrupting the couple’s post-orgasmic bliss. With a sigh, Andy pushed away from Robert and threw on his discarded Station 19 shirt from the night before. “Cereal good for you? I’m not in the mood for French toast which is the-”

“Only thing you know how to make for breakfast, I know.” Leaning back against the headboard. Robert put his hands behind his head and smiled at her. “You tell me every morning.”

“Hey, I’m just reminding you what you signed up for when you married me.” She threw on yesterday’s jeans (her own this time), leaving the room.

“I married you for other reasons besides my breakfast options!” Robert shouted after her. He heard her infectious giggle from the stairs, which made his smile stretch even wider. Andy was going to be the death of him, but he would happily go if it meant the last thing he saw was her. The thought was cheesy, Robert knew, yet that was the state the ex-battalion chief was constantly in around his wife. She brought out a completely different side of him that had been hiding for the years between his first wife’s death and him coming to Station 19.

His first wife was probably watching from whatever afterlife she was in, happy for him. A day didn’t go by that Robert didn’t miss Claire, but he knew she would want him to find happiness again. Lucky for him, Andy was the woman he never expected to fall in love with and he did anyways. He was a very fortunate man to get two loves of his life.

After stretching, Robert rolled out of bed and trekked to the bathroom. Water was splashed all over the counter, which made him shake his head. While his wife kept a fairly clean locker at the station, their bathroom had no idea. He grabbed a small towel off the rack and mopped up the small puddles, then turned on the shower. Taking less than two minutes to get clean, Robert had a towel wrapped around his waist and was brushing his teeth while observing himself in the mirror. Clearly all the workouts he had been doing recently to deal with the emotions he had been feeling were helping tone his figure. Raising an eyebrow at himself in the mirror, Robert let out a laugh. He felt a bit stupid, so he quickly turned off the light, rinsed his mouth in the sink and went to change for the day.

A pair of Andy’s socks showed up in Robert’s drawer, so he opened up her side of the closet to put them away. But before he could move, something solid caught his eye amongst the squishy socks. He was about to investigate, then realized it wasn’t his. It was Andy’s and if he looked, it would be invading her privacy. So he closed the drawer and went back to putting on his own clothes. Yet Robert’s curiosity was piqued and the wheels in his head were already turning with possibilities. A surprise for him, perhaps. Or many it was a female-related object, one that she clearly didn’t want him to know about. Or maybe it was a- “Hey Andy, do you own a vibrator?” The question escaped Robert’s lips before he could stop himself.

Robert had never seen his wife appear in their bedroom so fast. “Robert, what on Earth have you been doing in here?” She asks, alarm lighting up her face.

Feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Robert admitted to what he had seen in Andy’s sock drawer. “Do you own a vibrator?” He repeated, once he had recounted his story to his wife.

Andy let out a huff of laughter, as she turned towards Robert. “Um, I did, before I married you. But it’s long gone, so don’t worry you don’t have any need to get your feather’s ruffled.” She crossed her arms. “Would you have been mad if I did own one?”

“No way, I would’ve suggested we use it to spice up our sex lives even more,” Robert told her.

Andy smacked her husband’s arm, before turning to leave the room again. “You need to get dressed because we gotta go in like fifteen minutes. I got out the cereal.”

“Okay, thanks.” Robert listened to his wife, and joined her in the kitchen for coffee moments later. He offered her the coffee pot, but she shook her head. It surprised Robert as Andy wasn’t one to skip out on caffeine.

Andy could tell her husband was starting to get a bit suspicious, so she made her exit. “Gonna change, then we can go,” she said in a rush, then jogged up the stairs to their bedroom again.

Shutting the door behind her, Andy leaned against it, before sliding to the floor. It was getting a little exhausting trying to keep their teeny tiny surprise a secret, especially from her husband. Not that she wanted to be keeping secrets, but this one was too big to tell him yet. Andy wasn’t ready for him to know. Unfortunately, keeping it from him went against the main slogan of their marriage: no more secrets. Robert had told her that on many occasions, always with a kiss on her lips following. This was an exception, or at least that’s what Andy told herself to make her feel better.

The young woman shed her clothes and put on clean ones, then grabbed her purse and a pair of socks. She turned the hidden object over in her hand once, before slipping it back and smiling to herself. “Baby, you ready to go?”

“Yep, and I have coffee for you to go,” Robert handed Andy the travel mug, which she dutifully took. Hopefully she’d be able to pour the contents down the sink when her husband wasn’t looking.

They got in the car and drove to work. The streets were pretty empty, as it was barely six-thirty a-m. Andy silently prayed people would stay safe today, making their job easier but also keep people living. It also meant Andy wasn’t taking big risks, something she knew she should avoid for the foreseeable future. Robert didn’t think anything was different, as he reached across the center console to take Andy’s hand. She smiled at him, and he pressed his lips to her fingers. They were stupidly in love without a care in the world.

Once they reached the station, the couple changed into their work attire and headed up to the kitchen for their second breakfast. Andy realized she conveniently forgot the travel mug of coffee in the car, and sighed with relief. Except the second they came around the corner, Ben was offering a second coffee to Robert, and extended it to Andy.

“I’m good, thanks Warren,” she said, avoiding Robert’s gaze and scurrying to sit with Maya and Vic at the table. “Hey guys.”

“Hey Andy,” Vic greeted her.

“We were just talking about Pru’s recent development in mobility,” Maya explained.

Babies, Andy thought, I can talk about that. “Is she still doing the butt-scootch thing?”

Vic nodded. “Yep. Dean’s been trying to get her to take a few steps because she’s more than ready. But she’s a stubborn girl.”

It would be awhile longer, but teaching a child to walk was something that thrilled Andy. “I can’t wait for that,” Andy accidentally burst out, before catching herself. “I mean, I can’t wait for Pru to start walking.”

“Same.” Learning back, Vic looked like a proud mother, despite the fact that Pru wasn’t her kid.

Maya waited a second longer, before pushing her chair back as the rest of the A-crew took a seat. “Okay, Montgomery and Herrera, you two are on aid car today. The rest of you guys, make sure the truck’s in tip-top shape.”

After a chorus of ‘yes-es’, the team spread out. Andy and Travis were called to a house regarding someone who choked on a piece of sausage (the Heimlich was performed swiftly and effectively), while the rest of the firefighters were sentenced to putting out a warehouse fire. A machine had caught a spark, which spread to all the wood materials lighting on fire. Not a great combination, yet Station 19 was prepared and managed to evacuate everyone in record time. Maya commanded the radio outside, as Vic, Robert, Jack and Dean did a final sweep. The aid care, with Andy and Travis inside, pulled up just as Maya was about to call her firefighters back. No one was hurt, but it was good to have the care on standby just in case.

The radio crackled, and Vic’s voice rang out. “There’s one more person in here! They’re trapped under a wooden shelf.” Static, then there was a muffled noise, before a shout could be heard. “Dammit!”

Instantly Maya had the radio switched on. “What happened?”

“The fire just lit up the entire back wall,” Vic reported. Andy’s heart beat loudly in her chest, as she feared for her fellow firefighters’ lives, and most of all her husband’s.

“Get the person stable, and then get out,” Maya ordered. “Gibson, Miller, what’s the status on the exit?”

“Clear. The direct path has nothing structural that could fall. But the smoke is thick. We need to start putting out the fire in the main area or else it has the potential to block off where we need to go,” Jack reported.

“Okay, good. Get out and you can help the other stations spray from the windows.” The warehouse luckily had a bunch of windows, which made access to the fire easier. Maya had had the windows smashed in earlier.

“Copy that.” Jack’s radio went muffled for a moment, then two doors opened at the side of the building. “Hey Herrera, Montgomery, nice of you to join us,” Jack said with a laugh. Travis nodded hello while Andy didn’t even look in Jack’s direction. She was too focused on whatever fate her husband had. Recently her emotions and hormones had been all over the place, leaving her wanting to cry one moment and incredibly turned on the next. Right now though, Andy was scared for her husband’s life.

“We got them!” This time it was Robert’s voice on the radio. “Heading for the exit.”

The seconds ticked away as everyone who wasn’t spraying water at the fire, had their eyes on the double doors where they expected Vic and Robert to emerge from. Maya was worried, and turned on the radio again. “Sullivan and Hughes, where are you guys?”

The only answer was static. Andy thought she head a shout but it was too muffled to tell. Then one door pushed open, and she rushed towards it. Vic called out, “Help me grab the guy!”

Andy held open the door as Vic stumbled through it towing a man behind her. She coughed loudly, as the smoke was incredibly thick. Robert was nowhere to be found.

While Travis did his job and checked over the man, Andy turned to Vic. “Where’s Sullivan?” She asked, remembering to use her husband’s proper title since they were at work.

Vic didn’t answer her. Instead she spun around and fixed her helmet back on her head. “I’m going back in there,” she said.

“No you aren’t.” Maya stopped her.

There was panic in Vic’s eyes. “Sullivan is still in there. A huge beam came down just as I was rounding the corner to the exit. Sullivan jumped back just in time, but we were separated. The smoke is so bad, and I had the guy with me. I could see the exit, so I thought I could just drop him off and the go back for Sullivan.”

“You left him?” Andy whirled on Vic.

“No, I couldn’t get to him. I had a civilian and I told him I’d go back. I have to go back,” Vic repeated to Maya.

“No. No one is going back in there.” Maya stated firmly. She picked up her radio and said, “Sullivan, do you copy?”

There was nothing, except for Vic’s voice apologizing. “I’m so sorry, I just couldn’t reach him and I had the civilian and-”

“Nothing. You made the call and it was what was necessary.” Maya attempted to contact Robert via the radio again, with no luck.

Suddenly, there was a huge crash and a section of the warehouse roof began to cave in. Andy watched in horror as smoke billowed out into the sky and there continued to be no response from the radio. “ROBERT!” A scream left Andy’s throat as she lunged herself towards the doors her husband was still trapped behind. Much to her dismay, both Maya and Vic lunged after her, stopping her from charging in after him. She struggled against the women but soon gave up. “Somebody do something!”

Maya shook her head sadly. “It’s up to him to get out, I can’t risk another firefighter. Andy, he’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that!” Andy was practically in hysterics, which wasn’t like her at all. She was normally pretty put together, even when his life had been in danger before.

Jack came over and looked Andy right in the eyes. “I know he’ll make it out to you. He’s been a firefighter for a long time, and will be fine. Trust him.”

“Okay.” Andy’s voice was small as she nodded. Jack gave her shoulder a reassuring pat, then stood off to the side. He was worried about his friend because she was rarely this emotional while on a call. Sure, she had broken down from time to time, but it was rare for to lose it at the scene. Maybe she and her husband-it was still weird to say that after almost a whole year-had had a fight beforehand, and she didn’t get the chance to work things out.

Water continued to rain down on the building but the radio remained silent. Maya tried over and over to reach Robert with no response. The panic was just starting to settle in, when someone shouted that they saw movement through one of the broken windows.

Inside the building the air was thickening with smoke and Robert was losing air fast. But he had someone to fight for, well two someones actually. He was not about to leave his wife the way his first wife had left him. Claire’s death had almost killed him, and he would do whatever he could to save Andy from losing someone else. Up ahead, Robert saw the exit that separated him from the love of his life. With a last surge of strength, Robert burst open the doors and stumbled a short distance before he fell to the concrete. Cold, fresh air filled his lungs as he took in gasping breaths. He looked up and saw that the sky above him wasn’t smoke but clear and blue with the sun shining too. I’m safe, he thought. I’m safe and I'm alive.

Seconds later, two figures reached him. One was Travis, thrusting an oxygen mask into his hands for him to put on, and the other was his wife. Her arms engulfed him in a hug, and she practically lay on top of him on the ground. At first, Robert thought she was just happy to see him alive and well, then he felt her shaking in his lap. “I’m safe, it’s okay,” he told her, pulling back slightly so he could wipe the tears from her eyes.

“I thought I lost you,” Andy told him, as she pressed the oxygen mask to his face. Travis stepped back and gave them a few feet of space, as the rest of the group worked to spray the flames.

“You’ll never lose me, I’m too stubborn to die,” Robert reassured her.

Andy nodded, but she wasn’t convinced, She was just thankful he had made it back to her, and didn’t leave her all alone to raise their child. “I love you, baby,” she managed to get out.

“I love you.” His words echoed back and he hugged her tightly again. Moments later, Maya appeared at his side, and Andy moved to get up off of the ground. “Hey Captain Bishop, things were getting a bit toasty, huh?”

“Just a bit,” Maya rolled her eyes. “You okay Sullivan?”

“Fine.” The man in question had regained enough oxygen in his lungs and strength in his body, to rise to a standing position.

“You should head over to the aid car and rest; we can debrief later.” Maya glanced around, then leaned over to her fellow firefighter. “Hey, is Andy alright?”

Robert raised an eyebrow. “She’s fine, why?”

Maya sighed. “She acted overly emotional when you were struggling to get out of the building. I totally understand why, but it’s unlike her. I just wanted to make sure things were okay.”

“Oh, I understand.” Pausing, Robert hesitated how to approach the subject of why when he knew Andy didn’t even know he knew about her secret. “I’m sure she was just worried.”

“Right,” Maya said. She didn’t look completely convinced, but luckily thought Robert didn’t get questioned any longer. He made his way over to Travis at the aid car and got his head looked at. It was just a bruise, which would heal in no time.

The fire eventually died down and lost the war against the firefighters and water. Station 19 began to pack up, and Andy came over to give her husband a check up of her own, before getting back into the aid car. Vic apologized profusely to Robert for leaving him, and he told her that he would’ve done the same thing, had he been in her position. As Andy and Travis pulled away, Robert was leaning over to give Vic a reassuring hug; all was okay.

Once they got back, chores needed to be done, then people started heading to the showers or to crash in a bunk room. Andy slipped away and went back to the barn, swinging herself up to sit on the back of the firetruck amongst the many hoses. It had been a long day, even though it was barely eight o’clock. All she wanted to do was go to sleep, with maybe a little loving from her husband first.

Speaking of Robert, his voice carried through the barn as he spotted her. “Hey, can I join you?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Andy nodded, moving so he could come up too. She let out a loud sigh, and ran a hand through her messy curls.

Robert watched her, concern in his gaze. “Everything okay?”

“Today was a close call,” Andy began, looking at her hands instead of her husband. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

Robert wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “Me too.” There was a moment of silence, until Robert decided it was time to rip off the bandaid. But first, he needed to tell her something. “I love you, you know that?”

Pulling away, Andy snuck a glance at Robert. “Of course, silly. I love you too.”

“Good.” Robert smiled slightly, then bumped her shoulder with hers. “Then I just wanted to tell you that I know.”

Andy whipped her head towards her husband. “You know what.”

“I know. Don’t try to hide it any longer.”

“What do you know.”

“I know.”

“I know you know, but what do you know?” Andy was very stubborn, and was not about to show her cards first.

Robert, who gave into arguments like this with her more often than she did, sighed and told her: “I know about the baby. That you’re pregnant.”

“Dammit.” She looked back down at her hands. “I was trying to keep it a secret for a little while longer. How did you find out? You didn’t look in my sock drawer, did you?”

“No, I wouldn’t invade your privacy like that,” Robert reassured her.

“Then what was it?”

“Well you’ve been acting funny the past couple days. Avoiding coffee, being way more emotional than normal-which there’s nothing wrong with but it isn’t like you normally-and disappearing to throw up at the same time for the past five days. You deny it but I know my wife.”

Shaking her head, Andy let out a sigh. “I can’t keep anything a secret from you.”

“So are you pregnant?” Robert wanted his wife to say it, to confirm his theory.

“Yes, I’m pregnant.” Andy nodded.

Robert didn’t hesitate. He leaned over and pulled his wife into the biggest hug, then began to press sloppy kisses all over her face. She laughed, swatting at him lightly. “I love you so much,” Robert gushed. “And I love you too, baby,” he said, looking down at Andy’s non-showing belly.

Andy took his hand and placed it where their baby was growing inside of her right now. “You’re not gonna want to miss this, ever,” she said.

“Never,” he agreed.

They were quiet for a moment, just breathing together. Then Andy spoke: “Before you tell me to lighten my duties, I planned on talking to Maya later this week. We have a girl’s night in the works, and I need to tell her before she suggests we go to a bar for shots.”

“Didn’t even cross my mind yet, but I’m glad you knew what I was going to ask in the future,” Robert said with a laugh. He pressed another kiss to Andy’s lips, then looked all around him.

“What?” Andy asked, as she watched her husband.

“I was just thinking, this is where it all started. Right here in the barn, when I was introduced as the new captain of Station 19. Who knew that we’d be here now, married with a baby on the way?” He lay back, pulling Andy down with him, and they tangled themselves amongst the folded hoses, snuggled together like they had lay that morning before getting up.

Andy confessed, “Not me. I hated you for a good while, before I realized I was using hate to cover up what I felt for you.”

Robert chimed in, “And I told myself I wasn’t going to fall in love with a firefighter half my rank. Look where that got me.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

“And we’re going to be good parents, right?”

“The absolute best. First thing we’re going to do is teach them Spanish. After English of course.”

“Okay. Only if I get to teach them how to make French toast because-”

“It’s the only thing you know how to make for breakfast.”

#station 19 #station 19 fanfic #andy x sullivan #andy x sullivan fanfic #surrera #surrera fanfic #andy herrera #andy herrera fanfic #robert sullivan #robert sullivan fanfic #fluff #fanfic on tumblr #the definition of endgame

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sebspocketsquare · 4 years

Text

Quarantine 6

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (online)

A/N: Heya guys! Here’s part 6! I hope you enjoy it, and part 7 is already written and will be posted sometime this coming week :)

Warnings: Flirting, language, quarantine, feels, fluff, some sad talk, talk of the freight car incident, insecurities

Today was the day.

This was it.

There were rules, of course.

The door should stay shut at first.. until you’re both comfortable.

And most importantly..

No contact… no matter how much the both of you wanted it.

It was the weirdest first date you were ever going to experience for sure, but ultimately the one most worth it, too.

He was bringing his own beer, and you had some wine left over from Sam’s delivery three weeks ago.

It didn’t seem like it had been that long, but then again, you had learned time wasn’t real in quarantine.

You get dressed in comfy, but cute clothes. Sweatpants and an off the shoulder sweater seem like a good idea, and after applying the lightest bit of makeup to your face you feel like you’re almost ready for this kind-of date.

Grabbing a few snacks, your wine glass and an unopened bottle, you set everything up next to the pillow you’ve placed right in front of your apartment door.

You were completely prepared.

He texted you forty five minutes ago that he was on his way, and he’s supposed to knock four times when he’s here.

You, of course, wouldn’t open the door, but it was enough to let you know he was really there.

Even though you knew he couldn’t see you, there was still a nervousness that lingered in your body.

Was it going to be awkward? Hell yeah. Were you both not going to know what to say at first? Absolutely. You just had to keep telling yourself it would be worth it.

You’re pouring yourself a glass of wine when four very soft knocks sound at your door.

Knock. Knock knock. Knock.

The pattern reminds you of a heartbeat.

Your own.

“J?” You ask through the door, and his reply is a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, doll. It’s me.”

You hear rustling for a few moments, the sounds of him making himself comfortable.

“I um.. I left you a cushion out there to sit on, so you wouldn’t be sitting on the ground.”

As soon as you say it, you hear a soft thump, surely the sound of him letting it fall to your doormat.

“How’s it going in there?” He wonders after a few minutes. The sound of him cracking open his beer can be heard, and it reminds you of the glass in your hand.

“It's um.. It’s good. I have my wine and snacks. How about you?”

He hums, and you take note of how it sounds different in person, rather than over the phone or on mic. “S’good. Just opened my beer.” He laughs softly before he speaks again, “Gotta be honest, I didn’t realize this would feel so..”

“Weird?” You finish for him.

He releases another laugh and a hum. “Yeah.. I’m sorry, doll. I just..”

“I know.” He just wanted to be there, with you.

“Just close your eyes while we talk for a little while. It’ll be just like we’re on the phone.” It was good advice, you had to admit, and though you weren’t usually one for taking your own, you make an exception this time to calm your erratic pulse.

Seconds turn to minutes, and minutes to hours.

Before you realize it, J has been on your porch for nearly three hours. You’re two glasses of wine deep and finally feeling your walls come down.. And hoping he feels the same.

“How are you feeling.. About this?” A simple question, yes, but you wanted him to feel safe, here with you.

A soft sigh is heard, and an even softer thud as he rests his head against the door that separates you.

“I feel.. Better. You were right, about the eyes closed thing.”

A smile graces your lips and you let your head fall back, too. You can’t help but wonder if it’s in the same space as his. So close, yet so far.

“How’s your wine?” He wonders, and you can hear the bit of humor in his voice.

He’s heard both of the times you picked up and set down the bottle, and you’re sure he can tell you’re about to be ready for a third.

You giggle, the sound involuntary as the wine has now loosened up your shyness. “It’s good. Think I’ll have some more.”

Another glass is poured, and you can hear him set his second can on the ground with a soft clang.

“Do ya maybe wanna play the question game?” He wonders, which makes a grin return to your face.

“You mean how we did one of the first times we talked?”

He chuckles and you hear a third beer can being opened.

“Yeah, I guess.. But that was 20 questions.. There’s never enough questions.”

“So unlimited questions, then?” You feel the need to clarify with a laugh.

“Well, sort of.. Until I have to leave.. And then we can pick up where we left off at our next date.” He stops, seeming to realize what he’s implied. “I-I mean that is.. If you even want there to be a second date..”

You find yourself wishing you could see his face when you give him your answer, “Of course I want to have a second date with you, J.”

He’s silent, so you hope he’s grinning from ear to ear. You’ll never know, because he decides to begin the game.

“What are you wearing to our date?”

The next hour and a half that passes is full of questions, giggles and outright laughter. You slowly get him to relax more and more, and it almost seems as if the door between you is disappearing.

You feel closer to him than ever.

Humming softly to yourself, you swish the last sip of wine around the glass. It had started to ignite a warm buzz under your skin, making you feel calmer. A little braver too.

“Tell me your favorite and least favorite thing about yourself.”

You hear him laugh on the other side of the door.

“Like.. personality wise or looks wise?”

It’s your turn to giggle, “Both would be nice, but.. I meant about how you look.. you gotta give me something, you know. I’ve spent ages trying to imagine you.”

He chuckles again, and then you hear him exhale.

“Favorite? I think I have pretty nice eyes. They’re blue, by the way. Don’t know if I ever told you that.. and I guess I.. I have a pretty nice uh.. build?” You hear him take another sip of his drink before he continues, “I mean, I work out a lot.”

All you can think of is that he may or may not have killer abs and huge biceps to wrap around you to keep you close, and you’re well aware it’s more than just the wine causing such thoughts.

“My least favorite..?” It sounds like he needs clarification.

“You know..” you pause, “your biggest insecurity.. I’ll tell you mine.”

“Okay…” He hums, so softly it’s almost inaudible. “I um.. remember how I told you I was in the army?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I was in the field, and I um.. I had an accident..”

When he stops, you find your eyes growing wider and your spine going straight.

He continues.

“I…I fell from a freight car and..” He hisses, and you can tell he’s trying not to tell you everything, just to refrain from crying. “The doctor who found me said I had two choices.. lose my arm or my life, and.. he made the decision for me.”

There’s silence for a few moments before you speak. “So you..”

“I have a prosthetic, now. Don’t get me wrong, it’s very high tech and I can do anything any normal person can, but.. I still have a lot of scars. They’re not pretty to look at.”

You’re at a loss for something to say because all you want to do is hold him.

He’s not a mind reader, so he becomes even more unsure about his insecurity. “Does that.. bother you..? That I’m not.. whole?”

He almost spits out the last word, as if he expects you to be disgusted in him, as if he’s any less of a man for it.

“No.” Your response is immediate. “If anything, I.. I admire you more for what you’ve just told me.”

“You don’t think the scars will bother you?” There’s a sadness to his tone, and you try to comfort him with the knowledge of your insecurity.

“No, I.. I really don’t. I know it’s not the same, but.. my biggest insecurity would have to be my stretch marks..” you finish your wine in a quick gulp, hoping for a little more courage. “I um.. I’ve got them on my thighs, hips, chest, some on my belly.. I don’t know when I got them really or why I have so many, but I do.. I don’t even feel comfortable in a two piece bathing suit anymore..”

He sits in silence as you continue.

“They’re scars, you know.. I-I know it’s not from anything super traumatic and not even comparable to the awful things you went through, but..”

“I bet they’re beautiful. I bet you’re beautiful.”

The words are soft, you almost don’t hear him, but it’s enough to make your entire body blush and tears sting your eyes.

The only thing stopping the two of you from seeing each other was four inches of wood and knowing that you couldn’t just open the door crushed your heart.

“I’ll make you a deal, J..” You start, chewing the inside of your cheek as you contemplate whether you really should go through with your idea. This wine was going to get you in trouble.

“Yeah? What’s that, doll?”

“I’ll send you a photo of myself tomorrow.. If you send me one in return.”

He releases a loud exhale, and not being able to see his expression has you worried that it might not have been from excitement.

“Really? Fuck, I mean.. You have no idea how badly I want to see you.”

Another smile? You could get used to this.

“Yes, really. Do we have a deal?”

A moment passes before he gives you his final answer, “I believe we have a deal, Clair.”

Shuffling is heard on the other side of the door, followed by a signature sigh. “I should get goin, babe.. It’s pretty late.”

You nod, then realize he can’t see you. “Let me know when you make it home.”

You hear him stand up, so you do the same, setting your empty glass on the floor beside you.

Turning to face the door, you place your hand on the wood.

The barrier between you seemed greater than ever in that moment.

You can’t see him placing his hand in the exact same spot as yours.

So close.

Yet so far.

“I will.. I.. I’ll miss you.”

His confession makes your heart ache.

“I already miss you.”

“Bye, Clair.”

“See you soon, J.”

TAGS: (I wasnt sure who to tag, so if you dont want to be, I’m sorry!! Just trying to get this out there. ALSO if you wanna be tagged INBOX ME! I tend to miss people in the tags :( ). @mindingmyownbusiness @plumfondler @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @loricameback @tinaferraldo @geminimoonbeamx @preserumsteverogers @moderapoppins @lowkeysebby @buckyshattergirl @jayattemptstoruletheworld @the-observant-fangirl @moondancewrites @moonbeambucky @trinityjadec @stevieang @bionic-buckyb @eyecandybarnes @propertyofpoeandbucky @promarvelfangirl @ballyhoobarnes @bucky-plums-barnes @cate-lynne @witchymarvelspacecase @imaginingbucky @theimpossibleg1rl @babygurl8840 @wonderlandmind4 @buckysthing @formulafun @curvybihufflepuff @fanficsformarvelkillme @shadyskit @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @reading–mermaid @fuckmestan @siliverin @verygraphicink @sallyp-53 @thatsbucknasty @steadyphantomcat @booktease21 @kiki5283 @lostinspace33 @drayshadow @theperditioncrasher @mmyepic @feelmyroarrrr@alien-beans @heartsaved @sideeffectsofyou @dreamingofonceuponatime @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @bluerorjhan @tarynsnotokay @jamdropx35 @turquoisekokiri @pinknerdpanda @starkrobb @marvelgirl7 @unscriptedtimetraveler @fangeekkk @wonderlandmind4 @pinkisokay @mrsdaamneron @rynabarnesrogers @wish-i-had-something-better @stanning-seb-stan @oilersgirl35 @vaisabu @paranoid-borderline-insane @bonkywobble @vikki-rogue @witchymegg @a--1--1--3 @margetastic33 @stuffandstuff-stuff @broken-hearted-barnes @elementec @thummbelina @booktease21

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #quarantine #online au #sebspocketsquare christmas #sometimes i write #bucky barnes fanfiction #series

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holdin-out-for-a-hero · 4 years

Text

Rookie- Leon Kennedy X Reader Ch.13 Part 3/3 Finale

Warnings: None

A/N: thank you all so much for your support! I’m gonna make a sappy post pretty soon thanking you all and my plans for the future

That little girl was stronger than anyone you knew, though clearly upset by the news, she maintained composure. Wearing the red leather jacket on her shoulders, she studied the note again and again. Ruminating was not something she should be doing, so you thought of a way to distract her.

"Let's get you some breakfast," you said to the girl, ushering her off the bed and out of the motel room. You walked across the street to the gas station once again, telling her to grab whatever she wanted. You knew bribery wouldn't cure her broken heart, but it didn't hurt to try. She came back to you with a bag of mini-donuts, so you paid for them and headed back to the motel room. Leon was waiting outside the door when you came back, immediately looking inside the bag Sherry had. Was he that hungry, too?

Sherry only ate a few of the donuts, instead she kept reading the letter. It hurt to watch her eyes cross the same page a hundred times, but there was nothing you could do about it. Leon reached for the bag, but stopped when you glared at him. There were still a few snacks left, but the donuts were Sherry's.

There was a knock at the door. You and Leon looked at each other in confusion as you didn't know who to expect. If it was the woman from the front desk, she would have busted in already, so you had no idea who could be out there. You stood up and looked out the peephole. Two men in suits, you knew this was not good.

"Who is it?" Leon whispered to you.

"Suits?" was all you could say. Leon instinctively put Sherry behind him.

You opened the door slowly, flashing a smile to the two men in front of the door.

"Can I help you?" You asked.

There was one older gentleman who carried himself as though he were James Bond. Beside him, a wimpy looking guy. Both men flashed badges in your face. FBI. You had been though enough with Ada to not believe just anybody who shoved a badge in your face.

"It's gonna take more than that for me to believe you," you said, dropping the nice act.

Unfortunately for you, they were the real deal. They seized all three of you and took you to an undisclosed location. Then, they separated you. It disgusted you that they would do that, separate a child from the only people she knows, but you knew better than be surprised by it.

You sat alone in the interrogation room, wringing your hands as you waited for someone, anyone to end your pain. This was a mind game, and you knew it. They had already taken your outlandish statement, and now you waited while they decided your fate. This whole encounter proved to you that the US Government was either investigating Umbrella or protecting Umbrella, you prayed it wasn't the ladder.

You wondered what Marvin would think of this, what he would do. Pulling out you wallet (that you were surprised they didn't take), you unfolded your favorite picture; the one taken on your first day. Your eyes met Marvin's. He had on his signature frown, but the corners of his eyes were crinkled. Your missed that man more than anything. In the back of your mind you hoped that maybe, just maybe, he was watching over you.

The door to the interrogation room opened. The older man from earlier entered with a file in his hand.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he smiled. You knew it was fake. "We have a proposition for you."

"What is it?" You asked, sounding more rude than you meant to. You couldn't help it, though. Not in this situation. The man chuckled a bit.

"The three of you know too much, that's for certain," he began, "but we know keeping the girl would be rather cruel. If you and-dangit-what's that boy's name?"

"Leon," you said through gritted teeth.

"You and Leon could be useful. Not many people could survive multiple encounters with biological weapons, let alone a viral outbreak. We think you two would be good agents."

"Good what?" You asked. Was he serious? Forcing you into a government organization?

"Agents, Ma'am. Or you could go into the witness protection program but we would keep the girl."

"You're sick!" You yelled at the man. He only laughed.

"Make your choice, though I believe I already know the answer."

You put your head in your hands. You couldn't believe it. What kind of sick, twisted person would do such a thing?

"I need an answer," he hummed.

"You know my answer."

"Good, it looks like you and the boy are on the same page."

There were a few seconds of silence before you spoke up again.

"Can I see them?" You asked.

"What makes you think I'll let you?" he laughed. You were sick of that laugh.

Then you had an idea.

"Counter-offer," you began, leaning back in your chair. This caught him off guard, and you couldn't help but smile. "Let me see them. Let me say goodbye to sherry, AND keep in touch with her. Also, don't separate me and Leon."

"What are you offering?" He asked, confused.

"A flash drive. One that I found in the umbrella lab, and put many official documents and emails on."

The man's eyes widened.

"But-but we searched you. You didn't have anything on you and there was nothing in the hotel room."

"I know where it is, though. Is it a deal or no?"

The man abruptly got up and left the room. You could hear a muffled conversation outside the door, and your grin grew even bigger. You knew that flash drive would come in handy, and you instinct to hide it was a Godsend.

He peaked back into the room, looking defeated.

"You've got a deal."

"Really? Now put it in writing."

The man cursed under his breath at your cockiness, before closing the door. After a few minutes, he came back with the newly printed contract, which you signed. Then, you demanded to see Leon and Sherry. The poor man couldn't catch a break, could he?

The door opened once again, and Sherry was led into your room. She looked as though she had been crying. Your pride disappeared as you brought the girl into a hug. You held on for what felt like forever, refusing to let go in the hopes that you could have more time with her.

You pulled away and looked back at the girl, tears brimming in your eyes again.

"We've got to talk, Sherry," you said to her. You knew this would be hard. "Me and Leon have to stay here, but don't worry, you can live a normal life now."

She looked at you, and you knew she didn't like that answer. But there was nothing you could do about it. It was for the best, for her best.

"We're gonna keep in contact, I promise. We're not abandoning you. I'll call you every night."

"You promise?" She said, here eyes red and ready too.

"Pinky promise. You can't break those," you said to her, lifting up a pinky and and curling it around hers.

Then Leon came in, immediately dropping to the floor to hug Sherry.

"I didn't think I would get to see you again," he said to the girl. He pulled away, holding onto her arms, "Now you be strong, everything's gonna be just fine. It might be weird for a while, but things are gonna turn out just fine."

He looked over to you, standing up and walking over to you as if he just noticed your presence. There was a look of amazement in his eye.

"I heard you made a deal," he said, "I'm curious, what deal did you make?"

"Remember that flash drive? The one I got from the lab?"

Leon's eyes widened. "You gave them that?"

"I didn't give it to them. I hid it, told them where it was. Wanna know where I hid it?" You were grinning at the last part, he was sure to get a kick out of it.

"Where?"

"In the lost and found box," you grinned.

"Eww," Leon laughed. "Thats really clever though. Make 'em dig through all that nasty stuff"

There was a pause in the conversation, you leaned against the table in front of you, just like Leon.

"Did they tell you all the conditions I had?"

"They said me and you could say goodbye to Sherry,"

"Seemed like they missed a few," you said, his eyes widened, "We get to stay in contact with Sherry, too, and they can't separate us. So you're stuck with me, Leon. I hope you don't mind."

You were surprised when Leon grabbed your face and kissed you, though you didn't mind. If anything, you rather enjoyed the way he showed his appreciation.

"Um, I'm still in here," Sherry said, and you and Leon parted quickly.

Pretty soon, they came back to take Sherry, and you and Leon had your tears, heartfelt goodbyes. You made sure to slip Claire's email address to her, as you had already memorized it. That left just you and him in the interrogation room now as you waited for whatever would happen next. In the meantime, though, you and him were talking about everything: The past, the future, hopes, dreams, fears, nothing was kept under wraps. You were so thankful that you and him just clicked, it was so easy to get along with him, to feel comfortable around him. The easiest though, was falling in love with him.

"I never thought my first day as a cop would wound end like this. I mean, look at us! We're working for the government now." He said, "We're about to be rookie agents."

Your eyes widened and breath hitched. No. No. Not again. You couldn't even believe it.

You were gonna be a rookie again.

"Are you kidding me!"

But maybe, just maybe, since you wouldn't be the only rookie this time, it wouldn't be so bad.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #re3make #resident evil 2 #resident evil

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years

Text

Saorsa, Chapter 20

A/N Here is the next installment of Saorsa. It’s Hogmanay! Time for everybody to get dressed up and make life-altering decisions! Also, this chapter contains my very favourite re-purposing of a line from the original series. Guess which one?

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging! It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.

It was strangely intimate, sharing Lallybroch with Claire over the holidays when most everyone else was away. He found himself deviating between an easy casualness that reminded him of his parents, and a stiff formality that reminded him of his place as a guest in the house of a widowed Englishwoman.

The modern wonder that was the icebox meant that Cook did not have to prepare food for them each day. Mrs. Fitz was visiting her niece in Elgin, leaving only Murtagh to frown at him as he mucked the stalls and shouldered bales of hay down from the grange like a stable boy, and then washed up and sat down to supper as though he was laird of the manor.

He was profoundly confused.

All his short life he’d never hesitated, never faltered. If there was a decision to be made, he made it, and lived with the consequences. If there was a step to be taken, he forged ahead, eyes wide open.

Now he wavered, uncertain, two equally obscured paths laying before him.

He sensed Claire observing him as they ate leftover turkey with chestnut stuffing, warmed up in the huge AGA cooker that dominated the kitchen. It reminded him of Mrs. Crook’s cooking from when he was a boy.

“What was Christma…, sorry, Yuletide, like when you were young?” He squinted at her, wondering if she knew some sorcery that allowed her to see directly into his thoughts. He dearly hoped not.

“Nae sae verra different, really. We ne’er exchanged gifts – that was for Hogmanay – but Jenny an’ I loved tae stay up late, go tae mass and light our nativity candles. There’d be some huge beast roasting on a spit fer days, an’ the whole house fair reeked of it, sae ye were always hungry. E’ry day, some new guest or family would arrive, ‘til on the eve of Hogmanay the castle was burstin’ with folk, all talkin’ an’ drinkin’ an’ laughin’.”

“That sounds wonderful. I hope Lallybroch can be like that again, someday,” she said wistfully.

“It will be, Sassenach. I ken it.”

Murtagh had loaned him a necktie, and it was slowly choking him. There was a light knock on his bedchamber door, and he yanked miserably at the stiff collar as he went to answer it. Claire stood on the other side, looking positively radiant in her burgundy dress. He felt his cheeks flushing and hoped he could blame the cravat.

“Oh no,” she giggled as she took in his costume. “That simply will not do.”

He considered feigning insult, but her voice was too musical, her eyes too merry as she laughed at his outfit.

“Twas your idea tae dress up fer Hogmanay! An’ now ye’re laughing at me, lass?”

She merely smiled more broadly, and held out a bulky, paper-wrapped package that he’d somehow missed in his earlier perusal of her pretty frock and berry-ripe lips.

“Your Hogmanay gift, Mister Fraser,” she pronounced cheekily, and he wondered if she’d already sampled the rum punch Cook had laid out on the table downstairs.

“Sassenach, I…”

“Don’t. Please. This is yours. If you won’t accept it as a gift, consider it reparation for a past mistake.”

And with that she turned and left his doorway. He set the package, which was surprising light considering its size, on his bed and proceeded to open it, hands shaking slightly.

Inside he found a Fraser plaid.

Dashing the onrush of moisture from his eyes, he quickly shed his borrowed suit and wrapped the plaid with practiced ease around his hips and over his shoulder, securing it with his belt and sporran.

He was about to rush down the stairs to thank Claire when he realized he had nothing to give her in return. His eyes cast about his room, but everything there already belonged to her. He had no money, and it was too late to buy a gift in any event. He hooked his thumbs beneath his belt, a grimace of concentration on his face. Then he smiled and walked towards the door.

The great hall was filled with chatter and music, merriment and cheer. Claire had invited anyone even remotely associated with Lallybroch to celebrate Hogmanay, and they all seemed to have accepted.

The lady of the estate walked about the room, chatting easily with her guests, offering more refreshments, and generally playing the cordial hostess. He stood near a stone pillar watching her, scowling as a drunken shopkeeper grabbed her by the waist and spun her for a reel across the gleaming flagstones. Jamie took a step into the room when she lay a hand across her still-flat belly, ready to intervene, but she was merely catching her breath.

Flushed and thirsty, she took refuge in his quiet corner.

“Don’t you like dancing, Jamie?” she asked as she sipped her punch.

“Aye, but as an onlooker. Wi’ these feet, t’would be a cruelty tae step on y’…, um, a lass.”

“Pity, since you’re dressed the part.”

“Sassenach, thank ye. Truly. I ne’er meant for ye to feel responsible fer burning my plaid, ye ken? Twas just the last in a series of blows.”

“Think nothing of it. I’m just happy it got here in time. When it hadn’t arrived by Christmas, I was panicked.”

“Where’er did ye find it?”

“Oh, just a little shop in Inverness that Murtagh knows. I rang them on the telephone back in November.”

Jamie shook his head in wonder. She’d bought this plaid to replace the one he’d ruined coming through the stones, even before he’d told her his strange tale. Before they exchanged family histories and truly gotten to know one another. Before she started to look at him the way she was looking just now.

“I have something for ye as weel, Sassenach,” he said, taking a fortifying gulp of whisky and then placing the glass on a nearby ledge. He opened his sporran and withdrew the object he knew Claire should have, just as the plaid he wore belonged to him.

“Jamie, I… that’s… I mean… what is it?” she stuttered, her usual eloquence failing her in the sudden heat of his gaze.

“Tis my key. To Lallybroch. It belongs to ye, Claire.”

She held the heavy iron balanced across both palms as though accepting a sacred relic. When it became apparent she would not be speaking, he added, “Yer the rightful Lady of Lallybroch, Sassenach. Ye’ll do right by its people. Teach the bairn tae do the same.”

Her face turned pale, her taffy eyes huge. She grabbed for his hand, the key fumbling between them.

“I can’t. Jamie, I can’t. I can’t accept this. Lallybroch is as much yours as mine.” Then, so quiet he had to lean down to hear her over the music, “Please, don’t make me do this alone.”

His heart was riven in two inside his chest, a tearing sensation that felt like birth and death combined. How could he deny what he’d already promised her? A clear path forward emerged from the fog, and he took his first, fateful step.

“There is a way, Sassenach…”

#my writing #outlander

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softguks · 5 years

Text

orange autumn skies

+ anon requested: hi i love your writing! please write an imagine where the reader knows that it is PR, so Shawn asks her out on a date, but she hesitates so he promises to keep it private and she says like no “helicopter rides or exclusive parties” and they end up eating burgers in his hotel room? sorry if it’s too specific! 💕

shawn is a naturally quiet and attentive person. he hides his emotions and thoughts, seeking comfort in personal moments of privacy, bits of personal space that he can cherish, delicious moments of solitude where serenity and peace wash over him as he enjoys being him. they’re rare, delicate moments left untouched and just out of reach of his fingertips, so he fidgets with the cord of his charger, the zipper of his jacket, the bracelet hanging loosely on his arm, the ring tucked into his slender finger. anything and everything to keep him occupied, take his mind away from her.

she studies him carefully. she notes the dark bags that hang under his sunken eyes, his cheeks that are a tad too drained of color. his cloudy, blank eyes and his digits that always fidget, always move, just like hers do. his large hoodie engulfs her figure in warm cotton, smelling just like him and she finds herself clinging onto his scent like a safety blanket. she wonders if they could ever be more.

he tugs at his curls for the umpteenth time, willing the tears to go away, and squeezing his eyes shut, to prevent the pools of tears to leak from the corners of his eyes. his chest burns with a deep kind of pain, something torturous that torments his soul, pouring out of him in bitter words and harsh glares. it hurts, and he hates that he’s losing himself in the midst of what’s supposed to be the best time of his life.

“shawn? hello? shawnie?”

she paces at the door, eyebrows scrunched in worry, and her heart almost literally breaks when she pushes the door open with a gentle swing. shawn lays crumpled on the floor, body heaving with the sobs that wrack through him, lifeless and painful cries eliciting from his mouth with every shaky breath he tries to muster. his eyes are red and puffy, knees tucked into his chest as he whimpers out softly. she collapses next to him, holding him in her arms and watching as he steadily melts into her, clutching onto her as his chest steadies and his eyes dry.

“i’m sorry.”

“why are you apologizing, bub? this is natural, and it’s okay for you to feel upset. but please don’t bottle it up, you can come to me. please don’t feel like you’re a burden, i-“

she catches herself, pressing her lips firmly together to prevent the three words of declaration escaping her mouth.

“i’m here for you. you’re so strong, and you’re doing amazing, being the best rockstar you can be.”

he nods, blinking as he wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face into the crook of her neck. they stay like that for awhile, her rocking him gently as they soak in each other’s embrace, unsure of what to say or do. the words are silenced, coming out in breathless parts of air, laid out before them in pieces meant to be fixed. she wants so much to tell him, and he wants so much to tell her, but they don’t say it. i love you.

—

the orange October skies of autumn stretch along the skyline of toronto, fallen leaves scattered along the streets that smell like crisp apple strudels and cinnamon. she sighs softly, fingers snaked around a warm cup of cocoa that tastes sweet and creamy, muddling her senses in the most satisfying and delicious way.

“hey shawn? can i talk to you for a sec?”

camila sends her a thumbs up and a genuine smile, giving y/n a gentle pat on the back before shoving shawn forward and hurrying off into the next room.

“yeah? what’s up?”

she looks up at him, swallowing the lump in her throat and taking a shaky breath before spitting out her words in a hurry.

“iknowyourrelationshipwithCamilaisPR.”

“again, love, but slower please.”

her cheeks are red, eyes bright and breaths nervous and he finds himself falling for her all over again. they are fingertips apart, yet at the same time, separated by a million miles.

“i know your relationship with camila, is PR.”

his eyes are wide, jaw slack as his heart pounds steadily, unbelieving of her words.

“oh. is it obvious?”

“no...?”

“you can tell me the truth, angel.”

“a little bit.”, she giggles, smiling up at him as he leans in, hazel eyes glittering softly with tender care for the girl he’s madly infatuated with, mere inches away from him.

“will you be mine then?”

her breath hitches, and she freezes. everything she’s dreamed of is happening right in front of her, and yet she can’t bring herself to say yes.

“i-um.”

“we can take things slow. and, stay private if you’d like. unless you don’t want to of course!”, he adds the last part quickly as he waits with bated breath, and she laughs a little at his sudden nervousness.

“i’d love to, shawn.”

his grin is wide, stretching across his face, happiness so contagious that when he picks her up to spin her around, she’s laughing gleefully, hair tangled, lips rosy, and cheeks stained in utter, complete joy.

—

his place is sparsely decorated with pumpkins, lights, and pretty lanterns, leaf embroidered tablecloth placed neatly upon the dining table as she prepares their dinner, grabbing the takeout from the boxes and placing them on pretty plates.

she hums softly as they sit cross-legged on his couch, thighs pressed together and hands resting on each other’s as their eyes surf along the screen. she takes a large bite of her burger, moaning out at how delicious it tastes, and watches as he chuckles softly. he looks especially soft and cuddly, a pair of sweatpants swinging lazily along his hips paired with a simple white tee. his curls spill out along the sides of his face, and when he tilts her face up to face his, he notes the teeny bit of sauce on the corner of her mouth, before leaning in to kiss it, her mouth instantly melting against his as he suckles softly on her bottom lip.

“had a bit of sauce here, love.”

she’s still dazed, eyes wide as she smiles like a teenager drunk on love. her fingers curl around his, and she presses her cheek into his shoulder as he traces hearts ( or what he calls hearts ) on the back of her hand.

“i love you, rockstar.”

“i love you too, angel.”

this is for @fourtristattoos halloween writing festival, and it’s my first one, so yay!

please reblog and leave some feedback if you liked it! i’m sorry, it’s a little shitty but i wanted to post it anyway.

permanent taglist: @sunrise-shawn @curlsofshawn @tell-me-when-ur-ready @particularnervous @artemissravenclaw @heyits-claire @shawnieeboyy @turtoix @leiamutuals @waiting-to-be-myself @michellemxndes @shawnmednes @imaginashawnns @tomhollandismyspiderman @goldenmndes @ly--canthrope (lmk if you want to be added/removed)

#softguks #spookytattoosfestival #shawn mendes fluff #shawn fluff #shawn imagine #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn fic #shawn mendes angst #shawn angst

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hazelandglasz · 4 years

Text

Buns Buns Buns - Klaine AU

Inspired by this post

On AO3

At first, it felt like a good idea. After all, Blaine and Santana had met during their apprenticeships at Maison Kayser, and they had immediately felt a connection.

A connection based on good-hearted (most of the time) teasing, sure, but also on queer kinship and boundless support.

On the night after their graduation, the pair got completely hammered on Cranberry Vodka.

Blaine laid down on the couch while Santana sat on the floor by his head.

“I loved working--meep--working with you,” Blaine hiccuped, tipping the bottle toward her. “You com-complete me.”

“Same,” Santana bawled out. “You’re the only one I’ve been partnered with who didn’t try to sex me up and who understands what I need without me saying iiiiiiiit!”

Blaine tentatively patted her head before sitting up like a Jack-in-The-Box. “I got it!”

“Got what? Chlamydia? I told you that Roger wasn’t worth it.”

“Wha--No! Not Chlamydia. And nothing happened with Roger.”

“Not for lack of trying, Mini Twix.”

Blaine rolled his eyes at her. “Can you shush one second so I can tell you my amazing idea?”

Santana swigged the bottle to get another mouthful of vodka. “Go ahead.”

“We should open our own bakery.”

Santana almost choked on the vodka but she was a pro and swallowed without sputtering it everywhere. “Have you gone mad? Has the yeast turned your brain to mush? We cannot open a bakery!”

“Why not? We have an excellent resume, with our apprenticeship and Mr Kayser’s recommendation letter. We are young, sure, but motivated. The apprenticeship paid off our student loans, so we could potentially get a loan to rent a place.”

As he talked, Blaine got on his knees while Santana sat on the coffee table.

She scratched her hair and hummed.

Which, in Santanese, meant that she was at least considering it.

Which, in Blainese, meant that she was on board.

Which, a month later, lead to the opening of “Buns Buns Buns” in the heart of Brooklyn, serving brioches, empanadas, and mookies.

Which, really, felt like a good idea--except when Santana gets an idea.

Particularly when said-idea is to combine two of her favorite hobbies: make fun of Blaine and try to find him a date.

The thing is, Blaine doesn’t exactly mind the teasing. After all, he’s more than able to reply to any of them, and as previously stated, it’s one of the bases of their relationship. Anyone who knows Santana Lopez knows that teasing is her way of showing her love.

But the constant nagging about his singledom hits a little bit closer to home, is more painful too.

Blaine hasn’t chosen to be single, okay. He believes in love and romance, he knows that somewhere, there is someone for him, waiting for him, someone who will love him for everything Blaine has to offer.

He is young, though, and he knows he has time to find the proverbial Mr. Right.

And the subject would be a lot easier to set aside if Santana wasn’t constantly singing under her breath whenever they pass each other songs about being alone forever.

Her 21st cover of “Lonely” makes him explode in the kitchen and slam the door to walk his anger away.

(She managed to find some helium to sing it in the highest pitch ever heard by a human ear.)

When he came back, Santana had the decency to be apologetic, telling him that he should take a week off work to chill, have fun, just … be, for a little while.

“And what Buns Buns Buns?”

“Oh, I can manage. It’s a slow week anyway, a lot of people are leaving the city anyway. I’ll just experiment a bit.”

“No x-rated experiment, Santana.”

“I still think we should have Muff Muffins for a Ladies Night type of promotion--”

“No. And no ‘dick-clairs’ either.”

“I didn’t think about it, but that is an excellent name.”

“No.”

“But--”

“Santana, please, no. Promise me.”

Santana rolls her eyes but agrees to promise not to do anything that could shock the kids from the school next door.

“I can do some redecorating, though. We should remove the December decorations anyway.”

“Hm, okay. Nothing extravagant, okay, we need to get ready for Easter.”

“Yessir.”

Blaine smiles at her. “All right. I do need a break.”

“And when you come back, I will take a couple of days off,” she adds, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

That was so sweet.

Blaine should have seen it coming.

Because now, he’s back, a notebook full of ideas and concepts of baked goods they could add to their menu, a spring in his step, and he nearly faints at the sight of his beloved window.

Which has been defaced, somehow, in his absence.

Well, defaced. That may be an over-exaggeration. The drawing is good, he can admit that, and it looks like a sticker so it won’t be permanent or anything.

But still.

Not exactly the aesthetic he envisioned for their shop.

He’s going to kill Santana whenever she comes back from her couple of days off--no, you know what, he’s going to go to her place tonight and kill her then.

Except, she may be spending her days off with Brittany, or Dany, or both, and does he really want to inflict this on his sight? On his brain?

Nah, it can wait. But she’s going to suffer, oh, she’s going to suffer.

Now, quick side-note about Blaine: when left alone, he has a tendency to … fill the silence.

Most of the time, by singing or humming to himself, but right this instant in time, he is talking to himself.

Counting the ways he will have his vengeance while baking and preparing new batches for the menu while considering when there will be a lull in the clients’ visits to experiment on his Easter cakes.

He’s so deep in his thoughts while putting the last batch of cookies in the lower oven, he doesn’t even hear the bell over the door ringing.

“Oh, um. Hello?”

Blaine straightens up quickly, dusting his hands over his apron and already all smiles as he turns to face the new client.

Oh boy.

“Hi?”

The man standing in the store’s entrance (with Santana’s ridiculous drawing creating a shadow over his tan jacket) is, truth be told, without a doubt the most beautiful man Blaine has ever seen.

“I work at the school around the corner, and I just started,” the man says, clutching the strap of his messenger bag, “and I, um, I kinda wanted something sweet to end this day.”

“Sure,” Blaine replies, walking to the window case. “Cakes are the answer for pretty much any trouble, in my opinion.”

Cute Client Looking for Consolation Cake smiles at Blaine, cocking his head to the side. “I like that. What do you recommend?”

Blaine happily goes over the different options, until CCLCC settles on a box of Cheesecake cookies.

“I hope this will improve your day,” he tells him after ringing his order.

“Oh, your shop has already greatly improved it,” CCLCC replies, his eyes darting to the sign. “And for what it’s worth, I personally think it doesn’t do you any justice.”

Blaine frowns. Glances at the sign. Glances back at CCLCC. Puts two and two together.

And turns a bright shade of red.

“Oh.”

CCLCC’s face matches the strawberry and basilic pies.

“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry.”

“No, no it’s--”

“No, it was crass, and we don’t even--”

“I promise, I mean, I get easily embarrassed--”

“--know each other, oh my God, everything looks delicious but I’ll never be able to come--”

“--but I am flattered.”

That seems to put a cork on CCLCC’s embarrassment. “... Oh.”

They smile at each other like a pair of … well, like a pair of shy twenty-something years olds who have a crush and are embarrassed about being too obvious.

“Madre de Dios.”

Blaine nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden appearance of Santana’s voice in the shop.

“San’!” he exclaims, and even to his ears, it comes out far too loud. “What--what are you doing here?”

“I came to ask you what you thought of my artistry,” Santana says, expertly flicking her hair over her shoulders as she steps out of the shadows, “and here I am, in the most awkward episode of Gay Bachelors in Bushwick.”

“Santana.”

“I don’t think I know you, though. Santana Lopez, co-owner of this magical place. And you are?”

“Kurt Hummel,” CCLCC replies and Blaine feels better about having a proper name to call his customer. “Choir teacher at the block’s school.”

“How nice.”

“It is a school focusing on the arts, after all, and--”

“I said nice, not interesting. What do you think of our new décor?”

Kurt blushes again. “Well, like I told, um, the gentleman--”

“Blaine. It’s only fair you know his name, since you’ll be screaming--”

“Santana, no.”

“Spoilsport. Anyway, neighbor, you were saying?”

“Like I told Blaine, I think it is a bit unfair to him.”

“Oh?”

Kurt’s flush intensifies. “Oh.”

“You won’t say more than that?” Santana approaches the window. “I thought I captured the bubbliness of his hmph!”

Blaine grabs a discarded brioche from the basket and sliding under the counter, pushes it in Santana’s mouth. “If you shut up I won’t kill you for putting that monstrosity on our window,” he whispers angrily, before turning to Kurt, pushing Santana behind him. “I’m sorry about that, Kurt. I hope we will see you again. Have a nice day!”

Kurt looks at them, his mouth stretched into a disbelieving smile before nodding. “Thank you. You too … Blaine.”

The moment the door is closed, Blaine sighs in relief. Santana is happily nibbling on the brioche. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Blaine looks up at the ceiling, waiting for some deity to come to his help. “What on Earth for?”

“I know you, Anderson,” Santana points the remaining of the brioche in his face, “you’d have waited months and months before even attempting a proper conversation with Sweet Lips over there. Now, at least, you know he likes what you have to offer.”

Blaine drops his head to his chest. “I think I would have preferred to come back to sexual cakes.”

“Easily corrected.”

“Santana, no.”

“You’re not really angry, though.”

“Angry, grumph. Embarrassed and on the verge of ashamed? For sure.”

“Aw.” Santana wraps her arms around Blaine, her chest to his back. “I didn’t want you to be ashamed.”

“Embarrassed, though?”

“Oh, for sure.”

Blaine lets her hug him for a couple more minutes before stepping away, arms crossed over his chest. “This,” he says, pointing at his cartoony double, “has to go.”

“Oh, another couple of days!”

“Begone.”

“Pleaaaase?”

“No. You take it off.”

“But I’m on holiday!”

“Santana. Take. It. Off.”

Santana sighs. “You should be careful, Blainey,” she tells him as she walks out of the shop, “some people could misinterpret your words.”

“I really doubt that. Remove that obscenity from our window!”

“When I come baaa-aaack. Byyyeee!”

“Santan--oh, fuck it.”

Kurt expected a lot of things from his new job.

For it to be challenging, for the neighborhood to be surprising, for New York to be everything he hoped for and more.

So far, his expectations have been met: the students are challenging to say the least, the neighborhood of Bushwick is nothing he expected, and New York is a dream and a nightmare all rolled into one.

But of all the things he has to get used to, Blaine the Baker hasn’t left his mind for the past couple of days.

Sure, the window sticker made him laugh, at first, but when he saw Blaine’s butt as the baker was busy with the oven, his heart stopped before starting back at twice the speed.

And then he saw his face, and his heart made a valiant attempt to jump out of his chest to land on Blaine.

The fact that the cheesecake cookies were absolutely to die for doesn’t help in chasing the baker from his daydreams.

“Mr. Hummel.”

Why, yes, they could hyphenate their names, or Blaine could be Mr. Hummel.

“Mr. Hummel? Sir?”

Oh, Blaine would feed him pieces of brioche in bed before kissing him tenderly, that would be so romantic and delicious …

“Mr. Hummel!”

“Hm? Yes? Wha?”

His students snicker, and it’s 100% deserved. “What song do you want us to perform for the Open House Day?”

Oh the Open House Day. Perfect! The whole neighborhood is invited.

So, Blaine will come.

So, Kurt can be at his best and win him over.

“Open House. Right! I know just the song.”

Santana and Blaine arrive at the school carrying baskets of goodies, and Santana can’t help but tease her friend all the way from the bakery.

“Remember, Blaine, this is a school. No hanky panky with your hot teacher.”

“Santana, may I remind you that I’m not you.”

“Shame. Your life would be funnier.”

Blaine laughs at that. “That much is true.”

The headmistress welcomes them in, smiling at the mini chocolate buns. “All the parents are talking about your shop,” she tells them as she guides them to the seats. “I must confess, I am a big fan of your concoctions too,” she adds, smiling like a naughty schoolgirl.

When she walks away to welcome more visitors, Blaine and Santana smother their laughter.

“I feel like a rockstar,” Blaine whispers to Santana when they spot people pointing at them and murmuring.

“That’s because we are,” Santana replies, flipping her hair around her.

Everybody sits in the gymnasium and the headmistress taps on the microphone.

“And now, before we guide you in groups through the complex, please welcome our choir, guided by our very own Kurt Hummel.”

Blaine doesn’t even try to contain his smile at the sight of Kurt. He looks particularly handsome, dressed in black as he bows to the applause coming from the room.

The choir launches into a medley of Beatles and Rolling Stones songs, immediately winning over the crowd of parents and teachers.

The kids may be very good, but Blaine only has eyes for Kurt, who is playing the piano to accompany the songs, and often singing along with them. Kurt is passionate, he smiles at all his young students, even the ones awfully off-key.

He’s mesmerizing.

Blaine had a medium-sized crush on Kurt, but to see him like this, it’s …

Blaine has no words.

It’s like all of his life, all of his decisions, everything lead to this moment in order to make sense.

“Oh, wow.”

“Earth to Blaine?”

Santana looks down at him, standing up from her seat like everyone else--when did that happened?--and she is smiling like the cat that got the cream. “Ah, now, you’re back with all of us. Care to walk around the school now, or do you need to be left alone a moment?”

“No,” Blaine replies grumpily, following her.

“Oh, Blaine, look who our guide is,” Santana singsongs.

Of fucking course.

“Oh, hi, Blaine,” Kurt welcomes him. “Did you enjoy the songs?”

“Immensely. The kids were great, thanks to you.”

Kurt’s cheeks turn pink and he has a pleased smile on his face. “Thank you.”

Blaine doesn’t pay attention to a lot of things during the tour, besides Kurt and his voice and his everything.

(Okay, he may be a gentleman, but Blaine is honest enough to admit that he lets his eyes drag down Kurt’s back and focus on his ass. It’s a nice ass. Given the way they met, it’s only fair.

Shut up.)

Santana stays with a group of parents who are apparently asking about “Buns Buns Buns” capacity to prepare a birthday spread, which leaves Blaine to stand close to Kurt.

“Aren’t you going to help her?”

“Oh, no. She is very good at selling our stuff.”

Kurt shakes his head. “Your friendship is an odd one.”

Blaine smiles. “She’s a good cookie.”

“If you say so.”

“Oh, you’d know so too, if you could get to know her.”

“I’d rather get to know you.”

That sentence was said softly, barely above a whisper, just for the two of them.

Blaine looks back at Kurt and smiles. “I’d really, really love that.”

“Good.”

“You know where to find me.”

“That I do. I have tomorrow afternoon free …?”

“That’s a date.”

Kurt beams at him. “That’s a date.”

As he walks back to Santana, Blaine almost feels like he’s walking on a cloud or on a meringue.

Almost.

Because Santana is never going to let go of the fact that she managed to bring them together.

(She never lets go of it. Blaine and Kurt’s grandchildren hear the story of how her artistic talent brought them together. Kurt doesn’t tell them, but really, it was their grandfather’s buns who won him over.)

#sometimes i write #kline au #baker!blaine #baker!santana #teacher!kurt #fluff #slightly cracky i'm afraid #food porn too

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so-langdon · 5 years

Text

Cracks - Duncan Shepherd x Fem! Reader

Summary: After finding out the news of being adopted, Duncan goes to Y/N for comfort.

Warnings: Third person POV, fluff, angst, sad! Duncan, some swearing

A/N: I’ve never been interested in watching House of Cards, but I just watched season six, purely for Duncan, and even then I skimmed through and only watched the Duncan scenes loll. So if anything seems off from the actual story, pls forgive

Also will post the next chapter of Innocence Meets Corruption sometime next week hopefully!! :))

“You know, she told me to ask you something,” Duncan spoke towards his mother. “She told me to ask you where I came from,” he adds, an expression of hesitation and potential betrayal registering on his face.

The look on Annette’s face was all it took for Duncan to realize the reality. The confirmation of what Claire's questions meant when telling Duncan to ask Annette of where he came from; asking him of the first memory he had of his mother.

He knew now. Especially as Annette stalked back down the hall into the other room, demanding Seth to put out the headline of Claire's abortion of sixteen weeks, completely ignoring Duncan’s questioning.

Duncan was as put together as he looked. He was confident, composed and self-assured. He was handsome, intelligent, smooth and charismatic. He knew how to do his job and he knew how to do it well. He knew all of this about himself. He might come off as arrogant to some, but he was just self-aware, humbly enlightened of his wealth, power and position.

But one seemingly little mistake, and it was desolation for him and his so called family.

Just before questioning Annette of where he came from, his “uncle” Bill was throwing a tantrum of sorts. Duncan was being insulted, not just of his intelligence and choices, but whole being it seemed. It wasn’t like Duncan to get caught up in the emotions. But he couldn’t help that his uncle’s prior words of saying, “This towel is smarter than you,” “Seth is smarter than you,” “The sweat on my brow is smarter than you, Duncan,” seemed to hurt him in a way that normally wouldn’t have.

And now to add to that was his family was not even his actual family. Not really, not anymore, it seemed.

It was taking a difficult toll on him. His “uncle’s” words, plus finding out this family secret within such a short about of time was upsetting him more than he liked to admit. He wasn’t sure how to handle or react to any of it.

The only thing that came to mind regarding all this was he wanted to talk to a friend of his. Sort of a friend. The only person he could think of wanting to confide to that could be of any help or comfort was Y/N.

He’d met her a few years ago when out with a mutual group of friends for the evening. The friend group had planned on going out for a good time, wanting to get some drinks, relax and have fun. Y/N shared the same friends Duncan had, though the two had never personally met before until then.

Once out that night with their group of mutual friends and meeting each other, they hadn’t exactly clicked as everyone might have hoped. Duncan and Y/N were sarcastic and feisty towards each other, firing comebacks constantly back and forth, seeming to argue on everything: Which restaurant to attend, which bars to hop, what round of shots to order.

Their bickering was endless, but it somehow worked. Their constant back and forth was amusing, obvious teasing, though you’d never catch them sitting side by side or having just a friendly chat. Not when there was always something for them to argue about. You could say they were “frenemies,” having a love/hate relationship.

Nonetheless, no matter the amount they argued, there were times they could be civil and tolerate each other. Duncan also knew how kind and compassionate Y/N was. And this is what made him want to reach out to her in this distressing time of his life.

Taking a drive over to Y/N’s apartment once Duncan left the presence of his “mother” and “uncle”, he realized an impatience growing in him. He hurried, wanting to arrive to her doorstep as soon as he could, wanting to speak with her quickly. He felt himself deteriorating mentally over all that had happened to him within the last few hours and felt Y/N was his only outlet.

Duncan found himself knocking on her door quite frantically as he arrived, recognizing he needed to try and contain his composure before being greeted by the girl. He didn’t need to hear any teasing or bickering about his desperate knocking. Any teasing for that matter was the last thing he needed at this moment. But it was a risk he was willing for to see Y/N.

Duncan held his breath when hearing the locks of the door being unlocked. Whatever breath he held escaped his body when she answered the door. Though she narrowed her eyes at his presence, obviously confused, he couldn’t help but find her so gorgeous where she stood. Wearing a black over-sized band tee and black leggings, she looked adorably comfy and alluring all at once. It wasn’t unusual that he found himself drawn and attracted to her, but he always had to keep himself contained considering the type of relationship they had.

“Duncan Shepherd,” she spoke, almost sarcastically. “To what do I owe this,” she looked him up and down. “Pleasure?”

It’s caught her off guard with seeing Duncan, standing with his obvious fit and tall frame, broad shoulders, and brunette hair pushed back in a way that always had her trying not to stare for too long. She usually liked a clean shaven face, but the stubble on Duncan’s face always had her stomach flipping, and she dreaded the day he would shave it off, if ever. The way he carried himself, with such a dominant confidence, she often found herself trying not to blush over his handsome looks. Not to mention his gorgeous blue piercing eyes that always took her breath away.

“Thought we could have a bit of a chat,” Duncan spoke collectedly. “A chat, really,” she starts, not believing him. He stared back at her casually. “I know you better than that,” she crosses her arms. “I know there has to be some ulterior motive.” Duncan shakes his head nonchalantly. “What is it? Need extra people to attend some charity ball your family is holding? Or need more support for a Shepherd’s Foundation project? Because if so, I’m not interes--” “No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Duncan waves off. “I, I know this is.. out of the ordinary, but I thought we could.. hang out?” Duncan says laid-back. Y/N narrows her eyes. “Hang out,” she repeats confused. Duncan nodded. “Uh.. Are you sure there isn’t some other reason?” “Why? Is it so hard to believe I’d want to hang out with you?” Duncan asks questioningly. She laughs a bit, “You’re kidding, right? You know how we are with each other.” Duncan doesn’t say anything. “Uhm,” she looks behind her as if she were to be looking at someone. “Am I interrupting anything,” Duncan asks, pushing sudden disappointment and even slight jealousy down his throat. Looking back at Duncan, she shakes her head. “No, no. I was just, um,” she pauses. She sighs. “Okay. Don’t laugh, but.. I was watching Twilight,” she drops her arms. “Twilight,” Duncan actually laughs genuinely. “It’s my guilty pleasure, alright,” she defends. “I always liked the movies when I was younger. Everyone hated on it to just be ‘cool,’ and I don’t know, the story isn’t that bad.” Duncan raises his eyes like he’s calling bullshit. “Shut up,” she glares. “I said don’t judge me.” “I would never,” Duncan says teasingly. “Whatever,” she waves him off. “You want to come in then, or not?” She stands back, gesturing inside for him. Duncan gladly steps in, Y/N closing the door behind as he enters. “I’ll turn the movie off now, for your sake. But I hope you realize you’re cutting into my ‘me time.’ So you owe me,” she points, walking off into her living room and turning the movie off. “I’m so flattered,” Duncan retorts sarcastically as he follows her. “You should be. Of all the people to show to my doorstep, and it’s you,” she adds, shaking her head as she walks again towards her kitchen. “Oh come on, Y/N. You know you like me,” Duncan teases as he continues to follow her. Y/N walks around to the far side of her kitchen, rolling her eyes. “You are my least favorite human on the planet, Duncan.” “Then why are you allowing me into your home and letting me disturb your beloved Twilight time?” He asks as he stands at the door frame of the room. “Because I’m a nice fucking person, Shepherd,” she fires back.

Duncan grins, their banter and disputing always border-lining playfulness, therefore he knows that if he annoys her profusely, she still doesn’t hate him, even if she says she does.

“Anything you’d like to drink,” Y/N asks, reaching for her cabinets and opening them to grab some glasses. “Whatever you’re having,” Duncan says as he steps further into the kitchen and pulls a chair out at the counter bar in the middle of the room. “How about a shot of Whiskey,” Y/N offers as she places the glasses on the counter in front of him. “I’ll definitely have a glass,” Duncan explains, sighing out discreetly.

Biting her tongue, she can see that there’s something bothering Duncan. She heard it in his tone. She curiously wonders to herself what it could be, wondering if that’s why he’s actually come over to see her, maybe to talk to her about it. It would make more sense somehow compared to Duncan just wanting to “hang out” so suddenly.

Pouring Duncan a shot of whiskey and sliding the glass over to him, he gladly takes the cup, downing the drink in one swallow. She pours herself a glass too, and takes a seat beside Duncan at the counter where he sits. She refills Duncan’s glass again but tells him to slow down with a soft laugh.

“So what’s bugging you,” she asks, holding the glass in her hand but not drinking as she looks over at him beside her. Looking at her with a narrowed expression, he shakes his head a bit. “Bugging me? Nothing’s bugging me,” he lies. “Oh please,” she rolls her eyes. “Yes there is. I can read it on your face.” Duncan looks over at her with an impassive expression. “Don’t try and hide it now. I know something is bothering you,” she points out.

Duncan came over here in the first place wanting to confide and vent to Y/N, knowing she’s a good listener and nonjudgmental. But as he sits with her now in her kitchen, he can’t bring himself to utter the words he wants to. So he pushes it all down, trying to drown out the day’s events instead.

“Nope,” Duncan says as he downs the second shot of whiskey, letting out a deep sigh afterwards. “Just, coming to hang out.” “Seriously,” Y/N mutters, not believing him. “Yep.” Y/N sighs, “Alright. Whatever you say, Duncan. Cheers then,” she raises her glass and brings it to her lips, drinking down her whiskey shot. “I thought you didn’t like whiskey?” He questions as he watches her drink.

Y/N hated whiskey, actually. The smell, the taste, the burn afterwards. It disgusted her. It didn’t make her feel good or give her any way of relaxing. She despised the liquor. But she always had a bottle around now because she knew Duncan liked it, and when their friends would come over to hang out for whatever reason, she wanted to have the bottle just in case Duncan showed too, like last time.

She wasn’t going to admit this to him though.

“It’s alright sometimes,” Y/N grits, trying to hold back on giving a disgusted face over the taste and burn of the whiskey. She looks over at him. “It’s an acquired taste that not everyone appreciates.” “Didn’t I tell you that after you had a sip of my drink once and threw up over it?” Duncan asks, smirking lightly. “Don’t be so dramatic,” she scoffs. “I didn’t throw up.” “You were practically dry heaving,” Duncan rolls his eyes. “You’re exaggerating. I had never tried it before, I just needed to get used to it.” “Mhm,” Duncan smiles. “Whatever you say, Y/N.” “Bite me, Duncan,” she rolls her eyes again, looking away.

Duncan doesn’t say anything as he grins and looks her up and down in her seat, taking in her outward appearance. Finding her as a mix of adorable and sexy, and loving how sassy and full spirited she could be with him, yet there was a sweetness to her too.

Looking back at Duncan, she asks, “So what actually brought you over here?”

Duncan’s grin fades, looking down at the empty glass of whiskey in front of him. He had almost forgot what was bothering him.

Pushing the glass away, he sighs, and pushes a hand through his brunette locks. He wanted to speak to Y/N so badly of the day’s events, but something in him had him refraining because he didn’t want to seem weak, or even unlovable, with telling her about the news. He wouldn’t want Y/N to think of him in those ways as it would potentially ruin any positivity she had for him, if there was any at all.

He shrugs, “I told you. Just wanted to hang out.” “Don’t give me that. We’re not exactly two peas in a pod,” she says. “Out of all the friends we have, and you decide to show up to my doorstep? To hang out?” Duncan brings a hand to his mouth, wiping away as if something were there. He looks away, trying to think of an excuse he can come up with that isn’t the truth. “Duncan,” Y/N says, bringing his focus back to her as he looks back at her. “What’s going on?” “I hadn’t seen you in awhile,” he tries to play off. She sighs out again. “Fine. Okay, I won’t pry. You don’t have to tell me what’s bothering you, why you showed up,” she starts. “But you can talk to me, about whatever, if you need, you know,” she adds, tone softening.

He knew he could talk to her, which was the whole point of why he showed up. But he became more fearful in telling her what was going on the longer he sat there in front of her. Part of him desperately wanted to vent to her, to let out everything, but the other part kept him on lock down, refusing to let him speak.

His mind seemed to be racing with conflicting choices, adding to his distress of the day’s earlier events. “I think I need another shot,” he laughs lightly without humor, reaching over for the bottle of whiskey on the counter in front of them.

“Dude,” Y/N says, stopping his hand and pushing the bottle further away from him. “No, chill. Take it easy. Let me get you some water. I don’t need you to be the one dry-heaving after too many glasses.” Duncan can’t help but smile a bit over her words as she in-directs about her first experience with the drink.

After getting him a glass of water, Duncan thanks her, appreciating the refreshing drink and taking a long sip of the cool beverage, breathing out after. “What’s going on in that head of yours? I can see how whatever it is that’s bothering you is getting at you more and more the longer you’re here,” Y/N points out, trying to coax it out of him.

Duncan holds his breath for a moment. He did come all the way over here to vent to her, but should he really open to her, he wonders to himself. He knows he has nothing to be apprehensive about, but he can’t help but worry about what she will ultimately think. Yet, he knows he can trust her.

He sighs out after a quiet moment. He looks over at her, his eyes looking clouded and somewhat dispirited.

“Duncan,” she speaks softly, narrowing her eyes with sorrow, seeing a transition in his eyes. Usually his eyes are so lively, enticing, and ready to fire back with a comeback to match hers, but they’re dismal now. She reaches a hand over, covering his as it rests on the counter. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” She asks, her tone genuine and gentle. He glances at her hand on his before he shakes his head. Her touch is warm and caring, and it causes a stir in his chest. He looks back at Y/N, half-shrugging, “No, not really.” “What’s wrong,” she turns to him in her seat, facing him. “What happened?” He sighs out. “You can talk to me,” Y/N assures. “I know. I know I can,” Duncan begins. “It’s.. why I came over here,” he admits. Y/N nods a bit. She’s upset Duncan is obviously upset and has something bothering him. But she can’t ignore the fact that it makes her happy that Duncan chose her to trust with confiding to. “For some reason,” a reason Duncan wasn’t ready to admit, “I knew out of everyone in my life, you would be the most trustworthy and honest, actually,” he shakes his head again, looking away. Y/N thinks over his chosen words. “Did someone you trust betray you,” she asks. “’Betray,’” he laughs. “That’s a word for it.” “What is it? What is it that happened? Did someone do something?” “It’s what they didn’t do,” he looks back at her, scrunching his nose as he sniffs. Y/N looks at him, keeping quiet, but her expression encouraging him to talk. “I, um,” Duncan starts. She raises her eyes, her expression tender as she waits for Duncan to continue speaking. Duncan bites his tongue, but then sighs out. “I found out I.. I’m adopted,” he states sorrowful. Y/N’s eyes widen a bit, taking in the sudden words from Duncan. “Oh, wow. Um,” she trails off, trying to figure out the proper response to give. “It’s not that. Not completely,” Duncan leans back in his chair. “It’s the fact that my own ‘mother’ didn’t have the audacity to tell me herself, and that when I did find out, she didn’t bother explaining or, or... or to even console me about it,” he looks at her despairingly, “like it meant nothing,” Duncan breathes out. “What do you mean,” she narrows her eyes, trying to make sense of his words. “Fuck,” Duncan mumbles, closing his eyes for a second. He hates how vulnerable he is now in front of her. Looking away, he stands up. “I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have shown up, told you anything. I’m sorry, I’ll go,” he says, walking out of her kitchen without another look. “Duncan, wait,” Y/N stands up too, following after him. “Hold on Duncan,” she calls. Rushing after him, she grabs his shoulder before he reaches the door, turning him back to her. He looks away like he couldn’t care less. “Give me a minute, give me a second to listen to you, okay? I’m not judging you, I’m not gonna tell anyone anything about your business. You know that.” “That’s not my concern,” he looks at her. “I just know it, it’ll give you more of a reason to hate me probably. I mean, my own ‘family’ doesn’t care about me apparently, so why would you?” “Duncan, of course they care, they,” she trails off, stopping, trying to find the right words to say. “I, I can’t understand what you’re talking about unless you tell me everything that happened.” “I don’t want to talk about everything that happened. I’m trying to block it out of my mind, Y/N,” Duncan exclaims. Y/N nods, “Right, okay, you’re right, I’m sorry. I know. I should know that. I just, I don’t know how to help without knowing the full story.” “You don’t have to fucking know everything,” he calls, gesturing a hand out. “Maybe just, I don’t know, just,” he trails off, shaking his head. He just wanted to be told he was worth an explanation, told it would be okay, to just be held, to have someone to hold onto. Releasing a deep breath, he brings his hands to his face, trying to hide the fact that his eyes are beginning to water. “Duncan, hey, it’s okay,” she speaks softly, stepping over. She reaches up to grab his wrists, pulling gently on them until he drops them with hers to expose his sorrowful face. “It’s okay. I’m sorry, we don’t need to talk about it. I’m here. I’m here for you, whatever you need. I’m here.”

With her hold still on Duncan’s wrists, she brings them to wrap around her shoulders as she closes the space between them and wraps her arms around his torso.

She hugs him, her hold tight but not constricting, her hands trailing gently along his back soothingly. Her hold comforting, and safe, giving Duncan a sense of security he didn’t realize he had been craving.

He begins to wonder if this is how all her hugs felt. The two always greeted with a snarky hello or teasing wave. They were never close enough to be personal with each other, much less to even hug. It’s why this whole situation was confusing and a bit difficult, to be unguarded like this.

Tightening his own hold around Y/N, he nuzzles his face into her hair and the crook of her neck, as if he’s trying to hide away from the world. He sighs into her hold, taking in her embrace, feeling a solace in Y/N that he had never felt before with anyone. Not with any of his “family,” past relationships, other friends, no one. It confused him, adding to the bewilderment of why something in him wanted to reach out to her in the first place. But ultimately, Duncan was more than thankful to his own self for making the decision to come see her.

Duncan was still perplexed at how Y/N had managed to calm him down. He seemed to be breaking down earlier when starting to shout at her a bit. The day’s events were starting to overcome him. But once he had her hold around him, it was like a release, a breath of fresh air for him. He could breathe again, think clearly, felt he was alright and cared for.

Y/N lured him to the couch, causing him to sit beside her while she tucked her feet underneath her. She let Duncan take his time with opening up to her.

As he gradually began to open up, he felt more of a relief flooding him, finally letting out everything that had happened. He told her how once actually asking his “mother” where he was from, he knew it was true he was adopted from the way she reacted. It hurt him to know that he had been lied to, but it hurt more when Annette didn’t bother to talk to him.

“She didn’t even fucking say anything to me. She just stormed off to Seth and yelled about wanting to put out the headline of Claire’s fucking abortion. It was like she didn’t even care how it was impacting me, just wanted to get her stupid revenge, or whatever,” Duncan glared, fighting back tears for a minute as he recalled the earlier events of the day. “You deserve better,” she tells him. “You deserved more respect, and reasoning, more than what you got,” Y/N explains, holding his hand in her lap.

The comforting touch of her hand with his had him hesitating on what to say next. She rubbed soft circles against his skin, her warm-hearted spirit coursing through his mind as he imagined his next move.

Glancing from their hands to her face, he studied her eyes, desperately wanting to know what was going through her mind as all of this unfolded. Her eyes were pure, showcasing an emotion he didn’t know how to interpret.

Even as his eyes flickered around her face, glancing over her lips on more than one occasion, he didn’t know how to read her expression. But he started reading more into his own feelings instead, figuring he should discover what he’s feeling instead of trying to figure her out first.

“I’m sorry this happened to you, in this way,” Y/N added apologetically. “If there’s anything more I can do, let me know. I’ll listen to you all night if I need to.”

Duncan’s eyes glance over her face again for a moment before he forces himself to look away. The kindness in her voice, the beauty she radiated, he had to look away from her in order to not lean over and kiss her. The crave he felt in him, of wanting his lips against hers, it was an unending greediness he realized he had always felt for her but was too afraid to think upon.

“Does this mean I can start campaigning for you to be more liberal now,” Y/N says teasingly. Duncan laughs a bit, smiling as he looks back at her. “Really? That’s your concern now?” Y/N grins a bit, “No. I just wanted to make you smile.” Duncan rolls his eyes, still smiling. “See, it worked though,” she points, laughing a bit as she looks over at him with a look of fondness. “You have a great smile. It lights up any room,” she breathes out sheepishly. Duncan’s smile fades a bit, only because her words catch him off guard. The compliment causes his heart to beat faster inside of his chest. “You’re one to talk. Your smile is beautiful, really it’s my favorite thing about you.” Y/N raises her eyes. “Well. One of my favorite things about you,” he adds. Y/N flushes a bit, biting on her lip as she fights her own urge to lean over and kiss him, too. “I should probably get going,” Duncan says flatly. “I don’t want to take up too much of your night,” he stands, knowing he needs to leave before he does something stupid, like kiss her, considering he really wants to. Y/N stands up too. “It’s not really a big deal. You’re always welcomed over here,” she explains with a casual tone. She didn’t want Duncan to leave. But she couldn’t show any disappointment or honesty about it. She didn’t know Duncan didn’t want to leave her either.

As Y/N walks him to her door, she crosses her arms as Duncan opens it, but turns back to her.

“Thanks for tonight. I.. really appreciated it,” Duncan tells her sincerely. Y/N nods, “Of course. I’m here for you, whenever. About whatever.” Duncan nods too. He looks over her frame, wishing he could stay longer, wishing she’d ask him to stay, wishing he would just admit the feelings he has for her as he’s starting to accept them as the seconds pass. As his eyes look over her face, an unintentional smile grows on his face. “What,” Y/N asks, raising her eyes. Duncan hesitates, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just.. You’re really great,” he says, looking at her adoringly. Y/N smiles. “Get home safely. Call me if you need anything.” Duncan gives a nod. “I will.” “Good night,” she adds.

Duncan takes a step away, Y/N stepping forward to close the door after she sees him off. But as she looks up at him as he steps back over to her she looks at him confused. Duncan leans over, and smoothly presses his lips to her cheek sweetly.

The simple, innocent touch of his lips against her skin, the feel of his stubble along her, has her heart fluttering in a way she never figured possible. “Good night, Y/N,” Duncan smiles as he pulls away, a hint of a smirk residing on his face. He steps away, heading for his car, leaving Y/N with prominent rosy cheeks that were impossible to miss, even in the nightfall.

Watching Duncan leave, she knew deep down that the feelings she had for him were far more than just friendly or playful. It worried her as she felt Duncan wouldn’t ever return the same feelings.

But she still couldn’t help but wonder that maybe if she filled the cracks in his heart, he would fill the same cracks in hers too someday.

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yellowmagicalgirl · 5 years

Text

Juliet Dies in This Chapter Six: Life

Claire is alive. She is not well.

Welcome to the final chapter, sorry for the late update! In exchange, have some art of Jim and Claire.

If anyone thought this was going to be a happy chapter, though... well, trigger/spoiler warning for offscreen torture and death, mentions of malnutrition, PTSD, and some internalized ableism.

Also, huge thanks to everyone who has reblogged the previous chapters of this fic.

AO3

FFN

The walk to the hospital felt so very long.

The walk to the hospital was two agonizing blocks and one alley they had taken because Claire had taken one look at the mass of people and –

She didn’t remember what she did, but she remembered Jim and Toby trying to calm her down, telling her that she didn’t have to interact with a lot of people yet, that they knew a shortcut.

What had she been thinking? That once she got out of the Shadow Realm, her anxiety would suddenly go down to zero?

The entire way to the hospital, Claire had been on the edge of a panic attack and she didn’t know why. She was safe now. She had saved Enrique. Her friends were still alive. Jim was alive. She had escaped. A mob of people doing last-minute Christmas shopping – because she had been there for six months – wouldn’t be able to hurt her in a meaningful way, so why was she so scared?

Was it because everything was so loud? She was used to sounds only happening because she made them happen, but she had been always listening to make sure Morgana wasn’t coming back to torture her.

Claire was thankful for the diversion from the crowd. Her knees, ankles, and hips were not thankful for the supposed “shortcut.” She had tried to keep up an exercise regimen, but it was hard to keep to a schedule when the passage of time was a nebulous concept. The amount of weight she had lost didn’t help, either.

Jim didn’t let go of her hand. Toby only let go of Claire’s hand when he needed to readjust Enrique. It was better for him to hold her brother; there were sharp edges on his armor. He was less of a hazard.

The waiting room for the clinic was empty. There was a clock reading 3:46, and it ticked, because time was meaningful on Earth. The receptionist looked up and immediately reached for their pager. “Doctor Lake? Your son and his friends are here.”

Barbara must have been close, because not a minute later – Claire kept the clock in her vision – she came barreling down the corridor.

First Barbara’s eyes landed on Toby, and she looked relieved to see Enrique, alive and mostly well, aside from the cut on his hand. Then her eyes passed over Claire in favor of Jim; Barbara had a look of frustrated concern upon seeing Jim’s burns. It was as if burns from the sunlight was a too-common occurrence. Then, finally, Barbara noticed the figure standing between the two boys.

She looked like she had seen a ghost. Claire didn’t fault her for that; just because she was opaque didn’t mean the girl who had jumped through the portal hadn’t died six months ago.

Barbara recovered quickly. “Toby, take Enrique to the pediatric ward. Jim, I’m sure you know where the burn treatment center is.”

Toby ripped his hand from Claire’s with an apologetic look. “I’ll call your parents, tell them that you and Enrique are here,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.

Jim began to move away from her, too, and in panic – chains, Blinky, torn, snapped – Claire used her other hand to hold onto his. Immediately she felt guilty, but she did not let go.

“Hey, Mom? Is it okay if I stay with Claire for a bit?” he asked, giving her a comforting smile. Or at least, it was supposed to be one. Claire took no comfort in the situation, no matter what changed.

“Five minutes, maximum, and then you’re getting those burns looked at.”

They walked to an empty patient examination room. Claire couldn’t remember if this was the same one where Barbara had proclaimed that Claire’s illness from the portal was due to stress. She hoped that Barbara had gotten better with identifying the symptoms of dark magic.

There was a scale and a blood pressure cuff in the room. Claire felt her eyes widen; she didn’t want anyone to see her. She didn’t want anyone to see how much she had been warped.

“Can you take off your armor?” Barbara asked. Claire’s joints ached even when her armor braced them; if she wanted them to heal, she would have to let a doctor see them. Barbara had accepted when her son had become a troll, so she was the best bet for not casting Claire away in horror.

Claire braced herself against the wall with one hand. With the other, she closed her fingers around the crystal in the center of her breastplate and pulled it out. Her armor glowed and was pulled in like a star into a glowing black hole. Her porcelain-white hair floated around her head for the briefest of moments as she placed the crystal in her pocket, carefully wedged so that she could don her armor again in a half-moment’s notice.

Someone inhaled sharply. Shock, probably, from seeing the way cracks crawled their way up and down her arms, with a concentrated group around her wrists and elbows. From seeing the irregular choker of cracks around her neck, a scar from when her neck had snapped when she had first become trapped; a brand that said no matter how many times Claire died, Morgana would resurrect her again just to make sure the agony never ended.

She was thankful that she woke up cold, and wore sweats, socks, and a t-shirt instead of the tank top and shorts she had gone to bed in. She wished she could be wearing a long-sleeved turtleneck, and a hood, and gloves, and maybe a glamour mask while she was at it.

Taking off her armor was a mistake. Not only was she shaking, but they knew, now. They knew that she was not the Claire they knew anymore; she was broken, and her body was just a bunch of brutally glued together pieces. She was very tempted to take out her hairclips and hide behind her hair like she did as a child.

“Hey, Claire?” Jim asked. “Why are you wearing my clothes?”

“What?”

“I mean, you wore your Papa Skull shirt when… on that day, when you and Toby were putting on your armor.” His face fell, but then he grinned. “Why are you now wearing gym clothes?”

She couldn’t help the laughter that caused her to nearly double over. “You, you aren’t even funny,” she said when she was able to catch her breath. How long had it been since she had laughed like that? How long had it been since she had last smiled?

Barbara pushed her glasses up slightly to pinch her brow, despite her shoulders shaking slightly from laughter. She and Jim then helped Claire to the scale.

Concern flashed across Jim and Barbara’s faces as they saw just how little Claire weighed. Claire didn’t think her weight was that bad; it was harder to see her ribs than when she had first escaped Morgana.

She had to be helped to the bed, too, because her arms and legs ached, and she didn’t want to risk triggering a panic attack by levitating herself. Claire pressed her lips together and tried not to think about the way the blood pressure cuff squeezed her arm.

“Hey, I don’t know if I told you this, but that was pretty cool, what you did with the chains,” Jim said. He was trying to distract her. She appreciated it, because logically she suspected that no one wanted to attack her in this hospital despite her anxiety telling her to be vigilant.

“Thanks,” she said, the energy from her laughter gone. She glanced at the blood pressure monitor and realized that she had no idea what 130/78 meant, though she was pretty sure usually the top number was lower.

“Claire, I’m going to ask you some questions. Jim, go get your burns treated,” Barbara said as she removed the blood pressure cuff.

“Yes, Mom,” he said, reluctantly. “See you in, like, twenty minutes, Claire.”

Claire waved and winced at the strain.

“The places where the cracks are,” Barbara said. “Do they hurt?”

“Sometimes,” Claire said. Her eyes darted about, looking for a clock. Twenty minutes. One thousand, two hundred seconds. Without a clock, it meant nothing to her. She didn’t hear a ticking noise.

“Have you… were any of your bones broken?” Barbara asked, and her voice was awkwardly stiff, like she was trying to stick to a procedure. A list of questions to ask a former POW, or something.

Claire nodded. “They… they got healed, though.”

“Okay,” Barbara said, writing it down. “Can you say how long ago that was?”

“No.” Claire found the clock. It read 2:10. A large post-it note was on top of it, and it read “REMINDER: FIX!”

“Do you think they’re the reason why you have difficulty walking?”

“Uh… no, it was… it was… I’m sorry.” Chained, pulled, snapped, slammed –

Claire gnawed at her lip. She was supposed to be okay here. “I can’t remember which, which method of torture made my joints bad.”

“It’s okay, it shouldn’t affect the treatment,” Barbara soothed; she pulled her stethoscope from where it hung around her neck. “I’m going to check your heartbeat and breathing.” She pulled Claire’s shirt up from her back. Barbara’s gasp would be inaudible for anyone who wasn’t hypersensitive to every sound.

The feeling of the cool metal circle against the crisscrossed scars and cracks was an odd one, but Claire tried to keep her breathing steady.

“Well, the good news is that your heartbeat and breathing are normal,” Barbara said. She smiled, and Claire tried to mirror it. Her own felt like an ugly, broken mess.

“When was the last time you ate?” Barbara asked.

Claire shrugged. “I… I don’t know, I guess in the last day?” As if on cue, her stomach growled. “Yeah, last day, since my body is still acting human.” She had come to notice that if she didn’t eat for a long enough period of time, her magic would switch on to keep her alive. She always felt more tired than usual when that happened, though. Maybe more depressed and anxious, too.

“When was your last period?” Barbara asked.

“Um, like, a week or two before the Eternal Night?” Claire said. “I… I think between the, the torture and the forgetting to eat it just… stopped.”

Barbara pulled out a small flashlight, and then put it back into her lab coat. Since she then began to gently feel around Claire’s head, Barbara must have realized that Claire didn’t have pupils anymore.

“I’m going to start an IV,” Barbara said. “Will you be okay for that?”

Piercing, claws, heart, ripped –

“I should be,” Claire said, blinking away the flashes of memory. “Will you be able to find a vein?”

“Your veins shouldn’t be harder to find than Jim’s,” Barbara said, feeling around Claire’s elbow. “Make a fist?”

Claire looked away but complied.

“Your parents are going to be so happy to see that you’re alive.”

Would they be, when they saw?

Pain, piercing, claws, gold –

“Are you cold? I can go get a blanket,” Barbara said. Claire realized she was trembling, and that there was an IV drip connected to her arm.

“I, I’ll be fine.”

“Do you have a lot of flashbacks from what happened to you, in the Shadow Realm?”

“Y-yeah.”

“You’re safe here,” Barbara said, looking Claire in the eyes. “And even if anyone were to come after you, I keep an enchanted knife on me these days.”

And Claire had her armor, and her magic, and maybe she could fight well enough. She was exhausted, though.

“I’m going to get you something to eat,” Barbara said. Claire realized she must have frowned or did something wrong because Barbara rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, it’s hospital food, not my cooking. The bread shouldn’t upset your stomach.”

Claire was pretty sure she had eaten a jalapeño or two while in the Shadow Realm, but bread was fine. Barbara left the room. Claire was alone, again.

There was noise, though. A lot of noise. Had Earth always been so loud?

Enough time passed for Claire to count forty of the white parts of the triangles in the ground, with the couple times she had restarted twice because she had lost focus because a noise outside had startled her.

Claire heard three sets of footsteps as well as Barbara’s voice.

“She shows some signs of malnourishment, and I’m going to want to run x-rays on her later, to see how well her broken bones healed, and also maybe find a cause to her bad joints,” Barbara said in a hushed tone. The footsteps stopped outside the door. “And, please don’t take this as a formal diagnosis because I’m not a psychiatrist or psychologist, but I think she might have PTSD. She’s really spooked, and she says she often has flashbacks to her trauma.”

The door opened.

Barbara held a small tray of food, but despite her hunger she wasn’t the person Claire focused on.

Claire’s parents looked ecstatic, and then bewildered. And why wouldn’t they be? They were expecting their daughter, not a girl covered in black cracks with white hair and black-and-purple eyes.

Claire couldn’t bring herself to put on her armor, even though surely that would make her parents realize who she was.

“Claire?” her mom asked in a shaking voice. Her mom’s voice never shook. Her dad looked like he was about to cry but was holding himself together for the sake of her mom and Enrique. Enrique, whose hand had been bandaged from where the sorcerer had cut him.

Claire couldn’t bring herself to speak. Couldn’t speak, not really, not with the panic settling in. The muscles in her jaw and neck kept twitching as the left side of her mouth kept trying to move downwards. It wasn’t a frown her face was trying to form, it was a raw expression of pain she knew too well.

She missed them so much, but surely they would leave, now that they knew the truth about her.

Claire gave a slow nod, and that was enough permission for her family to suddenly be close and hugging her.

Suffocated, restrained – no. Claire forced herself to breathe deeply.

She had survived the Shadow Realm.

She was safe. She was home.

She hugged her parents back and began to weep.

She might even get to live.

#claire nuñez #jim lake jr #toby domzalski #trollhunters #tales of arcadia #3below #toa wizards #barbara lake #ophelia nuñez #javier nuñez #enrique nuñez #jlaire #juliet dies in this #juliet dies; life continues #death tw #torture tw #my writing

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missweber · 5 years

Text

@lardo-week

For Day 6 of Lardo Week - Friends and Lovers

(Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5)

(FYI, I’ll start posting these to AO3 tomorrow after I get the last chapter up tomorrow and give everything a good scrubbing for lurking typos and the like)

the practical thing to do

It wasn't that Lardo wasn't earning money. She had two decent part-time jobs and had even picked up a couple of freelance assignments.

One of the freelance assignments (painting the risers of a staircase in an old house-turned-bookstore to resemble shelves of children's books) had been fun and had paid fairly well, but it hadn't led to any nibbles from potential patrons.

She had time, she reminded herself. There was nothing wrong with working part-time for a gallery and for a local youth hockey organization. There was nothing wrong with creating some stability for herself.

But something was wrong.

"Can I vent?" She had timed her question for when Ransom and Holster were home and Shitty was at an evening seminar. As for She-Who-Would-Not-Be-Named, Lardo didn't really give a shit if she was home or not.

"Lay it on us, so we may ease your troubled mind," Holster intoned, affecting an air of wisdom and concern. Ransom didn't say anything, but he closed his laptop and put it aside so he could pay full attention.

Wanting to vent didn't mean knowing what to say. Instead, she just plopped herself down on the couch right between them. There wasn't quite enough room, but they made it work.

"I feel like a fucking parasite," she said at last.

The chorus of no no no! and we're fine with how things are divvied up, honest! weren't as comforting as they were meant to be.

"I'm venting, okay? That means you gotta let me vent! Don't..." She took a deep breath. "Don't just tell me not to worry, okay?"

Part of her could hear Shitty explaining how being told not to worry was sometimes the same as 'go away and don't bother me with your pesky emotions,' and that, she found comforting.

"My bad," Holster said.

Ransom pulled her into a side hug. "Sorry about that, Lards. Go ahead. Why are you comparing yourself to a tapeworm?"

"Gross, dude," she and Holster said in perfect unison, and that led to a giggle fit that totally killed the mood.

"Now I'm not feeling ranty. I'm just going to whine instead."

"Would you like some wine with that wine?" Holster asked in a horrible faux-British accent.

"Oh, hell yes!"

The occasion apparently called for a bottle of good wine that had been 'liberated' from Shitty's grandparents, and the novelty wine glasses. Lardo noted that her glass said 'Wine is cheaper than therapy' and tried not to read too much into it. After all, Ransom's said 'I just can't adult today' and Holster's glass proclaimed that he was 'Sotally Tober.'

"So anyway, I feel like a total mooch. I know you guys say it doesn't bother you that I'm paying a smaller share of rent than you are, but it still bugs me. I feel... I feel kept."

"Does it help if we tell you we don't think of it that way at all?" Ransom asked gently.

She shrugged. "In theory."

Shitty, Ransom, and Holster had each told her over and over and over they didn't mind paying bigger shares of the rent. They all either had or made enough money to cover it, and how the hell was Lardo supposed to do art on the side if she didn't have the time or energy to do art?

"We've got your back, bro," Holster said as if that explained everything.

She knew it should. She wished it did.

"Did anything in particular stir this up?" Ransom asked. His eyes narrowed. "Shitty's dad didn't say anything again, did he? Or Claire?"

Holster shushed him, and cast furtive looks at the hallway. "Don't say her name! She'll know we're talking about her!"

Ransom leaned in close and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I know I always said I was team attic, but if the person who's hiding in the attic is you-know-who? Then fuck it. I'm changing my answer."

"Dude," Holster said solemnly. "What if she's actually a thousand roaches in a trench coat?"

"Huh. That actually makes a lot of sense."

Watching their back and forth helped more than their concern. "No one said anything, guys." Well, George had said something in an email, but not in the way the guys meant it. "Just some job stuff came up today that... well, it stirred some shit up."

The point of having a job was to earn a living. Yes, you should do something you liked to do, but you needed to be practical about it. Lardo's parents had never been poor, but for as long as she could remember, they always had to be mindful. She had never gone hungry, but her mother and her bà ngoại had.

They had always encouraged and celebrated her artwork, but they had also been very clear that she was expected to get a real job.

There had also been sly hints about how finding a husband with a real job was a possible alternative, but she forced the thought from her mind because while a wine hangover was bad, a rage hangover was even worse.

The three of them killed off a bottle and a half of wine. It was weaksauce compared to their kegster days, but while Lardo had gone to several classes hungover and still in her pajamas, she didn't think that would fly at the Newbury Street gallery where she worked.

Where she worked for now, at least.

"I'm done guys," she said with a yawn that was only a little exaggerated. "Thanks for letting me dump on you. And don't say it's no problem or anything stupid like that."

She really hoped Shitty got home soon. Now that she had vented, she actually wanted to talk.

It was good to crawl into bed. It was only half-made, as usual, but Duckie and Mr. Steggy were in their proper places as they should be. She smiled, remembering how Shitty had literally squeed with delight when she first introduced him to her childhood plushie.

She hugged both stuffed animals to her and fell asleep.

She was woken up what felt like just a minute later when a naked Shitty tried to pry Mr. Steggy out of her grasp.

"You're hogging the cuddle-buddies," he whispered.

"You snooze, you lose."

"Excuse you, but I was not the one snoozing, Ms. Duan."

She laughed and let Shitty take the plush stegosaurus. He slid into bed and snuggled close. She leaned in and kissed him deep, curling one hand around the back of his head so she could play with his hair. God, she was so glad he was growing it out again.

He ran his fingers down the curve of her waist and up the rise of her hip, but it was an inquiry rather than a request. She kissed him again, then pulled back. "Just this," she said. "And can I talk to you about something?"

She felt him tense defensively but then relax. The first had been automatic, the second, deliberate. "Okay?"

"First of all, yes, there is some money shit tied up in all of this, so I need to know it's okay to talk about money. Otherwise, this is going to be frustrating as hell."

It said something that all he did was nod in agreement. They had figured out quickly that their difference in background made financial discussions a big-ass mine field. They'd had a rough start, but now they used safe words more when talking about money than they did when having sex.

Lardo thought more couples should follow their example.

"I got a solid lead on a job today."

His face lit up. "What! That's–"

She covered his mouth with her hand. "Let me finish, okay? And if you lick my hand, I will pluck your mustache out hair by hair. Nod if you understand."

He nodded. She removed her hand.

"Here's the problem. If I take this job, I'll have to quit the gallery job and cut back my time with the Rockets. Maybe even quit."

"Okay," he said. She could tell he had a question, but was holding it. For now.

"Starting out, it would mean less money. Not a lot less, but..." But it had been enough to trigger a crisis that required copious amounts of wine to solve. "And the commute would suck."

"Okay."

He wanted to say he would fix it, that he would make up the difference. She could see it. But he stayed quiet, and she loved him all the more for it.

"But that would only be at first. Part of what I'd be doing is training to take on someone else's job when he retires next year. And it would be decent money. I...”

She let go.

“I thought that wasn't important to me! I know I'm worth more than the money I make! I know my art is damned good art even if it takes me forever to get to where I can do it full time! So what's wrong with me that I'm ready to throw away an art gallery job—a fucking Newbury Street gallery job!—so I can make more money a whole year from now!"

Shitty actually raised his hand sheepishly, as if he was a student in her class. "Um, so what is this job, anyway?"

That was enough to get her to laugh, and laughing gave her an excuse to wipe away the tears that had started to well. "Details, details... Yeah. George Martin said she's got an opening for an assistant equipment manager-slash-logistics person."

"George Martin? As in Jack's George? Falcs George?" Shitty's eyes were wide. "Holy guacamole doesn't even begin to cover it. So, what are you thinking?"

"In a lot of ways, it makes sense to keep the gallery job. No, it's not my kind of art." Honestly, it was more the sort of thing she imagined hanging in Shitty's grandparent's house. "But it's good experience to see that side of things for when I start selling my own things. And then there's the networking. It would be the practical thing to–"

She stopped, listening to what she was about to say, and hearing the echo of her mother's voice.

"Lards?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you still have time to do your art? If you take this other job?"

She shrugged. "Yeah. I don't see why not."

Shitty reached out and took her hand. He rubbed his thumb up and down her wrist, stroking and soothing. "When you said you would have to quit your gallery job and maybe not work as much with the kiddos on the Rockets, I almost said something."

She nodded. She had caught that.

"What I almost said was that you sounded more upset about cutting back your work with the kids than you did about quitting the gallery completely."

"Holy shit," she whispered. It was as if someone had pulled aside the curtain hiding Oz the Great and Terrible.

She didn't like the gallery. She liked the idea of the gallery. She liked that even after she had decided that the world wouldn't end if she didn't get a job in the arts right away, this opportunity dropped in her lap. She liked what she had been learning from her boss and the new appreciation she had for mid-century American art.

What she didn't like was dressing up like she worked in a law office. She didn't like the way some buyers treated paintings like investment properties. She didn't like being a salesperson/hostess.

And she really didn't like how many clients reminded her of Shitty's grandparents.

But she loved her hockey kids.

"You're right. But..."

"But?"

She gently plucked Mr. Steggy from Shitty's grasp and set him on the nightstand. Duckie followed a second later, and Lardo wriggled as close to Shitty as she could. "But you've given me a lot to think about." She tilted her head so she could kiss his chin. "G'night."

There was no need to make a decision just then, even though she was pretty sure what it would be. There were just a few things she had to think through, first.

She felt like something big had shifted, or was about to shift, and that the future was going to be something she had never imagined. But that was okay.

She had Shitty. And in a different way, she had Ransom and Holster, and Jack and Bitty.

And, as Holster had said, they had her back.

#omgcp #omgcheckplease #lardo duan #my fic

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areasontobreathe · 5 years

Text

This is my Destiel Secret Santa gift for @sp0okyweek. It took me four tries to get this completed, so I hope it’s okay, sp0okyweek. I managed to get all three wishes in this! (That’s not why it took 4 tries, your wishes were so awesome that they just worked better all together)

Three Wishes:

-Under the mistletoe

-Shipper!Sam is tired of the UST

-Dean absentmindedly kisses Cas before leaving

Some profanity.

Edit: When I posted this the first time, it took out the Keep Reading line, so I had to fix that.

It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this?

It was only a kiss.

- “Mr. Brightside” by The Killers

The whole thing started back in October, and for no clear reason. He was about to leave the bunker for a routine salt and burn, almost relaxed with the strange normality of the situation. Things had been really quiet recently, so Sam and Castiel were in the library trying to find a case when Dean walked in.

“What’s up,” he asked lightly, raising his eyebrows at the man and angel gathered around the laptop. “Are we trying to figure out how much more hair Sammy needs before we have to start hunting him?”

Sam rolled his eyes and… there it was, Bitchface #42. “We were looking for a case, actually.”

“Did you find anything? I’m bored.”

“Actually, we found a basic haunting, standard salt and burn. The remains are even on the property, in a marked grave, believe it or not.”

“Sweet!” Dean grinned. “I’m on it. How far?”

“Valley, Nebraska,” Cas answered, his gravelly voice certainly not sending shivers down Dean’s spine to more interesting places. Certainly not. “Do you want me to join you?”

“Nah, I got it man. Shouldn’t be gone more than a day, day and half tops.”

About fifteen minutes later, after loading everything he needed into the Impala, Dean was checking his room one last time to see if he forgot anything he would need for the trip. Grabbing an extra box of salt rounds, because why not, he was startled when he turned and nearly ran into the angel standing in his door way. “Dude, stop sneaking up on me. We talked about this.” About a hundred times, actually.

“Dean, I am concerned about you going to address the ghost on your own,” Cas rumbled. “I – the last time you tried to hunt on your own – “

“I know,” Dean replied softly before clearing his throat. “But Cas, this is one of the first things every hunter learns to take care of. After Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, dying a few times, and several Apocalypses, I think I can handle one restless spirit. It isn’t even a poltergeist, dude. Just a crying ghost. No biggie.” Against his better judgment, he grabbed Cas’s face and made those vibrant blue eyes meet his. “I’ll be fine. And I even promise to pray to you when I see the first sign of trouble, okay?” Cas looked down and nodded. Dean sighed at the sight of the distressed angel, then ruffled his hair, dropped a brief kiss to his chapped lips, and walked to the garage.

He was half way to Valley, Nebraska, before he realized he had kissed Cas. Pulling into the first gas station he came to, he threw Baby into park and started panicking.

He. Kissed. Cas.

He kissed Cas.

Dean had always been attracted to the black-haired presence in his life, since the first time he saw the shadow of wings against the wall of a barn warded with everything they could bring to bear at the time. It had taken years for him to come to terms with a being of celestial intent in the body of a devout and profoundly religious man. Years more of everything they had been through left Dean conflicted, and by the time everything leveled out in his head, he realized that all that struggle didn’t matter – Castiel was, no matter what changes he had been through, an Angel of the Lord, and unlikely to have any interest in any human as more than something to observe and protect. Like a particularly stupid and self destructive endangered species.

All the effort he put in to keeping himself from fantasizing, touching, reaching out and just giving in… all to be undone by a nonchalant kiss. Their first kiss. To make it even worse, he had done it like it wasn’t a big deal and walked off. And it should have been a big deal – the biggest deal.

With a groan at how stupid he could be, Dean hit his head on the steering wheel a few times before forcing himself to pull it together. Nothing could be done now, and maybe Cas didn’t even realize what happened. Yeah, that was pretty likely. After all, Cas still wasn’t very good at being people, right? So it was really unlikely that Cas even understood the significance of what Dean had done.

Dean took a couple deep breaths, cranked up the radio, and focused on the ghost he was on his way to crisp, shoving down thoughts of what he had done.

The case went seamlessly, and Dean was back at the bunker early in the morning a couple days later. He didn’t mention the kiss, and just as he suspected, Cas never said anything about it. Weeks passed, and soon all of them were at Jody’s for a hearty Thanksgiving meal. By now, Dean was well practiced at ignoring the glances she made between him and Cas, along with providing the expected snappy comebacks to Alex and Claire when they asked nosy questions that he insisted were way off the mark. He was just happy to see Claire visibly less tense around the angel who had taken her father away from her; she gradually had gotten better about it only after she found out that Jimmy Novak’s soul had already moved on.

Finally, December came around, causing Sam to get overly excited – just like he did every year – about the idea of finally having a Christmas of their own. One without an awful hotel room, or a hunt, or Santa trying to kill them. Dean gave him a hard time, but secretly was almost as excited as his brother. Not about the holiday, of course, but seeing in the gigantic killer of the supernatural (heir to the throne of Hell, Lucifer’s former favorite suit, etc) the same excitement most people saw in wide-eyed children.

In the end, the bunker had not one but three Christmas trees, decked and lit within an inch of collapsing. The place smelled like a cross between a forest and a bakery with all the evergreen and cinnamon Sam had managed to stuff in and on every available surface. Cas got in on the action when he discovered hot chocolate, claiming it reminded him of Gabriel. They even somehow ended up with a tiny little village, with each house lit up and buried in fake snow.

It was only when the mistletoe started appearing that Dean decided he was revoking Sam’s Pinterest privileges. Dean had been walking into the library just as Cas was leaving, and suddenly they both were stuck in the doorway, something that should never have happened since the door was more than wide enough for both Winchester brothers to pass through without trouble. They weren’t even touching each other, they were just – stuck.

Well, this was awkward.

Dean cleared his throat. “Um, Cas? Why are we stuck?” When he glanced over at the trench-coated angel, he saw blue eyes squinting up at the top of the door. Following the glance, it turned out that the scowl was directed at a small bunch of mistletoe hanging in the doorway.

“It appears it has been spelled to trap the two people who walk beneath it. I’m not entirely sure what that would accomplish, however.”

Swearing vigorously, the older Winchester immediately knew who was behind this. “SAMMY! Get your ass in here right now and take this stupid weed down!”

Thumping footsteps preceded the arrival of Sam, sliding to a stop in his socks, face full of glee. “Finally! It took me forever to hang that stuff anywhere I thought you two would get caught!”

“Not funny, Sammy. Take it down, now.”

“No way. I paid Rowena entirely too much to put the enchantments on those, I’m leaving you there until you free yourselves.”

“Rowena is in on this?”

“Oh, totally. Everyone’s tired of this little dance you two have going on. And I do mean everyone. Even the demons we’ve encountered recently have mentioned it.” Sam pointed back and forth between his brother and the angel.

“Samuel,” Cas growled. “Where did you find the holy oil that she used to bind angels with this spell?”

“Not telling. I may need it again if you two don’t pull your heads out of your asses.”

Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sam. Just tell us how to get out of this? You said we can free ourselves. How?”

“Dude, it’s mistletoe. One guess.”

“You want me to kiss Cas? That’s gross, dude.” He immediately felt sick to his stomach as the words left his lips.

“If you find kissing me so repugnant, why did you kiss me before?” Cas asked, pain and confusion evident in his voice.

“You kissed him before!? When!?”

“It was kind of an accident – shut up, Sam – kind of. It was before I went for that salt and burn in Nebraska, and Cas was upset that I would get hurt, or die again, and I told him I’d be fine, and – I just kissed him. Like, to reassure him, I guess? Why am I even telling you this!?”

“We added a truth spell. Like I said, tired. Of. Your. Shit.” More emphatic pointing.

“Truth spell means Dean does find the idea of kissing me ‘gross’ as he said,” Castiel pointed out mournfully.

“Dude, no, that’s not what I meant, Cas. I meant Sam wanting us to kiss is gross. He’s my brother, he should definitely not have opinions about that. I do want to kiss you, I have for a while – damn this – “

Dean’s swearing was cut off completely by two hands on his face and two chapped lips crushed against his own. Surprised, he didn’t react at first, but when he realized what was happening, all he could think was fuck it before pulling the angel to him and giving in to the kiss with every fiber of his being. It was everything he ever wanted, and better than he could ever imagine as he felt not just the man in his arms, but the flicker of grace against his soul. Sunlight and whiskey and electricity, all poured into one moment.

He had no clue how much time passed before he pulled back for air. “Three cheers for the pizza man,” he murmured, panting slightly and dizzy from lack of oxygen. When he looked over, Sam was standing there, phone out and tapping on the screen. Still holding tightly to Cas, who was nuzzling his neck and shoulder, it took a moment to put more words together. “Sammy, what are you doing?”

“Finally! I would have said get a room, but it was my fault you were standing there. Everyone sends their congratulations, by the way,” the taller man replied with a cheeky grin.

“Wait, what?”

Sam waggled his phone at Dean. “Everyone knew about this, and they wanted photos for proof.”

“You took photos!? I’m gonna kill you!”

“Dean,” a purring voice came from his neck. Oh, hey, Cas was still there. That was nice at least. “Let it go. We have more important things to worry about.”

Turning to look at the mop of messy black hair, Dean went into panic-mode. “What do you mean?”

“You are going to follow me, and we are going to be very busy for the next several days. I would like to experience human bonding with you, and I think you are going to have to teach me quite a bit.”

Ignoring the disgusted yelps coming from the general direction of one Sam Winchester, Dean flushed hotly. “I thought sex with humans was about the same as bestiality to angels… That’s why I never… I don’t want you to think I’m disgusting for this…”

“I rebuilt this body, atom by atom. I agonized over the placement of every freckle and every eyelash. Balthazar was quite vexed with my fixation on your eyes being the exactly right shade of green. You will never be disgusting to me, Dean. You are the most beautiful of my Father’s creations.”

Tears threatened Dean’s eyes at the words he was hearing. He was prepared to be told that he wasn’t good enough. He spent his entire life not being good enough. But hearing Castiel, Angel of Thursday, former God tell him he was perfect? There was no way to prepare for that.

His thoughts were interrupted by the third person present. “So, yeah. I’m gonna go for a while. It sounds like you two have a lot to – ahem – talk about. Kitchen’s stocked, stay out of my room please.”

“Sam – “ he called plaintively at his brother’s retreating back.

Sam turned and just smiled. “Consider this a Christmas gift, Dean. Merry Christmas, stay out of my room.”

Dean smiled back weakly as he felt Castiel take his hand. “Merry Christmas, Sam.”

@destielsecretsanta

#destielsecretsanta2018 #sp0okyweek #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #spn

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queen-of-hearts92 · 6 years

Text

Revue Starlight 11: Requiem for a Stage Girl.

First sight of blood spilled in the show! Um, hooray?

For the previous episode go here!

To go to the start of these posts, go to the Prelude!

YOOO! We are near the end everyone! Can you mcfucking believe it?! Man, this anime was a fucking ride and I loved it! God this is good, and gay! Anyways! Episode 11 was an emotional ride, oooo boy! Let’s waste no more time and get right to it then!

This time I couldn’t settle on a song title or lyric for this post I liked so I made one up! A requiem is a musical piece thats often played at a funeral. Hikari is pretty much treat like she’s fucking dead plus I like how it sounded.

>It’s the final countdown! *trumpets play*

We start where the previous episode left off, Karen falling rapidly off the platform. She is still in shock. Karen lands in the water that surrounds the stage and luckily she’s in a place where physics don’t matter so she has landed there safely. Giraffe announces Hikari as the winner of the auditions, he goes “ok time to harvest that starlight for your wish, what you want?”. All the other Stage Girls below watch and wait to see what stage Hikari will wish for. There’s an awkward silence before Hikari gives her answer, she doesn’t want it. Giraffe is surprised, Hikari says she doesn’t need any fuel for her wish. Perplexed, Giraffe asks if she plans to provide her starlight and only her starlight for the fuel. Hikari says, “Didn’t you want to see an unpredictable stage?” confirming that yes she wants to give herself up so no one else's is taken. She grips her knife blade hard enough to cut her hand causing it to bleed. The blood drips onto, not the ground but onto Hikari’s metal badge making anyone watching this go yooo.

Giraffe accepts her request. The tiara is on Hikari’s head as Giraffe announces that the audition duels are over and Hikari’s request was granted. We zoom out a bit to see a giant version of the tiara encircle Hikari, disjointed sounds play and then we hear the sound of a large door closing. Hikari vanishes, only position zero and Giraffe remain. Karen lies in the water too stunned to say or do anything. Position zero is shown one last time before the lights go out, plunging the screen into darkness.

It’s all over.

And then we get the opening.

*record scratch* *freeze frame* Yup that’s me, you’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation.

One day after the final auditions, there's a notice on a bulletin board. Hikari has apparently transferred out of school. Karen is confused to say the least. She and Mahiru go to the office to ask their teacher whats up. The teacher confirms that yes Hikari left, all the documents have been filled out and they are stamped with Giraffe’s logo. Karen asks where Hikari went exactly but their teacher brushes her off and says doesn’t know. So yes the school is in on all this magic stage bullshit. Karen tries calling Hikari, but her phone has been disconnected. Cause that’s not incredibly alarming at all.

Two days after the final audition, turns out Hikari left all of her things behind. All of it, cause that isn’t alarming at all. Karen pulls out the Starlight book, Nana and Junna are concerned.

Three days after the final audition, Karen calls the London school to see if Hikari is there. Doing her best to speak english while Mahiru holds a notebook with the english words to help her. Futaba and Kaoruko are nearby watching them. Karen’s call was in vain though, Hikari isn’t there either.

One week after the final audition, Karen and Mahiru go to the police for help. They sit with two officers to talk to them. Officer 1 says that Hikari did file the correct documents to leave school but Karen is like “I mcfuckin doubt that.”. The officers are like ok ok, we’ll ask a few more questions then. They ask where Karen and Mahiru last saw Hikari and it hits both of them that saying “on an underground stage with a talking giraffe” would just make them sound crazy, they can’t answer that question. Well shit.

Two weeks after the final audition, Karen sit in the subway station texting Hikari hoping she’ll respond. She’s sent several messages actually. But no response, at all. Karen looks at her phone sadly.

Three weeks after the final audition, the final cast list for the Starlight play has been posted. It’s legit the same exact cast as last time. Alrighty then.

One month after the final audition, she goes to the Tokyo Tower shop alone and stares sadly at the lamp display.

Seven months after the final audition, it’s now December. Karen and Mahiru sit on Karen’s bed still calling Hikari’s phone, and texting it. Still no response. Karen gets up and put her crown hair clip on, she says “Let’s go Mahiru.” and the two leave to go to school.

Mr. White and Hikari’s suitcase being left behind is a HUGE indicator that Hikari’s disappearance isn’t normal at all.

We go to Nana and Junna walking to school, they’re in winter coats. Nana comments on how cold it is, Junna says it’s the coldest day this year and references Nana’s time loop by saying that Nana probably hadn’t experienced cold like this in awhile. Nana is like “yeahhhh.”. The two come across Mahiru and Karen at a mailbox, Karen is trying to contact Hikari via snail mail now. Nana asks Karen if she’s cold and gives her a hug saying “Hot Banana!”. The four of them smile and then Karen says via voice over the contents of the letter she sent. She talks about everyone preparing for the Starlight play. We see a pile of letters Karen has sent to Hikari, they’ve all been returned so no luck with the snail mail either.

Jun Jun certainly thinks you are Nana! *runs*

It’s now the evening, the girls are still working on the play. Junna is writing stuff down on a clipboard and Nana comes in with food for the stage crew. Nana and Junna are called away from the group to run though the script for the play. We go to our girls and Karen, isn’t doing too well. Ameniya (the script writer if you don’t recall) asks if Karen was injured, Karen says no. So she’s like “so, why the fuck are you performing so badly??”. Sanai (the director if you don’t recall) hits the mark by asking if it’s because of Hikari. Ameniya is about to tell Karen to get over it when Mahiru goes “LET’S NOT.” so she stops herself from saying that. Ameniya apologizes and is like “just try to focus ok?” Sanai says “If you aren’t feeling up to doing this role its ok, we can get someone else to do it”. Wow, now that’s a comfort fail right there. Anyways, Junna and Nana arrive and they get back to rehearsal.

While going through the scenes, Karen is still distracted. She starts wonder what was wrong with her, why does she not feel anything while performing? No joy, no fear, nothing. Karen stops practicing all together concerning everyone in the room. She questions why she wanted to be on stage in the first place. Hikari is gone, why should she bother? She speaks aloud saying she loves the stage but she doesn’t know why. Then, a realization hits her like a truck. She knows now what Hikari meant when she said you lose the most important thing to a stage girl if you lose the auditions. Karen’s starlight wasn’t taken by the stage but, with Hikari completely gone it might as well have been stolen from her. Karen realized that this did happen to Hikari, she starts to cry. She says she gets it but also doesn’t but she does. She says her realization aloud that Hikari lost her starlight. Karen cries out Hikari’s name and has an emotional breakdown in the practice room.

Yeah this is the expression I’d make too if I discover a magic ass stage gives you severe depression and it’s already done that to your gf.

It’s the next day, Karen is in her bed with the covers over her head. The other girl are outside sitting at a table together, they all know the truth now about the price of losing the auditions. They are all disturbed by this revelation and the mood is somber. We learn why Maya reacted the way she did to Hikari in episode one, it was the lack of any emotion whatsoever in her eyes. Maya says that since Hikari’s starlight was stolen she became a dead stage girl. Claudine points out that all of them still have their starlight and Futaba comes to the conclusion that was because Hikari didn’t steal it from them. Kaoruko asks why Hikari would do that. Nana gives a reason, Hikari couldn’t bring herself to do such a thing. Put someone through the same pain as she suffered put Karen through that pain. Futaba is like “well shit she saved all our asses then.” Nana says that Hikari ended up losing all of her starlight and wonders where she disappeared to.

Back with Karen, she’s looking at the childhood photo of herself and Hikari. Karen sits up and wonders if Nana was right, the Starlight play is a sad story about parting. She opens up the Starlight book and even though she isn’t sure if she can read this without Hikari she gives it a try anyways. Then, an idea comes to mind. Later, Mahiru comes home to Karen translating the Starlight book from English to Japanese. She’s pleased that Karen’s motivation came back. Then we get a montage of Karen translation the Starlight book and she even gets some help from her friends. After the montage, we see Karen has gotten to the end. And we find out what happens to Claire after Flora falls from the tower, Claire was punished for the sin of trying to seize the stars and was sealed into the tower just like the other goddesses in there. A new sinner, imprisoned away in this horrible tower thing.

The moral of the Starlight play is if you try for a happier ending you can go fuck yourself. Time to change that ending yes?

Karen is like, well this part of the ending isn’t in the play at all. Then she figures out where Hikari is, she’s imprisoned in the tower just like Claire was in the story. Karen is like “HOLY FUCK, I GOTTA GET TO THAT ELEVATOR!” and runs down the hallway towards it. On the way she grabs the same crowbar Hikari had used in episode three and gets to the elevator. She says while trying to break the elevator door down that where Hikari was isn’t their stage. They haven’t stood on their stage yet! Karen shouts that they haven’t Starlighted yet as she swings the crowbar down, the red light next to the elevator turns on. And, as if the school itself is responding to her, all the fucking lights turn on too. Karen finally is able to pry the door open, light next to the elevator is now blue. She looks down the stairs into the yawning void, here she comes motherfucker.

As Karen descends down the stairs, we get a new song! It’s an interlude. Junna appears next to Karen on the stairs, she goes “So, seizing the stars is a sin? Guess us Stage Girls are all sinners then. But fuck it, who cares if we’re seen as sinners. I don’t care! I’m going for that star anyways!” We pass by Junna’s props as they go down the stairs. Junna stops walking and tells Karen to tell Hikari that she will be waiting for her on the stage. Karen nods and they wave to each other as Karen continues onward. Mahiru walks down the stairs with Karen next, she says “We’re from different places and have different stories but we all met on the same stage. We discovered our starlight together.” Mahiru’s props are passed by, Mahiru stops walking and tells Karen to tell Hikari that she will see her on the stage.

Next is Kaoruko and Futaba, they don’t walk down the stairs with Karen but they stand in one of their props (the dojo area). They both say that us Stage Girls are united as one by the stage. They ask Karen to tell Hikari that they will see her on the stage. Karen walks with Nana next, she says “All stages come to an end, so we should burn as brightly as we can while we’re there.” Nana’s props are passed by. Nana tells Karen to tell Hikari that she will be waiting for her on the stage. Karen and Nana wave to each other and Karen continues onward.

Claudine travels with Karen next, they take a gold elevator downwards. Not just any elevator through, the same one from the Starlight play. She says, “The stage keeps us going and it's where our hearts belong. It’s the stage the fulfills us.” Maya continues what Claudine was saying as she and Karen walk down the stairs, “Stage girls can be reborn endlessly, hence even if we fall we can get back up again.” Claudine says, in French, that she will be waiting for Karen and Hikari on the stage. Maya also says she will be waiting on the stage. Karen finally reaches the entrance to the theater, the other girls sit at the bottom of the stairs to see her off. They will all be waiting on the stage for her and Hikari. Karen goes inside, and the door shuts behind her.

Zettai. Unmei. Mokushioku.

No background music plays as Karen enters the stage, it's dark and it looks like the water is gone. And for the very first time, Giraffe isn’t present at all. There's only a small section of the Star Tower here. Something is wrong. Suddenly we hear a cell phone ring, Hikari’s phone sits on position zero plugged into an electrical socket. All the messages Karen sent to Hikari start flooding in. Karen runs over and picks up the phone, the phone turns into a ticket. A ticket for a show. She looks up and the Star Tower section now has an opening, Karen announces her name and class and walks towards the opening into the unknown. The credits now play.

But. There’s a post credit scene, Hikari is naked in a pink sandy wasteland. Her cape is stuck on the branch of a brush and the tiara lies in the sand. The Tokyo Tower lays on its side in the sand a little bit aways. Hikari says she remembers her promise with Karen. The episode ends here.

I’m sure she’s fine. This is fine.

>How to save your girlfriend from a pink hellscape: Discussion edition!

-Well well everybody we got ourselves a nice set up episode! I suspected that it would be a set up one. Also every passing episode, my fear of the stage grows. Hahaha. Ha.

-I fucking told y’all it's ALL the girls who lose get their starlight taken and not just second place! Not like that was hard to fucking know like, sorry I just saw folks going “only 2nd place loses their starlight” and I got annoyed. Good to have verbal confirmation man.

-So! 7 months have passed in universe, it's December now. Likely close to Christmas or New Years. SAVE HIKARI FOR CHRISTMAS KAREN!

-Hikari is pretty much just gone. Her paper says she transferred but all her shit is still at the dorm and her phone was disconnected. The paper was marked with a giraffe symbol which means the school is for sure in on it. So “SHE SENT ALL THE PROPER PAPERS IN” MY ASS. Like, god. Fuck, poor Hikari. ;;

--Also gotta take an aside to say everyone who called Hikari a snake or anything of that nature post episode 10 fuckin take that shit back cause she saved our girls! Hikari is good.

-While I figured that the school was in on this shit, I gotta rant angrily about them. I know they fictional but it always gets my goat (fictional or irl) when adults who are supposed to look after kids don’t do so and even worse when they let something like a severe depression causer creature even near these kids. So here I go! Fuck you Seisho Academy! You irresponsible selfish assholes, how dare you let this stage creature come here and feed off of your students. The fuck is wrong with you?! And then you lose track of a kid?! Really?! Also how is letting eight girls get depression gonna fucking help ya?! Like oh shit you just lost eight students good fucking job. What the fuck. I’m gonna go fight ya, meet me in the fucking pit.

-Even though Karen’s starlight wasn’t taken, the stage ended up taking what was most important to Karen anyways. It was Hikari, without Hikari’s existence she can’t muster up passion for performing on the stage anymore. Karen’s emotional breakdown was heartbreaking good god. Thankfully she bounced back!

-The other girls know the truth about the stage now, and realized that Hikari pretty much saved all of them from losing their starlight. This isn’t how I thought the girls finding out the truth would go but this reveal worked really well. Like, they heard the fucking giraffe talk about fuel and shit so when Karen realized what happened to Hikari they put two and two together. Also, looks like I was right about why Maya reacted to Hikari the way she did in episode one! Yeehaw.

-Turns out after Flora was zapped to the ground, Claire became trapped in the tower for her sins. Called it! Yes! I think it’s interesting that to find the truth we have to go back to the plays roots. Going back to your roots to rediscover your passion is something that’s happened a lot in the show. I like this theme.

-Well would you look at that, Karen’s princely vibe is coming into play! Hikari is a princess now like, she’s literally locked in a tower. And if Giraffe is a Kirin there’s even a dragon to fight! Fairy tale imagery is fun. Also oh man if Karen like gives her cape to Hikari I’m gonna cry.

--Also also, hey rev star. We got lots of girls dipping each other and that’s great but please, we need to see a bridal carry DO IT! The perfect opportunity is right here! Right now! Karen can do it! It happened in Hikari’s dream in the prequel manga Overture! Make Hikari’s dream come true DO IT!

-The lack of music when Karen walks into the stage is creepy as fuck. Makes the phone sounds all the more startling. Also the entire stage was much creepier than usual and that’s saying something! The lights in the audience were off, a good chunk of the tower was gone, and Giraffe wasn’t there at all. This, is alarming to say the least. Even more alarming, the stage is still fucking here. It hasn’t moved to a new location, why? Was it...waiting? Waiting on Karen to come and continue the tragedy? Jesus christ, this stage man. ono

-Hikari’s phone turns into a ticket and I. Fuck. That was fuckin wild. Really good editing in this show oh man.

-Hey guess what? CROWN SOUNDS ARE HERE AGAIN. 20 seconds in, fuck. I don’t really have time to snag a audio clip for it but, just letting you know it's fucking back and still fucking scary.

-I loved how Junna’s stair moment was her going “we’re sinners now? Ok, I’m still grabbing that star though! You can’t stop me!” God I love her, Jun Jun is great!

-Small detail but I wanted to mention it anyways but during the whole episode we never see Maya and Claudine too far from each other, always together. Even during the staircase part, Claudine was only a few steps away from Maya. Like quite a difference to see that right? They meant it when they said they’ll always stay together in the previous episode. It’s a cute detail and its nice to see their relationship going so well! I love them.

-So I wrote about the stage and its favoritism towards certain Stage Girls but it got really fucking long so it will be its own post one day!

-I love the Evangelion like imagery at the end there, this shit is gonna get surreal and I am ready!

-I wish all the Stage Girls were going on this rescue mission but oh well. The scene with Karen going down the staircase was so nice and sweet and I loved seeing all her friends support her! But, this part also felt like a goodbye. Like Karen isn’t coming back...hope I’m wrong.

-Each girl that walked down with Karen was in the same order as their duels. With Junna going first and Maya going last, nice touch!

-An Interlude is a musical piece played between acts of a stage production. So, does this mean we going to act 2 now? Possible season 2? Hope so!

>This speculation was brought to you by: Put that stage back where it came from or so help me!

-I wrote theory about why I think the stage is from the planet Venus! Check it out!

-Since Hikari lost her clothes cause she’s in the tower. This might mean that this shot from the opening is telling us that Karen will end up staying with her in there. They will then, literally become starlight. Just like Karen says in her audition speech. If this is the case then that could leave this show open for a season 2. That would be kinda sad tho, but it seems foreshadowed hm. The other options I’m thinking is that they both get out just fine or only one of them gets out. Or maybe they just, end up on fucking Venus and it’s like oh shit we gotta get back to earth. That option is a bit out there yes but hey, you never know!

-I’ve been shouting about the Starlight Gatherer for awhile now. We still don’t know who it is, I’m banking on Giraffe still! Or maybe the stage itself? Gdi I’m just gonna wait and see at this point, I don’t have any new theories here. Heres a good video about the Starlight Gatherer if you want some more speculation! Oh! And, let me just. Drop the little poem we saw about it right here:

Starlight Gathering is Forgiveness of Sins

Starlight Gathering is a Wonder of Night

Starlight, The Shining of Hope

Your Shines are the Starlight

The Starlight Gatherer

Gives The Beast from Over the Garden Wall vibes here...I don’t like it. ono

-I’ve pointed this out before but I’ll say it again. In her stage outfit, Hikari gets a crown of stars around her head. In artwork often the divine or saints get a circle of stars as a crown like that, these are known as Crowns of Immortality. I have been wondering how this related to Hikari, but I think I know now. Martyrs can also get crowns like that in artwork, and Hikari just martyred herself to save everyone's starlight.

>All good plays must come to an end.

I, can’t believe we’re near the end. Where does the time go? But wow, I love this anime! My gut feeling was right! Am I ready for the end? No. But it will come either way, let's enjoy while it's here my dudes! That’s how shit like this rolls, burns brightly but it doesn’t last forever so we should enjoy it while its here.

See you on the final stage for episode 12!

#revue starlight #shoujo kageki revue starlight #moo watches revue starlight #whew yeehawwww #near the end y'all! I'm not ready

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outlandergeekery · 6 years

Text

A Good Lover

Rating: Explicit

Summary:

“Well…” I started, “What I meant was that if a man is a good lover, and pays attention, if it doesn't happen, there are … other ways.”

Claire teaches Jamie how to pleasure a woman.

This was inspired by these two passages from Outlander:

“No, not every time,” I said, amused. “Only if the man is a good lover.”

“Oh.” His ears turned faintly pink. I was slightly alarmed to see the look of frank interest being replaced with one of growing determination.

“Will you tell me what I should do next time?” he asked.

-----

“Tell me some more.” The finger moved slowly downward. “I like to hear the Latin names for things; I never dreamed it would be so pleasant to make love to a physician.”

“That,” I said primly, “is an areola, and you know it, because I told you last week.”

“So ye did,” he murmured. “And there’s another one, fancy that.”

“Guuuhhh. A 'faireachdainn cho math...”

His back hunched under my urging caresses while his heavy breath steamed my already heated neck. He jerked forward sharply once, twice, and then was still. I ran my hands soothingly up his arms and he shivered, huffing a small laugh in my ear.

“Too sensitive?” I asked, through a smile.

“A wee bit,” he said, “but it feels good.” I enjoyed the tender tone his voice took on after sex. It was in these post-coital moments I remembered just how young he was, and innocent, despite all he had seen and experienced in his 23 years.

He pushed himself back up on his hands to look at me. I saw a flicker of a question in his eyes before he subtly shook it away, leaned forward to kiss my forehead, and pulled himself from between my legs. My heated core still tingled and I wasn’t quite ready for the separation. I felt the familiar trickle left behind by his absence.

He sprawled on his back, still breathing heavily. I turned my head to look at him and smiled. A small strip of sunlight made the hair on his chest glint, and dust dance in the air above him. It was the last day of our makeshift honeymoon. I felt a twinge of guilt at the thought that I was slightly sad our alone time was coming to end. I shouldn’t even be here -- much less married to this man, and longing to continue to fill our days with sex and sleep, only attending to the barest necessities of daily life.

He turned his head to catch my gaze and I saw the same questioning look in his eyes again. I pulled myself up on one arm so I could lean over him and touch his lips to mine. My kiss was still hungry.

“Sassenach?” He asked once I broke the kiss and rested my head on his shoulder.

“Hmmm?”

“Did you? Uh… ye didna…”

Ah, there it was. The question. I stayed quiet to let him finish.

“Did ye get there? This time.”

“No, not this time.” The reminder made me conscious of the feeling of need still present between my thighs. It wasn’t a feeling I was used to. Frank was a courteous lover and always made sure my pleasure came before his own. While Jamie was enthusiastic, and if I was being honest, excited me more than I cared to dwell on, he just didn’t have the experience with a woman’s body -- up until two nights ago he didn’t even realize orgasm was possible.

“It didna happen last night either, no?” It wasn’t really a question. He knew the answer.

“No, it didn’t.” I looked up at him. “Sometimes it’s a little more difficult for me than other times, especially since we’ve been doing it quite a lot,” I blushed, “but it still feels good. I still enjoy it.” I laid my head back down on his shoulder and ran my fingers comfortingly across his downy chest.

“But,” he seemed incredulous, “It doesna’ hurt? When ye don’t finish?”

The thought struck me that if there was a female equivalent to blue balls, it was quite possible I was experiencing it now, and had last night until I’d fallen asleep.

“No,” I shook my head reassuringly. “It doesn’t hurt. You ache because fluid builds up and needs to be released. Women are different. It … fades.” Although I knew what I said was true, I couldn’t deny that I definitely ached.

“Mmphmm.” He was quiet again for a moment.

I snuggled him a little tighter and settled in for a nap, waiting to hear the tell-tale signs of his slumbered breathing.

“But,” his voice broke the silence, “Ye said that if the man was a good lover,” he paused, “I want it to happen every time.”

My heart skipped a beat at the raw honesty in his voice. Perhaps it was time for me to provide a little more instruction. He certainly seemed willing. “Well…” I started, “What I meant was that if a man is a good lover, and pays attention, if it doesn't happen, there are … other ways.”

At this Jamie’s body language shifted from post-coital lethargy to eager anticipation. He pushed up on his side, effectively rolling my cushioned head off of his shoulder and back onto the pillow next to us.

“Will ye show me?” he asked.

I smiled in answer and pulled his head down for another kiss. My tongue invaded his mouth and he groaned. Little lightning bolts of electricity flittered down my body to where I needed the most attention.

I took his hand and lightly kissed each of his long fingers before taking the middle one into my mouth and sucking gently down to his knuckle. His eyes narrowed as a new flush of arousal clouded them. I momentarily expected him to forget any exploration, spread my legs, and drive home again. He continued to stare at me, his breathing labored with restraint. I kissed him and guided his hand down between my legs. He cupped and rubbed me up and down, grazing the springy curls. He pulled back from our kiss as one finger gently parted my folds to touch the wet center.

“Should I be gentle?” he asked.

“It depends. Gentle if the woman isn’t aroused yet. You can be firmer as she gets close.”

“No women, Claire. I only want to ken you. Just my wife.”

I hadn’t meant to phrase it that way aloud. I was teaching Jamie how to love a woman. How to pleasure not only me, but whoever came next after I was gone. But as far as Jamie was concerned, he was a married man -- now and forever.

I had the sudden urge to pull away and sit up. It wasn’t fair to let him become any more attached to us. And to lay myself bare in front of him blurred the lines even more for me, as well. But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t pull away.

He furrowed his brow. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” I responded, shaking my head.

After a moment, he asked again, “Gentle or firm?”

“I’m still aroused … a firmer touch is good.”

He ran his finger from my opening up to my clitoris, pausing there to tour both sides of the soft hood before sliding back down. This time when he reached the entrance, he slipped inside.

I let out a sigh.

“It’s so wet.” he said, resting his forehead against mine.

“Some of it is me. Some of it is you.” I cupped the side of his face to pull him back and gently kiss his lips.

He had a far off look in his eyes, as if he was trying to see what his fingers felt. He gently moved in and out, more in exploration than trying to elicit pleasure, though it felt heavenly.

“When you’re inside me,” I started, “You rub against that spot there, where your fingertip is right now.”

“Here?” he teased, wiggling his finger with purpose now.

“Yeesss.”

“Does it have a name?” he asked.

“Well, I don’t know exactly, I don’t think that actual spot has a name, but your finger is inside my vagina.” I said with a slight giggle.

“Vagina.” he repeated. “That’s a much nicer name than I’ve heard men call it.”

“And what have you heard?” I asked, curious.

“Cunt, mostly.” he said with a sheepish smile. “Angus says gash. Quim, furrow … and slit. Probably a few others I canna remember.”

“Lovely.” I replied. I resisted the idea to teach Jamie and few new, modern terms since I was eager to get back to the matter at hand. There was always tomorrow.

I reached down to grasp his wrist and urged him a little deeper. Without formal instruction, I instead firmly began to rub the pads of my fingers against the back of his hand to mimic the motion I craved. A quick study, he set about to move in a delicious slow rhythm.

“That feel good, Sassenach?”

“You have no idea…”

“Oh aye, I think I do.” he leaned down and captured my lips with his own while he continued.

I found it harder to stay still and started to gently thrust my hips downward on each of his upward strokes.

“I like it when ye start to squirm. Like it feels so good ye can’t help it.” His voice was deep and I could feel the vibrations against my cheek.

His movements and words were becoming an overwhelming combination. I gripped at his neck, trying to hold on to something.

He abruptly stopped and pulled his finger out. “But no yet. Show me the other spots.”

“What?” I asked breathlessly.

He grinned, proud of himself and gently traced my entrance. “What’s this called?”

Taking a deep inhale and exhale to steady my breathing, I again guided his hand. “Those are the labia minora,” I moved him to the pads of my outer lips and said, “These are the labia majora.”

“So furry and soft.” he said as he again cupped the entire area in his large hand. He buried his head in my neck and planted gentle kisses along my collarbone. His thumb grazed my--

“What is this, Sassenach?” he asked as he strummed the little bundle of flesh.

“That is the clitoris.” I said, “It’s the most sensitive part. It likes a lot of attention.”

“Oh…” he replied. “Does it feel good if I rub it?”

“Yes, just like that… small circles… if you do it long enough I’ll almost always orgasm... um, climax.” What had been a tingle was now a burn spreading from where his fingers touched my sensitive skin to deep in my womb.

Determined, he continued to rub and lowered his mouth to my nipple to tease it with his tongue. I started to squirm again and gripped his arm. “It feels harder now … like your nipples get in my mouth.”

“Yes… oh God, Jamie… it feels good.”

He stopped again for a second and I almost cried out in protest before I realized he was only adjusting to slide two fingers back inside me while his thumb took over the exquisite teasing of the little ball of nerves. My God, this man was a fast learner.

He was erect again and I grasped him with both hands, one holding on to his shaft and the other cupping his weighty testicles.

“Don’t stop… don’t stop… please…” I begged.

His slick fingers were everywhere at once and I felt the burning ache in my pelvis build and expand until I was no longer aware of anything except the buzzing between my legs, and his heat in my palms. The ache finally burst into a flame that radiated throughout my body as I convulsed.

“Mo chaileagan brèagha...” Jamie stared into my eyes. His own looked like they wanted to say more than his voice would let him. I felt my eyes sting with a similar restraint.

Instead he wordlessly shifted himself between my legs and entered me in one long push. An aftershock gripped him tightly and he moaned.

“Ye feel so good … so hot and swollen … this is heaven.” He swiftly worked himself to orgasm and once again collapsed against me.

Feeling finally sated I excused myself to use the privy and then settled back onto the bed.

Jamie pulled me into his arms and spooned himself around me. “Every time, Sassenach. I want to be a good lover to ye every time.”

“You are a very good lover, James Fraser, but not just because you gave me pleasure.”

“No?”

“No, because you cared whether or not I experienced pleasure.”

“Mmphmm,” he said into my hair, “every time.”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire beauchamp

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imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years

Text

Flood my Mornings: Ian

Notes from Mod Bonnie

This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

See all past installments via Bonnie’s Master List

Previous installment: Climbing (Bree is a wee terror. And, oh yeah, Claire goes into labor)

July 21, 1951

He was driving too fast, still, and he didn’t care.

The entire body of the Car had screamed as the tip of the bumper scraped a post box a mile back. Just a scratch—not to say repairing the damage wouldn’t be expensive—but no harm done to the box itself, so he had kept going.

On a day with clear roads, it would have been nearly three quarters of an hour’s drive from Fernace to the new hospital where Claire had planned to deliver; but the route on this particular Saturday was as plagued as Odysseus’, it seemed. Knowing precisely how precious time and haste were, this day, all of Boston was foiling and delaying him at every turn out of apparent spite.

“She says to tell you she’s fine,” Marian had said as they very quickly made for the parking lot. “She said her water broke unexpectedly, and that she was getting into the ambulance right that moment, and she’ll meet you at the hospital. And then she said to come as soon as you could but to, um….” and Marian had laughed nervously, attempting the unfamiliar words, “din-na-fash?”

But he did fash, immediately, fully, and at length. It was the Ambulance that had frightened him the most. Surely she would have called Mrs Byrd or even a Taxi if the need were less urgent?

The thoughts whirled around in his head, diving and pecking like carrion birds as he wove through the streets.

A week and a half early….Was that premature enough to be concerning? Surely not terribly so. No, certainly it was nothing to worry over.

….Lord but didn’t bairns usually lay quiet for days leading up to the waters coming? Ian had been wriggling and moving about like mad all the night.

Would he—

Would that somehow have made—?

…..Claire WOULDN’T have called the Ambulance, not unless there were something wrong; not unless she were in pain or the babe were in distress….

Jesus.

“I’m coming, mo nighean donn,” he muttered aloud, as though gritting his teeth harder would make it so.

A Traffic light changed to red and he slammed his foot down on the brake pedal just in time, getting a sounding horn from the vehicle behind him. “DEVIL OF THE SEVEN FUCKING MIDDENS TAKE YE, ” he bellowed back in Gaelic.

He slammed his palm on the steering wheel for the futility of it. God, if he could only hear her voice, only let her know he was on his way. “Why the hell can they not put Phones in Automobiles?!” he demanded of this bloody great world and century that could find a way to let men FLY and yet not manage the most obvious of useful innovations.

But by the time the light turned green once more, he wasn’t angry. He was only making vows like never before in his life.

If she was hurting

If he missed the birth

If something were to happen to either of them

Both of them

Jamie sped faster. Let the law try and give him one of their blasted Tickets. He would not let Claire be alone, this time.

With a shock, Jamie realized that the woman behind the so-called Welcome Desk was the same that had refused him entry a year ago. He remembered that bell-shaped gleam of jet-black hair. He’d been dirty and near-starving, and she’d had him escorted forcibly out on sight before he could get any word on whether or not Claire worked there. Thank goodness there wasn’t time to waste on renewing old acquaintance.

“I’m looking—” he panted, all but slamming into the high wall of the station, “Wife—Giving—birth—Fraser? Claire Fr—Christ—Fraser?”

“Awww, how wonderful!” the woman beamed up at him in genuine, startling warmth. “The fathers’ lounge is on the fourth floor, sir. Elevators are just that way!”

“But where do I find my wife?”

The woman gave a knowing smile that she likely meant to be reassuring. “Just go up the fourth floor, Mr. Father-to-be, and the nurses will get you to the right place, okay? Congratulations in advance!!”

As he skidded in the direction the fickle ninny pointed, Jamie saw a crush of people already waiting to board the Elevator. Casting about wildly, he ran instead for the door to the stairs and bolted up them three at a time, spilling out into the fourth-floor corridor and nearly colliding with passersby as he swayed, trying to get his bearings. He practically lunged toward the nurses’ station when he finally caught sight of it. “My wife—(Pardon, Good day to ye, Mistr—er, Ma’am)—Claire Fraser? They said ye could take me to—?”

“Follow me,” the nurse behind the desk said shortly, grabbing a stack of papers and leading him down the corridor. She was very handsome-looking, of about Claire’s age, but where Claire exemplified kind, professional efficiency when on duty, this woman exuded nothing but irritation. On another day, he might have pitied her, wondered what it was troubling her or even asked in hopes of being of some assistance, but as it was, all he could think of was BY GOD and all the saints, this woman could hardly walk any slower if she TRIED.

“Here,” she said tersely at last, opening a door and ushering him inside. He blinked, for it looked astonishingly like his own sitting room at home, save for it was filled with half a dozen men in suits, all smoking or reading newspapers or both. Lounge.

“I do beg your pardon, Ma’am,” he said, with an attempt at cordiality, “In my haste, I wasna at all clear, my fault entirely. I need only to be directed to the room where my wife is delivering. Claire Fraser? She was rushed here in an Amb—”

“Fathers aren’t allowed in the delivery suites, sir,” the woman said with an immediate frosty condescension that make him bristle. “I might be able to get you an update on how she is,” she said, clearly implying that it would be the last of her many important tasks, “but you’ll have to stay here.”

“For how long?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.

All the men in the room were staring scornfully at him. The woman gave him an equally-withering glare. “Until your wife is finished delivering.”

His fists were clenched. “My name is James Fraser,” he said carefully, quietly, giving her exactly one more chance to help him, “and you’ll tell me at once where I may find my wife.”

The woman recoiled as though he’d struck her. “Did you not hear me? Fathers are not allowed in the delivery suites. It is unsanitary and unseemly and—SIR!! You come right back—MR—Forr—?—FRASER! You stop right this moment! Security? SECURITY!”

He scanned the signs and arrows wildly. He bore left and ran as fast as he could toward Labor and Delivery until a man of nearly his own height caught him round the middle and smashed him against the wall. He swore profusely in Gaelic, getting only an elbow in the ribs for his trouble. Jamie could have taken the man down in a moment, but hurting someone on hospital premises would certainly not help him get to Claire’s side, let alone remain there for the course of the birth.

“I must see my wife,” he implored the small crowd of nurses and patients who had gathered, the sour, beautiful nurse looking smugly triumphant at the head.“Ye dinna understand, she CANNA be alone. I must be with her—I MU—”

“And as I explained to you, SIR,” the woman said, “it is simply NOT ALLOWED. Hospital policy dictates—”

“MY WIFE—” he snarled, his temper mere inches away from unleashing completely, “—is not a matter of policy, nor is my child, so you’ll take me to them peaceably, or GOD HELP ME, I shall—”

“Mr. Fraser!”

Jamie whipped his head around and—God and Mary and all the saints be praised—saw an archangel in form of Dr. Vernon Reynolds striding down the hall for him.

“Officer?” the good doctor said politely enough as he drew up level, casting around a glance that sent the onlookers scurrying. “Why are you restraining this man?”

“This—this—IRISHMAN refuses to stay in the father’s lounge, doctor!” It was the wretched nurse who answered. “He just charged down here, shouting in tongues, insisting —”

“I left explicit instructions that a special exception was to be made for the Frasers,” Dr. Reynolds said crisply, managing to convey absolute authority only by looking politely bemused. “Did you not see the note at the nurses’ station?”

The nurse gave a shocked gurgle of displeasure. Dr. Reynolds smiled cooly at her. “Why don’t you go check in on the gentlemen in the lounge, Nurse Kline, and see Officer Gable back to his station while you’re at it. I’ll personally escort Mr. Fraser to his wife’s room.” And before either could object, Dr. Reynolds had put a light hand on Jamie’s arm and turned them smartly down the hall.

Jamie released a sigh of deep relief, thick and painful from the sudden lump in his throat. “Doctor, Jesus, I canna thank ye en—”

“Your Claire is doing just fine,” the always-intuitive doctor was already saying, setting them a brisk pace. “The baby has decided to start the process a tad early, but not so early as to be worrying or dangerous, if all else goes well. Heartbeat is strong, the head is in the right direction. Mrs. Fraser is about 60% dilated and coming along steadily. Experiencing a great deal of discomfort, but nothing I wouldn’t expect to see in a woman delivering full-term, vaginally, and un-sedated for the first time. They’re both alright,” the man summarized for good measure, stopping at a juncture and clapping Jamie on the shoulder. “Suite 4B-44, down that corridor and then take a right. I’ll be checking in on you both shortly.”

“I thank ye,” Jamie gasped as he shook the doctor’s hand with both his own and then and began sprinting. “Truly, God bless ye!”

True, it had taken no little fortitude and restraint to reconcile all those months ago with the notion that Claire was to have a MALE doctor seeing to her care—seeing to her most intimate care. But the man had slowly gained Jamie’s trust after that first tense visit (he had delivered Brianna, after all); and in that particular moment, (even despite the barbarous instinct that had momentarily bade him tear the man’s throat out for that casual ‘vaginally’), Jamie could have KISSED Dr. Vernon Reynolds with only good will in his heart. In fact, wheeling around the bend, Jamie found himself making a mental note to send the man some monstrously extravagant gift, after all was said and done.

4B-40…

4B-41…

4B-42…

4B-43…

He burst through the door of 4B-44 and—

“—JAMIE!”

He flung himself toward the bed and got his arms around her. “I’m here,” he gasped out, kissing her cheeks and mouth, “Lord, I’m so sorry—I’m here, Sassenach.”

She was fitted out in a cloth smock, her face red and slick with sweat and absolutely broken with emotion as she touched his face and grasped at him, gulping air. “I thought—you would—miss—”

“Not for the world or anything in it,” he promised, leaning his head against hers and running his thumb over her clammy cheek. “Though with the traffic and all, I feared—Och, now, breathe slow wi’ me, Sassenach, aye?” She was having trouble catching her breath amid the agitation, and that scared him enough to force his own faculties into submission. “….Aye, just like that.….Good, lass….You’re alright, mo chridhe,” he murmured, “…We’re alright….”

Eyes closed, held close, they breathed, long and slow, and they settled into peace, or as much as could be managed with the machines chirruping the nurses coming and going.

“Bree?” Claire suddenly demanded, looking wildly around.

“Wi’ the Harpers, for now, and Marian promised to call Penelope and arrange things. But Sassenach, will ye tell me, how did it happen? When Marian said ye’d called for an Ambulance—”

“My water broke while I was asleep,” she said shakily, squeezing his hand. “I woke up right as the surge came and with it these—” she shuddered, “—HUGE full-force contractions and it scared me so badly, and… When I got myself up there was blood on the mattress.”

She closed her eyes and clutched him fiercely, and he knew exactly why that sight should have led her to call the Ambulance at once. “Ye did exactly right.” He kissed her temple before drawing back and looking her in the eye. “But the only thing that matters is ye got here, and Dr. Reynolds says the babe is just fine. All is well.”

“Yes,” she repeated as though to convince herself, “all isJEEESUS-H-ROOS—AGHHH—”

“CLAIRE?!?!”

Her entire body had thrown itself into a seizing, contorting spasm in the space of a single moment. She was crying out in great pain, her grip on his hand now tripled and getting stronger. He gripped back, completely undone with panic and not having a single clue what to do. “What can—Call for the doctor!” he demanded of the nurse at the other side of the room.

“No need, she’s alright,” the woman said reassuringly. “Just a little contraction, is all, nothing to worry about.”

“Why don’t YOU come bloody try it, if it’s so LITTLE?” Claire suddenly snarled, glaring at the woman through the pain like a beast straight from the gates of hell.

“Oh, I’ve had three of my own and that’s plenty,” the woman said cheerily with a grin at Jamie, completely nonplussed. “But I’ll go give Dr. Reynolds an update all the same and be back in just a few minutes.”

Claire growled something shocking after her as the door closed, and despite the fear and the absolute shock of witnessing what just one ‘little’ Contraction was doing to her, Jamie burst out laughing and even Claire grinned, though all mirth vanished almost at once as Claire’s back arched and she hissed, groaning and squeezing her face tight in pain.

Then, just as suddenly as the attack had come, it abated, and Claire fell back fully on the pillow, gasping and spent.

“Dear Holy God,” Jamie swore, laying gentle fingertips on her brow and her shoulder. “That was—God, Claire…”

“I’m alright.” HE wasn’t. He was absolutely terrified, but she squeezed his hand with a weak smile. “Remind me again why it is I wanted to do this without sedation?”

“Damned if I ken,” he said sincerely.

In the serene green-painted walls of Dr. Reynolds’ office months before, it had seemed patently and abundantly obvious that of course, Claire should not be placed into a death-like state, now or ever, but certainly not with the bairn inside her. Now, anything that could spare her that kind of pain seemed absolutely and imminently necessary.

“Too late to do anything about it now,” she said, anticipating his next line of thought. She winced sharply and Jamie jumped. “No, it’s not another one. Ian’s just kicking a lass while she’s down,” she groaned with a weak smile, rubbing her belly. “Get on those ‘how to be a gentleman’ lessons pronto when he gets here, alright?”

Ian. Lord, in all the worry over Claire in her pain, it had been easy to overlook the reason for it all, the worry for him, too. Lord, that he might be safe.

But he managed to rasp out a bark of a laugh, keeping up the buoyant hope and gripping her hand overtop the same spot. “Straightaway.”

He had once told Claire that he was glad that they mightn’t ever have children, for he wouldn’t wish her to be subjected to such pain and danger.

I can bear pain myself, he had said, holding her close at Lallybroch, his heart secretly breaking despite his noble (and no less honest) declaration, but I couldna bear yours. That would take more strength than I have.

It did take more strength than he had. Far, far more.

He knew it was a hard birth even without having personally witnessed one before. The Contractions were absolutely nothing compared with what ripped through Claire once Dr. Reynolds had her pushing in good earnest. To see her thus subjected, to see her in such excruciating pain…

Jamie coaxed and soothed and begged her to breathe, but God, there wasn’t a damned thing he could truly do other than bear witness to her agony. A fitting atonement, in the end, he reflected.

Jesus, how he scorned those men sitting drinking coffees in the lounge. How could any man sit within a stone’s throw of his woman going through such anguish and CHOOSE to lay about and smoke rather than be by her side? ….True, even in his own time, it was rare for a man to be present during the birth, but even so! It made his blood boil for the cowardice of men to always be hiding from their wives’ pain.

No, as much as it tore his heart out to hear her screams and to feel each wave of pain that coursed through her, it was his duty and honor and privilege to hold her, speak what words he could to her, pray what prayers he could utter, all at her side.

Hours passed, HOURS of this torture in Claire’s body, and he truly didn’t know how she could withstand it. She was strong and fit, and made of tougher fiber than any other woman he’d encountered, but Jamie didn’t know if even he could have borne the like for so long a period of time. The babe seemed to be tearing her apart from the inside, and his fear for the both of them was so acute as to drive him mad as the evening darkened.

Oh, but at last, Claire’s cries and the doctor’s directions rose up together in a massive crescendo of sound, her body seeming to ripple as though ready to shatter.

“One more push, Claire,” the doctor shouted with the kind of command that won battles, “NOW— hard as you can—”

That final scream was the sound of hell itself.

Then, the world shifted, and those next seconds were perfect and eternal.

A whoosh of breath and liquid and a great, grating gasp and Claire’s entire body seemed to collapse.

Sounds of excited triumph; the doctor moving quickly to the table at the end of the room.

A little boy! someone proclaimed.

Claire was prostrate with the sudden relief of deliverance, her head lolling on his shoulder, back heaving against his chest. She was beaming, though, faint laughter pouring from her throat even as she struggled to keep her eyes open. “Jamie….”

“Oh lass,” Jamie cupped her cheek and held her close against him, his incredible, strong wife. “He’s arrived,” he gasped, “Ian’s—”

An uncanny dread struck them both and they straightened to look where the doctor and nurses were huddled. Their murmurs crossed the room and struck like bullets though all their backs were turned, hunched over the babe.

“What’s amiss?” Jamie demanded at once, leaping to his feet. “Is he alright?”

“—cyanosis soon—”

“—Call NICU—”

“He can’t breathe?” Claire’s voice was a shrill scream and Jamie’s chest seemed to cave in. “He can’t—?”

“CALL NICU, NOW!” Reynolds bellowed again, oblivious to anything else, and his team went running.

“No—no, no, no—” Claire was utterly dissolving. He fell toward her, words completely failing him. He covered and wrapped her in his arms, that he might shield her. “Jamie,” she pleaded in a cracked, sobbing whisper, her fingers shaking uncontrollably on his neck. “Jamie….Please….”

I canna, he tried to say, but he couldn’t even do that. He couldn’t save his child. He could do nothing except hold her as she began to wail, a sound the like of which he’d never heard before, that cut him open to the marrow.

He would bear this for the both of them. He would wrap his body around this pain and HE would carry it.

Please, God,

Do anything you wish to me. Send me to the war, take my sight, take ME, NOW, but don’t take him.

Spare our son.

And then Ian Henry Fergus Beauchamp Fraser let forth a cry to wake the spirits.

The group was still huddled together, but their voices were soft and easy with laughter and calm over the heart-rending cries of the babe.

“He’s alright,” said one of the nurses, running over with eyes intensely earnest and putting a hand on Claire’s shoulder. “Screaming is good—VERY good! He’s okay.”

Claire closed her eyes and covered her face, her entire body shaking with silent sobs of devastating relief. Jamie kept his hands on her, but his eyes fixed on the group seeing to the child, his pounding heart still refusing to believe.

Reynolds suddenly boomed a great, muffled laugh. “I just remembered your big sister’s birth day, little guy! Scaring the living daylights out of people from day one must run in the family!” A murmur of low words to a nurse, then he spoke again in a soothing baritone, carefully pitched loud enough for all to hear, “Yeah, you’re alright, buddy….Got your breath now, and everything else is looking good. Just give us another minute to get you cleaned up and we’ll get you right over to Mom and Dad, okay?”

Jamie all but collapsed into Claire, then, surrendering to weep with her, just for a time. Neither of them spoke. The relief and the joy was too great, but they each knew what their Heart was thinking, was feeling. He kissed her lips. She touched his cheek.

“Mr. Fraser?” Reynolds said suddenly, his voice no longer muffled.

Jamie jumped to his feet, staggering a bit and running a sleeve across his eyes. The good doctor still had his mask on, but his eyes were smiling as he held out the blanket-wrapped bundle. “Would you like the honor of introducing this little guy to your wife?”

Honor. The good doctor had not the faintest idea of just how great was the honor, the joy, the exquisite gift of reaching down and lifting his newborn child into his arms.

“Ian…” Jamie wept, gasping in great heaving breaths as he pressed his cheek to his son’s forehead, as he kissed him. “Tha gaol agam ort, Iain, a bhailaich.”

The tiny lad was red all over and screaming inconsolably, his arms windmilling about, untucking the blanket in which he’d been wrapped. Jamie felt the blades cleave his heart to see those bitty wee fists shaking in terrified abandon, to hear his son's cries, so utterly desolate and lost, with no hope–

“Dinna fash, a chuisle,” Jamie begged as he turned toward the bed, staring rapt into the boy’s face, sheltering him from the harsh Electric lights with his hand. “It’s alright, aye? Everything’s alright, now. You’re going to meet your Mam, and—” He could barely speak, but he managed to smile, his heart broken with loving them. “—and she’s going to make your life—absolutely wonderful, I promise.”

And if picking Ian up in his own arms had been a gift beyond imagining, laying him down into Claire’s and hearing that exquisite sound of love escape her as she cradled him was—everything.

“Hello, little darling….” Claire choked out in barely a whisper. She curled her body over her son. “I’m so glad to meet you.” She brought him up close to her face and kissed him again and again as he cried, letting her own tears bless him. “I love you, Ian,” she breathed, “….Oh, sweetheart…. Mummy loves you so much….”

Without taking her eyes away, she pulled down the neck of her gown to give the child her breast, guiding him with an expert hand. The babe’s cries silenced at once as he latched on, and her sharp gasp of surprise and delight echoed in the sudden silence. Her soft, tearful laughter as she beamed down at him, nourishing him, speaking love over him —

“Jamie? Jamie?” Claire was saying, touching his arm urgently. “Are you alright, love?”

He had gone to his knees beside the bed, weeping so brokenly it was physical pain to keep any sound from escaping and disturbing this peace.

Something had healed within him, to see a child at her breast, something so deeply broken and scarred in his heart that he’d thought it a permanent part of him. The gnarled edges had blazed with light, leaving scarcely a trace behind.

Without a word, she took his hand and pulled him up beside her onto the bed. He tried to say her name—to ask? to tell? He didn’t know for sure, but it didn’t matter. Claire’s kiss on his mouth. Claire’s soft syllables, crooning to him, and his cheek cradled against her shoulder. Her hand reaching for his, the one she’d healed, bringing it to cup Ian’s head against her breast. Those things were sure. Those things he would remember until the day he died.

#in which Jamie invents the car phone #obviously that is the main highlight of this chapter. i mean did you even read it?#holy god this is like 4.2k words #but i didn't want to leave you hanging this time #ya welcome #see? I can be considerate and throw you a bone on occasion #I can't freaking believe I gave this kid an ODD NUMBER birthday #shame shame shame @ myself #Flood my mornings #;mod Bonnie

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seenashwrite · 7 years

Text

SNIPED (Part One)

Status: Complete (Part 1 of 5) Word Count: 8.4K Rating: 18+/Mature/Explicit for Adult Themes including - Graphic sexual situations; Mild-to-moderate violence; Coarse language Categories: Drama; Action; Romance; Porn-with-Plot; Smut; On-the-hunt Character(s): Dean; Sam; Reader/O.C. Female; Jody; Crowley [briefly]; Alex & Claire [mentioned]; Castiel [mentioned] Pairings: Dean x Reader/OC Female [Pts. 2 & 5]; Sam x Reader/OC Female [Pt. 3] Warning(s): See “Rating” section above Author’s Note(s): Post-story Overall Summary: The Winchesters receive assistance on their case from a sniper.

|| SNIPED Master Post ||

Dean's face warped through a variety of expressions, then ended on a frown.

"WHAT?!" he mouthed at me.

I felt my eyes narrow into a glare as I mouthed the first string of curses that came to my mind in reply, then turned back to getting lined up, prepping for the target, not bothering to gauge his reaction.

I needed to focus.

He'd bumped me, again. Which had made me jostle the rifle. Again.

Focus.

Shutting one eye, I peered through the scope, stiffening up a bit as I locked into the mindset that made me so damn good. The wind had picked up a little more, so I mentally adjusted my earlier calculations. The target had already passed nearby once, but I didn't fire; it had been too agitated, too twitchy. I needed it casual. Perhaps even distracted. So I didn't begrudge the wind - it was probably stirring up the smell of the bait that had been tossed out after its earlier pass. Which is exactly what happened. I spotted movement just barely off to the right of what I could fully visualize through the scope.

Nice little beastie. Come on over. Get lazy and complacent.

Dean was close enough for me to hear when his stomach rumbled. I didn't move a muscle. I'd had more than that distracting me in the past, god knows.

It was beginning to pass through the crosshairs. The target may have changed, but the routine remained old hat. Just another notch on the proverbial belt. And I still repeated my first instructor's mantra in my mind every time.

At the ready.

Finger on trigger.

Breathe in.

Let out.

Now squeeze.

ZIP

Right through the cricoid. It stumbled backwards, hands reaching up to grab its throat. It didn't fall, stopped only by a thick bur oak. I'd loaned Sam my other earpiece. He was on the ground, amongst the trees. His voice came through to me sharply, just a single word:

"Wait."

I held up my hand to Dean, who was poised to run from our cover to meet up with him. I met his eye and subtly shook my head. Then I chambered another round, got back on the scope.

It had steadied itself, still gripping the wound with one hand, pushing away from the tree trunk with the other, but then it fell in a heap. Dean and Sam rushed it, arriving at almost the same time. I'd kept aim while they were en route, just in case. Soon I could hear in my ear that Sam was chanting something. Then Dean was impaling it with something.

And I was pulling my earpiece out. I let it hang on my shoulder as I slid my case closer. Sooner I broke the rifle down, sooner they could take me home. When they got back over to me, they were clearly filled with relief and pride.

"Man, I thought we'd never nail it!" Dean said.

I paused, looked up and over at him slowly, raising an eyebrow.

He bothered to look a touch chagrined. "Well, I mean, you, you technically--"

"Gotcha," I replied, popping the unused round and catching it, then tossing it to Sam. There was no risk of a detonation. They weren't my normal ammo.

"Thanks," he said, sticking it in his pocket. Then he said - "I mean, for all of it. Really. We couldn't have done this without you."

"You're welcome," I told him, now rushing through the breakdown, putting the parts back in my case carefully, but at lightning speed. "Not that tough of a shot."

"Uh, well, and I'm, um," Dean was trying to get out.

I kept packing.

"You know, earlier, I'm sorry about when I--"

I looked up again. "When you winged it after I specifically asked you not to bring your gun, and then we had to track it for five miles and I had to find a different little hidey-hole, even though that other one was damn near perfect, causing me to have to use a suppressor because we were so friggin' close?" I gave him a bright smile and batted my eyelashes, then let the smile - and the attention I was giving him - pointedly melt away before I looked back down, resuming my task.

"I'm gonna go pull the car closer," Dean muttered to Sam.

I knew how hateful I'd sounded, and I didn't care. He'd pissed me off. Jody had hooked us up for a reason: they needed a sniper. And Dean's attitude had not been subtle. It was clear how he felt about needing help from an outsider, especially from one who gave them direction on the best strategy to take out something that had stumped them for months. And maybe it was also because I didn't have a dick. Wouldn't be the first time, wouldn't be the last.

"No joke, I'm seriously sorry about all that," Sam said after Dean walked away.

I was seriously sorry I'd agreed to do it on the house, as a favor for Jody. I was also seriously sorry I hadn't brought my own car. Nice as Sam was, Dean was a real pill.

Sam handed me the earpiece he'd used and I stuck it in one of the zippered pockets on the side of my pants. I followed suit, removing mine the rest of the way and stowing it as well.

"Eh, don't sweat it," I told him. "Good job going ahead and making the subsonic versions of... whatever the hell was in those."

Sam nodded, and he seemed to appreciate my praise; at least one of them was capable of accepting my expertise and following instructions. I fastened the case closed, grabbed the handle and stood, bringing it up with me.

"Mmmm," I involuntarily muttered, raising my free hand to rub the back of my neck, frowning. I hated being reminded of how old I was getting.

Sam raised his eyebrows at me in a questioning manner and reached out. I nodded and let him take the case from me. We began to walk out of the woods. One pro that came out of the new vantage point - it was a shorter hike back to the main road.

"Not used to staying in the same position like that anymore," I volunteered after we'd gone a little ways in silence. I'd gotten so bad at making conversation. Jody kept encouraging me to practice. Just like I kept my skills sharp at the range, I had to keep the people skills sharp, too, she'd told me.

I hated her sometimes, with her absolutely accurate advice.

"I can imagine," Sam replied with a little chuckle. "I know it's not the same, but these legs don't exactly fold up in tight spaces."

I nodded. I was on the tall side for a woman, but goddamn. He was a mountain. A lifetime ago, I'd have daydreamed about scaling it.

I was still doing mini-stretches, rolling my shoulders backwards and forwards, when we arrived at the Impala. Dean, to his credit, had the trunk open and ready to stow the rifle case. And he'd gotten out bottles of water, set them on the hood. Sam was putting the case away and Dean was sipping his own bottle of water when I reached up, pulled out the two ponytail holders it had taken to wind all my hair up into a tight bun, helping it loosen and separate with my other hand as it fell.

"Ppppfffft!"

Sam looked around the trunk lid and I jerked my head, both in the direction of the front of the car.

Dean had executed a movie-quality spit-take, now wiping residual moisture from his chin. He looked to me sheepishly. I felt myself just staring.

Yeah, the old shirt with patched elbows and holes at virtually all the seams, and the bulky cargo pants worn thin at the knees, all in camo, and the bonus of scuffed black combat boots to top it all off was suuuuper hot, I thought. I turned my head away, shaking it a little in annoyance, putting the ponytail holders on my wrist. Then I looked to my other wrist, flipped it, and saw the time. I cursed under my breath for what had to have been the eight-hundredth time since this never-ending godforsaken road trip had started.

By the time they got me back to Jody's to get my car, there was no way I'd be getting home anywhere near when I'd planned to. The mission was supposed to take us about a third of the way between Jody's place and theirs. Then we'd apparently missed that... thing... somewhere outside of Omaha, and now we'd ended up closer to Kansas than South Dakota. I had been with them going on two full days, tried to sleep as we drove through the night, listened to every syllable of every classic rock song that had ever been recorded, and I was done. Done. DONE. When I looked back up, Sam had clearly read me like a book, and he extended the only olive branch he had to offer.

"I'm getting in back this time," he told me, and since I could tell he really meant it, I nodded. He then moved to open the passenger side door for me, in the same attentive manner he'd had when taking the rifle. I have no idea what look crossed my face but he apparently read it accurately as well, because he slowly backed off, instead opening his own door and climbing in.

I went closer to the car, glancing quickly to the woods around us, up and down the road, checking our perimeter.

"Go ahead, hop in," Dean said, and I blinked a few times, coming out of my daze.

I looked across the roof at him and his faintly puzzled expression. "Habit," I said, then pulled on the handle and got into the car.

When we'd reached civilization, they stopped for food. In the drive-thru, Dean asked what I wanted.

"I'm good," I said.

"I mean it. Our treat."

"No thanks." I had been staring out the window and kept on doing so, opting to ignore Jody's advice. I wasn't in the mood to try and be charming and practice being a people person. Teamwork could suck it.

Dean kept quiet til reaching the speaker. Sam said his order, then Dean said his, and then the cashier said, "Will there be anything else?"

Dean reached over, gave the side of my thigh a tap with the back of his hand, and I looked over with an involuntary crease of my forehead at the touch.

"You're sure you don't--"

Before he'd even gotten the question out, I'd unsnapped one of my pants' bigger pockets, pulling out one of those chalky, disgusting, protein-and-carbo-packed bars coated in fake chocolate. Then I reached down and picked up my nearly empty water bottle. I shook both gently with raised eyebrows and a fake, closed-lip smile on my face.

Dean Winchester had a listening problem.

Now he was almost glaring when he informed me, "That's the last of the water."

We stared at each other.

"Large of whatever's first on the list," I told him, then tossed the bar onto the dash and returned the water bottle to where it had been on the floorboard, clamped between my boots. And as I was leaning back up, I heard him say:

"Please."

I sat up poker straight and turned my head to face Dean. We stared at each other again. If he thought I'd blink first, he was sorely mistaken.

The scratchy speaker came alive. "I'm sorry sir, I didn't catch that?"

Another moment passed. Sam leaned up and craned his head out the window again, telling them what I wanted. The total was given, followed by the standard request to pull around.

We were statue-still.

"Um, Dean," Sam began.

Dean kept locked onto my eyes, steady as a rock. He was good at this. Not 1200 meter kill shot good, but good.

"We can pull up now," Sam tried again.

Take your little victory, I thought, breaking the stare, sitting back and gazing out the window once more. "Please."

Only then did Dean pull around to the window.

They were munching as we drove down the road. I hated the smell of the onions. I loved the smell of the french fries. I hated being such a stubborn mule.

"So, we have a decision to make," Dean said through a partially chewed bite of his burger.

Was he actively trying to be gross?

He thankfully swallowed before continuing. "I'm not in the mood to drive all the way back to Jody's, then have to share a bed with Sam in her guest room," Dean began.

Okay. He was talking to me.

"I think the best thing to do is head to the bunker--"

I looked to him, aghast.

"--and we've got plenty of room, we can pick up a toothbrush for you when we stop to fill up--"

Did he not notice the big black bulky thing I'd thrown in the back floorboard when they picked me up? I was never not prepared. There was already a toothbrush in my backpack. And a change of clothes.

And a Glock.

"--then we'll all be fresh daisies, get you home tomorrow. Whaddya say, Snipes?"

Oh god. He'd nicknamed me. Had my letting him win a staring contest actually infused him with enough bravado to try and make friends? Convince me to stay in what Jody had described as essentially a really large basement? I felt my lower back start to lock up from the internalized stress.

"I need to get out," I abruptly announced, trying to lean at different angles to adjust my position.

"Do you need to pee?" Dean asked.

"Do I wha... what?!" I was practically crawling up the side of the door now, planting a hand on the back of the seat, trying to lift myself, get rid of the pressure.

"I mean, you drank all that water, and I haven't seen you pee all day, and--"

My eyebrows shot up. "You're tracking my bladder?" He looked at me like I was crazy.

"Are you crazy?" Dean asked in a gruff voice, confirming my thought. But he did seem to be obeying my request - well, my edict - as he was slowing, getting into the other lane. There were several gas stations up ahead.

The Impala had barely made it into the parking space when I threw open the door and started making my way down the side of the gas station. I wanted to get close to the wall so I could brace against it. Just in case.

But damn it to hell. Ten steps in, and I knew I'd screwed myself. I'd let the stress of the trip get to me, and it had balled up right in my weak spot. Prodded to life by what was totally my fault, and now the nerve pain had already started shooting down one of my legs.

"Walk it off, walk it off," I starting chanting to myself, before I started grinding my teeth; a particularly sharp stab and boom - my left knee wobbled, and I was still nowhere near the wall. My left forearm was suddenly gripped firmly, a similar grip now snaking around my waist, keeping me upright. "Shit," I breathed out, the pain distracting me out of pushing whoever it was away.

"What is it?"

Dean.

"Pinched nerve," I answered tersely. "Old injury." I leaned forward a little, trying to encourage him to move with me. He did.

"Does this not make it--"

"No," I cut him off. "Staying in one position too long does it. I need to move."

Dean let go of my forearm, only to grab my hand and pull it up and over his head, across his shoulders. He kept a tight hold on my waist, kept moving, even hoisting me a bit so I straightened up. He was just enough taller than me that it was uncomfortable; I moved my hand to the shoulder next to me, clenching onto it like it was salvation. I was fighting hard not to yelp, but little sounds were coming from my tightly pursed lips anyway.

"If I hadn't botched things up..." Dean said, then sighed.

I was concentrating too hard to ask if he wanted me to make him feel better about my feeling awful. For fuck's sake. I tilted my head away briefly as I rolled my eyes.

Sam came up beside us at a little jog, then slowed, matching our turtle pace. "Do I need to run in and get you aspirin or something?"

"Yes," Dean said, at the same time I said, "No."

"O... okay," Sam replied in an unsure tone.

"I have something in my backpack," I managed to say to him. Then, to Dean: "Pick up the pace a little?"

Dean nodded, and did so.

"I'll go ahead and get gas," Sam said after trailing us for a minute or so. Dean handed him the keys and Sam left us to our slow journey around the building.

I could not stop wincing, but the pain was - thankfully - scaling back from a 12 on a scale of 1-to-10, to somewhere around a really angry 9.5; Dean must've noticed.

"It letting up a little?"

I nodded. We were around the back now, passing a dumpster when I spotted a door that caught my interest. I sighed. Then I slowed, and Dean did as well, til we came to a stop. I cut my eyes over to the door.

Dean followed my look, then a slow sort-of victorious grin came over his face as he read the lettering.

BATHROOM

"Congratulations," I said flatly.

He turned that grin on me, shrugged a little, saying, "It's not that I like being right, it's that I love being right."

"I know it's a pain in the ass, but if you could lean me somewhere and go grab the key--" I began, but he cut me off as he ushered me closer to the door.

"Not a problem," Dean said, propping me against the wall, then crouching, pulling something from his inside jacket pocket. Selecting two tiny tools, maybe forty-five seconds later and he was twisting the knob, opening the door. Dean looked up at me, now practically glowing with victory.

I felt the corners of my mouth twitch upwards before I could stop them. "Well damn, MacGyver," I said.

"You should see what I can do with chewed gum, an empty toilet paper roll, a coathanger and some kerosene," he replied as he straightened up.

I allowed myself a close-lipped chuckle, which was stupid, because it rattled my body and made me grimace. Dean's face went back to concern and he reached out for me, but I waved him off, forcing myself to get off the wall, grabbing onto the doorframe to keep steady.

Turned away from him now, I heard him say - "Will you be all right... I mean, do you not need help in there?"

"Why, you looking for an excuse to get my pants off?" I shot back without thinking, and immediately squeezed my eyes closed and cringed.

"No!" Dean answered, almost at a shout.

And for whatever reason, it offended me.

I grabbed onto the sink and turned as quickly as I could, causing a minor shock of pain, but it was worth it to let a scathing glare land on his pretty, arrogant face. "Shut the fucking door."

Dean looked a little annoyed now, but he complied; I saw his shadow.

"And go AWAY," I told him, lurching forward, planting a hand on the door for balance, clicking the lock as an added punctuation.

For the guy with the lockpicks.

"FINE!" he hollered through the door, and I listened to his boots clomp as he walked away.

I managed to get my pants and underwear down without too much trouble, and sat, still sore but more than that, relieved to be alone. Leaning forward, I let my elbows rest on my knees. The stretch felt heavenly. But I just didn't know how much longer I could tolerate being around Dean.

Looking at the crinkles at the edges of his eyes.

Hearing his voice.

The haircut. The mannerisms. The sound of his laugh.

It wasn't exactly the same, not at all really, but something about the overall effect... it was throwing me for a loop. Lots of loops. Consecutive lines of loops. I pulled my phone from my pocket, turned it on. A text was waiting from Jody: Let me know when it's done, I don't care what time, I want to hear you're safe. It only rang twice before I heard her voice.

Which is what made my eyes fill.

"Hey girlie, what's shaking?"

"Hey."

"Oh god, what did they do?"

One word. She knew me well, and she clearly knew them well. I snickered at Jody's dry tone. But the tears began to spill over on their own.

I wasn't crying really, they were just... an automatic bodily response, part of the package that came with the memories. Which is why I made it a point not to remember. Unless it was shoved in my face for days on end in a cramped car, then for hours in a makeshift sniper perch. I was tough, sure. But the universe was boning me. Hard. When I didn't reply right away, the silence followed by a sniffle, Jody spoke again.

"I wondered if I had imagined it, but I didn't, did I?" she asked me gently.

"Ah, no," I said with a little laugh, ripping off some toilet paper and blotting my wet cheeks. "No ma'am, you most certainly did not."

Jody sighed. "Oh, crap. What I'd give to be able to zap down there and zap you back home with me. Bundle you up with me and the girls, have a good old fashioned slumber party."

I smiled. That sounded like a real special level of hell. But I loved her for the sentiment. Then I looked down at my left hand. "It's still so weird. That groove being gone," I told her.

And of course, being Jody, she knew exactly what I was talking about. Just like she'd known, unlike my former co-workers or friends of my mother's, that trying to set me up on blind dates was the wrong move. Just like she'd known stupid platitudes like Time heals all wounds and It is better to have loved and lost, blah-blah-bullshit were lost on me. How she'd rescued me from countless, pointless interviews where I'd just be asked about my previous employment - she'd just hired me, plain and simple. Which allowed me to get the next job, which allowed me to have my current job, freelancing, mostly as an instructor for baby-faced private security recruits. Mostly.

I kept staring down at where the missing line would've been. It had started a retreat within a few weeks of taking off the ring. I'd thought that divot would be there til the grave. It only took four months for me to kill the sentimentality. That's what I did, killing efficiently. I had to get busy. Everything else went quicker - all his possessions, save the guns and associated tactical sundry, which were for need, not want. But seeing my wedding band constantly would stop me. Stop my progress. Removing it had still been the last step.

I tuned back in.

"Five years'll do that," Jody was saying to me softly. "Time just makes things fade. They don't really ever go away."

I knew. And I knew she knew, too. We'd been in the trench together, miles and years apart, but we were with each other on those days, hers and mine.

I sighed, shook myself out of it, brushed the last of the tears from under my eyes. Grabbing a wad of toilet paper, I wiped myself quickly, then leaned over, clutching my underwear with my free hand and ever-so-slowly eased up from the toilet, bringing them with me. No way was I going to stand up before I did it. I'd be damned if I let any part of my bare ass hit a roadside gas station's bathroom wall.

"Next time I see you, I want a little cheese to go with my whine," I told her, hoping she'd take the hint and let the mood change.

Of course she did. "So where are you now, Annie Oakley? What's the plan?"

I glanced down my body. "Currently my pants are around my ankles in a random bathroom just south of East Bumfuck, Nebraska."

A pause. "Copy that."

"And I'm formulating what maneuvers to employ to get them on before I get stuck in that loud-ass car again, heading in the direction of not you."

I could practically hear Jody roll her eyes. "They want you to just stay the night, don't they? Get back on the road tomorrow?"

"Yup."

Another pause. "What are you going to do?"

I thought this over, but only for a moment. I set my jaw. I squatted through another jolt of pain, then shot back up, yanking my pants all the way back to my waist. "Well, I figure since I just got my big girl panties back on, I'm headed to a Kansas bunker."

"Call me first thing tomorrow," Jody ordered, no room for discussion.

"Ten-four." Then, in a very un-me moment: "I love you, Jo."

"Love you back."

We hung up, and after I took a moment to button and zip, wash my hands and wipe my face with a damp paper towel, I was ready. The paper towel ball sailed over, going cleanly into the trash can. Nothing but net. If I believed in signs, then weak as that would've been, I'd have taken it. Most of the major kinks in my back seemed to be out, thanks in large part to Jody taking some of the weight off of it, but I still wanted to be sure, so I was moving very carefully and deliberately.

Dean was outside waiting, far down the wall, standing almost at the next corner of the building. He was leaning with his shoulder against the bricks, hands in pockets, toeing at gravel with the tip of a boot.

Stop it, I told myself. Lots of guys lean like that. It's not the same. It's not like him. Dean is not like him. He looked up when he heard the door, and I made myself stay neutral. No looking away, no friendly looks, no bitchy looks. Just keep it simple. Keep it simple. Keep it----

At my side now, Dean reached over, taking my hand and repeating the earlier routine, putting my arm back and up to grab his shoulder, wrapping his around my waist. We'd been in the woods for how long? And he still smelled good. The bastard.

Dean didn't speak, and neither did I, but I noticed him noticing my necklace; it had apparently slipped out from the collar of my shirt when I had leaned over as I talked to Jody. I knew I shouldn't have worn it into the woods, I knew it, I knew it.

I reached up and quickly stuffed the chain - and what hung from it - back into my shirt.

Dean looked straight ahead again, walking beside me without a word. It was... nice. The quiet. That he didn't feel the need to fill the space with stupid conversation, in spite of what I'd assessed to be a loud-mouthed nature. Maybe I'd figured him all wrong.

The car seemed miles away, now pulled up to the farthest pump from us, Sam standing beside it, filling it with gas.

"I, uh... I talked to Jody," I offered.

Dean didn't respond.

"I'm cool with staying at... coming back to..."

I saw him look over at me out of the corner of my eye.

"I just... probably a good idea for me to stretch out in the back seat," I finished. I glanced over at him briefly. "You know, for the rest of the drive."

Dean stayed silent; so I finally looked over at him, and found he was still looking at me.

"You're really hurting, aren't you?"

It took me aback. Something about the way he said it... I couldn't put my finger on it. But something was behind the question. I wasn't imagining it. I looked back at him for a moment, holding the gaze. "Yeah," I answered quietly.

A curt nod, then he returned to looking straight ahead, and I did the same. Neither of us spoke til we got to the car, where Sam was just finishing up.

"Feel better?" he asked me.

I shot him a little smile. "Nope." His hopeful face fell. I smiled a little wider at that reaction. Bless his long-legged heart. "I'm kidding. Yes, much. And, bonus - you get the front seat again."

Sam smiled back.

"Hang on," Dean told me as he released my waist, guiding me to a lean against the side of the back end of the car. He dropped into a squat, reaching out, moving the cuff of one of my pant legs up, tucking a little in the boot below it. Then he started untying the laces, loosening them all the way down before moving on to the other one. "Okay," he said when he finished, standing and opening the back door. He extended his arms in my direction, made a Come on motion with his hands.

I took them. They were so strong. Rough, calloused palms with soft, thick fingers.

I planned to drug myself to sleep. I wasn't going to make it. But no, uuuuggghh, I couldn't - the good stuff was at home. I'd only packed anti-inflammatories. That wouldn't do jack.

It's not Dean's fault, I kept telling myself. I was trying to be logical - he knew nothing about my life, I'd been such a bitch he had no reason to give a shit about my life... I needed to get hold of myself. I was a grown woman acting like a child. He was looking out for me despite how I'd behaved, and he didn't deserve to be treated poorly.

Period.

After easing into a lying position, I let out a moan of relief. Dean had taken a knee beside the open door while he'd removed my boots and helped me lift my legs up, so I could have my knees bent, socked feet planted by my ass, flattening my back into what I had to admit to myself was a seat padded to just the exact firmness I'd needed. Dean chuckled when he heard me. He placed my boots side-by-side in the floorboard. I watched as one after the other, he brought the long laces together, tied them in a quick slipknot so they wouldn't tangle, then dropped them behind the tongues, letting them dangle inside.

Fuck him for being thoughtful.

"Nice," he commented when he was done, grinning a bit, still on his knee and leaning in, now pointing to my socks.

I couldn't remember which I'd chosen. I had amassed a pretty decent collection in a short amount of time. Chalk it up to years of standard issue thick wickable boring ones. "Ah... let's see... I remember the colors were bright... neon stripes? Or polka dots?" I asked him, tilting my head a bit to see around my knees so I could look at him.

"Cookie Monster," he replied, glancing from them to me.

"Darn it," I said with a quick snap of my fingers and a bit of a grin of my own. "Not even close."

I was trying, dammit. And I wish I hadn't, as his grin faded, keeping his eyes locked on mine for just a beat too long. I felt my curved lips fall back to normal, too. I was telling myself to turn my head away, look down, something, but my body wasn't listening. Could be I wasn't telling it loudly enough anymore. But I didn't have time to decide, because just then Sam had returned from paying and Dean stood, closing the door near my feet.

"Here," I heard Sam say, then saw through the window that he was holding out the keys to Dean.

"Nah, I'm sick of driving for now, you take over." And with that, Dean opened the passenger door on the same side, climbing in.

I turned my head to face the back of the seat. He had a clear line of sight to me, now that he wasn't at the wheel and my head was behind the driver's side. I heard crunching and crinkling and shuffling. Sam opened the door.

"Throw this crap out," Dean told him, and I heard the front seat squeak as he leaned across to the driver's side door, apparently handing him the bunched-up food bag based on Sam's response.

"You don't want the rest of the fries?" Sam asked from outside.

Dean didn't respond right away. He was looking at me. I knew he was looking at me. I'd have bet my life... okay, not my life, maybe Jody's kids' lives. But I was very, very sure. I closed my eyes.

"Dean?" Sam prompted.

Another squeak of the seat.

"No," Dean said in a low, almost pouty, tone.

It could've been my imagination, but Sam's driving seemed less... well, less everything. Less bumps, less screeching up to stops, and his music choices weren't my taste - really weren't my taste - yet he seemed so considerate of my presence in the back seat, not blasting it through the speakers or cranking the bass.

Dean hadn't looked at me or spoken to me in hours. The two of them had hardly spoken in at least one. I had been absently fingering my necklace and looking out the back window at the smattering of stars flying by when I got that feeling again. That I was being watched.

I turned my head.

Dean was facing backwards, one arm slung across the back of the front seat. He caught my eye, then stared at my fingers, at the gold bands I kept running them around, then through, then out, then starting over. It was a habit I'd developed, triggered by late nights. When I'd startle myself awake.

Upshot of sleep deprivation: apathy. And so I let my eyes bore holes through him til he looked up from studying the necklace. Dean tilted his chin towards it, giving it another glance before meeting my eyes again. I raised an eyebrow, because tough shit. Grow up. Verbalize.

He blinked, but after a brief glance downwards, looked back to me and spoke softly. "You were married."

I kept staring, kept my thumb inside the largest band, kept running my index finger over it, pressing it into my skin. "Indeed," I replied. Dean didn't say anything to that; so I did. "Why?"

"Why?" he repeated, then shrugged. "I just saw the rings and--"

"Could've been my parents' rings. Maybe they're dead and I'm super sentimental."

Now a series of blinks, a couple of facial expressions, opening and closing his mouth a few times, debating how to respond. I sighed. Then I sat myself up. And then I let him off the hook.

"Jody told me you asked her for a background check," I informed him. "I told her she could go ahead, I didn't mind. So... I ask again: Why?"

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, and it was genuine; he didn't know what I was driving at.

"I assume her word was good enough as far as my skills went. And she told you I was aware of the bumps in the night. That's the why - why a formal background check?"

Dean and Sam glanced at each other, the brothers sharing a look that, even though I couldn't see it clearly, just made me more determined to press.

"We, um... I mean, we did a basic one on your name, um... there were these sealed records," Sam began, not seeming to know how to construct an actual sentence.

Dean fessed up. "We thought maybe Jody would be able to tell us more."

"Uh-huh," I replied in a slightly sing-song voice. Please. They were not the first near-strangers to bring this up to me. They could get in line. Several moments of silence. I had glanced in the rear view mirror to look at Sam when he'd spoken, and he'd immediately looked away after catching my eye. "Okay, I'll go now," I announced, and felt that snot-faced brat inside me push the grown woman out of the way and step up to the plate. "Astute as you are, I bet you noticed that around the dates on those sealed records, I got to bury my husband."

Pin-drop silence in the car.

"Those records are the investigation into his death - see, it happened on the job. And FBI-SWAT doesn't like word getting around of head cases within their ranks."

Dean's brow creased ever-so-slightly as he processed.

"Me," I clarified, pointing to myself. "I'm talking about me."

"I didn't mean to--" Dean began quietly, but I cut him off in my self-protective, snarky, overly chipper tone.

"No, no! This is good practice. I've only told this story to two people: the investigatory psychiatrist and Jody. The former labelled me with lots of multi-syllable words which ended up getting me off the hook for homicide."

Dean's sharp intake of air was audible.

There ya go Sherlock, I thought. Make them connections.

"And Jody, well, Jody and I have known each other since the academy. She knew something crazy happened - not, you know, crazy-crazy," I specified, spinning a finger near my head. "She knew this was way outside my norm. So one night after drinking roughly her entire liquor cabinet, I told her what I'm about to tell you!"

Dean was rapidly growing more tense by the second, so many lines in his creased forehead, jaw clamped, posture stiff. But I've never met a tense situation I didn't like meeting head-on.

"It was one of our last missions together, me and hubby. Not cool to have married people on the same unit, so he was transferring to a nice, safe desk job the next week.

"We - that is, my team and I, which included my partner on the op, who had recently become my husband - breached into what we understood to be a hostile situation. He and I went to our pre-planned area to sweep and clear.

"I got to go first into this big, wide-open, warehouse-type area, because I was the one with the shield. Lots of boxes and crates for scary people to hide behind. Not. Terribly. Ideal."

I had leaned up a bit, tapped a finger against Dean's forearm to emphasize those last three words.

Tap.

I flopped back against my seat again. "Then I saw smoke - I thought maybe a hidden creeper had tossed out a smoke grenade to blind us. But it was this thin, snake-like thing that wove its way through the air, shot right over my head, and what do you think happened next, Dean?"

A nervous half-smile washed over his face. "Hey, uh, look, Snipes, we really don't have to--"

I plowed on. "Well! I got kicked in the back so hard, it crushed bone - coulda severed my spinal cord, they said. The hospital chaplain called me blessed."

"Just--"

"And I flipped end over end, which, I tell ya, never did gymnastics as a kid, and it did not inspire me to take it up."

"Why don't you--"

"But I was a finely tuned machine back then, Dean, I mean, that shit today? Whatever. You could've handicapped me by a rainstorm, a hundred more yards and two of that thing's buddies."

Dean swallowed, and points for effort, kept opening his mouth to try to interrupt me.

"It was just second nature for me to get the shield back up. It didn't register for me that it was him - the love of my life - who'd kicked me so hard I was starting to lose feeling in the lower half of my body. It didn't register til he was coming towards me with this sick smile on his face - cause he'd thrown off his tactical helmet by that point, you know, so he could see me suffer up close."

I was sitting up as I spoke, slowly edging forward with each word. Now Dean shut his mouth completely, almost looking like he was going to reach for me - what, to comfort me? Because this could be comforted? Fuck that.

"And he proceeded to unload every round he had into that shield, and the closer he got, well, let's just say those shields don't hold up like you want 'em to when it gets personal," I continued, and though I kept my tone as facetious as possible, those goddamn tears started welling up again. "I heard boots pounding above us, knew at least part of our team was headed towards the gunfire. He heard it, too; I know, because he stopped before he put the next mag into his gun to get out an actual smoke grenade - you know, what that other thing wasn't, but I bet you've guessed by now where this is going."

Dean kept his eyes locked on mine.

"He started chucking smokes and flash-bangs one after the other, back at the door, into the hallway, and I thought that was so weird - til it occurred to me it wasn't to buy him time, to keep them from saving me, I was going to be dead in a second; it was so he could get the drop on them."

I leaned in close to Dean, and when he started to back away slightly, I shot my arm forward, grasped him with my left hand by the nape of his neck, came in real, real close.

"And when he turned back, I'd already tossed the shield away, raised my gun, saw him looking right through me with those fucked up shark eyes--" I raised my right hand, just my index and middle finger extended "--and didn't flinch when I put a bullet right between 'em." I pressed the fingers firmly above Dean's nose, directly onto the exact point where I'd fired five years ago, into the man he reminded me of every second of every minute of every hour I'd been in his presence. "Found out later that was pretty goddamn smart: hard for a demon to use a host, alive or dead, that's had chunks of brain matter blown out. Body just won't do right, you know?" I let go of his neck and pulled my fingers away, but he didn't move.

I heard Sam gulp audibly.

Then I heard my voice go all soft, though I didn't mean for it to. "It was in slow-motion. Watching him die. I thought I could actually see the bullet spinning forward. I know I saw, right as it pierced his skin, I know I saw that snake of smoke start coming out of his mouth, pretty easily seeing as how his jaw had gone slack by the time the smoke left completely. And I know when his eyes went back to puppy-dog brown because it was right as the bullet came out the back of his skull."

Two lone tears, one from each eye, rolled out and down my cheeks.

"You would find in that report that the evidence showed he apparently snapped and came after me. It would also show that my hallucinations and possible break from reality caused by the aforementioned husband snap was likely all due to a faulty smoke bomb canister that had some chemical mix-up. The report ends with them jerking each other off, congratulating themselves for bringing it to the attention of the manufacturer, so they could do a mass recall. But I'm still that once-promising elite who shot a fellow officer at point-blank range in the line of duty. And after I used up all my bereavement leave and vacation time and sick time, and just somehow couldn't manage to suck it up and go back to being a robot, they fired me."

Dean moved a hand, beginning to reach up like he was going to wipe my tears away.

No.

I made my voice cold again. Jody was drunk that night, too. She'd explained to me I wasn't crazy. Explained the world within our world. Told me enough about these hunter friends of hers, a pair of brothers, for me to put two-and-two together as I heard more stories over time. I knew just how much my husband and Dean really had in common.

"You ever looked into the eyes of evil, Dean? Knew it was gonna eat you alive? Coming from someone you thought you knew inside and out?"

Dean froze, and as I watched his face morph into something hard, I felt my eyes narrow in viciousness, the corners of my mouth tweak up in wickedness.

"Yeah you do," I whispered, answering for him.

I stayed frozen, too. We were playing emotional chicken. He broke first, turning completely away, staring out the front window into the night. Sam was gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

I sat back. "We getting close?" I asked him, my voice back to normal.

"About ten more minutes," Sam answered quietly.

"Good. I need a shower," I commented, back to absently fiddling with the rings.

And I did. I felt disgusting.

Those next ten minutes passed quickly, and Sam helped me out of the car, as Dean had practically bolted as soon as the keys were out of the ignition. Sam reached back in, slung my backpack over one of his shoulders, then picked up my boots.

"I can--" I started, but he looked at me with such kindness and sympathy, it broke my heart a little.

"It's okay," he said softly, and I knew he didn't just mean playing bellhop for me. And I believed him. For tonight, it was going to be okay.

"Sweet lord," I muttered when we entered the bunker proper.

Sam chuckled. "I'll give you the nickel tour in the morning." He chose a room from what seemed like a hundred options along a rounded hallway, turning on the light, dropping my bag onto the bed and setting my boots by the door.

"Sink," I noted. "That's... convenient."

"You're close to the bathroom and the showers," Sam said, and I followed him a little ways down the hall. And shit, I was getting stiff again. My word vomit in the car had only relieved it for a little while. A hot shower was now a definite, not a maybe.

I stopped cold at the threshold. Sam had walked in, telling me I could help myself to any of the soap and shampoo I saw, when he noticed I hadn't followed. It was like a locker room - no door at the entry, no curtains or individual stalls.

"Uh..." I began, trailing off with a little grin as I gestured around to all the open space.

Sam actually blushed a bit, reached up, ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. I didn't think of that. We don't exactly have guests. I mean, not-"

"Of the boob variety, yeah, I figured that," I finished for him. But I wasn't annoyed or irritated. Sam was a good guy. Probably why I looked on him like a kid brother. He treated me nice, and it made me edgy. "Well," I said with a sigh, "I suppose I'll just have to be quick."

"I could hang a sheet over the doorway," he offered.

I shrugged. I knew Sam wouldn't dare disturb me, and it seemed Dean was hell and gone from anywhere near me, so it was really irrelevant.

"Okay, well, let me at least let you borrow one of my shirts. I'll grab a pair of pajama pants, too."

"That'd be great, an old t-shirt is my usual lingerie anyway," I told him honestly.

Sam nodded. "I'll rustle up some towels."

I went back into the bedroom while he went on his mission. It was retro from top to bottom. I kind've loved it. Standing at the mirror above the tiny sink, I gathered my long hair up again, but this time into a messy top knot. It had been cropped short for so long, out of necessity, so I'd let it grow over the past several years, and I didn't really know why. Some kind of spite? Flipping a bird at the past? Wanting to look like a completely different person? Because that's how I felt inside, anytime I'd look in the mirror?

I unzipped the backpack, tossing items to the side as I rooted through everything. It was my go-bag, so all the contents were needs only, a low-caliber version of my typical fare from home. When missions were spur of the moment, it was handy to have - our gear and outerwear was already at our home base, so all we needed to have was a spare set of the basics.

Toothbrush and toothpaste: check. Through the plastic of a ziplock - lipbalm, tiny bottle of lotion, tiny deodorant, disposable razor, small bar of soap: check. Two plain white v-neck t-shirts: check. Two pair white tube socks: check. Two pair plain white cotton briefs: check. Plain white cotton bra... plain white cotton bra... plain white- aaarrrgh.

I was muttering a few of my favorite blasphemous vocabulary words, continuing to dig, then re-checking what I'd already pulled out, like it would materialize. I knew exactly what had happened. I'd tossed out the bra that had traditionally lived in the go-bag, as well as all the others I'd owned at the time. 'The time' being when I had to stop working out and lifting weights like a maniac - thank you, broken back - and the cups on all my bras rapidly became too small. I'd put on about fifteen more pounds overnight, and it felt like they'd split the difference between my chest and my hips and my ass. The only reason the cargo pants I was wearing fit at all was because they used to belong to... they used to be...

I shook it off. If I had to go braless, I didn't want my skin to be directly against one of their shirts. Even that felt too close right then.

A soft rap against the open door behind me.

"Hey I don't need that t-shirt after all, just the pants," I was saying as I turned around.

There stood Dean.

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Author’s Note: This was written due to a loss of a bet, the terms of which involved “serious Dean smuttage” but evolved [read: devolved]. I can’t write anything (a) short or (b) without plot. Do with that info what you will.

Anyway, so I lost the bet and wrote the thing and published it, and The Commissioner’s feedback was that it had too much plot and no boning and was too canon-y and WTF.

And I said - Well who raised me?

I was met with silence [and I cannot EMPHASIZE the clear-and-present-danger this represents when it comes to the Commish] but was ultimately told I could keep my plot as long as I (a) smutted it up more [hence your verbiage no one actually uses to describe anything in reality] and (b) understand that if I got >20 compliments on this installment I’d owe a second installment with (a) Sam and (b) absolute filth.

I, very stupidly, then took that bet. Upcoming mattress-dancin’ with Sam “I Take An Investigatory Approach To Things, And By ‘Things’ I Mean Your Hoo-Hah” Winchester, stay tuned.

#Supernatural Fanfiction #SPN Fanfic #Dean x Reader #Sam x Reader #as Chuck as my witness #unless I get a hella good crossroads deal #I shall never go smuttin' again!#Nash Writes

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