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miss-smutty · 3 years

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Brothers - Chapter 11

Unforgiven

Summary- You're hit with the bombshell of Chris coming home after a month away and after he left you questioning everything, completely heartbroken. How were you meant to confront him after so long?

Word count- 2K

Pairing- Chris Hems x reader

Warnings- Swearing, a smidgen of violence

18+ only!

Posted: 3rd August 2021

Taglist:- @everything-is-awesomesauce @nicolemt23 @innerpaperexpertcloud @pandaxnienke @chickensarentcheap @jjpogueprincess @longlostinanotherworld @mostly-marvel-musings @darklydeliciousdesires

Brothers Masterlist <<<

You haven't felt like this about anyone for a very long time and Chris has just made your fear of rejection all too real. You couldn't help the way you felt about him though, still feel about him. You love him and he'd told you he loved you, you'd felt it when he'd said it, you'd seen the look in his eye. So why were you even questioning it?

In the morning you finally felt the courage to check your phone - Liam had stayed with you all night until you'd calmed down enough to go to bed when the sun had rised and you were no longer taunted by your demons in the dark.

There's multiple text messages and missed calls filling up the screen of your phone.

I'm sorry I had to leave like that, are you ok? Xx

Read the first one. Your eyes scanned over the rest, mostly saying the same thing.

Y/N please answer. Let me explain myself. I didn't have time to speak to Liam about it all right then and I didn't want to leave on a bombshell.

His excuses made you feel sick to your stomach. You could understand why he did it but there were much better ways for him to go about it that wouldn't have left you feeling heartbroken.

You sighed heavily, putting your phone back onto your bedside table a little bit too forcibly and sinking back into your feather pillows. If you gave in to your impulses you would've text him back straight away but knowing deep down that would be the wrong thing to do, you restrained yourself. It took willpower but you just about managed, he'd made you feel like shit there was no way you were going to forgive him so easily.

*********

As the weeks passed by it became more and more difficult to ignore Chris, he wasn't giving up without a fight which admittedly made you feel a little bit better. You'd ignored him for so long it had become a habit and the fact he wasn't giving in told you he definitely did care about you but he'd made a major mistake and you were going to make him pay.

"Have you spoke to Chris yet?" Liam asked you over lunch.

"Nope." A sly smile played on your lips, you were kind of enjoying making Chris sweat but you'd never admit it.

"Maybe you should, he's been blowing my phone up trying to get in contact with you. You do know he's coming home this week?"

"What? You stopped with your fork in front of your lips, eyes wide. "No I did not know that, has it been a month already?"

"Uh-huh, and its gonna be massively fucking awkward for me if you two are still arguing."

"We're not arguing..." You brush your hair behind your ear, sitting up straight in your chair. " We're not even speaking."

The thought of Chris coming home fills you with dread and excitement all at the same time. You're so excited to see his face and yet dreading the thought of having to deal with your problems.

"When will he be home?" You ask, trying to be casual.

"I don't know, he just said this week. I haven't exactly been speaking to him myself, I'm still pissed off with him."

"And you didn't think to ask what day?.and why are you pissed off? He didn't do anything to you." Your voice was a little too high, it always was when you panicked. Chris could come home at any minute and you weren't mentally prepared for it.

"No, but don't you think him hurting you effects me? You've had a face like a slapped ass for a month for a start and if you want to know so badly why don't you call him?" Liam raised his eyebrows at you, unamused at the whole messenger thing he had going on.

"Pfft, I can't." You push your bowl of food away, suddenly not very hungry anymore. "It's been so long I wouldn't even know what to say."

"Your drama is honestly making me go grey." Liam runs his hand through his hair, looking at you with raised eyebrows.

"I think you'd look pretty good as a silver fox." You tease.

"I would but still, please sort it out." He gives you the glare. "Anyway, I'm going to have a little get together tonight. You up for it?"

"A get together or a party?"

"Well you know how it usually goes, it starts off as a get together but usually turns in to a party."

"Exactly, well I'm off out with the girls so we'll be there later."

You finished up your meals, Liam refusing for you to pay as usual, he was such a gentleman, you really wish his brother was a little bit more like him in that way.

*********

You help Liam greet his guests, smiling and mingling as you go. The ratio of women to men doesn't suprise you one bit, Liam was newly single after all but you roll your eyes anyway after leading yet another group of girls through to the living room.

You watched Liam greeting the girls with the most genuine smile on his face than you'd seen in a while, he was happy, finally and it brought you great pleasure.

Your heart stops beating when you hear Chris's distinctive Australian accent carry above the noise in the room, you can feel his eyes burning into your back as you turn around to find him. Your tummy fluttering when your eyes meet, unable to hide how much you've actually missed him from your face. He smiles sheepishly at you making your tummy somersault, excusing himself politely from the group of girls that had circled around him and making his way over to you, when Liam steps in his way, blocking his path.

"I don't want to make a scene here but you've got some serious explaining to do." Liam says sternly.

"I know... I... I wasn't honest with you before I left."

"That's putting it lightly. Y/N told me everything." You watched the exchange between the brothers, your nerves going into overdrive. You could hear Liam's friend talking to you but you weren't focusing on him, his words just a distant noise, your attention solely on the brothers. Brothers who looked like they were about to fight. Because of you.

"What are you, her bodyguard? If there's anyone I need to answer to it's Y/N, are you gunna let me past?" You watched as Chris' jaw tensed, the muscles in his neck becoming more prominent and you knew things were getting heated.

"If you're gunna treat her like shit Chris then yeah I am, the manly thing to do was come clean. It was a pussy move and you know it." People were starting to watch and your cheeks were burning but you were routed to the spot. Unable to move all you could do was stare blankly.

"Are you calling me a pussy?"

"Yeah, I'm calling you a fucking pussy." Liam shoved Chris square in his chest, he barely moved but his jaw clenched together, the tendons in his neck straining with rage.

Why, why, why were you stood watching this and not doing something about it? Your two favourite people in the whole world were about to fight each other and you're stood watching like it's a fucking soap opera.

You could see Chris thinking, debating about what he should do. Should he give his brother a free pass - he did deserve it, or should he fight back - he'd already called him a pussy he didn't want people actually believing it.

He decided to let it go, moving past him to get to you when Liam shoved him again, this time he wasn't expecting it and almost fell over, recovered himself and then went for Liam. Your mouth hung open, your legs started moving before you registered what was happening.

"Stop! Please stop!" You screamed, Liam's friends coming to the rescue and holding them both back. Tears in your eyes at the thought of them fighting each other

You looked up at Liam's friend holding Chris back. "It's ok, I've got him." You took Chris by the hand, leading him away from Liam, weaving through the crowd that had gathered, pissed off that they'd caused such a scene in public but you needed to get them away from each other so they could both calm down.

Chris walked into your room and you closed the door behind him, resting your head against it for a minute.

"What the fuck was that?" You question, turning around to face him.

"Don't ask me, what exactly did you say to Liam while I was gone?"

"Are you really trying to blame me? I told him the truth Chris, like you should've done." He hung his head in shame. His elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands.

"Yeah I know but let me explain."

"I haven't got time for it now." You start shuffling through your wardrobe. "I need to get ready." You say with your back to him.

"Ready for what?"

"I'm going out with the girls." You turn around slowly, looking at him, taking him all in. You've missed him so much, why does he have to be so damn attractive.

Then he gives you that sexy smile and your knees almost cave but you remind yourself of the things he said, willing yourself to stay angry with him.

"Do you have to go? I've only just got back." You start going through your wardrobe, if you had your back to him you could distract yourself from the heavy sexual tension between you. The need to run up to him and wrap you legs around him, telling him all was forgiven while you kissed every inch of his damn fine body.

"Yeah I'm going. You don't get to treat me like that and then just come back and act like nothings happened."

"Y/N can you please stop being so stupid, this is ridiculous." He said sitting down on the end of your bed with his head in his hands.

"I'm being stupid? Are you for real?" You take off your clothes until you're left in just your underwear, turning around to look at him with your hands on your hips.

"Ok sorry that was the wrong thing to say, I've been trying to speak to you every day for a month. Did you not miss me?" He looks up, his eyes widening when he sees you in your underwear.

"You're always saying the wrong thing aren't you?" Now can you leave, I need to get ready and I want to do it in peace." You point to the door, your hand falling limply by your side when you watch Chris licking his lips, his eyes focusing everywhere but your face.

"Do you have to go? I think I can find a way of making you forgive me."

"You can't just fuck your way outta this one Chris, I'm not a toy for you to do as you please with."

"You're so hot when you're angry... I'm really trying not to fuck you senseless right now." He bites on his fist watching your anger falter.

"We're just friends aren't we?" You say rather bitterly

"We're not just friends and you fucking know it, friends don't do this shit -" he says as he moves in front of you, his hands wrapping around you and resting on your plump cheeks. "I told you I loved you and I fucking meant it. Can we please forget what I said? I didn't think about it until after I'd said it and I tried to call you straight away to apologize."

"Do what?" You reply trying to keep your calm as his hands electrify your body.

He cups your ass and lifts you into his arms, you instinctively wrap your legs around his hard torso. He lays you back onto the bed and kisses you deep, his tongue desperately finding yours as he thrusts his bulge into your tingling pussy. Your body betrays you as you let out a low moan, you feel him groan from deep inside as his prehistoric nature takes over.

"That." he says breathlessly.

"I'm still going out tonight but I'll be back later." You say between him kissing down your neck, savouring every last inch of your taste. "You can think about how you can make it up to me while I'm gone and before that you better go grovel to Liam, I think he's even more pissed off than me."

"Oh baby, you're not even going to know your own name by the time I'm finished with you never mind anything else."

"This doesn't mean you're forgiven, this means I'm giving you a chance."

#smut #chris hemsworth #chris hemsworth fanfic #chris hemsworth smut #chris hemsworth x reader #chris hemsworth x you #brothers #chris hems x you #liam hemsworth

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zmediaoutlet · 3 years

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fic: there will be better days

I’m so glad about the ending of Supernatural. It found its way, in the end. This fic is me drawing out that sensation as long as I could. I hope y’all like it, but it was written in a small way for a special group in a special discord, because I’m so glad we got to experience this dumb happy thing together. <3

title: there will be better days pairing: Sam/Dean rating: E length: 9500 words tags: Post-Season/Series 15, Spoilers for Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Heaven, First Time, Pining Dean Winchester

summary: Sam and Dean settle into their heaven.

(read on AO3)

They stand on the bridge, in quiet, for…

How long? It doesn't matter. Dean keeps his hand on Sam's back and Sam's shoulder tucks against his side, Sam being kind enough to slump down against the railing so that the position works, at all. The view's beautiful. Some woods, a river. A place Dean doesn't recognize but that hums with steady life. What a miracle, that death can bring them something new.

He's splitting his attention, though. The trees, the flowing water, the late-summer feel where the bright gold of everything burnishes down toward fall, it's a sweet goad toward peace, but. Dean's eyes drag away, every few minutes, and it's just—Sam. His eyes steady on the rush of the receding water, and his hair tucked behind his ear, and his back, steadily rising and falling under Dean's hand. Not pulling away. Not fidgeting, or impatient. Like he'd be content with this, exactly this, as long as eternity stretches out in front of them.

A bird flits by, blue-and-white against the green of the trees. Sam's eyes follow it and he smiles, just barely, a pull of lips that makes Dean's heart thump sorely against the inside of his ribs. His body keeps thrilling, reminding him, over and over: Sam. Sam. He slides his hand up to Sam's shoulder and squeezes, and Sam's eyes slide to his face. "Ready?" he says.

Sam doesn't ask for what. "Yeah," he says, soft and easy, and Dean drops his head, laughs. Something that had been knotted in his chest, for years and years, loose now—everything in him, free.

He steps back, and Sam turns to keep him in sight. Dean spins the keys to the car in his palm, grinning. "You want to drive?" he says, tipping his head at the car.

Sam blinks. Shakes his head, and swallows, and when he speaks his voice is thick. "No," he says, and clears his throat, and shakes his head again. "No, I want you to drive."

On the road Dean gives Sam a version of the same explanation that Bobby gave him. "We can go see him," Dean says, glancing across the seat, and Sam smiles and says, "We will," but he says, "Later," and Dean's—yeah, he's good with that. Later. They have forever, to do anything they want.

It's hard to wrap his head around. He doesn't know how long he waited, for Sam. A lifetime. The length of a drive. It felt—feels—like infinity, like every second is stretched and slow and exactly as long as it needs to be. The roads out here are gorgeous, empty, room for the Impala to stretch her legs, and Dean knows in a strange and centered way that if he wanted he could drive forever, and at the same time if he parks it'll have been ten minutes, as far as his mind's concerned, and he won't have missed a thing.

The radio's playing Zeppelin, quietly. Has been since Sam got into the car. Tangerine, right now—does she still remember times like these?—and Dean looks over to find Sam looking right at him. Dean's not sure Sam's turned his head, the whole time. He could make a crack—it rises to his lips, take a picture or what, got something on my face?—but it feels distant. He gets the impulse. Sam smiles, his back against the passenger door, and Dean smiles back sort of helplessly before he turns it back out on the road, and leans back in his seat, and settles into the drive.

Anything they want. Anything they could need, or dream of. There doesn't seem to be any real requirement to sleep, or to eat, or to do—anything. Time, slipping strange, and a stasis of a kind if they want it. That isn't what Dean wants, but he's not totally sure, about Sam.

The world changes around curves. Massive trees obscure the turns and it feels like a new road with every switchback. A short way past and there's—a house. Not a house Dean's seen, but he rolls slower, and Sam finally looks out the window at something that's not Dean, so—a house. Okay, Dean thinks. He can deal with a house.

Two stories, and a basement, and an attic full of dust. Dean goes into a sneezing fit when he opens up the hatch and Sam sniggers at him. It's not perfect, by any means. There's a sagging porch, and the sink in the first floor bathroom doesn't work, and there's some seriously fugly wallpaper that's peeling, and a stained carpet in the rear bedroom that, yikes, did something die on it? Would that even be possible? But Sam says, "This'll work," with content in his voice, and Dean looks around and tongues the inside of his cheek and thinks, well, yeah. This'll work fine.

There's food in the fridge, when Dean opens it. "I'll fix something," Sam says, and Dean looks at him in total surprise. A lifted shoulder, like Sam's been able to make anything other than eggs and bacon and bad, bad pasta his whole life. "What? I learned."

He did. They have chicken, roasted broccoli that Dean admit doesn't taste entirely like farts, these crispy potatoes that are—well, goddamn. There's not a dining table and so they sit out on the porch, a six pack of cold beer between them, watching the night settle in. It's cool but not cold. The lamp on the porch flickers, and Dean smiles, because he's damn sure that's not a ghost and instead that he's gonna have to rip out the wiring and start fresh.

Sam leaves his empty plate on the step behind them. He leans his elbows on his knees, and looks out at the darkening sky. The treetops are shadows against deep purple and Dean wants, very badly, to put his hand in Sam's hair, to feel his neck, his back. To settle himself against the fact of Sam's spine, his ribs and lungs, all of him here. Breathing, and here. "You learned to cook, huh," he says, instead of doing anything else, and gets to watch Sam turn his head, just a little. He's still wearing the same clothes he showed up in. Strange things, that tug a little at something Dean feels like he used to know. Sam turns his head but he doesn't look at Dean; Dean just gets his three-quarter profile, and the shape of his mouth turned a little solemn, and his eyes as they flick over the view of the dark, surrounding trees.

"Yeah, I did," Sam says, after too long. "I…"

That's all, for a few minutes. Dean puts his plate down, too (mostly clean, other than some broccoli he's not gonna be forced to eat), and shifts down one more step so they're sat right next to each other, and presses his knee against Sam's. Sam looks at their knees instead of at him.

"I wanna hear everything," Dean says. He reaches and gets Sam's hand, and squeezes it, and Sam's eyes close. Shit he wouldn't have done before, but hell—he's dead, he gets to. "Everything. Okay? Every—dumbass repair you screwed up on the car, and if you took Chinese lessons at a community college, and who won the World Series, okay, because I remember, we had a bet, and I need to know if I owe you or you owe me."

Sam swallows. "Jesus," he says, under his breath, and then laughs, a little. "Jesus, we did have a bet. That was—uh, that year it was the Dodgers." He swallows again, and when he opens his eyes they're wet, and a tear rolls down very slowly, against the crease of his nose, and his mouth hitches up at the side in a piled-up dimpling fold, and his chin creases, and Dean squeezes his hand very tightly. "Dodgers. But I can't remember which way you bet."

God, Sam. Dean knocks their shoulders together and lies: "Damn, I bet they were gonna lose. How's that figure, huh? I go down and my team does all in the same year? Shitty luck." Sam shudders out another laugh, wet, and nods, looking down at their clasped hands. "Guess I owe you, Sammy. Whatever you want, okay? Figure, we got time up here. I can figure it out."

Sam's chin is still shaking. A tear falls onto the back of Dean's hand, shockingly hot. Sam takes a deep breath. "I'll think of something," he says, when he can get his teeth out of his lip. Their knees grind together, close enough that Dean might get a bruise, if there's still such a thing as bruising. Sam sniffs, hard. He always was a sloppy crier. He looks at Dean a little sidelong, and smiles kind of embarrassed. Like Dean isn't an inch from losing it himself. "I kinda—I watched a lot of soccer."

Dean rolls his eyes, theatrical, and releases Sam's hand. "Of course you did," he says, layering on the disgust, and it's enough that Sam snorts and dashes his hand over his face, and when Dean gathers up their plates Sam's enough together that he can repeat his old dumb argument that there's a lot of strategy to find interesting in soccer, and anyway over the years the U.S. got better so it wasn't even really like rooting for foreign teams. Dean brushes it off, like he always did, and the argument's dumb but it feels—right. Something locking in, something solid. He washes the plates by hand in the sink and Sam dries them, and stacks them in the rickety cupboard Dean's definitely going to build a replacement for, and then he braces his hands on the countertop and closes his eyes again and breathes, slow. Calm, now, but still something built up inside that Dean doesn't know.

It doesn't bug him, like it might have, before. Dean chews his lip, and drains the sink, and tosses the dishrag over the faucet to dry, and says, neutral, "Hey." Sam makes a small noise, so he's not in some other universe. "Just—one thing. How long?" Sam turns his head, looks at Dean, and Dean lifts a shoulder. "It's—with how the time works, up here, I got no idea. How long was it, for you?"

He looks the same, is the thing. The same as he did when Dean was standing there, in the dark, with that strange numbness everywhere south of his spine and a stillness creeping up in his heart. The terror of that moment has already faded but the rest of the feeling is right there—looking at Sam and loving every single part of him. Pinning him into memory, exactly as he was, with his goddamn stupid haircut and his wide mouth. A few greys, at his temples. His body, lean-but-muscled, trim from running. His eyes, beautiful, even as panicked as they were, even as he told Dean that it was okay.

It wasn't. Dean knows that, now. Sam's cheek sucks in, on one side. "I was 68," he says. Dean feels the air go out of himself, a little. That's—jesus. Sam doesn't look sad about it. Not exactly. He slides his hands into his jacket pockets, tipping his head. "I was—I was in bed. It wasn't bad."

Dean bites the corner of his mouth. "Guess that makes you the older brother, then, huh?"

Sam smiles, just a little. "No," he says, and doesn't elaborate more than that.

There are two bedrooms, upstairs. That first night they sleep in the living room, watching old movies on an old TV, Dean in a recliner that's ridiculously comfortable when he kicks the footrest out and Sam on the couch. He wakes up at dawn to Sam still sleeping, his arms folded around a pillow like he always used to do, still in that old jacket, that hooded sweater bunched up and twisted around his waist. Dean recognizes it, now. He dreamed it. His heart feels like it can hardly take knowing, but there it is, anyway. His face is soft, sleeping, and Dean gets up with his back aching just a little—turns out that there are still aches—and he crouches down, and he settles his hand on Sam's jaw, and runs his thumb over the sharp-angled turn of his cheekbone. Sam opens his eyes, slow but not like he was even really asleep, and he looks at Dean looking at him, and Dean just—it's enough. If it was just this, for eternity and past it, that would be—that'd be good.

There's a library, in the house. A small office kind of room, off the kitchen, but Sam says the books change, when he goes in and out, so it stays fresh. The fridge always seems to have something in it. There's always gas, in the car, although sometimes little things need fixing, and in the garage there are things that Dean can use to fix it, so he gets to spend afternoons contented under the big black bulk, while Sam hands him things from the toolbox, and is distracted half the time from reading so that he hands Dean the 3/8s wrench instead of the 5/8s wrench, but that gives Dean an opportunity rag on him so it works out, either way.

"Mom and Dad are here," Dean says, one day. He's doing the wiring, on the porch. As good a place to start as any. Sam's helping, kind of—actual electric work apparently wasn't one of the things he learned, over the years. "They've got a house, Bobby said."

"That's great," Sam says, and when Dean looks down he looks like he means it, soft smile and all, but Sam doesn't suggest they visit, and Dean thinks—well, later's still always on the table. They haven't gone anywhere, really, except for drives sometimes through the mountain roads, and Sam's gone for his runs in the early dawn before Dean wakes up, and Dean's found on a path through the trees a good creek, where he's fished with Sam mostly ignoring him, reading again in a lawnchair with his bare feet kicked out into the soft grass, but still paying just enough attention to smirk behind his book when Dean doesn't catch anything.

They don't really stay apart for more than the time it takes to leave a room and come back. Even with those runs, Dean only knows they happened because as he's waking up Sam comes back with sweat in his hair, and Dean gets to make fun of him for stinking up the place before Sam rolls his eyes and clatters into the bathroom to turn on the creaking ancient shower, and he leaves the door open when he does so Dean can hear the water running, and the splashing, and how Sam's apparently started to hum. He doesn't sing, but Dean recognizes the tunes anyway. When Sam comes out Dean has breakfast ready—they take turns on dinner, but for some reason Sam doesn't like to make breakfast, anymore—and they eat, and then there's some project to do or a movie to watch or a book to finish, and—Sam's right there, solidly content. Like he's making up for lost time, and taking his sweet time in doing so.

Whisky, one night. In the cupboard. It's good—some Scottish blend Crowley had left in the bunker, once, sharp and sweet and rolling smoke down the throat—and they're out on the porch again, on the new bench this time, watching the sunset come down. Sam's mostly holding his glass, rather than drinking, but he looks okay. Head leaned back against the wall, and his shoulders relaxed, broad and strong. He doesn't seem to mind that Dean watches him as much as he does the sky, but he's looking thoughtful, and finally Dean says, "Tell me." Sam rolls his head against the wall, and meets Dean's eyes. "It's been on your mind, all day. Spit it out, man."

The corner of Sam's mouth lifts. "You would've made a good therapist, you know that?" he says. Dean raises his eyebrows. "I've been… I had a son."

Dean's jaw drops. "That's—" he starts, and his brain doesn't supply anything else. Shock—bewilderment—joy, and it's the joy that wins out, and he punches Sam in the shoulder and says, "Frickin' mazel tov, dude! That's—what was his name?"

"Ow," Sam says, half-laughing, clutching his arm. "What do you think? I named him after you."

"Great choice, pick the handsome brother," Dean says, nearly automatic, and Sam rolls his eyes like he's supposed to, but Dean's still spinning through it, taking it in. Sam—with a little boy—and Dean wants to know everything, everything, but Sam's gone from content to content-but-pensive, and Dean makes fun of him for going emo a lot, but this is… "He a good kid? Doing the name proud?"

"Yeah, he is," Sam says. He huffs, after a second, like he's remembering something—some memory that Dean doesn't share. There's been a lot of that, really, although Dean's not sure Sam notices when it happens. "You'd hate his taste in music, though. And he drives an electric car."

"Heathen," Dean says, and Sam raises his hands in surrender, and then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Dean looks at his back, broad in the grey t-shirt. He sips at his scotch. "We could—probably see him. I'd like to meet him. And you must…" Miss him, is what he wants to say, except that his heart seems to catch up to what it means, what Sam's saying. That he had a boy, a kid, and he was old enough to drive and have shitty taste in music, and it was a whole life—that the kid had a mother, and Sam had a world separate to this one, and of course Dean knew that and Dean always wanted that for him, and that was true, that wasn't ever a lie no matter what else Dean felt, deep inside where he never, ever intended for it to matter, but. Dean misses Jack, sometimes, in a soft sore way—misses Ben, even, when that pain's far-distant and not even truly his to feel—but what Sam's going through, that's different, and Dean doesn't know how to touch it.

Sam shakes his head, though. "I do," he says, answering what Dean couldn't say out loud. "But I—no, I don't want to see him. Not yet. He's living, and I think—I hope he's doing the best he can. I was kind of an old dad. Old-fashioned maybe, too, but I taught him right, I think, and he'll be okay. I want to just—let him live. In my head. You know? And later, when he's finally—god, he'd better be really old—then. I'd want to see him then."

Dean gets it, and doesn't. He's not sure he could've waited another minute for Sam, if he'd been forced to. He picks up Sam's glass, abandoned on the bench between them, and holds it forward. Sam takes it, and accepts Dean's clink when it's offered. "To Dean," he says, and Sam huffs and gives him a slanted look back over his shoulder, but he nods, and repeats it, and they finish the bottle between them that night.

Funny, that they ended up in the mountains. Kansas was all flat prairie and farmland and endless horizons, and Dad used to joke sometimes when they'd drive across the country's flat middle that you could roll a marble all the way from Abilene to Lincoln and the only way it'd stop is if someone picked it up. Up here it feels—different. With the hills, and the trees. Like they could be hemmed in, if they were feeling bad about it, but instead it just feels like shelter. A place of their own. A place to make their own.

Sam left the bunker, he says, one day. A fishing day, when Dean's got his cooler full of cheap beer and Sam's working on yet another friggin' book, though this time he's at least enjoying the cool air, watching the birds and the river more than he's got his nose in some old dude's ancient wisdom. "Couldn't stay," he says, and Dean—yeah. That makes sense.

Little revelations, now and then. Sam doesn't seem to be in a hurry to tell them, but he doesn't seem to feel bad about them, either. Like they're sorrows mostly dealt with, or details that don't matter in the grand scheme. Dean never had a place, when Sam was gone from him, but even the car—he couldn't drive it, when Sam wasn't there in the passenger seat beside him. He gets how the bunker could've been less a shelter than a prison, when the halls were empty, and the silence got too thick. "I left it to him," Sam says, after a little while. He tucks his bookmark into his spot, tucks the book under his arms. Dean's just holding onto the fishing pole at this point, barely paying attention to the line, but Sam's watching it for the both of them. "I didn't—take him there, ever, but I told him about hunting, about the job, and I left a letter. Explaining it all, with the key and everything. It's there if he wants it."

"Good," Dean says. Sam glances at him. "Someone should use it. He's a legacy, too."

"Yeah, he is," Sam says, and it's quiet for some reason, and then he nods down at the creek. "You're getting a bite, dude—" and oh damn it, see, this is why Sam's a distraction on fishing trips, and Dean fumbles the rod and cusses at his brother and Sam just laughs, and the afternoon's easy, and Dean finally does get a damn fish and brings it home and considers leaving the guts under Sam's pillow, but instead he fries it up with dill and cornmeal and Sam makes nearly orgasmic noises, eating out on the porch because Dean still hasn't built them a table, and Dean says, "Jeez, dude, get a room," and his ears are pink but—he's happy. Sam's happy. That's been the only goal, this whole damn time. A falling-down house in the mountains, with the two of them totally alone, turns out to be as good a place to be happy as any. Go figure, Dean thinks, watching Sam suck his fingers and then turn his eyes hopefully toward the kitchen for more.

A drive. There's a road that snakes up high, ending in an empty lookout point, and Sam convinces Dean to come further—a hike, up to the very top of the mountain, where the trees start to thin and there's a view like—

"Holy shit," Dean says, when he heaves himself up over that last friggin' boulder, and Sam says, "Right?"

A vastness. The forest is thick and the sky's this clear, depthless blue, and the valleys and hills spread out in front of them untouched. Like they're really the only people in all of heaven, nothing but them and the trees and the house. Sam stands with his hands on his hips, looking out, looking like a damn model for that weird orange hiking jacket he's wearing, and Dean sits down on a handy flat rock and feels the sun on his back, takes it in. "You know, I thought the memory thing would've been okay, honestly," Dean says. Sam glances back at him. Instantly knows what Dean means, from the way he's furrowing his massive forehead in disbelief. "I mean, maybe it would've gotten boring, I don't know. Stuck on our hamster wheels forever. But there was good stuff, in there, and we—I mean. We would've been together. Right?"

It had been brutally painful, at the time, but in later years Dean had thought about it. Approached it cautious, like something that would break if he touched it. Soulmates, he thinks, now, deliberate inside his own head, and Sam smiles, like somehow he heard it. "Yeah, I guess so," he says. He tips his head. "Could've watched that memory of you turfing it into the pasture on that wraith hunt about a hundred times, I think."

Dean raises his eyebrows, says, "Ha," while Sam grins at him, but then Sam looks back out at the view. "Would've been some choice ones of you, too, you know," he says, but then shakes his head, even if Sam's not looking anymore. "This is—better, though. Glad Jack did it like this."

"And Cas," Sam says, and, yeah. Cas.

Dean takes a deep breath. He hasn't gone there, in his head, really. Castiel, free of the death he'd cursed himself to, free of darkness. Dean drags his hand over his stubble, remembering. The dark, reaching out. He looks out at the clear, bright day. "He was in love with me," he says.

Sam turns his head, but Dean's focused on the trees—past them—through to that day. All the time after, Dean never said anything about it, out loud or even in his head. They hadn't had a body to burn, and Sam hadn't asked questions, careful and kind in that way Sam had learned to be once he was older, and it had been an old bruise, unhealed, that Dean didn't like to press on because what was the point? It doesn't hurt now, but it's…

"He told you?" Sam says, and Dean nods. A pause, again, and Sam comes and sits down on the rock, too. His hands are clasped between his knees and Dean looks at them instead of the trees. Broad and tan, and big, and calm like everything in Sam is calm, now. "And you didn't know?"

Dean looks up, sharply. "Did you?"

Sam's mouth tilts. "I wondered," he says, and Dean huffs, leans back on his hands, looks up at the clear sky. A breeze, just chilly enough that he's glad of his jacket. Sam shifts, beside him. "Did you want to see him?"

It's asked—a little careful. Like Sam doesn't want to influence him either way. Dean imagines it—praying, and saying—what? He doesn't answer, and Sam doesn't press him, and they sit there for a while, in quiet, with the breeze bringing the smell of the trees.

"I didn't marry her," Sam says, after a while. Dean lifts his head—another revelation. Sam's slowly rubbing his thumbs back and forth, a dry chafing, looking out at something Dean can't see. "She was a really good person. Good mother. I wore a ring so people wouldn't ask questions, but I—I think she would've said yes, if I'd asked, but I didn't ask. She moved across town, when Dean was ten. We got along fine—hooked up a few times, even, after we split, but it just…"

"Never came together?" Dean offers, when the pause has gone too long, and Sam lifts a shoulder, his mouth curling wry as he looks at Dean. "I know the feeling."

Maybe it was some cruelty of Chuck's. To make it impossible for anything else to feel true. Dean tips his leg out so it touches Sam's, and Sam huffs, and touches Dean's knee, and the heat of him sinks right through the denim before he pushes to his feet, and offers a hand to help Dean up, too. They walk back down the trail, back to where Dean parked the car, and they drive down the winding roads with sunset spilling through the valleys behind them, and when Dean parks in front of the house the porch light's on like they left it, and Sam's getting out and saying something about maybe burgers, for dinner, and he'll make potato salad if Dean'll take care of the cooking, and Dean has to pause, with his heart suddenly thick and full in his chest, and thinks—well, if it was intended to be a punishment, then shit if Chuck didn't get it wrong.

They have burgers, and potato salad. Sam doesn't put in enough mayo and Dean tells him so. They watch The Right Stuff, and Sam listens mostly patiently to Dean filling in all the extra details about the astronauts before he tells Dean that he's a nerd, and Dean says, "Oh, if anyone's the nerd—" and they bicker, and wash the dishes, and Sam's beautiful, is the thing. Beautiful. Whole and healthy and content, in the lamplight in the house they're building. Beautiful his whole life, from when he was a little kid and Dean was wiping his snot-nose with the edge of his t-shirt to when he was a bitchy asshole of a teenager to when he was a high-handed and distant adult to when he was just—Dean's brother, paying him half-attention in the mornings, getting all his jokes, being bossy and being kind and being himself, and himself is all Dean ever wanted him to be.

Sam picks up one of the endless books that he's left on the kitchen counter. "You going to keep watching old nerd movies?" he says, a dimple tucked into his cheek.

Dean's chest feels somehow tight and full of molten gold, all at once. "Sammy," he says, and Sam hears the change in his voice, and blinks at him. Dean knows what Cas had meant, those years ago. How it could feel so entirely perfect, just to hold it like this, under your heart. To acknowledge it and know it for true. "You're it, for me. You know that, right?"

A slight tightening, around his eyes. He searches Dean's face but Dean—he doesn't know what expression he's wearing. It hardly matters.

"Our whole lives. I never—there wasn't ever really an option, for something else, but I don't think I ever even really wanted something else. Ever since I was little. It was you and me in my head, no matter how I thought about the future. I wanted you to have more but I never pictured anything else for me, not really. Even when I got the chance. Never came together, you know? But I don't think I wanted it to. All I wanted was you." Sam's lips have parted. Confusion there, but concern too, and Dean smiles at him. "I guess this sounds—this isn't like a goodbye or anything, or a… I don't know. I just… wanted you to know. In case you hadn't guessed."

Sam lays his hand on the counter, like he's looking for something steady. "Dean," he says, and then doesn't seem to know how to follow it up.

Dean shakes his head. "Didn't mean to drop a bomb on you," he says, and it's that loose knot again, an untangled free thing. Easy, when this had never, ever been easy. When he'd died for it, and lived through way worse than dying. Here, looking at Sam's expression—shock but also not quite shock—his other hand still clutched around his book—it feels like nothing but right. He smiles, looking at Sam's eyes. "After the life we had, man, this is the cherry on top. I don't need anything more than this."

He goes to bed. Sam's still standing there, in the kitchen, when he does.

Time moves more because they expect it to than because of any rules. Sam's been studying it, sort of, out of curiosity more than anything else, and he says he thinks that if they wanted it to be it could be about two pm in a warm July forever. Dean's noticed, even if he doesn't much care. How long have they been here, and still it's those last days of summer creeping into autumn, where it's cool in the shade and the sun's warm, and it doesn't snow, and if it rains it's just for long enough to make the house feel cozy and right, and then when the sun comes out again the world's washed-new, and he doesn't have to dig his car out of the mud.

It's raining the next morning, and Dean lays in bed with the covers pulled up around his shoulders and enjoys it, knowing there's nowhere to go. His room is his room only because it's the bed he picked, with the north-facing window and the view of the car, if he wants to glance down and see it; they leave their doors open, almost all the time, and they hardly have possessions that need keeping anywhere. He lifts up on an elbow after a while, and looks over the foot of the bed down the hall, and on the opposite end by the stairs Sam's door is open and he's a solid lump, in his bed, still snoozing through the rain, and Dean's heart folds up in his chest, looking. It tends to do that.

He goes through some morning things. Making the coffee, and sipping at a cup while he eats a slice of toast. He goes into the library and picks something off the shelf, and carries it back upstairs, and then it's the solitary, strange contentment of a morning crap (the door closes for that at least, and he'd wondered why that was something that stuck around in heaven until he experienced the weird peace of an unhurried morning), and then a coffee refill, and then it's still raining and he thinks—yeah, back to bed, crawling in with his coffee and his book, his back to the headboard, the house warm, the sifting rain outside nothing but soothing.

"Hey," he hears, and looks up.

Sam—oh. In his flannel pants and one of those v-neck sleeping shirts, black this time, his hair rumpled, leaning in his doorway. He closes his book and lets it fall down by his leg. Sam's eyes follow it, with a small frown.

"You really went for the beauty sleep, huh?" Dean says, as though the clock means anything. Even in heaven, he feels weird when Sam catches him reading. In that time in the bunker—after Jack disappeared—he'd started again, like he used to when he was in his twenties. Dumb stuff, nothing like what Sam would pick, but he liked the stories. Sam's never made fun of him for it, but he still—well, still.

Sam's still looking at the book but the silence has stretched, with the patter of the rain filling the space between. "I stayed awake for a long time, last night," he says, finally. "Thinking about stuff. What you said. Other things, too."

He seems okay. Not bitter, or angry, or even particularly stressed about it. Still, "Sorry," Dean says.

Sam shakes his head, and looks up at Dean's face. "Don't be sorry." He pushes a hand through his hair, sort-of smiles. "Figures, you wouldn't say anything until you knew I was a sure thing."

Dean snorts. He moves the book over to his bedside table, leaves it with his empty coffee mug. He pulls his knees up under the blanket, making room, and Sam comes and sits at the foot of the bed, one knee pulled up onto the mattress, looking at Dean steady and—and okay. They're okay.

"I had a dream last night," Sam says, finally. Dean nods—the dreams come pretty steadily, up here. Never nightmares, just invention, and memory recontextualized. "It was about… when Azazel had Dad. You remember that? Forever ago. All I wanted was to kill him. All you wanted was for us to be together. Remember?"

Of course, Dean remembers. The way he'd dragged Sam away from another fire. Sam looking at him with almost-pity, when he'd finally admitted what he wanted.

There's not a trace of pity in him, now. He pulls his knee up against his chest, comfortable. "You know, I thought about it," Sam says. "After you were gone. How everything felt—incomplete. Half-a-loaf. Even…" He shakes his head, and Dean wonders what goes there. He'll find out someday. "We were always breaking the world for each other. Normal siblings don't really do that. I don't know if you realized."

"I bet Mary-Kate and Ashley would give it a shot," Dean says, and Sam smiles at him, but rolls his eyes, too. "Sam—"

"I wondered," Sam interrupts. He lifts his eyebrows, a little, and Dean hears it as the echo it's meant to be. Despite everything he can feel his cheeks going pink. "If it wasn't just that we couldn't find something that was better, but that we never would. If you'd…"

He trails off. Dean picks at the blue yarn-ties on his blanket, watching Sam's face. Turned now, toward the rain outside, lit beautiful with morning. "I wouldn't have said anything," he says. Sure, somehow. "Even if we'd had—hell. Another decade, just you and me. When I said this was enough, I meant it."

"I know you did," Sam says. "And I know you wouldn't have. Because you wouldn't have wanted to ruin anything for me, right? If I had some outside shot—some kind of normal I might've dug up?" Dean nods. Sam nods, too, and then reaches out and flicks his knee through the blanket, hard it enough that it nearly stings. Dean claps his hand over the spot and smacks Sam's hand away, but Sam's already retreating, hands up, smiling. "Truce, truce. Just saying. I wouldn't have tried for anything, if you'd been there. It would've just been me and you and the dog."

The dog. "Did he—" Dean says, distracted, and Sam says, "Old and kinda fat, and happy as he could be."

Sam's just looking at him, along the length of the bed. "Sammy," Dean says, and chews his cheek for a minute. Sam's patient. "I know it wasn't easy, that I was gone. But I'm still glad you got that shot. Glad I didn't ruin it."

"You didn't—" Sam starts, and then closes his mouth. He smiles at Dean with his lips closed, and then breathes out slow through his nose. "I'm glad you're glad," he says, instead, and maybe that's all the compromise they'll ever get, on the subject. Dean's not sure Sam gets it, smart as he is. That Dean would've always wondered. That there would've been some horizon, distant and gold, that Sam might've always looked to, and imagined something different.

The rain's slacking, outside. Sam looks out the window again, at how the sun's drawing out, the light changing. "Do you want to try to figure out the cabinets today?" he says.

God, Dean loves him. "You can work the band saw," Dean promises, and Sam rolls his eyes again, and stands up, and says, "Let me shower first, before all the excitement," and Dean watches him step into the hall and then into the bathroom and hears the shower come on, through the open door, and he thinks it'll be a good day. Inevitable argument over what color to stain the cabinet doors notwithstanding.

It sits between them. Dean didn't feel tense about it but saying it aloud nevertheless makes him feel almost weightless. He knows that Sam's thinking about the conversation—going over past conversations, and things they've done, and choices they've made, over and over, because Sam's an egghead who had to puzzle things out forever before he can come to some kind of peace with them—but that's okay. They're still together and nothing's ruined, and the house comes along. They work on the kitchen for a while, Sam pulling down the horrible wallpaper while Dean does the woodwork, and there's a week nearly where they build a fire outside every night and dinner's what they can rig up over the flames—hotdogs, and kebabs, and mac and cheese even that gets a weird smoky flavor to it, and honestly it's about the best version Dean's ever had.

When Sam starts talking he comes at it obliquely. They're watching a movie—Moonraker, just as dumb and wonderful as Dean remembered it—and right over the top of the scene where Jaws is whaling on the guards, Sam says, "I didn't sleep with anyone for almost fifteen years."

"Makes sense, your game is terrible," Dean says, and grins when Sam sighs. "What do you mean? After the breakup with—"

Sam still hasn't said her name. "It just didn't…" Sam shrugs. "It wasn't important somehow."

"Plus you would've thrown your back out," Dean says.

"Yeah," Sam says, dry. "Plus that." A pause, while they both watch the end of the fight. Roger Moore was a way better Bond than people gave him credit for, Dean's always thought. "How long for you?" Dean makes a sound. "Before… You used to brag about it, you know? But you didn't come home bragging for a long time."

"You trying to get me to say just looking at your goofy mug every morning was enough?" Dean tips his head on the couch to find Sam raising his eyebrows, actually surprised. "Hah. Well, it was."

"Seriously?" Sam says.

Dean shrugs, not sure why it's coming as a shock. He doesn't actually remember himself, even though it's closer in memory for him, when he last had that urge—to just go for a hookup, to let off nervous energy. On the screen, Bond's punching someone, and Holly Goodhead's in trouble. "No need to try to fix what ain't broke, as they say," Dean says, and he can tell Sam watches his face for a while before Sam turns his attention back to the movie.

Later: Dean's peeled back the scary carpet and it turns out there's good wood flooring underneath. Go figure. He's trying to decide whether he wants to cut it out in pieces or roll the whole thing up and see if he can get Sam to carry it. Sam brings him a cup of coffee, while he's standing in the doorway to the bedroom and frowning, and then says, "I never thought about being with a guy."

Dean slops the coffee, a little. Good thing he's tearing out the carpet either way. "Uh, okay."

The corner of Sam's mouth tugs up. "It just never occurred to me," he says. "Not really."

Dean takes a sip from his mug. Even in heaven Sam manages to screw it up, somehow—this time, way too strong like he used three times the amount of grounds needed—but it's Sam's coffee, and Dean's so damn gone for him that he's fond of the sludge, too.

Apparently he's been silent too long. Sam tips his head, leaning against the doorframe, opens his mouth and closes it again.

"Do you really want to know?" Dean says, after a minute. He'd answer, he thinks. If Sam asked. What would be the point of keeping it secret, after all, with what they both already know?

"I think you just told me," Sam says, quiet, but shakes his head, and then jerks his chin at the carpet. "If you think I'm carrying that whole thing downstairs you're insane."

"Worth a shot," Dean says, and they put it away, for another day.

Later: they're painting, in the hall between the kitchen and the living room, and it was a long bickering session to come up with the color but Dean thinks that Sam was really arguing just to argue and not because he cared, at all. It smells like paint, which in theory is unpleasant but which really Dean's always kind of enjoyed—because it means there's a project being done, and progress being made, and that always settles something, in his bones—and Sam's got a full on handprint of slate blue on his ass that Dean thinks somehow he still hasn't noticed, and which should cause some entertainment when he does—and Sam says, standing back and squinting at his edging work, "How did you know?" Dean grunts, not following for once. His brush needs to be cleaned. Sam reaches up and fixes a line, carefully swiping blue away from the ceiling, and says, "About us. When did you know?"

Dean pauses, fingers all tangled with the brush in the murky water. Sam's frowning up at the ceiling, patiently doing his part. That's a question he never really asked himself, and he doesn't know the answer. Too easy to say always, even if sometimes that feels like the truth. November 1983 is another answer, but of course that's wrong, too. From the first time Sam smiled at him. From the first time he guided Sam's hands around a gun and helped him pull the trigger, and they nailed that empty Coke can like it was a vamp, at thirty paces. From the day Sam left, at that shitty house in Utah, and Dean stood in the dark street with his heart bleeding out 'til it was empty. From the night Sam died, and Dean knelt in the dirt with him and understood how it felt to die, too, and yet still be forced to stand up and keep living, and to have his whole body reject it, everything in him knowing: no.

Sam crouches down by him, and nudges Dean out of the way, so he can clean his own brush. "I didn't get it, I don't think," Sam says, when Dean hasn't responded. He riffles his fingers through the bristles, blue blooming up so that Dean can't see his skin. "Not for… Man, I don't know. It might've been when I thought we were going to lose you to Amara. Maybe earlier." He draws his brush out of the water and squeezes the wet out, and Dean watches his hands, like he does so much of the time. Capable and square-palmed and long-fingered. Blue paint stuck under his fingernails. He rests his brush on the side of their paint tray and his hands lace loosely between his knees, where he's still right there, inches from Dean. "Wish it hadn't took me so long."

Dean looks at him. Sam's looking back, not really smiling but with his face soft. He stands up, after a few seconds, and from Dean's crouching vantage Sam looks impossibly tall. "C'mon," he says, easy. "Let's finish this up. I want to watch you fail at fishing at some point today."

Later—

There's no real time, and therefore it's no particular day. Days have passed and yet the days are still gold, and beautiful. Sam goes for a run, and comes back, and they have breakfast, and they shower, and it rains briefly midday and so Sam reads in the armchair while Dean watches a movie—Godfather II, and he tells Sam he's a barbarian for reading through it, but Sam calmly ignores him like he always does—and then the rain stops, and Dean thinks, maybe a drive, and so they go for a drive, with the late afternoon sun pouring down. They park, in front of the house, and Dean gets out, and he's thinking about dinner—Sam's turn to cook, but Dean wants steak and Sam's never actually gotten the hang of steak—and Sam says, "Hey," and so Dean turns, and there with the driver door still open on the car, Sam steps up close to him, and takes Dean's face in his hands.

Dean's heart thuds slow, in the base of his throat. Sam's been this close before but he hasn't had quite that look in his eye. He stands still, waiting, and Sam's mouth twitches into a quick smile, like he's had some funny thought that he'll share with Dean, later—and Sam leans down, and when their mouths press together it's...

Sam pulls back, after not long enough. "Is that okay?" he says.

Really asking. Dean's holding Sam's forearms, his lips warm. "You're supposed to be the smart one," he says, and his voice comes out raw. "You figure it out."

His eyes are closed. Sam laughs, softly, and Dean takes a breath, and then there's Sam's mouth, again, soft but insistent, just the right amount of pressure. Sam's very good at this. Who knew. Dean's hand slides to Sam's chest and he parts his lips, and Sam takes the invitation as it's given, licking just barely inside. They're both unshaven but the scratch of Sam's chin feels good. Sam's nose brushes his. Dean pulls back, and tilts so their foreheads are touching, and there's an infinite universe of time around them and he could just stay—here. Right here, with Sam's breath mingling with his, and Sam's hand on his face.

Once they've started, though, Sam doesn't seem to feel the need to stop. "Bed?" he says, quiet, and Dean nods, and then—Sam's room, with the sun coming in the window and the thick blue blanket soft under Dean's hand. Sam sits beside him and leans in and they kiss—again—for ages, Dean's arm around Sam's neck and no sound but their lips meeting and parting, and the breeze soughing against the house.

Sam's—happy. That's the only thing Dean can think, over and over, his heart thrilling for it. "Is it weird?" Dean says, at one point, and Sam touches his cheek with two fingers, and drags them soft along Dean's stubble to his jaw, to his chin, and shakes his head and then laughs and says, "Yeah, but who cares about weird," and Dean says, fervently, "Not me," and Sam laughs again and presses him down to the bed and kisses him, again, and again.

Clothes go away, slowly. Boots, and jackets, and Dean pushes Sam a little upright and unbuttons his shirt, careful, while Sam watches his face. "Do you know what you want?" Dean says, not pushing either way. When the shirt's open he spreads his hands on Sam's chest—god, even through the undershirt, it's—but Sam's shaking his head, and Dean tries to focus, even if focus seems a billion miles from here. "And you never…"

But no, because Sam told him. Sam lays his palm on Dean's stomach, warm. "What did you want?" Sam says. Gentle almost. "The first time you—when you thought about it. What did you picture?"

"Who says I pictured anything?" Dean says, and Sam just smiles at him, and, yeah, okay. So Sam knows him better than anyone. So what.

Naked, Sam is… It's not like Dean never saw it before, but he never let himself look, like he's looking now. Never with the sense of right, that he feels now. Sam's looking right back, which somehow comes a surprise. Dean lets Sam tug off his jeans, his boxers, and he's left on his back on the bed, and Sam stands there and his eyes go all over—from Dean's chest to his dick to his feet, for some reason—and Dean feels himself flushing, but it's more because—

"I didn't think it'd be like this," Sam says, and yeah. Yeah, that's it. Sam's flushed, too, a little red come into the hollows of his cheeks. His dick's half-hard, swinging heavy against his thigh, and Dean wants it. Wants Sam. It should be complicated but it isn't. He spreads his legs, and Sam kneels on the bed and then fits himself there, so Dean's thighs can slide against Sam's, and there's the warm glance of his belly, and his chest against Dean's, and how his nose brushes Dean's cheek and how his hair falls forward, and the dense familiar physicality of him. How he's Dean's brother and how he's—everything, everything else that ever mattered.

They rub together, kissing. Sam's fingers find his nipple and play with it, slow and insistent. Sam's hard, thick, pressing into the crease of Dean's thigh, and Dean nudges under Sam's jaw, kisses his throat, drags his thumb down between Sam's pecs. "Do you want to," he says, against Sam's skin, and Sam's hand cups over the back of his head and he doesn't have to say anything for Dean to know.

There's lube, in Sam's bedside table. Dean laughs, while Sam blinks surprise at it. This perfect house. He pulls Sam in close again, and he doesn't think it'll take much—hell, they might not even have to bother—but he wants it, like this is a first time they might have had, some perfect day that never existed on earth. He drizzles the lube over Sam's fingers and Sam knows what to do, reaching below, and Dean spreads his legs wide and sinks into the pillow, into how it feels. "Do you like it?" Sam says, curious and a little pleased, and Dean hooks his arm around Sam's neck and drags him down for a kiss so Sam won't ask such dumb friggin questions. The slow drag and stretch of Sam's knuckles inside—and he's not going far enough or deep enough, because he's done this to women maybe but never to a guy, but it feels good, anyway.

They don't move from that position. Dean reaches down and tugs at Sam's wrist, and gets a slick dragging hand on his hip, instead. Sam kisses his cheekbone, shifts his weight, and the press inside—ah—thick, and just that first bright sting that makes it count for something, but it doesn't hurt beyond that, and it's just the slow parting drag of Sam, inside him, until he's as far as he can go and stops with his hips pressed right up close. Dean holds him there, feeling. Sam's breath against his cheek, and his weight held tense on one elbow, and their chests rising and falling together. Dean's dick presses against Sam's belly but it doesn't feel important, right now—it's more that they're—finally, they're—

"Please say I can move," Sam says, breathless, and Dean gasps in and then laughs, dizzy, says, "Jesus, you've been waiting on me? Get the lead out, come on—go—"

It lasts—

For the time it takes Dean to curl his hips up and feel how Sam jolts, hard inside. For the time it takes Sam to lift up higher, getting enough space between them that he can see Dean's face, and for him to fit his hand around Dean's jaw and press his thumb against Dean's lower lip and look him in the eyes, startled, like even after everything he's learned something new. For the time it takes Dean to wrap his thighs around Sam's waist and arch, and for Sam to bury his head down into the curve of Dean's throat, and for Dean to hold Sam's shoulders, and for it to be…

Perfect, Dean thinks, after.

They're on their sides. Dean's leg is still caught around Sam's hip. Their heads are on the same pillow and Dean's got his hand on Sam's chest, and Sam keeps tracing some nonsense shape into the skin over Dean's ribs, and the sun's still out, and the breeze is still gentle, and it feels in a way like no time has passed, at all. Like this is still their first day in heaven. That first moment, when Sam appeared on the bridge, and Dean's heart thumped into place, like it was beating again, at last.

Sam's hand settles flat on Dean's side. Dean looks up from Sam's chest, and Sam's waiting there, to meet his eyes. A smile, small. "Good job, tiger," Dean says, and Sam's smile goes deeper, and Dean rolls his eyes, and tugs Sam's chest hair in retaliation. Sam mimes pain but all he does is pull Dean an inch closer, and sigh.

"Do you think we could've made it work?" he says, eventually. Dean hmms, asking. "Before, I mean. When we were alive. It feels like…" He shakes his head, a small movement against the pillow. "I don't know. Like we wasted time."

"Maybe," Dean says. He shifts, stretching out his legs, and lifts up on one elbow. Sam tips his head back to keep looking at Dean's face. Dean looks back, unhurried. The straight line of his eyebrows, and his tip-tilted eyes. His mouth, relaxed in contentment, and the slope of his nose, and that mole that Dean feels the weirdest fondness for. He touches it, and Sam blinks, and Dean smiles at him. "It worked out, though. Don't you think?"

Sam's mouth tips, a dimple peeking up in his cheek. He looks as glad as Dean's ever seen him. "Yeah," he says, finding Dean's hand. Their fingers tangle together, caught warm against Sam's chest. "Yeah, it worked out okay."

#wincest #carry on spoilers #my writing

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marvelousstevetony · 3 years

Note

If you’re still taking prompts can you do “mission in the rain” for stony with sick steve?

I’m going to apologize in advance, anon, for being so late to answer this, and also for how... not great this is. Tbh, this is a mess, but I’ll post it anyway🥲

Thank you for the prompt, though! Hopefully I’ll get back into the flow of writing soon!

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“See this,” Tony starts, “this is why I don’t trust Fury.” He’s stomping the ground like a petulant child, arms folded over his chest even though he’s wearing the armour, illustrating just how sulky he is. In addition, the glare he’s sporting almost makes Clint’s arrows seem harmless, and Steve can hear the sharpness in his voice, even over the loud drumming of the rain.

“Tony—“

“I mean,” Steve is interrupted before he has to say anything else, “this was supposed to be easy. Get in quickly, then get the hell out even faster.”

Steve sighs. It’s not like he’s disagreeing with Tony, no, quite the opposite actually. But moping never does any good, so Steve takes a deep breath and continues walking.

Tony is right, though, he thinks. Although Fury hadn’t presented them with a lot of details about the Hydra facility, he had told them that it had recently been abandoned and that all they’d have to do was look it over and hopefully gather information about their new base.

Turns out it wasn’t abandoned, and as soon Tony and Steve had entered the building, they’d been ambushed. Tony had already started cursing Fury when he took out the first Hydra agent, and though none of the agents were particular great fighters (compared to Iron Man and Captain America), there’d been a lot of them.

They’d taken all of them out, but definitely not as easily as if there’d been more than the two of them. ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Fury had said. He might’ve changed his mind if he had known Tony would leave the facility with a malfunctioning armour and no way for them to get away. The car they’d driven there in had been blown up pretty quickly, just like the rest of all the vehicles.

As soon as they’d finished the group of assassins off they’d contacted Fury and the team, but they were a few hours out. The Hydra agents had called for reinforcement when they realized they were losing, but the two Avengers had escaped before a new lineup showed up. There’s no chance of going back, though, and with no other choice, they’d set off on foot.

And that’s how the two of them ended up in the middle of nowhere during one of the worst rainstorms Steve can recall since waking up in the 21st century.

Tony huffs exasperatedly, and steps in a puddle with great force so it splashes.

“They’ll b-be here s-soon,” Steve says, teeth clattering. He’s trying to stay optimistic, but it’s hard, especially with the severe pounding in his head and the full-body chills.

“Yeah, right,” Tony grumbles. “They probably stopped for donuts on their way… Are you cold?” He asks when Steve shivers violently next to him.

“N-no,” Steve replies, but even to him, it sounds unbelievable.

Tony snorts, but he’s tired and his body is achy all over. He doesn’t have the energy to call Steve out on his shit this time, so they continue walking in silence, the only sounds coming from the heavy rain, Steve’s teeth rattling and Tony’s puffs of air from keeping up with Steve’s pace.

At some point, they reach a road on the edge of a forest where Tony’s almost certain that Hydra wouldn’t find them. He just wants to sit down, if only for a few minutes. The suit’s not too heavy, but it’s broken and there’s nothing to lighten the weight, so after walking for miles, Tony could use a break.

From the looks of it, Steve could too. His posture is sloppy, shoulders hunched forward, head ducking low as if to avoid the rain hitting him in the face.

Coming to think of it, Tony’s happy for the suit, despite the slightly increased weight. Although he isn’t wearing the helmet, it keeps his body dry, and that… that can’t be said about Steve’s uniform. The red, white, and blue suit is drenched all the way through. The colors are darker than normal, and it clung even tighter to Steve than it usually does. Tony wonders why it isn’t waterproof, or at least somewhat water-resistant. On the other hand, maybe it is and is simply not able to compete with the tempestuous downpour.

“Don’t you think it’s time for break?” Tony asks, and Steve casts him a questioning glance. “Hydra wouldn’t find us in there,” Tony says and nods at the forest.

Steve looks like he might just argue and say that they should just continue walking. But then he eyes the woodland and sighs. “You’re r-right,” he stammers. “I g-guess there’s n-no real reason to k-keep walking. They’ll f-find us s-soon.”

They settle beneath a tree with large leaves, somewhat shielding them from the rain. Not that it really matters, Steve’s soaked anyway.

They both let out a relieved noise when they slump back against the trunk of the tree, and Steve takes off his cowl, revealing a blond mop of hair that’s just as wet as the rest of him.

They catch their breath for a few minutes, and Tony’s almost starting to relax a bit. Next to him though, Steve’s entire body shudders. He curls into a ball, hugging his knees close to his chest, jaw visibly shaking.

“You can’t seriously tell me you’re not freezing, Steve,” Tony says, but it soft and in no way mocking.

“I’m okay,” Steve forces through clenched teeth. “They’ll b-be here snf! s-s-soon.”

Sighing, Tony rests his head back against the tree, letting his eyes slip shut. He could probably fall asleep, had it not been for the raindrops that hits him right on his closed eyelid every once in a while, making him flinch.

Steve, on the other hand, definitely isn’t on the verge of dropping off. When Tony cracks an eye open to look at him, he’s still trembling violently, but now he’s also scrubbing at his nose and eyes, and at one point he’s overtaken by a harsh coughing fit that leaves him gasping for air.

Tony frowns at him with questioning eyes. Steve either doesn’t understand that Tony was trying to wordlessly ask him if he was okay, or else he just doesn’t want to answer, because as soon as he catching a glimpse of Tony’s face, he looks away and leans forward to rest his forehead on his knees.

Tony, who lost all sense of time long ago, doesn’t know how long they sit like that before he hears the reassuring sound of the Quinjet. When they get on board, Fury and Hill are there, alongside Natasha, who greets them with a sympathetic smile that somehow still manages to be very smirk-like.

“Damn, Steve, you look like a drowned rat,” she states, and it’s not like either of them can argue with that; he’s dripping, leaving puddles after him everywhere he goes, and his hair is clinging to his face like a leech. “There’s spare clothes in the back,” she says and throws a thumb over her shoulder. Steve mumbles a quiet thanks as he leaves, his boots making squeaky noises whenever he takes a step.

By now, Tony’s stepped out of the suit, which, despite its broken parts, kept him surprisingly dry. He winces, however, at how much time he’d spent on upgrading it, only for it to be destroyed a couple of days later. Oh well, he thinks then. It’s not like he doesn’t like having an excuse to work in the lab for a few extra hours.

Although he’s not wet, and not particularly cold wither, Nat offers him a blanket, which he wraps around his shoulders. “He’s really quiet today,” she mumbles as she casts a glance over her shoulder.

Tony hums in agreement. “He’s tired. So am I.”

“That’s reasonable, I guess.” Nat offers a small smile, but her face falls, eyebrows twisting into a frown, as soon they hear the sound of Steve’s gravelly, throat-scraping coughs from the back of the Quinjet. “He seems a little more than just tired, though.”

“Probably,” Tony concurs when Steve comes into sight, now clad in a dry pair of sweats and a Stark Industries hoodie. His hair is still drenched, though, and his for all that Steve’s face is concernedly pale, his cheeks are still flushed from the cold. He’s dragging his feet towards them, slowly, with his shoulders hunched, and Tony think that he must be every bit as exhausted as he looks. “You okay?”

Steve draws in a long breath. Tony waits to hear him say that he’s fine, just like he always does, but when all Steve does is sigh heavily, Tony is immediately alarmed.

Even though it’s nearly imperceptible, Tony does notice, of course he does, that Steve is swaying slightly as he takes the final steps towards them. Ocean blue eyes are unfocused when Tony searches for them with his own, looking glazed over and weary.

Natasha moves nervously when Steve still hasn’t answered and shoots Tony a look. “Steve?” she prompts, and Steve snaps his head to the side to looks at her, but he instantly squeezes his eyes shut as his breath catches.

“Okay,” Tony says, getting to his feet. “You should sit down.” Placing his hands on Steve’s elbows, he guides the blonde to a seat and sits down in the one next to him. Natasha is quickly at his other side and rests a delicate hand of his shoulder.

“So… definitely not okay,” she concludes.

“Sorry,” Steve murmurs, jaw tight. “I-I don’t… I just got dizzy for a minute there. I’m sorry, I think I’m okay now.” Despite saying that he’s okay, his voice is distant, and he still hasn’t opened his eyes.

Tony can feel the tension in his body as he put a hand on Steve’s back, and just moments later, he senses the way Steve is trembling. “Shit, Steve, you’re shaking!” Tony gasps, and if to prove him right, Steve gives a full-body shudder.

Natasha cups the super-soldier’s face and grimaces as she touches the scalding cheeks. “He’s burning up,” she announces, directing the words at Tony, who is now also cradling Steve’s face.

The difference in temperature must feel heavenly to Steve, because he melts into the touch and lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

“Damn,” Tony mutters under his breath. “Guy’s hotter than the sun, in more than one way.” Natasha rolls her eyes, and Tony smirks slightly at her dismay. “Jarvis, give me a rundown of Cap here, please.”

“Certainly, sir,” comes the British accent. “Captain Rogers is currently running a temperature of 103.7 and climbing. Additionally, I detect an inflammation of the respiratory passages. Although I am not programmed to be medically enlightened, I believe Captain Rogers is showing symptoms of influenza.”

“We need to get his fever down,” Natasha says and Tony gives a stiff nod. “I doubt we have anything on the jet that’ll help, but I’ll get him some water.”

Tony nods again, then sighs when he turns back to Steve who is still pressing in face into Tony’s palm, eyes closed and mouth hanging slightly open. He’s also still shaking like a leaf, huddled in on himself with his knees hugged tightly to his chest.

“Steve?” Tony says softly, brushing his thumb over a cut on Steve’s cheek. He gets no response. “Steve, you with me?” He tries again.

Steve opens his eyes slowly and looks at Tony. His are glassy, face is pinched in discomfort, and he looks like he needs about forty-eight hours of sleeps, but at least he isn’t unconscious, Tony thinks.

“Hey, sunshine” the brunette whispers and forces a smile, smoothing a hand over Steve’s hair.

Steve must detect the worry, because he suddenly looks so sad and, in a way, guilty. “I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I’m… I—"

“Shhh… Don’t be sorry, honey. We’re home soon, okay? Then we’ll get you feeling better.”

Steve is looking directly at him with a confused expression, like he didn’t hear a word Tony just said, when Natasha reappears behind Tony with a bottle in her hand.

“How is he?” She asks, sitting down and unscrewing the cap as she holds out the bottle for Steve to take. He eyes it for a couple of seconds, then accepts it with sluggish, shaky movements and brings it to his dry, cracked lips.

“He’s completely out of it,” Tony sighs, and when Steve doesn’t object, Tony figures it’s as much of a confirmation as he’s gonna get.

Natasha, who is known to be the most stoic Avenger, is now decidedly worried. Her mouth is a straight line, and the crease between her brows is deeper than Tony has ever seen it. “Steve,” she says softly. When he lifts his head slightly, she gives him a small smile and brushes a stray strand of hair away from his forehead. “Hey there, soldier.”

Steve’s lips curl just enough to make the weak smile visible. “Hey… I’m—“ Suddenly, Steve is taken over by a harsh, throat-scraping coughing fit that leaves him gasping for air and clutching his chest. “Sorry.”

Tony rubs a comforting hand up and down Steve’s spine as he regains composure. Natasha just shakes her head at him and says, “It’s okay… How long have you been feeling like this?”

“I… I’m not sure. Not long,” he adds when both Natasha and Tony sigh. “I snf! I was fine during the m-mission, but then it just hit me all at once.”

“Definitely the flu, then,” Natasha confirms. “I guess you’re on super-sick-super-soldier duty tonight, Stark.”

“Yeah, I think this one is in desperate need of some TLC,” Tony says, shuffling closer to Steve to let him rest his head against his shoulder. Steve settles in close, his warm breath tickling on Tony’s neck as he lets out a tired yet please sigh. His eyes have slipped shut again, and his body is slowly going slack against Tony’s, melting into the caring hold. “I don’t mind, though,” he mumbles into Steve’s damp hair and places a gentle kiss in there, too.

Natasha smiles fondly at them; cuddled up in the small seats, Steve’s larger body curled into a ball with all his weight against Tony. “I’ll handle debrief,” she says, and Tony’s expression softens immediately with gratitude. “You focus on getting that one,” she looks at Steve, “back to full health.”

“I’ll get him feeling better,” Tony assures her, looks down at Steve whose breath has evened out, and smiles warmly as he kisses Steve’s temple.

#my fic #stevetony #i am sorry for this #🥲#anon #pls send me another prompt if you’re unhappy with this #I won’t blame you lol

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allandoflimbo · 4 years

Text

Bad Guy

Summary: You experience another night out in your new hometown. One that has you reaching for a drink, and maybe ending with a certain someone between your legs.

Warnings: Drinking, cursing, and (mild, well for me) fucking.

A/N: This is a submisstion for @amanda-teaches 2k Writer + Reader Challenge. My prompt was “Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.” This was really fun to write. Thank you for letting me participate in this! And I hope you really enjoy this one. :) It’s pretty light hearted. As most of you know, I will no longer post my writing on Tumblr, i’ll just be sticking to my other platforms now. If you wanna check me out i’ll be on AO3, mostly. This is my final closing. :)

The night was turning crisp, a heavy contrast to what it had been that afternoon.

It had been humid and overbearingly hot; too scorching for a late August summer.

It was around six o’clock when the temperature had dropped a sudden ten degrees. Now it was pleasant, and those that had hidden away all day in their air conditioned homes, finally decided to venture out into the cooling air.

There was an intense misconception about New York City that not many understood, not until they experienced it first hand, at least.

Sure, it was beautiful in its bright lights and air that seemed to ooze hope for everyone’s future. It gave off a vibe that made you admit, that yeah, it kind of was like the movies.

Except that it wasn’t.

From afar, it was quite the spectacular, but as you narrowed down and took a closer look, you’d see it for what it really was.

The brownstone buildings that housed the speakeasies and restaurants on the ground floor; they were beautiful, surly.

So were the homes across the streets, with their lights still on.

The streets, they were nice too.

People stood all around, greeting new friends and old ones, talking about which place they would go to next or which bar.

You liked the village. It had its pros and cons, but at the end of the day, you were glad you settled for that fifteen hundred dollar studio on the first floor.

It had a nice view of the deli and the prestigious restaurant across the street, and it was a brownstone.

Yeah, all of that was really nice.

Except when you took a closer look and realized that even the prettiest of things had its faults.

Those streets filled with smiles and laughter also had trash bags piled up every ten feet and on every corner.

Those restaurants and speakeasies - the brownstones were older so the walls outside the building were washed out, aged.

The air also had a strange, but yet addicting, smell.

It was a mixture of all the restaurants around mixed with booze.

The stairs that led down into the restaurant entrances were old and rusted.

The ATMs that lounged outside each one - because that’s right, most of them only take fucking cash - six out of ten of them were always out of service and served as nothing but mediocre décor next to the window.

Heavy graffiti lined their sides.

The doors to the restaurants were older, too. Some of them never even closed properly or were too damn heavy.

And your apartment...it was perfect.

You’d have to settle into become a minimalist to even fit your bed inside.

The flooring was also old and scratched and the walls needed a new paint job. But it wasn’t too bad. It could’ve been worst.

But you loved it.

You loved the feeling of the city around you, and you loved how you had made your new friends so easily after moving in from your old home in little ole’ Ohio.

You loved going to bed being able to hear the life outside, the laughters and sound of people making new memories and falling in love.

And those restaurants and speakeasies that looked flawed up close, they were anything but inside.

The owners were always so imaginative. The lighting was always warm, there were always people inside enjoying life and the food- in every single one of them.

Because, that’s right, all their food were good food.

New York City was beautifully flawed.

It was just what you were looking for.

You think this to yourself for the hundredth time since you moved here as you walk down the street towards a new bar you hadn’t been to yet.

You pass by locals as well as tourists and it’s nice.

You’re about to cross the street when you see a couple getting out of their little apartment.

Your heart warms as you see the man take the girl’s hand in his, both of them giggling as they prepare for a night out of making memories.

You feel your phone vibrate as you arrive to the other side of the intersection.

You hear a car horn in the distant and a nice summer breeze blow in through your hair.

You open your lock screen.

Nat

You here yet?

You quickly type away a message while also trying to avoid walking into others coming in the opposite direction as you.

You hold tighter onto your bag as it bumps into a girl, your small heels clacking beneath your feet.

You open your map to see the distance of the location and then reply back to her.

I’m a block away.

You see it from where you’re standing and it had it a decent sized line to get inside.

Budapëis

It read in white letters on the blackout windows.

You sped up a bit as you got closer, your excitement growing in your belly.

It doesn’t take much longer after you’ve been in line to realize it was actually moving pretty quickly.

A larger and dark man greets you at the entrance and you hand him your ID which he quickly scans. He gives it back to you and you thank him.

Inside the bar was loud. The people chatted away happily and the music thrummed in your bones. It was also very dark, the only light being the orange glows of the candles on some of the tables and the dimmed warm lights hanging above.

You watched as the cute male bartenders worked proficiently and sync, but also making sense to make small talk with each client as much as they could over the loud noise.

A girl says excuse me but still manages to nudge into you.

Spinning your head around, you realize there are no more seats left to sit and it makes sense why half of the people were all standing around and huddled like cattle.

Oh boy.

You feel a tug on your arm and you spin around to see Nat holding a Martini in her right hand, her left arm going in for an immediate hug.

“You made it!” She says.

“Of course!” You hope she can hear you.

She pulls away and tugs you towards her, “Come on, we’re all in the back.”

You let her lead you to the “back” which is really just a small space in the corner of the bar.

You immediately recognize Steve, Sam, and Wanda from afar.

“Oh, hey, you made it!” Steve yells, grabbing you in a tight hug.

“Hey, Y/N” “Oh, hey.” Sam and Wanda greet you.

“Hi, sorry I took a bit long. I was doing laundry.”

“Ha.” Sam snorts out loud, “come on you need a drink.” He adds.

“I will, I will —“ you dart your eyes to his own cup and point, “what’s that?”

“New York sour. Tastes like shit. Wanna try?” He says way too excitedly.

“Sure.” He hands you his glass and you take a sip.

You barely have the tip of the glass all the way out of your mouth when a body hits you on your side, making you stumble.

The drink doesn’t spill crazily, but it’s enough to get on your hand and to leave it sticky, leaving you annoyed.

You’re also not too fond of the face full of hair you just got and the elbow that keeps nudging into the side of your rips.

You stumble a few centimeters to the left, because seriously, it’s not like you have an option right now.

You look over to the girl who is now laughing and talking exceptionally loud with Nat and all your friends.

Did they really not see that?

But you wouldn’t blame them, there was barely any light in the place anyway.

If it weren’t for Sam reaching over the girl’s head to grab your glass, you’d be certain he had forgotten all about you.

You hand it back, cringing as you try not to elbow the girl in the face.

Sure, she was rude, but you weren’t going to return that sentiment.

“What’d you think, Y/N?” Sam shouts to you.

It’s then, finally, when the girl looks over at you.

She was drop dead gorgeous. At least 5’9. Her hair was a natural light brown and her eyes a piercing green.

Clearly a model trying to make it big in the city.

Her face is emotionless at first but then she attempts a smile.

You feel awkward under her gaze, awaiting an apology when Sam pulls you around.

“Come on, lets get ya something good.” He says, dragging you the bar.

You follow him until you’re at the side of the counter closest to when you first came in.

You sigh, already dreading this night, when you overhear Sam ordering two shots of tequila and two lemons.

“Me and you, y/l/n.” He says, taking the glass from the cute bartender.

Sam hands you the shot and you both countdown together before taking it simultaneously.

You chase it with the lemon, and okay yeah, you feel a little bit better.

“Glad we finally got ya out to a real bar.” Sam smiles.

You shrug.

“It’s been a while. Been busy trying to work, book places.”

“Oh, yeah, what is it that you do again?”

“I’m a singer, Sam. Whole reason I came from Ohio. Hello?”

He shoots you an infectious grin.

“I know, I’m just messing with you.”

You sigh.

Sometimes you did feel like people forgot though, especially in a city with 8 million other people trying to reach the same dream as you.

You hang around your friends for a bit longer, finally, finally getting the opportunity to wish Nat a happy birthday.

It must’ve been about an hour now later and you’re glad that one girl was gone.

Whoever she was.

“Is Bucky still coming?” Sam asks randomly out loud.

“He said he would get here as soon as he was done with his shift.” Steve mumbles, looking down at his phone, a glass filled with amber alcohol in his other hand.

“Shocked he’s taking so long. Wonder if he knows Aubrey is here.” Sam says.

“He’s an ass. And a whore. He knows.” Nat screams over to the guys.

You look over at Nat and Wanda and you see them already out of it giggling while looking at some guys’ Instagram feed.

“I’m gonna get another drink.” You announce.

“Hell yeah you are, y/l/n!” Sam yells with a wink.

Steve elbows him in the side.

“Stop peer pressuring her.” He says.

“I’m not, she just needs to let loose—“ he voice fades as you walk away.

You sigh, suddenly feeling exhausted. You contemplated ordering some fries or maybe mozzarella sticks.

You fold your arms onto the cold counter, waiting for the bartender to give you his full attention.

It takes a bit with the amount of people he’s serving along with the other bartender.

Finally he looks over at you and he smiles bright.

God, so cute.

You lean your head on your hand.

“Hi, can I have a gin and tonic?”

He taps the table top.

“Sure thing.” You watch his arms flexing as he makes your drink.

Mmm.

He slides it to you with a wink.

“You on a tab?”

You tell him Nat’s name and everything necessary and he nods.

You sip your drink, letting the music drown and numb you along with the alcohol. Your finger trails the condensation on the glass gingerly.

“Hey, man.”

A soothing voice comes up next to you, greeting the bartender.

The bartender’s face lights up.

“No, way. Finally out of his damn shell.” The bartender greets him with a over hand handshake.

You slide over to the side a bit, giving them some space.

The man next to you orders a drink, giving the bartender his card and requesting a tab.

You feel the heat of his presence as he leans on his own arms over the counter right next to you, and you can’t help smelling the delicious smell of cologne wafting off his body.

You don’t know if it’s the alcohol but you feel yourself biting on your bottom lip, and sticking your ass in the air, still dragging your hand up and down the glass.

But this time on purpose.

It doesn’t work.

You look over to take a look at the man in question and you swoon.

His dark brown hair was begging to be pulled and he had the softest of scruff on his face.

He wore a black leather jacket and jeans and shoes that looked way too expensive.

You drag your eyes back up his body to see a smirk, and fuck, he’s looking straight at you.

Those eyes. They were so blue.

You blush faintly, turning back to your glass and taking another sip.

You know he’s still there, eyes stilling lingering on you.

He takes his drink and then clears his throat.

You’re expecting him to say something when he leaves.

Your smile fades and you feel a weird emptiness. Rejection?

No that couldn’t be it.

You’re finishing your drink when your eyes drift back up to your friends.

Sam, Steve, Wanda, and Nat are all smiling.

But then Steve is smiling more and the commotion is even bigger as they spin around.

You perk a brow as you watch the man that was just next to you a few moments ago greet your friends.

Was that Bucky? The infamous asshole?

He was beautiful.

Of course he was.

You try to compose yourself before walking back over to your friends.

Sam looks at you disappointed, eyes darting to your empty hands.

“I thought you were getting a drink.”

“I already drunk it, dumbass.”

“Why drink there, drink here.”

You chuckle, your eyes darting to Bucky briefly who eyes you for a moment making a connection.

His friends were your friends too.

There was something strange the entire time, about the connection in the air between you two.

It must’ve been the alcohol. He was way out of your league.

But you didn’t understand the asshole your friends were talking about. Well, not that you really knew him that much anyway.

As you pretend to be intrigued in your conversation with Nat and Wanda, yours was actually focused on Bucky.

It’s like you both are playing a playful game of who can catch the other looking first.

You find yourself licking your lip...twirling your hair around your finger…

You swear he’s staring at your finger.

God, what was happening to you?

“Hey, babe!”

You heart Plummets into your stomach as you see the same girl from before (the one who spilled the drink on you) wrapping her arms around Bucky’s neck and oh yeah, she’s definitely sticking her tongue down his throat.

You feel your heart in your stomach and the strong taste of the gin in your mouth.

He pulls away with a moan and a slight grimace.

“Hey, Aubrey. What are you doing here?”

His hands go to her arms, prying her off of him.

“I came with a few friends and ran into yours. You haven’t been answering any of my messages.”

“Yeah, we broke up, remember?”

Everyone’s attention is now to Bucky and Aubrey as they watch their interaction.

“But come on, just one more night, one more good fuck for all times sake.”

A heavy snicker leaves your throat, but you quickly try to disguise it by pretending to wipe your mouth.

The girl’s head spins towards you and she peaking a brow at you.

She quickly ignores you and turns back to Bucky.

“Come on, Bucky.”

Bucky looks over it.

“Aubrey, Aubrey stop.” He says seriously.

She pulls back from him and they stare at each other for a moment longer before she scoffs and spins on her heel.

You turn away from the scene, suddenly needing another drink or at least some fresh air.

You settle for the latter, telling your friends you’d be right back.

You settle to lean back against the brick wall of the bar, taking in the sweet smell of a summer night.

The contrast of the silence outside felt amazing your ears, and the small amount of alcohol in your system only made it better.

You cursed yourself for being a horny little freak. But you chuckle to yourself as you pull out your phone. You couldn’t help that you needed physical attention.

You’re skimming through your emails when you feel someone next to you. You look up to see Bucky, his left shoulder leaning on the wall right next to you.

You find yourself smiling at his little smirk and you bite your bottom lip, looking away.

“You were trying to get my attention so bad before, and now you don’t want to talk?” He asks playfully.

You shake your head, but you still have a smile on your face.

You feel your cheeks grow hot.

“Wow, seriously?” “Am I wrong?”

You think about your answer as you continue to look through your emails, except at this point you were just trying to look like you were.

“No, but that was before I realized who you were.”

His smiled slides off slowly.

“What do you mean?”

You finally decide to put your phone away and you spin around to look at him, now face to face.

The look in his eyes are intense and you find yourself blushing. You knew all these things about him, but yet he had this aura about him, almost like everyone else was wrong.

Your eyes dart from his eyes and to his lips.

“Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.” You say quietly.

When he doesn’t say anything, you look back up until your eyes meet.

“Are they wrong?” He asks.

Your perk a brow at his answer.

“I—I don’t know.”

He chuckles.

“Exactly.”

You nod, pushing yourself off the wall. You take a deep breath, looking at the people on the street.

“It’s getting late, I should get going.”

Bucky nods, still not moving from his spot.

“Okay, yeah.”

You stay glued to where you are, your eyes darting back to his.

“Yeah.” You repeat back.

You watch as the tip of his tongue licks his lips. You feel the heat in your core and you feel the heavy beating in your chest.

“Do you live close by?” He asks huskily, looking over your shoulder.

____

You don’t know how it happened, but one minute he had you up against the public hallway wall of your apartment building - where literally anyone could see you - and the next he was pushing your jeans passed down your hips in your living room.

You groaned as your lips connected again, and as you pulled on his hair again.

He cursed into your lips as he cupped your center, feeling how wet you already were for him.

You whimpered as he rubbed small circles over your clit, before finally inserting his finger deep inside of you.

He pushed you down onto your bed, his left hand still fucking you. You lifted your left leg onto the bed and he groaned into your mouth as he quickened the pace of his hand.

You threw your head back, moaning.

You felt your desire quickly dissipate as he pulled away from you.

Bucky chuckled at your whine, but your disappointment was short lived as your watched him pull his shirt and jeans off.

You did the same with your own top and then your bra.

He was on you in a hot second, capturing your lips in a long kiss that had your toes curling against your blanket.

When he pulled away you were captivated by how delicious he looked. You also couldn’t help but swoon at the look he had in his eyes.

Endearment? You weren’t sure.

Your fingers trail over the side of his face as he continues to stare down at you.

“I’m not the bad guy,” he kisses you. He slides into you with a grunt, “I swear, I’m not him.” He kisses you again.

Your hook your left leg over his hip, pulling him in deeper into your hot core.

You pull away from his mouth, your left hand going down to his stomach.

“Fuck. Fuck.” You pant heavily. It felt too good too fast and you know he felt it too as he stretched his forearms on either side of your head.

A long whimper leaves his lips as he sets a faster pace, fucking you into your bed.

He almost looses it completely when he feels you reaching down to rub at your clit, your fingers hitting the base of his cock and his little hairs.

You feel your pussy tightening around him and you know you’re so damn close.

“Yeah, come on, baby. That’s it.” He coaxes you, panting desperately into the crook of your neck.

You feel the fire burning in the pit of your tummy and you know that with a few more thrusts and a few more rubs on your clit that you were done for.

The sounds in your little apartment were filthy. You could hear his hips snapping against yours and both of your groans.

He slowed down his pace as you felt yourself come undone.

“Shit, I’m cumming.” You tell him through gritted teeth, your face only millimeters from his.

He has a wicked smirk on his face and some of his sweaty strands of hair stick to his forehead.

“Me too, fuck, I’m cumming, too.” He says.

You scream as you pulse around his hard cock, not missing the way his own eyes squeeze together, a strong grunt leaving his mouth.

His hips slow down to a stop and when you open your eyes again, he’s already staring down at you.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.” You say, running your hand through his hair.

Bucky chuckles as he leans forward to leave a kiss on your collarbone.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky x oc #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #captain American fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bad guy #2k challenge #allandoflimbo #alandoflimbo #my fics

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kirstinmaldonado · 4 years

Text

CHAPTER ELEVEN 2.0

I got the bamboo in my backyard trimmed yesterday, like the proper adult I am. Though it’s now lost that unkept, tropical, “we could be anywhere” vibe (ya know with my suuuuper cool inflatable pool and all that staycation “make the most of it” stuff…), I’m happy that it looks cleaner overall and clears the power lines that it was getting dangerously close to..

Yet in a way, it feels bittersweet! Sweet to premeditate issues and be on the safe side, but bitter to snip away bits of its voice. Within the past few weeks, the unbridled bamboo would whistle and screech in the wind as if weeping for the bloodshed and violence that I’d also been weeping over for days. I’d lie awake at night, desperately trying to empty my brain that was already filled to the brim, but just couldn’t rest while nature literally knocked on my door.

On one of those windier nights the bamboo tapped on my bedroom window, firstly scaring the shit out of me, as if trying to lure me outside whispering secrets. My brain was an absolute mess trying to compartmentalize my thoughts and feelings amidst everything going on. The sound of its erratic movement stirred my anxiety, and I sat alone in the dark trying to decompress, but kind of nervous of its foreboding presence. I felt like a child, hearing and seeing shadows in the night. I even joked to the very asleep Ben that the wind sounded truly angry, for it wasn’t a peaceful sigh like bamboo so often does but harsh, abrupt shrieks demanding attention.

Well, Nature, you got me! I hear you!

A few days ago I walked through not one, but four different plant nurseries. Laugh if you want, but the Nursery Crawl starting at 11am was not on my to-do for that day, and no did not involve any adult beverage. I was so happy to be amongst the innocence of nature, the stillness, the beauty.

Although I left the good boys alone longer than they’ve been used to since quarantine, I had to get out of my house and the consistent circling of helicopters. My house didn’t feel right. My backyard didn’t feel right. Nothing familiar felt right and I didn’t want to run away, but I just needed a moment to really clear my head in a space that felt unadulterated and open.

The flowers, the succulents, the trees, even the little peaceful water machines grounded me back from reeling. I walked aimlessly through the gardens, picking whatever sparked my eye, asking questions, and laughably came home with a car packed full of plants!

I’ll admit, I’ve barely been able to keep a Chia Pet alive in the past and I’ve accidentally killed anything and everything that doesn’t make noise (aka I don’t have a natural green thumb). Give me a succulent, I’m too overbearing and nervous and overwater it. Give me a plant, I forget to water her enough!

This time is different though, you guys! I’ve obviously been doing my research and trying to re-home and love on them in the best way possible, and of course anything is easier to look after if you’re around and literally home in one place, but it also just feels so good to pour love in to something and watch it grow. I’ve even been propagating (I want you all to look that up because I had no idea what it meant a few weeks ago, haha)!

The patience and nurture it takes, the excitement when you see it root, is as lame as it sounds SO COOL. Nature is insanely beautiful and fascinating. If one would just take the time to listen, to nurture, to understand we could reap the benefits synonymously, without one taking advantage of the other. I think the best thing I’ve found in quarantine is that I want to be using and connecting with my hands: growing, cooking, painting, writing, creating. Being one hundred percent involved in the work I am putting out. CONNECTING with the work I am doing.

The past few weeks, this whole quarantine, as you know have been transformative. I feel like I’ve been shedding skin of old habits, of past hurt, of feelings or situations that I brushed aside that I am just now uncovering and understanding their brevity. Noticing scars of old burns I’d rather kept forgotten.

I feel like I was hurt and demoralized for years, so draped myself in a safety blanket of contentment, cruising happily and not pushing any major button because I was tired of conflict, anger, hate, and fear. I was blessed and happy thinking how a thousand horrible situations turned out a-okay, even brought the most amazing people in to my life, and that I was better and happy for it. I preached to be bright and positive, but was preaching it in hopes I’d latch on and the positivity would give me strength to face my days. I could wear my silence like a badge of honor, and thank the heavens that I somehow held it together.

I don’t want to be silent anymore.

I can’t, anymore.

By saying that, I also don’t intend to be irrationally brash and I’d never want to step over voices that should be lifted to be heard not spoken over.

By saying this, I just mean I don’t want to wear my safety blanket anymore. I’m not afraid to stand up for what I believe is right. I think back a few years to the music and distant voices that soothed my soul (shoutout to my queen, Sara B). I remember in my darkest times wishing I could put in to words how I felt, the quiver of my tiny voice as I tried to stand up for myself, and wishing that someone would have just stood up for me.

That’s all I needed. An ally. A real one. Someone to be on my side. Someone to see I was suffering, and unjustly, and even at bare minimum just notice. Just open their eyes, and SEE and try to do something about it.

Again, if you really truly see, and don’t try to close your eyes, how can you sleep knowing what you saw? How can you make cruelty in any form okay?

So...has my voice gotten louder? Yes.

Has it gotten stronger? Yes.

Have I lost thousands of followers, after posts saying people should be judged on the caliber of their heart and not the color of their skin and that everyone should grow up being accepted and loved? Yes.

And I don’t care. It’s a shame, but if the above is something you don’t believe, I may be the wrong person to pour your attention in to anyway. That is said with all the love in the world.

Maybe it’s just all the La Casa de Papel I’ve been watching. Maybe it’s seeing everything with my new eyes. Maybe I’ve just been comfortably sleeping and praying that I can live in a world without conflict, knowing very well in my core that although I’d never intend to incite, I can’t brush off the bad like it doesn’t exist.

My past has made me stronger, my platform makes me accessible, so I must try to plant little seeds of goodness along the way and do everything I can as an ally for people’s rights to live, love, and be accepted for who they are. I am not perfect. I never will be. I believe I express myself well, but I’m listening and learning every day and will continue to do so. All I know is this.

I will stand by you when you are feeling down or oppressed, because you and everyone deserves to be treated with respect and love.

Yes, you.

#blog 2.0

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98prilla · 4 years

Text

Loved

Follow up to Unwanted, because I love some soft Dark Sides

AO3

...

“Are you sure? Like, really, really, really sure?” Remus asks. Logan squeezes his hand gently, smiling softly, because he understands Remus’s hesitance, he understands why he is afraid, because he is a bit afraid, too.

“You’ve asked him ten times, Remus. If the answer didn’t change after the first five, why would it change now?” Deceit drawls, though his nervousness shows in his tense posture where he leans against the wall, pretending to examine his fingernails, though he is wearing his gloves.

“I know! I just, I don’t… I don’t want him to regret it. I don’t want you to regret it and then hate us for making you change and then you’ll be miserable and we’ll be miserable and-“

“Remus. You aren’t making me do anything. I want to do this. I promise.” He says softly, slipping his hand from Remus’s, approaching the new door in the hallway, hand hesitantly resting against the unblemished wood as he takes a deep breath.

“Logan! I… be safe. Please.” He nods once at Deceit’s words. He takes a final breath, then opens the door, not hesitating as he steps inside.

The door slams closed behind him, the echo loud as thunder in the dead silent hall, Deceit and Remus both unwilling to move from their posts, in case anything went wrong.

…

The slam of the door makes him jump. Everything is silent, so silent, and the room is pitch black. He squares his shoulders resolutely and walks to the center of the room.

Then the world seems to spin. He can’t keep his balance, it’s like the explosion of a supernova, it’s silence so loud it’s deafening, it’s nothing and everything and hot and cold and it burns and it freezes and it’s too, too, too much!

He feels his center shifting, changing, growing, shrinking, it hurts, it hurts, but it also feels so right as his being rearranges itself, adding to his purpose, tilting it on its axis until it is the same, but different, and he doesn’t know whether he wants to cry or laugh or scream as he feels everything settle into place with an ear shattering void of noise.

He doesn’t know how long it is before he moves from where he fell, crumpled on the floor. He is sore, every part of him aching, as he forces himself to his feet, stumbling at the cresting wave of exhaustion washing over him.

But he has to know, he has to see, before he can let himself rest, he has to see what he has become.

He’s not afraid. He thought he would be, but he isn’t. It’s… anticipation. Relief, almost. Because whatever he is now, he knows Deceit and Remus will still want him. Will still care. It’s strange to think that his former family wouldn’t.

He has changed. His hair is a deep, dark black, in the light it has an almost indigo sheen that he rather likes. His eyes as well, one is that deep indigo, the other a startling silver. His suit jacket is black, buttoned once halfway down, silver embroidery mapping out constellations, his shirt a deep blue. He has a bow tie now, as well, that matches his shirt.

He reaches up, letting out a small laugh as he feels around the edges of each eye, soft, silver scales dotting up his cheekbones and half outlining his eyes. They sparkle like stars and he loves them immediately.

He can see. He’s not wearing his glasses anymore, but he can still see perfectly fine, though his silver eye seems a bit sensitive to the light. He wonders if Deceit’s snake eye is also sensitive.

Deceit. Remus. They’re probably worried. How long… how long has he been in here? He doesn’t quite know, but long enough he’s sure they’re a bit frantic. He stumbles to the door, fumbling with the handle before managing to open it, falling forwards into someone’s arms.

“gan. Logan!” His ears are ringing, but his name manages to cut through the darkness threatening to overtake him. He manages to blink his vision clear, realizing he’s being supported by Remus, who’s looking at him with fear and wonder and worry.

“Fine, I’m… I’m fine. Just took a lot… a lot out of me.” Remus’s face softens, some of the worry fading away, and he is pulled into a tight hug before he can say another word.

“you scared me. You were gone forever!”

“It was not forever, Remus. It was three hours. That felt like forever. I certainly wasn’t worried, or anything.” Logan chuckles at Deceit’s obvious lie, finding himself unwilling to move away from Remus’s steady warmth. Then Remus takes gentle hold of his shoulders, moving him back, so he can examine him.

“Nice new look, by the by. Hair, cool, like the blue, new style, nice, very formal rebel chic. You look like a real bad boy, Logan.” He rolls his eyes, suppressing his light blush at the teasing.

“Dee?” He asks, softly, turning to face Deceit, who hadn’t yet looked up from the ground, as if he were almost afraid to. Slowly, Deceit looks at Logan, examining him from the feet up, letting out a soft, small noise as he reaches Logan’s face.

He is before Logan in two steps, hands shaking as he reaches out, hovering around Logan’s face, eyes filled with something almost unreadable.

“may I?” He asks softly, and Logan responds with a smile just as soft.

“of course, Dee.” He shivers slightly as Deceit’s palms rest on his cheeks, his thumbs carefully stroking his newly formed scales with a feather light touch that just barely tingles against his skin. He closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. It feels so… nice.

“Logan!” Deceit yelps, startling him awake. Awake? He hadn’t been sleeping, had he?

“sorry. I... don’t know what came over me.” Deceit had caught him in his arms, holding him carefully.

“It’s fine, sweetling. You just surprised me, is all. You need to sleep. Preferably in your new room.” He closes his eyes again, nuzzling against Deceit’s chest. One of his favorite things about the Dark Sides, he didn’t feel the need to be the grown up one, the serious one. He didn’t feel embarrassed about wanting or needing touch and affection. They never judged him for it, never made him feel less for it.

“What do we call you now, anyways?” Remus chimes in, “I mean, not Logic, anymore, right?”

“Ambition. I am ambition.” He mumbles, eyes slipping shut once again. “stay? Please? Till I… till I wake up? Don’t wanna be alone.” He feels Deceit lift him up, into his arms, and his hands fist around the fabric of his shirt. “remus too.” He mumbles, and Deceit chuckles, running a hand through his hair.

“of course, Ambition. Whatever you want, darling.” He feels Deceit kiss his scales, then he succumbs to darkness.

“Ambition.” Deceit says softly, and Remus can see the gears turning inside his head, trying to process the implications, the meaning, the why and how. “ambition. I think it suits him. He always wanted so much more than they gave him. Still uses facts and figures, uses logic. Logic with emotion. Ambition.” Deceit muses approvingly.

“God, you two are such nerds. Now, I’m not one to pry,” Deceit snorts, “buuuut since we are spending the night with him, let’s go scope out the new room, already!” Remus is bouncing on the balls of his feet as he skips over to the door, which is now a deep, midnight blue. “c’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” He whines.

“Shush, you’ll wake him. I’m moving fast as I can. Just go in already!” Deceit laughs, and Remus giddily complies, taking one step inside before he freezes, jaw dropping, eyes wide as he stares up at the ceiling.

“whoa.” Is the only word that escapes him, and Deceit hurries inside to see what the fuss is, because not much can stop Remus’s endless talking, much less awe him. His eyes widen as he looks around, a soft whistle escaping his lips, because wow.

The ceiling is moving, swirling, space. It is pitch black, and as they watch, galaxies swirl past, comets shooting across the space, distant stars glittering as supernovas explode in the distance. It is an ever moving, ever shifting, ever changing view of the universe.

And the floor is like that of an infinity room, mirrored so the ceiling is reflected over and over and over again, like you’re walking through the stars, like you could reach out and touch a sun, like the endless possibility of the universe is unravelling at your feet.

The walls are dark marble, embedded with shimmering, small moonstones, which shift and glimmer with the light, going from pale, milky blue, to fiery, alit orange, like more endless stars, and gods, it is beautiful and amazing and incredible, and it mirrors Ambition perfectly.

His bed is still simple, though the duvet is blue and silver, like his jacket. A desk is against one wall, bookshelves line the other, a closet with clothes sits yet untouched. Any personal items, Ambition will have to fetch from his old room. Deceit bites his cheek at that, because he doesn’t know if he can face the others, if he can face Virgil, after this. Because no matter what Ambition says, they will all blame him. They will all say he somehow coerced, tricked, stole, Logan, and forced him to turn dark. As if him and Remus and, once, Virgil, were evil beings sent to hurt them. They aren’t, the terms light and dark arbitrary, but good luck telling that to Thomas.

It upsets him to be blamed, of course, just because of his role. But that’s not why he’s angry at the thought. It undermines Ambition’s choice. He chose this. The issue shouldn’t be that he changed, the issue should be all the reasons why he changed.

“DeeDee. You’re overthinking again.” Remus’s soft voice cuts through his thoughts, and Deceit sighs, shaking his head.

“Caught me red handed, my ever observant Duke. Let’s get settled, before my mind runs away once again.” He replies, rolling his eyes as Remus jumps onto the bed, instantly burrowing under the covers, patting the space beside him.

“Coming, I’m coming.” He mutters, tucking Ambition under the blankets first, whom Remus quickly secures in his arms, cooing as Ambition tucks his head down against his chest, mumbling something incoherently happy. Deceit slips in next, sandwiching Ambition in warmth, wrapping his arms around both him and Remus, letting out a long breath as his body relaxes, all the tension seeping out of his muscles at the warmth, head resting against Ambition’s.

“Dee?” Small, hesitant. He smiles, not cracking open his eyes.

“Yes, Remus?”

“love you.” Innocent, quiet, the Remus none of the others get to see, don’t give him a chance to show. The one who is sensitive and kind and caring, in his own way. Who is just as insecure as Roman, just as romantic, just as full of love and fierce protection for his family. The one who was the most broken when Virgil left. Because he had loved Virgil, like a brother.

“I love you too, Remus. So does he.”

…

It’s… odd. Waking up, surrounded by warmth, surrounded by arms, gentle breathing near his ear, the rise and fall of a chest, being held like he is the most precious thing in the universe.

He needs a new name. Logan… doesn’t feel right, anymore. It doesn’t feel like it… fits. Honestly, he’s not sure it ever did. Logan was a name chosen out of convenience. Logic, Logan, simple, clean, easy to remember. It hadn’t mattered much, what he was called.

But now… now it felt important.

Idly, he looks up, eyes widening as he sees the ceiling, watching the stars shimmer and spark, earth far away, a vague blue dot against the endless vastness. Space. He’d always loved space, the stars, the theories of the universe’s formation, the mechanics and unknows of it all, how it just… worked. By some miracle, it worked.

As he watches, the sky changes, swirling, to show what the night sky looks like from earth, the constellations stretching out before him. Ursa major, minor. Big dipper, little dipper. Orion and his belt.

“Cygnus.” He whispers, lips twitching upwards in a smile. Cygnus. The swan. In Greek myths, so many warriors, heroes, were transformed into swans to escape death, the constellation itself was said to be Orpheus, transformed into a swan and placed in the sky to forever sing his songs. The ugly duckling, finding his place among his species, turning something old and ugly into something new and beautiful.

“ugh, morning.” Deceit mumbles, and he rolls over to meet Deceit’s eyes, which are still blurry from sleep, his curly hair adorably tousled. “how are we feeling this morning, Ambition?” He smiles at Deceit’s use of his new title.

“good. Not about to pass out, anymore, at least. A bit sore, still. But better.”

“Ambyyyy why are you talking? Go back to sleeeeeep.” Remus whines, hugging him tighter around his waist, face buried against his back. He chuckles, heart warming further at Remus’s nick name.

“We should get up sooner rather than later. Even they won’t be able to ignore a shift this big in the mindscape. Sooner rather than later, we’re going to be summoned. I would prefer to look my best to deal with this occasion.” Deceit says dryly, and Remus groans, but relents, releasing him and sitting up. “go get dressed. I’ll start on breakfast. Everyone needs to eat something today.”

He shivers as Deceit leaves the bed, wishing they could stay there all day, but he knows Dee is right. Remus plants a soft kiss on his head, before slipping out from behind him.

“take your time starlight. Look around. It’s pretty amazing, what you made.” Remus slips out the door, Deceit following, shooting him a final, gentle smile as he lets the door close behind him.

He sighs, letting out a huge, deep, shaking breath. He still couldn’t believe he’d done this. Had the courage, to do this. But honestly, he’s never been happier in his life.

…

When he does emerge from his room, his room, for breakfast and makes his way to the kitchen/dining room, much more informal than the light sides dining area, a small table, a counter island with three stools, a vase of flowers on the table.

“Foxgloves. Pretty and deadly. Literally every part of the plant is poisonous. From your garden, Remus?” He asks, amused as he sits down at the island, where Remus is already leaning, watching Deceit cook, scrambling eggs, based on the smell. Remus’s eyes light up at his classification of the plant.

“Uh huh. Oh! I should show you! It’s all filled with poisonous plants! I’ve even mixed and bred new breeds! I dunno if they’d actually survive in the real world, but it’s the imagination so, anything goes! If… if you wanna. I know… my part isn’t as pretty as roman’s.”

“I find that hard to believe, Remus. You have the same level of passion and drive as Roman, and you don’t limit yourself half as much as he does, based on public perception. You don’t let public pressure alter your work. It’s true, unbiased, unfiltered art. I fail to see how that could ever be anything less than beautiful, regardless of how ‘perfect or ‘pretty’ it is or isn’t.” Remus is blushing furiously, and Deceit is staying facing the stove to hide the delighted, glowing grin on his face.

“And yes, I would love to see your garden. I may be able to offer some advice, as well, if you’re looking to up the toxicity of your specimens. For purely scientific reasons, of course.”

“Of course.” Deceit echoes, amused as he turns around, spooning eggs onto each of three plates, along with two slices of bacon and a piece of toast, sitting down on a stool on the other side of the counter, across from Remus. They eat in silence for a few moments, before Logan pushes his plate away, mostly finished. Turns out changing burns a lot of calories.

“I… have something I wish to tell the two of you. In regards… to my name.” Deceit and Remus both freeze, locking eyes a bit frantically.

“You don’t have to-“

“It’s not necessary-“ they both blurt out at the same time, stumbling over each other in their rush to stop him from saying anything more. Then they both shut up again as Logan laughs.

A real, honest, deep, full, laugh. Like church bells ringing, like distant thunder, like heady, summer nights. It’s beautiful, it’s stunning, it’s amazing. And it feels… good. When was the last time he laughed, more than an amused snort, at best? He was too serious, too focused, too adult, for laughing. Not anymore. His laugh finally dies down, leaving him smiling brightly, looking at the two stunned faces of Remus and Deceit.

“I know I don’t. That’s why I want to. Because I trust you two and I… I want you, to know. I just… I don’t want it to sound… stupid.” It had felt so right, lying sleepily in bed, but he cringed in the cold light of the kitchen, because what if it isn’t? What if they laugh?

“Ambition. We won’t laugh. We won’t judge. And if you aren’t ready, do not feel the need to say another word on the subject.” Deceit says softly, and he half smiles, taking a deep breath.

“Cygnus. It’s a constellation. Of a swan.” His face is furiously red, but when he looks up, he sees nothing but warmth and softness and a bright, wondering kind of joy.

“it’s perfect, Amby. You’re perfect.” Remus whispers, taking his hand and rubbing circles on his knuckles, easing some of his tension, evaporating his fear.

“Don’t… don’t tell the others?”

“Of course, sweetling. You tell them if or when you’re ready. We won’t tell them a thing, Cygnus.” He shivers a bit at the use of his name, the way it rolls off Deceit’s tongue, like music. He nods, biting the inside of his cheek.

“I think… I think we should go to them. Before they summon us. I don’t want to wait around for them to notice something is different. If they haven’t noticed by now, I want to show them. I want to say my piece, before they have time to put words in my mouth.” He squeezes Remus’s hand tighter, determination and a hint of fear spiking through him, but Deceit is nodding.

“Whatever you want, Cygnus. Everything is up to you. Everything is at your pace. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” And he’s flushing again, at the sincerity of Deceit, the promise in his words, and he knows Deceit means it. Knows he could ask Deceit to walk off the end of the earth, and he would.

…

Everyone is yelling. Roman is threatening Deceit, Patton is trying to calm him down but he is also afraid, unsure, and his frantic energy adds to Roman’s. Virgil is staring at him with wide eyed horror and disbelief, his face pale, eyes angry and hard as stone as he spits something cold and cruel at Remus, who flinches, backing behind him, almost as overwhelmed as he is at all the noise. Then Roman breaks free of Patton’s hold and actually swings at Deceit.

He smoothly steps in front of the snake side and catches Roman’s arm, eyes cold as stars as he halts the swing, and the room goes silent as the sword clatters to the floor, all eyes on him.

“You don’t want to do that, your majesty.” He hisses, and Roman stumbles back, the three light sides staring down the three dark sides, with Cygnus at their head.

“Logan… you don’t have to do this. Whatever they told you… it isn’t true. We love you. Please.” Patton, open armed and teary eyed.

But he knows. He knows Patton wants him back because he’s afraid he won’t be able to moderate Virgil and Roman without him there, that he doesn’t want things to change, that he wants everything to go back to the way it was. But he is not, for a single second, thinking of wanting ‘Logan’ to be happy.

“You want to be the pinnacle of light, Patton. The perfect father, perfect leader, perfect person. You spend so much time worrying about appearances, Patton. If you looked a little deeper maybe you’d realize no coercion was necessary, nor attempted.” His words are cool, evenly spoken, but Patton still winces, mouth opening and closing several times before he simply looks away.

“Why? Logan, why go… to them? After everything, after what they’ve done-“ He cuts Virgil off.

“I don’t know what they’ve done, besides try and do their best for Thomas. Try and help him accomplish his goals. And why? Are you really asking me that? Do you not have a single idea of what could have led to this choice?” He asks incredulously, looking from face to face, seeing nothing but honest puzzlement and it almost makes him furious.

“I have been gone. For five days.” Patton’s hands fly to his mouth, Roman’s eyes blaze as he glares at Remus, Virgil gasps softly. “I’m glad to see no one noticed my absence.” His lips twist in a grim smile, and he shakes his head, gathering his thoughts for a moment.

“I have never felt listened to. I have never been valued. I do the work, I put in the time, I try my very hardest to get all of you, any of you, to listen to me, to see me, to care about me, and I am pushed aside again and again and again. It is only when something goes wrong, only when everything has fallen apart to the very extremes does anyone come looking for Logic. So clearly, it wasn’t needed. Logan… wasn’t needed.” They all have the grace to look ashamed at that, and he feels Remus slip his hand into his, before he continues.

“I was ill. I thought it didn’t matter. I thought I didn’t matter. None of you cared to notice, cared to check on me, cared to ask where I was, while these two were taking care of me, fevered and unconscious for nearly two days. And no one even noticed I was gone. You can have that, as your answer to why.” There’s more, but those feelings are personal, and they have lost all right to his personal emotions, though they barely had it to begin with.

“Logan-“

“No. That is not my name anymore. I am Ambition. And that is what you may call me. You have not earned my name. I don’t think you ever truly did. You will leave Deceit and Remus alone. You will not punish them for this. You have only yourselves to blame. If you wanted me so badly, you should have fought for me a little sooner.” With that, he takes Deceit’s hand, and they disappear, back to the dark side, leaving the three lights in stunned, broken silence.

…

He stumbles, nearly falling, Deceit catching his arm and steadying him.

“Cyg? You okay?” Remus asks as he straightens, shooting Deceit a thankful glance.

“Just not used to that popping in and out thing. A bit more dizzying, than sinking in and out.” He replies, sinking onto the couch in the common room, laughing as a blanket is tossed at his face from across the room, which he promptly pulls around himself.

“You wanna watch anything, Amby?” Remus asks, hesitating by the T.V. Remus wants to play his game console, but only if he is ok with it. Remus, above everything, wants him to be comfortable and happy. He smiles, though he’s on the verge of tears again.

“No. Go ahead, Ree. The new Resident Evil remake?” He asks, and Remus pauses in turning on the television.

“How did you know?” His voice is pure curiosity, as he plops on the couch beside him, Cygnus leaning against him as the game loads.

“New role, new abilities, I suppose. As Ambition, I can tell what people want. Both eventual goals and whatever the current top desire is.” Remus hums thoughtfully, as Deceit comes in from the kitchen, holding a bowl of popcorn. He sits on Cygnus’s other side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, resting the bowl between them.

“So, then. What is my current desire, Ambition?” Deceit asks, and he swallows hard, because it is radiating off of both Remus and Deceit, and he has never felt like this before. Never felt this blooming warmth in his chest, never felt so wanted, needed, loved, and it burns in a pleasing, soft way.

“to love me. To show me I am loved, to give me whatever I need, whenever I need it, no matter if it is space or touch, company or solitude. To… to be here, with me, right now. My happiness, is your ambition.” He whispers, conscious of the tears slipping down his face.

Slowly, gently, Deceit reaches up and wipes away his tears, before pressing a kiss to each of his newly formed scales, nuzzling his head against Cygnus’s cheek before pulling away.

“yes. And it always will be.”

“MOTHERFUCKER” They both jump at Remus’s screech, popcorn flying, looking up at the screen to see a giant monster chasing his character through zombie infested streets. He recovers from his shock first, and chuckles, getting caught up in the action as Remus dodges and shoots, all three of them letting out a cheer as a stranger appears, blasting the monster with a rocket.

He can still feel the warmth and love radiating off the two of them as they are all sucked into the game, the plot, and he slowly finds himself relaxing against Remus, Deceit massaging his head, and it feels so good, for once everything feels so good, so right, so perfect.

He is home.

#sympathetic remus #remus sanders #logan sanders #dark side logan #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #kind of unsympathetic light sides?#mostly just oblivious #fluff #minor angst #mostly fluff

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sunnyborabora · 4 years

Text

Angel (Jaehyun x Reader)

It was a request and I am so sorry it took that long, I have no excuses...It was supposed to be published for christmas but lmao It’s very long and I hope I did well! The next one should be on Taehyung from BTS. It was also supposed to be published on december, with a bit of luck it will be there before spring!

Genre: Smut, awkward reader, voyeurism, fluff, christmas au

You were kinda a specialist of awkward situation. You were always finding a way to put yourself in embarrassing positions. Which can be finding yourself locked out of your apartment in pajamas because your door closed itself while you were out to take your uber eat order, from developing a sick ass crush on your brother’s best friend. But honestly no one would ever blame you. Jaehyun was, truly something else. He was so kind, since your childhood. He was the one who was taking you for a ride on his bike when your big brother Sicheng was being a dick with you which was almost all the time. You were two years younger than them but sometimes they made it seems like there was a decade between you. Jeahyun was always treating you well, taking care of you, patting your head like you were some puppy. Which as making your heart beat fast when you were 15, but which was annoying you more and more now that you were 20. You had left your house to go to university 3 years ago and you were so happy about it, studying something you truly liked. But it inevitably caused you to be away from your family. You were calling your parent regularly but being busy with work and classes had made you more distant. You haven’t spoken to Sicheng in a long time except from a few texts here and then, asking him how he was doing. You had not seen Jaehyun in years now, stupidly your feelings were still here. So when you were coming home for Christmas this year you were wondering if you’ll be finally able to see him. You had packed the presents you had bought for your family, a weird feeling in your chest. You had quite changed yourself since you left, you were three years older, you had live countless adventures mostly dumb one. « I can’t believe you are leaving me for Christmas, this is real betrayal » You turned around smiling at your best friend. « Girl, you know I have to go, I haven’t seen my family in an eternity. I don’t even know what my brother look like anymore. -Still hot obviously » You gagged at her answer. You obviously knew what your brother looked like, you were closer than what you made it seemed, but no way you were saying to Jisoo. She always had a thing for Sicheng that you could not comprehend. You thought he was repulsing in every aspect as the good sister you were. « Please, don’t say that ew -You can say whatever you want Sicheng is hot. I only you could take me with you… -So what ? You can jump on his dick as soon as you saw him ? -Yes » You threw her the first thing that you had in your hand. « Ouch ! » Even if her favorite pass time was to annoy you, she was still your best friend. And who will pay the other part of the rent if she wasn’t there ? And you remember not to annoy her too much because she was the one who was going to drive you to the train station, and she was totally able to drop you in the middle of the road. « Let’s go we are going to be late. » You caught your train just in time, hugging your roommate for the last time before leaving. « Think about me while you catch up with your hot best friend hoe love you ! -He is not my boyfriend ! -Don’t care ! » The three hours of traveling were long but you finally arrived in your home town. It was snowy and you admired the immaculate landscape as you were not used to it anymore. You heard a loud honking noise looking already annoyed. « Obviously it’s you ! I thought mom was going to come get me ! » Sicheng had stayed in the car, looking at you frowning. « Three years without seeing you and you are still that annoying. -We saw each other three months ago when you came crashed at my apartment » He laughed at you, coming closer as you sat inside the car, hugging you. You hugged him back, happy to see him. Even if he still was your idiot big brother. « So how are things going ? -Mom is ecstatic, she missed you a lot I think. » You knew your mom missed you a lot. Since your dad left when you were in high school, she had taken over herself to make you the happiest kid ever. You felt bad about it, maybe you were just an ungrateful child, and you didn’t deserve such a loving mother. « Anyway, she prepared enough food to feed the entire town, be ready. Even if it never had been a problem, you fat ass. » You hit his arm but stopped remembering he was driving. « Who will be there ? -You, me, mom, Jaehyun and his parents » You almost stopped breathing. « Oh Jaehyun and his parents. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them, damn. -Three years or something, yeah. » You did not ask anything else, Sicheng wasn’t stupid, if you started becoming too curious he would flip you off. « He’ll come in the afternoon anyway, we have to put that stupid Santa Claus and his reindeer because mom insisted. -Good luck » You had missed your mom terribly so when Sicheng parked in front of your old house, you almost jumped out immediately. Your mom was already opening the door, her arm wide open and a smile plastered on her face. You hugged her as strong as you could : « Mom I missed you so much. » You heard her laughed, hugging you back. « Oh my god you changed so much Y/n, what, it has been a year and you had become so gorgeous. » You could see tears starting to form at the corner of her eyes. « Was the journey good ? Not too long ? » She told you to come inside, pointing out that it was starting to snow again. Sicheng was just behind you, your bags in his hands. « Wow, you are carrying my bags, is that a joke or are you really starting to be nicer to me ? -Don’t get used to it. » The house had changed since you last came, but it still gave that cozy and gentle vibe. You felt like home. A big tree was standing at the very far corner of the dining room, still naked from any decoration. « Come on, take of your coat and shoes and come in the kitchen I’ve prepared hot chocolate. » And she did. You found yourself sat in the kitchen, your feet plunged into fluffy slippers. You had the impression to be a child all over again. It made you smile. « You had changed a lot since the last time I saw you ! Did you cut your hair ? -Ah, yes a bit. Does it suit me ? -A lot » It was easy to talk to your mother. She always had something to say, about what she had done, what she had seen, or about something someone told her. « We are going to decorate the tree ! I’ve been waiting for you to do it » She seemed very excited about it and it made your heart swell. You wanted to take her in your arms but something stopped you. You helped your mother decorating the tree, following her direction, putting the little wooden snowflakes where she was telling you and installing the lights where she wanted. « Oh Y/n ! It looks very pretty ! Wait I am going to turn the lights on » And indeed it was pretty. You smiled at your work, admiring the tree. It was way different from what you have done last year, both you and Jisoo being broke, you had found your Christmas tree a trash cane beside your building. You had to tape the poor thing all back together. You were really proud of it at the time. But you had to be honest it looked miserable next to this one. You had to send a pic of it to Jisoo. At the moment you were going to press send your mom called you. « Y/n come here a minute ! » You did, walking toward the entrance door. Sicheng, your mom and another man were standing there. « Here she is ! Look darling, it’s Jaehyun ! » Indeed, it was Jaehyun. The moment he turned around you swear you could fall down, trip over the air and just smash your face against the floor. But you didn’t, you smiled big, trying to look confident walking toward them. He seemed surprise seeing you but it passed fast as he was returning your smile. The more you were approaching the more you wanted to scream. And you were screaming, internally. Because you didn’t know what had happened, you only left three years. Jaehyun was fucking hot, already at the time, during high school he was hot, but it had nothing to do with now. He was the embodiment of that reddit post of a woman asking if it was okay to cry because people were too hot. Right now you felt like you could cry. « Hi Y/n ! Long time no see ! -Hi ! Yeah, time has passed fast » You stand behind your mom like a child, trying not to stare too much. Because if you could right now you would be snapping pictures of his perfect face to look at them all day. Who could blame you. He was so cute, his scarf tight around his neck and his little beanie secured around his head. « Come on Sicheng, let’s do this before it snows to hard » And like this they started getting that horrible Santa Claus and its hideous slide up on the roof. You were sure it was dangerous as hell, that it must slide like a skating rink up there but nothing could make them change their mind. « I am pretty sure Sicheng is going to bust his ass. -Y/n !? Be polite please ! » You shrugged still sure about the accuracy of your words. You were on the living room, wrapping up presents for the family when Sicheng and Jaehyun came back. Sicheng was covered in snow. « You fell down didn’t you ? -Shut up » For the first time in forever you wish your brother had stay with you because now you were left alone with Jaehyun. He took off his coat, and sat at the table, he wasn’t really looking at you and you could understand it. After all you didn’t speak to each other or even saw each other in three years. You were just his best friend little sister in the end. « Do you want some hot chocolate ? You must be cold », you asked trying to break the awkward silence that had settled itself between you. « Oh yeah ! Thank you ! » He smiled at you his little dimples showing. He was soft. You turned around to pour him a cup when you turned back he was looking at you. He turned around as fast as he could but you had seen him. You smiled giving him a cup and as you saw he was just looking at his cup you decided to start a conversation : « It’s been so long, what have you been doing ? » He almost seemed chocked when he heard your voice. « Well nothing much really, I just work in town and everything. I graduated uni last year but you know what they say about having a degree but never using it » You laughed. « Hell yeah I know. -And you would have you been doing ? -Well studying for the most part. I am living with my roommate, and I am working on the side you know, the usual student life. -That’s great, I am happy that you are leaving your dream. You were always the independent type anyway. -Really ? I remember being glued to you and Sicheng my entire childhood tho -True, but it never bothered me to be honest. You were like my little sister », he said smiling. But you wanted to cry. His little sister of course. Sicheng arrived at this precise moment and you took this as your cue to leave. When you came back Jaehyun had left and dinner was ready. The day had passed fast but it also seemed like it was an eternity. « Do you fucking realize ! The audacity ! -I can’t believe he called you his little sister bitch I am crying » You suddenly wanted to hang up on her. « What am I supposed to do ? -You still have a crush on him ? After all this time… -Yeah, why ? You're judging me ? -A little to be honest » You rolled over your bed, stomping your feet like a child. « He literally see me as a child. I am not 17 anymore. -Maybe that’s the problem. -What do you mean ? -He sees you as a child. If you change the way he is seeing you… -How am I supposed to do that ? -Flirt with him, make him see you like you truly are. -How am I going to make this not awkward ? -Just do it, if he is awkward he’ll tell you. And you’ll be able to leave and never see him again » You thought about it for a second, still doubtful. « I don’t know… -Just do it ! You’re such a flirt usually, this wouldn’t be difficult ! -It is ! » It really was but the next day, when you dressed up you find yourself putting on that cropped sweater and your favorite pants that made your ass look good. You had the intention to spend your holidays in pajamas but it wasn’t going along with your plan. « I am going to town, I have some things to buy. -You want me to come with you ? -No stay here ! Your brother is at work but Madam Jung is going to come to deliver us something for tomorrow. » You said as your mother had told you and stayed at home. It didn’t take long for the bell to rung and for you to go open. But it wasn’t Madam Jung who opened the door. Jaehyun seemed surprise to see you, and it took you a second to get your self together and flash him the brightest smile.

« Hey Jae ! What’s up ? » He gasped at your friendly tone, probably chocked by the contrast between the awkward exchange you had the day before and now. « I-I- my mother told me to give this to your mom… I don’t know what it is, is she here ? -No she is gone, but she told me someone would come. Come on in ! » You stepped aside, letting him in. You lead the way to the kitchen, and maybe you were swinging your hips a bit more than you originally would and you heard him choke. « Apparently it’s something for tomorrow. You’ll be there ? -Hmm, yeah ! -Oh that’s the plate for the turkey ! My mom told me hers wasn’t big enough » He was standing there, his hand in his pocket, looking anywhere but at you. « Do you want something to drink ? Eat ? My mom bought stuff to bake Christmas cookies -Oh, I don’t know… I think I should go. » You turned around clutching the plate against your chest, pouting. « Oh, okay no problem… -It’s not because I don’t want to ! I swear ! I have to go back to work, but if you want, this evening, I- I would be happy to eat your cookies, if you had decided to bake some… » You smiled at him. « I can do that ! I can even bring them to your house if you want to ! » He nodded smiling at you, leaving you alone in your kitchen. You didn’t know how to take what just happened. Maybe you were just doing too much. Did you make the situation awkward ? You didn’t think so… But now you had to cook the best cookies you could and that was the problem. You were the worst cook ever, like really. Once you set your kitchen on fire and now with Jisoo being as dumb as you when it concerned cooking. You should probably wait for your mom to come back, after all she was the best cook you knew. You looked for a thousand of recipes on internet but it was a literal mess. You gave up, finally accepting that you were a dumb bitch. « I’m home ! Did Madam Jeong came ? -Yes ! Mom I need your help ! » She seemed the more and more confused as you were telling her the story. « Cookies are easy to make Y/n ! -They are not ! » But it seemed as when it was your mom, everything was easier. « Just put the melted chocolate in the dough, not too much at the same time » It seemed like a thousand years later that you put the cookies in the oven. The one your mom did were round and beautiful. Yours were a bit awkward, one was even looking like a square. « Why are mine ugly ? -They are not ! They are perfect » She pinched your cheeks smiling at you. She was just too nice. When you packed them to go out, you let yours in the plate, still tacking a bite of the square one. At least, they were good. « Did you put on the frosting ? -Yeah, it’s really good ! -Of course it is ! Have you seen all the sugar you put in this, it can only be good ! » You walked in the street, thankfully it was not snowing. The Jeong family was leaving just next to your house so it just took you a five-minute walk to arrive. « Y/n ! Oh my god ! Child you grew up so much since you came last time ! » You smiled at the little lady. Madam Jeong always had been nice to you. She was giving you extra dessert when you were dining at their house, she had drive you back from school when your mom couldn’t. « Hello madam Jeong ! It’s been so long! » You were soon sitting around the table, the cookies in full display, a cup of coffee in front of you. « So what have you been doing ? -I am still studying and working on the side ! -This is great ! Jaehyun told me you were living with someone ? -Oh yeah ! We’ve met in first year, and we connected well. It’s easier to have a roommate », you laughed. « Oh so it’s just a roommate ? -Oh, well, Jisoo is also my bestfriend but yeah » She laughed suddenly. « Oh my, you should tell that to Jae, the poor boy was convinced you were already married or something » You were shocked. When did you even implied that you were in a relationship ? You laughed in disbelieve. « I am not, Jisoo is my best friend really. -Ohh so you really don’t have a boyfriend ? » You had the exact same conversation with your mom over the phone a thousand time and thinking about it you were surprised she hadn’t brought the subject yet. « No, I don’t. -Hey mom, I’m back ! -Jaehyun we are here ! » You didn’t look up right away but you still saw his face when he entered. His jaws clutched as his eyes fell on you. You smiled, winking at him. He almost tripped. « Hey Y/n… -Hey Jae » He smiled blushing. « So what have you been talking about ? -Nothing special, Y/n was telling me about her life, university, work, boyfriends » Did you already mentioned you loved this woman. It was like she wanted to help you, without even realizing it. « Yeah, I was telling your mother that I was all alone -A beautiful girl like you, everyone would be lucky to have you » You laughed shyly. Yeah, it was not what your exes were saying about you. Madam Jeong suddenly left to go to the kitchen leaving you and Jaehyun alone. « Sorry if she was asking you personal stuff… -It doesn’t bother me. I didn’t see her in a long time, I missed it. » He nodded avoiding your eyes. « So you don’t have a boyfriend ? -Nope. -That’s good » You rose our brow and he started to stutter. « No. That’s not what I meant. It’s not good that you are single. There is nothing wrong with that ! Even if you deserve someone great you know, but you don’t need one ! » You laughed, not holding back anymore. « Don’t worry Jaehyun, I understand », you said as you keep giggling like a child. He seemed mortified but you couldn’t help it, it was too cute. « I mean, I am not dating either so... » You turned your head in his direction. Was he giving you hints ? Or was it just an innocent answer ? « Really ? You and Soohyon are not together anymore ? » Your brother had told you they had broke a year ago but you still asked. « Oh, no, we broke up last year. -Wow, I mean you literally stayed together all high school, we all thought you were like, going to marry each other or something. -We just weren’t meant to be, I guess» Thankfully for you. « I hated her anyway », you said not controling your mouth. Jaehyun laughed hard, and you felt embarrassed. You really needed to shut up. « This was why you were always avoiding me when she was around ? -Yeah, that and other things. -Other things ? » You were really not going to say it. His mother called you from the other room anyway, saving you from embarrassment. « That’s a story for another time », you played off, hitting his shoulder with your fist playfully. He grabbed your wrist not letting you go. « Y/n, just, I wanted to tell you, it ‘s good to have you back » You smiled, your heart swelling. « I am happy to be back too » You walked back home with your head full of question. This seduction mission was more difficult than you thought. What was even more weird, was that feeling in your heart, a strange swell that occurred every time you saw him. It wasn’t about Jaehyun being handsome anymore. It was about you loving him. Maybe you were just hurting yourself. « You’re already back ? Was the cookies good ? -Yeah they were, thank you mom. » You didn’t say anything else, still wondering what you were going to do. « Just tell him. If you are correct, he is pretty much reacting to you in like a good way ? -I don’t know ? What if he rejects me ? I’ll die -No you won’t, you drama queen. » You weren’t that sure. You pretty much loved this man. « Jisoo, I gotta go, someone is calling me » Actually nobody was calling you but you just wanted to stop this conversation. You ate and went to your room without more words. It was actually pretty late already but you were unable to sleep. It was those type of moments where no position was the right one. You knew something that could help you sleep but just thinking about it made you blush. Maybe it was the fact that you were in your childhood bedroom, the fact that you were suddenly very aware of the fact that your family was sleeping not that far away. But you still did it because fuck, you wanted it. You kicked off your pajama pants, dragging your hands over your thighs. You lied back on your bed as you started by just teasing yourself with your hand, not pressing to hard yet, just tracing the outline of your labia. Maybe it was her brain, that was playing her tricks, because she could almost feel the heat of someone mouth at the secret sensitive place beneath the corner of your jaw, just below your ear, hands firm around your waist... You thought of Jaehyun. How his lips would taste, how his hands would feel. You took in a quick gasp as your fingertips grazed your clit. You pressed your fingers harder, circling the bundle of nerves, suddenly feeling as electricity was running down your body. You wish they were his fingers, they would be so much bigger and longer than yours. They would stretch your walls so good. You put two fingers inside, and even if you were stretched you weren’t full. You were so desperate, your fingers bumping inside you fast but you were still not there. It was so frustrating. The image of Jaehyun between your legs was making you whimper harder. His dark eyes were watching yours as he was smirking, his tongue flickering on your clit precise motion, his upper lip just brushing against your clit as he teased you more… You came with the image of Jaehyun above you, as you were moaning his name. You slept like the dead and thank you, for the first time since you came back you didn’t dream about Jaehyun. You woke up early in the morning. It was Christmas and your mom had told you a long day was awaiting you. And indeed you had no time to think about anything else than mashed potatoes and how to stuff a turkey, which was terrifying. Sicheng had been helping all day too, which wasn't taht surprising, he had always been a sweetheart for your mom. He had been pouting all day but at least he had been carrying stuff around the house, occasionally helping you in the kitchen. « How many more potatoes do we need to peel ? I already cut myself twice ! -Ohhh poor baby look at this little cut on his pinky boohoo. -Shut up. Mom ! Y/n is being mean again ! » You threw an apple peel at him. « Why are you such a kid ! -I am not ! -You are both children ! » You almost jumped out of your chair. Jaehyun was standing behind you laughing at Sicheng that was still scolding you. Maybe it as the fact that he looked particularly good or that you looked like trash in this very moment but you were strangely shy around him suddenly. « Hey Jae , what are you doing here ? -My mom is stressing me out at home, I thought it would be calmer here. -It’s not, my mom is literally treating us like slaves since this morning. -She just asked you to peel potatoes what are you talking about. » He was going to say something, but he didn’t have the time before your mom entered the kitchen. « Oh Jaehyun, sweety, what are you doing here ? -I was just passing by ! Do you need help ? -Actually, I need someone to drive to the nearest mall and do some purchase. -I’ll go with Jaehyun, said Sicheng as fast as he could. -No I need you here ! Y/n is going with Jaehyun ! -Why her !? Am I an assistant ? -Yeah why me ?! » You really didn’t want to go with Jaehyun. In your mind he would have come just before dinner and you would already wear your cute dress. He would be his usual soft and shy self while you’ll be kissing him under the mistletoe. Now you were peeling apples in the middle of your living room, not washed, still in pajamas, your hair like a bird nest. Jaehyun looked at you and smirked and you felt your face hit up. « I need Sicheng here, so come on Y/n go ! » You stood up like a zombie and walked to your room. You jumped in the first clothes you find which was not better than your pajamas, before putting on your hood’s sweater and joining them in the living room. « You’re ready ? » Asked Jaehyun with a smirk. You simply nodded, not looking at him in the eyes. It was cold outside, and as you were walking toward the car you stopped in your track. « Oh wait, we- ouff » You bumped into something, rather someone, almost falling back, if the certain someone didn’t catch you. « Be careful, the road is slippery » You were pressed against his torso, his arms not letting you ho anywhere. « It’s just, that, I don’t know what my mom wants… -She gave me a list don’t worry, let’s go » He grabbed your shoulders and you both walked toward the car again. You sat next to him, finally in feeling warm as he started the car. You didn’t say a thing during the entire trip, just looking around shyly. « Y/n ? Is everything okay ? -Huh yeah, why ? -You seem less talkative than before. » You laughed awkwardly trying to play it off. He reached for something next to you brushing your thigh making you gasp. He smirked at you completely aware of what he just did and you screamed internally. You wished Jaehyun would have stopped playing with you but he really didn’t. You were being kinda petty because all you did those past few days was to provoked him. Considered it Karma. You came back home to your mom two hours later. You took longer than you intended to inside the store because it was packed with people, obviously it was Christmas day. « Stay near me, so we don’t get separated » he said looking at you waiting for your response. You nodded looking around you as you started to panic. You weren’t the most comfortable with crowded places and you were usually avoiding going shopping when you knew there was going to be a lot of people. You really didn’t want to lose Jaehyun. You followed him around the store feeling useless, because he seemed to know the place perfectly and you were as lost as ever. You insisted into pushing around the shopping cart trying not to roll over people. « Jaehyun, I think- Jaehyun ? » You turned around not seeing anywhere. You grabbed the cart hard and tried to walk away but you stopped maybe you should just stay here to not get lost even more. But you suddenly realized that staying in the middle of an aisle with this many people, actually the lady behind you seemed to start being annoyed with you. So you simply walked away, looking for Jaehyun but not seeing him anywhere. Someone pushed you rather strongly and you almost started crying. You looked around like a lost child looking for their mom but nothing. It was all rushing people and noise.

« Y/n » Jaehyun placed his hand on your shoulder and you almost jump out of your skin. « Hey it’s just me, everything is fine » You wanted to kiss him, even more than before. « I-I couldn’t see you… » He smiled gently. « Don’t worry I’m here now. It’s over we can go check out » He took your arm and hooked it with his while he drove the cart toward the entrance. The drive home was silent but more relaxed. You were stuck in a bit of traffic but listening to some Christmas music. « You still hate crowds ? » You looked at him, his eyes still glued to the road. « Yeah… Still not the most comfortable. I should just work on that but sometimes it’s just -Too much ? -Yeah. -I remember when we were younger, and we used to carry you everywhere with us. Your mom would insist that Sicheng would bring you along. He never wanted but I actually liked when you were there. -Yeah I remember. I would climb on one of your bike behind you and you would carry me around like I was a lost puppy" Remembering had made you calmer and as you looked at him you understood. You smiled at him gently. Jaehyun helped you carry the bags inside, your mother inside seemed eve more panicked than before. Jaehyun left saying he’ll see you in a couple of hours. You helped your mom settling everything she had in mind and you were ready faster than you thought. Your mom was finally able to go take a shower and relax and you intended to do the same. Before that you texted Jisoo, telling her that you missed her and wishing her a merry Christmas. You took a long shower and you decided to play along. After all if Jaehyun had been flirting with you, maybe you should just continue. But being in the shower you had time to think about your day and how, even if you were close to a panic attack, domestic it felt to do things with Jaehyun. You got out of the shower and settled into wearing a little tied black dress That would maybe a bit too much for your mom to take in so you put on a pair of black thighs and a magnificent Christmas jumper that would make you look modest. You did your makeup and added red lipstick. You loved it as it was making your lips look like cherry candy. It was already dark outside and you should probably go see if your mom needed anything before anyone arrived. As you were going downstairs you heard the door bell but no sign of your mother or brother. You opened the door, greeted by a huge rose bouquet. You looked up to see Jaehyun smiling at you. « Hi again -Hi » You let him enter quick followed by his mom and dad. You hugged them both, always happy to see them. Your mom arrived, and they all started talking, visibly enthusiast of seeing each other even if they literally live next to each other. Suddenly feeling out of place you thought you would go look for a vase for the flowers you were now holding. You disappeared into the kitchen but to be honest you had no idea where you could find a vase. Maybe if you putted them into a big bowl or something… « The vase are in the last cabinet I think… » Jaehyun smiled at you, you nodded trying not to stare too much. You might have dress up a little tonight, but he really was looking like an all movie star. His satin black dress up shirt was hugging his torso perfectly and maybe his black jeans were making his thighs look fucking perfect. You wanted to ride them. You shook your head thanking opening the cabinet. Suddenly you thought about something. « Could you hold the chair while I climb on it, I don’t know why it’s that high, no one is that tall in this house. » He nodded as you bring the chair close to the wall. Jaehyun walked toward you and you tried once again not to overthink his presence but it was hard. You put the bouquet in his arms as you climb the chair, maybe arching your back little more than you needed as you were getting in your tip toes to finally grab the vase. That dress was anyway doing god’s work as it ridden up your thighs. « Got it ! » He didn’t answer, his grip on the chair still solid. You smirked getting of the chair. « Thanks for the flowers again, my mom love those. » He didn’t watch you in the eyes right away, but he seemed to regain his composure pretty fast as you were fill up the vase with water. « Do you need help ? -No it’s fine, you can join the others if you want. Sicheng must be there now. » And he left. You joined them some minutes later, after taking a pause in the corridor just to take a deep breath. « Here she is ! -You look great sweetheart ! Come here ! » And you sat down. It was actually enjoyable, your mom cooking was excellent and you were actually impressed by your own work. « The meat is so good ! How did you do ? » Your mom was more than happy to tell how she did and you laughed at her enthusiasm. Sicheng and Jaehyun were talking and laughing while you were not really paying attention. You were trying to ignore the fact that you were sitting right next to Jaehyun, as Sicheng was sitting in front of you, on the other side of the table. You were so concentrated on what your mother was saying that you didn’t realise right away someone had put their hand on your thigh. It’s when the hand started to ride up along your thigh. You looked down seeing Jaehyun hand under the table, grabbing your thigh. You looked at him baffled. Maybe he didn’t realise… But he turned his head toward you raising one of his eyebrow smirking slightly and you understood. He totally knew what he was doing. You tried and move, but he squeezed your thigh making you gulped. It was so inappropriate, but why your heart was beating that fast, and it was not only from embarrassment. « So Y/n ? When are you going back to the city ? » You cleared your throat, trying to regain your componance. « I am leaving tomorrow actually » You felt his hand coming closer to hip. « Really ? Already ? Why won’t you stay longer ? » Jaehyun grazed his finger along your underwear and you froze. « Y/n ? -Hmmm my boss didn’t give me more days off actually. I have to work as soon as I come back. -Oh what a shame ! -Yeah I wish I could have stayed for the new Lunar Year but it’s a very busy time in the city, and they need the team to be complete .

-You’ve always been such an obliging person Y/n, such an angel.» You heard Jaehyun huffed at the nickname. He squeezed your inner thigh harder as you started to shake a little bit. You put your hand on his, squeezing his finger. Everyone was suddenly looking somewhere else and you whispered to him : « What are you doing ? -Nice dress » He smirked cockily and you stayed speechless. The rest of the dinner went well, Jaehyun needing both of his hands to eat, he left you alone. Soon Jaehyun’s parents invited your mom at their place to drink more and your mom accepted. Sicheng came with her and you were ready to put your coat on, joking around with your brother when someone attracted your attention. Jaehyun was leaning on the opposite wall, watching you like a hawk. You walked toward him, confused. « You are not coming ? -I thought we could stay behind just a few minutes. I have something to tell you. -Oh okay... » You told your mom you would come in a few minutes, and she simply nodded, already leaving the house following her friends happily. Sicheng was following cheering with mister Jeong about something. « What did you wanted to talk about ? -Let’s go upstairs. -Yeah… okay... » You went to your room, and as you were entering you heard the door closing behind you. You sat on your bed looking at him. « Honestly, it’s more me who should ask question. What you did during dinner- -Was just teasing you back for everything you did. The short clothes, the flirting, everything… You thought I was going to stay impassive ? » You stayed quiet, not knowing what to answer. « Since you’ve come back, I don’t know it’s like you’re torturing me, hm… You’re having fun angel ? » You tensed at the sudden nickname. « Maybe. Maybe I was just having fun. -Oh so that was it. Having fun ? I don’t think so. -Hm, and why ? » He came closer to you. « I think that someone, might have a little crush on me, don’t we baby ? » Yeah you wanted to die. « What ? Don’t flatter yourself… -Are you saying I am a liar ? » He wasn’t, and you were totally unable to hide your feelings. He reached your burning face with his hands as you closed your eyes from the embarrassment. « Look at me in the eyes » But you really couldn’t right now. « Y/n open your eyes » His hands slided along your neck, but you yelped in surprised when he grabbed your scalp hard yanking your hair. You opened your eyes looking at him directly. « Tell me now Y/n, what went through your little perverted mind ? - I- I don’t… -That’s funny, because those last days had been a nightmare for me. » He let go of your hair, his hand running down your back, the other still on your hips. « First you come back after years, looking like a woman and not that kid that I knew. And I know that you are my best friend little sister but hey you keep flirting with me, and you are fucking amazing. » You were speechless, all you could do was look into his eyes, mouth agape. « I know I shouldn’t feel like this. Toward you. But- I can’t help it. The more I speak to you, the more I see you… » Tears were prickling at the corner of your eyes, and you did what you had been dreaming of. You kissed Jaehyun like your life depended on it. He kissed you right back, his arms circling you as you wrap yours around him. It wasn’t a sweet kiss, it was needy and passionate. You couldn’t help it but moan in his mouth. He started to lead you to the bed, you taking steps back until you hit the end of your bed. He pushed you lightly as you fell into the mattress. « You know what really made me see you differently. Fuck… That night where your brother ask me to go see you and tell you that you could come with us to that party a friend of us organized. But when I arrived to your room » He has joined you on the bed, (staying) over your body, caging you between his arms. « I fucking saw you, touching your needy cunt, moaning my name. » You wanted to die, you wanted the earth to split open and swallow you up. But no, you were still there trapped. « Close your door better next time baby » And he kissed you again. With the same passion, but he seemed to be more and more needy. « So tell me Y/n, why would you do this ? » He got on his knees, looming over your body, a smirk on his lips. His hands trailed on your waist, your hips and finally on your thighs. Even through the thin fabric off your clothes you could feel the heat of his skin. You shuddered. « I-I didn’t do it on purpose… -Oh really ?! Because fuck it really seemed like it. -No I didn’t ! I never anted you to know… -Well I know now » His hands gripped your black thighs and took it off in a fast motion. Apparently clothes had to get off. « I always thought you were a good girl, pure and innocent, was I wrong baby ? » Fuck, his words, you were getting so wet by the seconds. « I didn’t… -You didn’t what ? Was that the first time you were touching yourself while thinking of me ? » Your breath hitch as his hands finally made contact with your bare skin, so cold against your hot thighs. You moaned , wanting more of his touch. « Answer me or you won’t get anything. - Maybe... » He nipped at your thigh, his mouth so warm. You were feeling his hot breath against your skin still so far away from where you really needed him. « Maybe ? Common tell me - When we were in high school, you’re the first person I touch myself to… » He stopped his motion, suddenly freezing. « I-I always wanted to be with you, but I was young and you were interested in other girls, more mature, so I stayed on my side » He gripped your thighs harder, making you moan a bit. Jaehyun smiled against your skin, nose trailed along your skin as he inhaled deeply. « Fuck, no one could compare to you… I fantasized about you- taking my virginity a lot... » He groaned letting go of your thighs. « Fuck, baby you are so fucking nasty. I can’t believe this, such a pervert » Your dress was now rolled up all the way to your hips, and he took it as an opportunity to finally touch you. His hand cupped your mount, his thumb pressing over your clit. You whined, struggling to breath as you were squirming to get closer. His fingers were brushing harder, the fabric of your underwear clinging to your soaked folds. « Your soaking wet… » He mumbled something you can't understand before taking of your underwear and tossing them. « So pretty. Fucking » he helped you taking off your dress, you were now completely exposed, « Perfect » You thought you couldn’t get more embarrassed, you were wrong. « Baby I want to eat you out -Yes, please Jae » you needed him to do anything. Really you would beg. He buried his face between your thighs, his hands keeping them as open as you could. You never felt that exposed but at the same time fuck it felt so good. « Jae, fuck please more -Then tell me baby, what were you imagining in that dirty mind of yours ? -No please… -Y/n, baby you know the deal... » You cried out in frustration. « I thought… I thought about your hands a lot… You would feel larger than my own, I would feel better when it’s you who touches me...Fuck please don’t stop… -Your little fingers can’t do anything for you baby, right ? -No ! They can’t ! » He inserted one finger in and your eyes almost rolled in the back of your head. « Jaehyun oh my god- » You moaned hard, completely possessed by the feeling of him stretching you like this. « Yes baby? » He held your gaze and slowly licked his lips. « Please, I want you, more… -Don’t worry baby, I am not going anywhere » You grabbed his sleeve and tugged at it the best you could, trying to make him understand. « You want me to take it off baby ? -Yes please... - Okay, » Jaehyun’s dimples appeared when he smiled and your heart skipped a beat. He took off his dress shirt as fast as he could and you couldn’t help it. He was beautiful. You wanted to touch him so bad. « Can I touch you ? Please… -Yes of course » He kissed you again, and allowed your hands to roam over his body, « Jaehyun... » and it was a whimper at best. « Yes Y/n. » Nothing came out of your mouth as he smirked. You started fumbling with his belt as you were kissing his collarbone, and he let you do it, enjoying your touch, your breast against his chest. He grabbed your legs lifting you in his arms. « I need you, fuck, I need you so bad. » You were in his arms pressed against his body. You were whimpering, trembling from anticipation. Your heart would explode soon. « I need you too Jae, please » He lowered you onto your bed, his arms tight around your body. He bent down licking his lips biting at the skin of your thighs. « Ouch, Jae » Your words sounded more like a plea than an actual cry of pain. « Want you to remember me, remember this.. » He said. « When you’ll go back to the city » He kept sucking at your skin, and you feel yourself drift off more and more. You whispered his name again and again your eyes screwed shut as you struggled to breathe. « Please, Jae ! More ! -You are very demanding » You whined,grabbing at the sheets beneath you. « But don’t worry, I am not going anywhere » He caressed your thighs, appreciating the feeling of your skin. « Since you’ve been good I am going to tell you what I want to do hm ? » You gasped loudly. « First baby, I’m gonna eat you out, hm, because you must be tired of just cumming on your fingers. Do you want me to ? -Yes ! Please ! -Ok, baby, and after » He kissed your core « I’m gonna make love to you, okay ? Because fuck baby, no one is able to make me soft and hard at the same time like you do » You moaned at that, your heart swelling from all the love you felt at this moment. « Jaehyun, please- » He flattened his tongue, parting your cunt, as you couldn’t do anything but moan. A few languid licks later and you were already coming. You thought he was going to stop he didn’t. You fisted your hand in his black locks, admiring his beautiful face. But it was so sinful you couldn’t look for very long. You cried and you heard him chuckle as the devil he was. It didn’t take long before you were greeted by your second orgasm that left you breathless. You started to become so sensitive. « Please, Jae- Fuck, stop… Too much- -It’s too much ? Hm, I don’t know Y/n, how you're going to do for what I planned after. Maybe you want me to stop ? -No ! No… Please... » He smirked , his dimple showing. His black hair were a mess, completely your fault as you had tangled your fingers in them. « You tortured me since you arrived and I can’t even take my revenge a little bit… -I didn’t do anything… -Of course, you’re an angel aren’t you ? -Exactly » You were blatantly lying, obviously. « You are lying angel… You’ve become so naughty. Who Would have thought. Everyone thinks you are such a cute, shy girl. Do they know you’ve been having naughty thoughts about me all this time. » You were speechless, your mouth gaping, not finding anything to answer. He licked his lips, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows. « You taste so good, angel, fuck » You opened your arms, inviting him. He hugged you, tightly, kissing your lips as if it might be the last time. His tongue caressed yours as your legs parted wide, allowing him to rest between them. He finally kicked his pants away and his underwear. You were feeling him, heavy and hard against your thigh. It was maybe the last time you were seeing him like this, so you made sure to look at him with attention. He was beautiful. Something you'll never forget. He positioned himself between your legs, and you felt his hard dick between your bodies, leaking precum on your stomach. You eased your hand between the two of you, finding his cock. You let your fingers toy with his sensitive tip. « I want to make you feel good too… » He moaned as he buried his face in your neck. You nibble his bottom lip between each one of your pecks. You collected the wetness from his dick and you used it to move along his shaft. «You are going to make me feel good angel don’t worry... » He whispered, grabbing your legs. « I need you, Y/n, now » He brought your thighs almost flat against your chest and you felt yourself spread out for him. « I want you so much... » Just before entering you he looked into your eyes and you saw something you didn’t think you would see. Maybe it wasn’t only sex, maybe it was more. With a guttural groan, he entered you slowly, your breath hitching at the sensation. Sinking down inch by inch, his dark eyes carefully watched yours until he was fully seated. You felt him deep inside you, so deep you were already shaking around him. « Angel you feel so good... »

He was going slowly at first, deliberate strokes, in and out, as a regular pace.But you felt him grew more impatient, more needy. His trust were becoming harder and harder, his skin slapping yours, the noises of your wetness almost deafening. His forehead was pressed against yours, his eyes closed as he was feeling so much pleasure. His hips began to piston erratically while his stiff cock repeatedly dragged across your g-spot. You closed your eyes as your vision started to blur. « Do you feel good angel ? Fuck- -Jae- You feel so good » You wanted to scream his name, but you remembered where you were and you simply whispered his name again and again as you were feeling it coming. « Yeah angel, please, let it go » He kept moving, looking you as you were loosing yourself. He felt your pussy tightening around him. He looked at you, promising himself to remember everything of this night, of this moment with you. He finally had you, and even if it was only for a few hours, he will never forget it, always recalling your perfection. « Y/n- He wanted to tell you something, but he didn’t. Instead, he just let himself go diving completely into the pleasure he was feeling. He whispered your name,as he came. It shouldn’t felt this intimate, this meaningful. But it really did. He laid down beside you, his hand caressing your cheek. You were looking into each other eyes. You wanted to tell him, how you felt, but it wasn’t the right moment. So you stayed quiet, simply smiling. He smiled back, coming closer to kiss you again. Jaehyun had to leave soon after, but before he made you promise you won’t leave without saying goodbye. You promised, your heart heavy from just the thought of leaving without seeing him before. He kissed you one last time and left. Maybe you shouldn’t feel bad about what just happened but you did. Suddenly you weren’t so sure about your departure tomorrow. You kissed your mom goodbye, and you cried as she started telling you how much she was going to miss you. You promised her you’ll be back soon, this time more meaningful than last time. Your brother was waiting for you ready to drive you to the train station. « Sicheng ? -Yeah ? -Could we just pass by Jaehyun’s before ? -Why ? -To say goodbye to his parents. I didn’t have the time last night. » He stopped just in front of the house and you got out. Madam Jeong answered the door. « Oh darling you are already leaving ? -Yes, I am on my way to take my train. » You hugged her, and you promised her to come back soon, too. « Hm, is Jaehyun here ? -No sweetie, he is gone in town. » You wanted to cry. You had no time to wait so you simply told her to greet him for you and you left. « Is everything okay ? You look sad. » Sicheng was looking at you, almost worried. « Hmm, no I am fine. I just- Kinda don’t want to leave. -Well I was not expecting that. » It had always been kinda hard to talk to your brother. Maybe because you were radically different. « You know you can come back as soon as you want. Mom misses you, I miss you, damn even Jaehyun told me he had miss you. » Yeah you definitely were going to cry. « Thank you. -Don’t thank me. You are my sister. » At this moment you didn’t need any words. You smiled at him and hugged him goodbye. If you didn't’ knew your brother better you could swear you saw tears peaking at the corner of his eyes. « Go away now, before I change my mind and tell you to never come back. » You were waiting inside the train station, your luggage clutch in hand, as you were trying to stay warm. You were trying not to think about Jaehyun, and the fact that once again you were leaving without telling him. Your train arrived and you were walking toward your wagon, a strange feeling inside your chest. « Y/N ! » You turned around. Jaehyun was running in your direction. He arrived in front of you, out of breath. « What- what are you doing here ? -You left. -I tried, to come and say goodbye, but you weren’t there. » He just looked into your eyes, and you understood. « I couldn’t. -Couldn’t what ? -Letting you go like this. » You hugged him tightly and he answered. « I wish I could tell you not to go. -I’ll come back soon. -I know. » He kissed you, and you felt yourself leaning into his embrace more. « So goodbye… -Can’t believe you ran all the way here to kiss me goodbye. -It’s not the worst. Sicheng is waiting for me in the parking lot. I am wondering what I am going to say to him. » You laughed. Kissing him again. But soon you heard the speaker announcing the departure of your train. « I have to go… » He didn’t say anything, simply smiling sadly at you. He walked you toward your wagon watching you climb inside. « Good luck with Sicheng. -Don’t remind me please. » You smiled one last time at him before the door closed and the last thing you saw was him smiling back and your departure was feeling less bittersweet suddenly.

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revisionaryhistory · 3 years

Text

Three Days ~ 58

~*~Sebastian~*~

The video call with Emma's family had been good until the last sentence. I wasn't sure if Andrea was legitimately saying she hoped we'd be together or questioning if we would. From the look on Emma's face, she was going with option two. Now I was slightly suspicious Eli's dislike for them wasn't unfounded.

It wasn't late when Emma called. I put my script on the table and stretched out on the couch before connecting the call. I stopped before a word left my mouth.

Emma said, "Hey."

"This is not the same happy face I saw less than two hours ago." She looked exhausted. While her puffy red eyes could be from the pool, I doubted it was chlorine. She'd been crying. A knot formed in my stomach. I spoke quietly, "What's going on, baby?"

What followed was a strange story of her parents ignoring her to talk to Amy then telling Emma she should pretend her life sucks so her sister won't do drugs. Oversimplified, but accurate.

Dammit, Eli was right.

Emma went back and forth between angry and sad. I honestly don’t know which was worse, but I didn't like either of them. A wave of protectiveness washed over me and I wanted to jump on a plane to go get her. She didn't need saving now any more than she did in the bar after the volleyball tournament. The difference was either I was there just in case she needed me at the bar or possibly my feelings for her were stronger now. Or both.

At the end of the story, she said, "It's not always this bad. Most of the time it's fine, besides the walking on eggshells. I didn't say anything because I try to be optimistic. If I come down here thinking the worst, I’m reading into everything and paranoid about everything I say. It only makes things worse. I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad."

I double blinked, "Mad? I’m not mad at you. I’m pissed as hell at them. Your best friend kind of hates them. Your sister's a heroin addict and your parents signed over custody of you to a rock star who lived on the other side of the country. I never thought this was a vacation. You said I didn't need to worry, but I did anyway. I am going to need Eli's phone number so I can apologize for thinking he was an ass about your parents."

I felt better when she smiled, "He'll enjoy that and never let you forget."

"Never letting you forget stupid shit is the basis of most male friendships." I switched back to serious for a second, "Do you wanna leave? Say the word and I'll book the flight and talk to you until the Uber gets there. Meet you at the airport here and we'll lock ourselves in my apartment until we have to leave Sunday. Hell, you can just stay here and hideout. Maybe rearrange some more of my drawers."

"As wonderful as it sounds, no. Not tonight anyway. Amy and I will have a good time tomorrow. I'd feel bad running off. Sunday there will be family buffers. Monday, I don't know. Mom will be doing exams Tuesday while I'm with the girls." She shook her head, "I already severely limit my time here."

"Em, it's ok to not want to be around people who make you feel bad. Even if they're family. It's shitty, but it's your choice."

"Visit when my guilt about not visiting outweighs the potential bad time when I visit."

"I don't recommend guilt." I looked at her thinking what a shit situation this was.

"I don't want to fight to just be myself. Shouldn't be this difficult. I can understand them wanting to protect Amy, but I feel like they don't want to hear about me."

I couldn't fix this as much as I wanted to. "Last night when you knew I'd been upset did you feel incredibly helpless? Even though talking to me while I could see you was enough."

"Yep." She yawned. "I was out by the lake. I came back where it was light and we could see each other. We have good phone calls."

I agreed. Phone calls, even video calls, can feel distant or impersonal. Not for us. I'm used to keeping friendships going over the phone. If I couldn't have real conversations on the phone, I wouldn't be sane. "You’re tired."

"I don't want to hang up."

"Not going to. What was your favorite bedtime story when you were little?"

She looked at me like I was a little crazy. Not inaccurate. "Winnie the Pooh and the Honey Tree."

"I want you to go upstairs and get into bed. While you’re doing that, I’m going to find Winnie the Pooh and the Honey Tree. Then I'm going to read to you until you fall asleep."

“You’re going to read me a bedtime story?”

I most definitely was. I nodded with a smile.

“Best boyfriend ever.”

“Trying.” I could tell she was getting up. “I’m going to be quiet so you can sneak in.”

“My parents are awake in the family room. I have to walk through.”

“Just pretend you're sneaking me to your bedroom after a date. Put me in your pocket.”

She laughed and then the screen went dark. I could hear muffled voices. “I’m going to bed.”

“Amy said to be ready to leave at ten.”

“Sounds good. Night.”

“Sleep well. We love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Hmmm. Her voice didn’t hold the warmth those words should have. Not the way I’d want to hear them.

Less than a minute later I was out of her pocket. “I need the bathroom. I’m going to let you hang out in bed.” She was quiet, but I could see she was concentrating on something. “Enjoy.”

Emma dropped the phone on the bed and I was staring at the ceiling when my text notification went off. Oh . . . the naked on a pool float picture. Peachless. Also, bikini bottomless. I was still smiling when the real girl came back on camera. “Nice ass.”

She crawled under the covers and propped her phone against the pillow next to her. “Remarkably self-conscious.”

“Then why’d you send it?” From the drinking game, I knew she’d sent nudes to someone before.

“Wasn’t self-conscious until after I sent. At the time it was fun and flirty. I knew you’d like it. After I hit send I thought I should make sure.”

“No, you were right I like it. A lot. Want a picture of my ass?”

“Your naked is ass is online and on film.”

“Bonus for you! Everything will be soon enough.” I still wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

“Really? Full frontal?”

“Not sure how full, but frontal. The movie I shot in Greece. Talk about self-conscious.”

“I tell you what. When your full-frontal comes out, I’ll send you full-frontal. We’ll be even.”

“Now I’m looking forward to the release.” A dirty smile formed on my face, “Do I get to take it?”

“I don’t know who else would.”

I scrunched up my face because that hurt in all the good ways. I’m supposed to be reading a bedtime story not getting a hard-on. Guess where gonna see if I can do both at the same time. “Time for sleep.”

She smiled and tucked her hands under her pillow. I like seeing her relaxed like this even better than the naked pool picture. “You look so pretty curled up.”

“Did you remember to turn on the screenshot function?”

“I did.” I took one right now. “I’ll go sleep to that.”

Winnie-the-Pooh sat down at the foot of the tree, put his head between his paws and began to think. First of all he said to himself: “That buzzing-noise means something. You don’t get a buzzing-noise like that, just buzzing and buzzing, without its meaning something. If there’s a buzzing-noise, somebody’s making a buzzing-noise, and the only reason for making a buzzing-noise that I know of is because you’re a bee.”

Then he thought another long time, and said: “And the only reason for being a bee that I know of is making honey.”

And then he got up, and said: “And the only reason for making honey is so as I can eat it.” So he began to climb the tree.

I kept reading until I was sure she was asleep. Instead of hanging up, I hit mute and put my phone on the arm of the chair where I could see her while I worked. I kept watch until she changed positions and knocked the phone onto the screen.

First thing in the morning, before heading to the gym, I sent her one of the pictures I took of her sleeping.

Sebastian ~ Hope your day is as peaceful as you look here.

Emma ~ Thank you. For everything. Listening, talking, bedtime story.

Sebastian ~ Confession. Didn't know Pooh before last night.

Emma ~ We can watch next time we're together.

Sebastian ~ Cuddled up watching Winnie the Pooh sounds good. Have fun today.

Emma ~ Have fun with the guys tonight.

The next time I checked my phone, after working out, I had half a dozen text messages. All from Evans.

Chris ~ Yo!

Chris ~ Wake up

Chris ~ Lazy fucker

Chris ~ Are you home?

Chris ~ I’m in NYC

Chris ~ Let me know

Sebastian ~ Ass. I was at the gym. Chace is in town too. Meeting for drinks about five. Dinner. More drinks. You should come. I'd love to see you.

Chris ~ Sounds great. Tell me where.

I sent him the address and was more excited about my night. Will, Chace, and now Chris were doing before dinner drinks then we'd meet up with the others. I'd made a ton of progress with the new role. After my shower I made some more notes, alternating with checking Instagram when I got a notification Emma had posted. A group walking down a dock pulling a couple of coolers was labeled, "Load in." A shot all of them on the boat. Emma was wearing the same bikini from yesterday with a pair of cutoffs. A couple of hours later she posted multiple pictures of them tubing, people sitting around laughing, others in the water, and a couple of them laying out on the deck. None of those had my girl. The next batch did. Same sort of pictures, but with her in.

This was much better than last night. She looked like she was having fun. The last one before I headed to meet the guys was her, Amy, and who I assume was Amy's boyfriend. He was in the middle. Emma's caption read, "Someone is missing."

I commented, "Miss you too."

I ran into Chace right outside the bar. We hugged and gave each other shit about our matching beards. We kept up the teasing and laughing all the way to the table. Will and Chris were already seated and had ordered beers. Chris downed half his beer in one drink, "Seb, man, you stood me up. I mean, I get helping your parents move."

Will laughed. Chace cocked his head to the side and smiled. Chris looked at them before turning his attention back to me, "What have you done?"

I put my beer down slowly. "Yeah, about that. I may have left out a bit. I was helping my parents move, but that's not why I stayed."

Chris put his hand on my shoulder, "You met a girl."

"I met a girl. We'd had a great first date and I wasn't ready to leave. I wanted to get to know her better."

Chris looked up like he was thinking, "I'm good with that." His eyes came back, "Still seeing her?"

I couldn't have stopped my smile if I'd tried. "Yeah. Emma."

Chris smiled, "Nice."

Chace looked at Will, "You knew this and didn't bust him in our group chat?"

Will shrugged, "Trust me, it's more fun this way." He shifted his eyes to me for a second before looking back to Chace with a smirked, "You've met her."

Chace pointed to himself, "I’ve met her?"

Will continued, "At Kirk's wedding she was with the singer from Boone's band and his wife."

I watched him search his memory, "Didn't I hit on her?"

"Why did you say that out loud?

Chace snickered, "To see him make that face."

Not sure what face I was making, but I changed it.

"I thought they were in a throuple."

I rolled my eyes, "Not a throuple."

"How is that even a word?" Chris screwed up his face.

Will handed Chace his phone, "This is her Instagram Emma_plays_90"

Unless Emma had updated the first was another throuple.

"Sister?"

"Twin."

Both smirked, "Nice."

Chace asked, "Which is yours?"

"Polka dot bikini."

They scrolled back in her timeline, turning the phone toward me when they got to the peach one.

Chris raised one eyebrow, "Please, tell me you have the uncensored version."

I nodded. Smiling again.

Chace handed Will his phone back, "You have better on your phone. Hand it over."

I knew this would happen and had left the naked one in my texts. I had to stand up to dig my phone out of my pocket. I had it unlocked and the folder full of her open when I got a text.

Emma ~ Tell Chris hi and nice to meet him.

I looked up. Chris was on his phone. "What did you do?"

Chris did a shit job of pretending to look innocent. "Does Instagram notify someone if you follow them?"

"If their account is set to private and they have to approve you, yes, it does." Another text.

Emma ~ And Chace...

I glared at him. He shrugged, "0oops."

"Now she knows we're talking about her." No idea why I said that. Of course, she knows we're talking about her.

Will looked exasperated, "She already knew."

Chace chuckled, "She DM’d me. Hope your pick-up lines have improved." He sat there saying each word as he replied, "I'd like to say they have, but probably not."

Will smacked the back of Chace's head, "Stop it. You know how he gets."

One of the side effects of insecurity is jealousy. I get jealous. And in an all-time dick move I don't like it when girlfriends get jealous. I think that falls under the topic of commitment issues. I shook my head at Will, "Not jealous. It's this combination of annoyed that I could have met her a year ago and relief I didn't because things would have gone very differently. I was not ready for Emma a year ago."

"How'd you get ready?"

One of the things Chris and I have in common is relationship and commitment issues. I had no trouble answering, "Years of therapy finally came together. I managed to step outside my walls and she ... she has this way of working around my anxiety. Makes it ok."

I handed over my phone, scrolled back to the beginning with the fish.

Chace winked at Chris, "Told ya the good ones were on his phone."

They scrolled through, stopping to look at each other before turning the phone around to me. It was on the deck at her place. She was sitting at the table, her leg pulled up with her foot on the seat, smiling at me. She'd looked beautiful in the fading light. The smile, the look on her face, still made my heart skip a beat. Any man would love to have a woman look at him the way she was looking at me. That was day four. It’s even better now.

Chris turned the phone back toward them, "You should have led with you'd blown me off because you met a beautiful woman who looks at you like you hung the fucking moon."

I shook my head, "I met a very kind and amazing woman who just happens to be beautiful."

Chace asked, "How'd you meet?"

"She thought I was a drug addict getting snacks before checking into the rehab place up the road. She

helped me find chocolate chips for mom to make fudge."

Chris looked surprised then smiled, "That's a good story."

"Nice, but makes questionable choices." Chris grabbed Chace’s hand to turn the phone back around.

Chace kept scrolling, "This hers? She have a kid?"

Not sure why the pictures are out of order. "No, one of her students. She teaches first grade."

Chris started laughing, his hand went to his chest, "This is perfect. I couldn't do this better."

I was lost, "What are you talking about?"

Chris waved his hand around, "Issues aside and knowing you're not always the good guy in the relationship. The Seb I know," He pointed to Chace and Will, “we know, is kind, sensitive, and has a big ole soft heart. Every time you date someone, I get scared. Legit terrified. I’m afraid every girl is going to break you, change you, and you won’t be sweet Seb anymore. When I think of a teacher, especially a first-grade teacher, I think patient, kind, empathetic, flexible but firm. If I was setting you up on a blind date, I'd look for those qualities. This could be perfect."

"Emma is all those things. And accepting. I had a panic attack the other night. She didn't bitch about me not waking her, or ask a million questions, she just asked what I needed to be ok. I needed a run. I came back and she was upside down on my couch and had switched my sock and underwear drawers. She took none of it on, just took care of me."

"Refreshing," Chris said and the others agreed.

"I took care of her after she got to her parents."

Will winced, "Eli right to hate them?"

My eyes went wide, "They ignored her to talk about Amy's boyfriend, and told her to pretend her life sucks so Amy won't do drugs and relapse."

Will grimaced, "Yeah, Eli is right."

I filled in the holes for Chace and Chris.

Chace frowned, "You’re supposed to go to rehab for cocaine?"

Chris put his hand over his mouth and pretended to look surprised, "Oops."

Chace again, "I picture a first-grade teacher as sweet and innocent. No cursing, drinking, and kinda shy with sex."

I lifted an eyebrow. The same side of my mouth curving up. "I get that, but no." I pulled my eyebrows down, pursed my lips, and shook my head. "I do like Monday mornings when she comes down looking like a first-grade teacher."

Chace leaned forward, "Are you in love with her?" He started to smile.

I hesitated and Will spoke up, "If you say anything besides yes you're a worse liar than you are an actor."

"That's harsh." I rubbed my hand over my beard. "Falling in love, yes. Haven't quite been pushed

over the edge."

"How long have you known her?" From Chace.

"Three weeks."

Chris was shaking his head," You don't need months to know what's right for you. Don't overthink it. If she's ticking all your boxes, your heart flutters when you see here, and her smile takes your breath away, it's long enough. Don't waste a second. Falling in love is the best feeling in the world, just fucking enjoy.”

Chace held his hand out, palm up, waving from Chris to me. "For the record, I wasn't going to give you shit. I was just curious."

The conversation changed to what had been going on with them. Chace was doing some anti-superhero Amazon series. Chris was signed on for an Amazon series too. Apparently, the future is Amazon. The beers kept coming and we were lit when Chris asked our servers to take a picture. He texted it to the three of us and we posted it to Instagram at the same time. Complete with a countdown. Because drunk boys.

We wove our way the block to the restaurant. Our group more than doubled in size. Dinner sobered us up. It was a good time. We were loud for no other reason than talking across a long table. Ok, we were a little loud anyway. Next was another bar. We got even louder there. The value of a night out with the guys should never be underrated. Being idiots and taking the piss out of each other was good for the soul, and bad for the liver. We closed the bar down, loading into cabs in groups heading in the same direction.

I barely remember getting home. The next morning, I woke up with a raging headache. First order of the day was Advil and a bottle of water. Second was checking in on Emma. After the bar, the first one, I hadn't checked my phone again. She knew how to reach me if she needed me. I'd figured she was having fun like I was. From the pictures and videos on Instagram plus the ones she'd texted me, I was right. They’d gone back to her parents after the boat and had a pool party.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #fanfiction #sebastian stan X ofc #marvel actor fanfiction

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mscottontail-stash · 3 years

Text

The Downhill Path

All these days will pass; they will pass in crowds Over the face of the seas, over the face of the mountains, Over rivers of silver, over the rolling forests Like a distant hymn for our beloved dead.

Victor Hugo, Setting Suns

I. How it All Works Out

Paris was riveting in the spring.

With the Champs-Elysées in full bloom, the Eiffel Tower shimmering in the clear skies— it gave the heart of France an air of postcard made reality.

She couldn’t bring herself to care about any of it.

Still half-asleep, Céline turned away from the dimming lights outside and tossed in her sheets once more.

Almost a year in and she had never even glimpsed the full sun shining on the City of Love. Had never come close to exiting the Métro near its most popular stops, had not even entertained the thought of approaching the most prestigious arrondissements of Europe’s beating heart. And why would she have?

Crowds of tourists indulging in buttered pastries and snaps of the Louvre Pyramid were the exact things she tried to avoid. Granted, after five years lost in and out of physical existence, she would have thought her appetite for life would have emerged with a vengeance. And emerged it had, simply not in the way someone caged for months should have.

Eyes closed, she tried to pinpoint the exact moment the sun disappeared behind the building blocking the view of the ground floor she lived in. Slowly, her hazel eyes watched the shadows grow on the dried paint, coercing herself out of bed with the promise of black coffee and a lukewarm shower.

She used to claw at the promise of outside, of the sky under her head and the sun kissing her skin, closing her eyes to savor the heat. She would have begged for anything to smell something else than waste and despair— Until these frozen seconds, from life to dust and life once more. And now?

Now the world was just too much.

Too much noise and furious horns in the frantic traffic of the city, with delivery guys ramming their bikes around, with waiters and street vendors and people in a hurry, people, people everywhere. The sun, the heat, the voices— she drowned in it. Like a great wave pulling her under, she had quickly realized she was unable to cope with the furious pull of this sea.

So why did she crave each miserable second underwater?

Humming, she let her right hand stay under the faucet until it turned slightly red. This simple tingling made her want to stay under water until it bubbled, an ugly shade of white searing her flesh straight to the bone.

Calmly, she looked at her untouched skin and sighed.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she whispered to the empty room.

Lately, she had taken to being her main critic. It ranged from calling herself a dumb bitch close to twenty-four times a day to strongly staring at herself in the chipped mirror of her bathroom until she felt confident enough to go outside. So far, none of these highly sophisticated methods had managed to chase away weird ideas such as burning a perfectly-working limb.

The woman who had offered consultations at the free clinic down the road had called these ghastly cravings “recurring thoughts”. Invasive images or ideas that popped by uninvited. It came and went, oblivious to whatever she was doing or what state she was in.

She had tried really hard to do the mature thing and deal with her shit properly. The initial appointment with Mrs. Torpe had been okay: they had mostly dealt with paperwork, how therapy was supposed to go and what could be achieved in that timeframe. Fifty euros had seemed like a fair price for someone willing to put up with her twice a month.

By the time the second appointment had drawn closer, she had pictured herself sitting in the same room to talk about things that made no sense; wolves in the snow, mice trapped in ice and bleeding flowers creeping out of the stone cracks… she did not have the courage to think about what would come next. At best, she would be committed. Then her flimsy identity wouldn’t withstand close scrutiny and then someone, somewhere, would know. And wasn’t it how they had gotten to her the first time, the only time? When she had not known she was safe until it had been ripped away from her. Better sleep less and get crazy thoughts if it meant staying alive.

Perhaps she was just giving herself excuses. She wanted to get better, but being a coward had served her well and she did not feel ready to be brave just yet. Healing, at its root, was not a gentle thing; it was exhausting, drawing on whatever energy that was left to burn the wounds away. Did she really want to put herself through these hoops because it was the right thing to do? Nobody could ever decide when there had been enough pain.

She did not know if it made her weak or pathetic to consistently avoid getting into something that she felt was too hard, but she had decided it was nobody’s business but her own if she lacked the stomach to face the truth.

And what truth would she uncover, anyway? Hazy, drug-fueled experiments had a way of making you doubt you’d even been through the things that seared your mind. And even so, maybe it wasn’t the memories she was so afraid of, but to make them real. Using words to conjure up the Wolf and its steel rod, to spin around and feel stone walls suffocating her in the dark.

What if she was told none of it had been real? That she just couldn’t enter a lift like a normal person because she was just fucked in the head and it was no one’s fault but hers, not some made-up prison, her.

Breathing in, she forced herself to reach a spot in the base of her skull. Here, she could feel the piece of missing skin that had kept her sane, the one feeling she knew would always be real no matter what flowed in her bloodstream. There were other ways to prove to herself and the world the unspeakable things that had been done in the name of progress. Each time her mind drew closer to this truth, every muscle in her body would tightens until she cramped. She was too afraid to reach for the space that existed in the pit of her belly; either because she knew the danger it could bring, or because it was no longer here.

Beyond everything, this theft was the loss she mourned the most. They had taken many things from her over the agonizing weeks. Her freedom. Her dignity. The humanity in herself, the belief of something good in each in every person. But to feel the vacant space that once housed that spark, the great bond to something truly marvelous that had been just hers— each time her brain tried to make sense of it she would come back to that crappy apartment more shitfaced that the night before. This was what pushed her out in the streets every night: a chase for something that was gone, and that she feared would never come back.

Humans were flawed in that way; sometimes they simply mourned themselves.

Céline snorted, head facing the showerhead: being gloomy was certainly no cure. She let the water roll on her shoulders some more before slipping out of the tiny bathroom corner, her soaked feet adding to the general mold of the place. Not that she was complaining about this “lovely, cozy flat with caractère” sold by the chain-smoker lady living above her. Her flat was crappy, but it was functional. Not unlike its tenant, she often remarked.

She counted herself lucky to have a roof over her head, especially post-Blip. The surge of population had not made living in the Capital any easier. She could have fallen prey to the marchands de sommeil, sleep merchants that rented terrible holes to desperate people. The only reason she had snatched this place was thanks to some acquaintances at the GRC, citizens stuck in the same administrative limbo she had enjoyed for a while.

Real estate was a mess and no place was easy to grab, yet she had managed that one, probably because her French was good and her manners quiet enough for this neighborhood at the edge of seedier streets. Madame Bruyère had only cared about the duration of her stay, if she was employed and if she was going to bring people in to party and criminal activities of any kind. It must had been a winning “Long enough-yes-no” because here she was now, living in the antiquated building close to work.

It could have been worse. She could have stayed penniless after being processed by the Global Repatriation Council, but the overworked staff had been glad to ship her off to central Europe when she had filled out one single flimsy application. She had lied, of course. Pretended to be shell-shocked by her body turning to dust and reappearing to find herself five years in the future. It had not been a hard lie to sell.

She had come back in the same state she had vanished, a bloody mess in rags on the verge of passing out. A blond man had asked her a couple of questions in broken English, tried to check on her before getting wary of her shrieks. Once he had understood she was in no immediate danger, a nurse had simply shoved her in a corner and waited a couple of weeks to start asking questions. Looking back, she did not know if she was more ashamed by her lashing out than her piss-poor resistance.

She had had time to understand what the hell had happened. Saw the ruined Avengers Compound on the news. Processed that the tundra was gone, the Wolf was gone, and everyone she had cared for was gone. She had watched out for anyone else, friend or foe, but the mednyy devochka, the brass-skinned girl, had been the only thing to ever come back from that particular limbo. Happiness. Bitterness. It all meshed into the same blur that had been the GRC camp.

The only thing that had left an impression were the people that had blipped back alongside her. They had been from all over the world, people on planes and boats, lost and confused, swimming in the same big parenthesis that was the time after their return. Who had left with them and who had remained? What had changed and what was still the same? Five years may have been a moment for them, but it was a long time for everyone and everything else.

Oftentimes, kin would come to reunite with their loved ones. Other days, some returned would break down under the strain of this new reality. Céline had not known what had been more heartbreaking to witness. She used to have the selfish thought that at least other people eventually moved on, that the faces that came and went all around her changed. She didn’t know if she had improved much from her days in Kiev, but she liked to think so.

The girl in the mirror wasn’t sure either.

Seeing her reflection every day was a necessary pain. She needed to see, to look at herself touching her dark hair and golden skin and not have to repeat that all of this whisper of a life was real, not just a delusion brought by torment and anesthetics.

It didn’t mean reality was any kinder.

She wasn’t “just thin”. Baggy dresses and leather jackets helped to hide the hollow shapes of her body, but staring at her naked reflection had a way of bluntly highlighting her sorry state. Infrequent meals, hard liquor and poor sleep had not really helped her getting back to something more than a bag of bones. As with everything, she was trying, failing, and trying some more; little by little, one beef tacos at a time, six hours of sleep once every week, breathing in.

Her eyes trailed on the little fragments of paper pinned to the frame of the mirror. Bits and pieces of poetry, of articles, of words she liked. She let her fingers linger over John Donne’s No Man is an Island. She mouthed the words, comforting for a reason she couldn’t quite grasp: “every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.”

She didn’t like the way clothes sagged on her, didn’t like the yellow shade of her dark skin, the way climbing a few stairs left her winded. She even missed complaining about her period once every month, because the absence of blood made her painfully aware that her body wasn’t working as it should. That everything was not fine, that progress was slow. Still, she kept trying on her own.

She ended her examination with the same hopeful resignation: She would get there.

Grabbing the clothes she had selected for the evening, she finished her preparation with some makeup and a quick look at the club she had spotted a few nights ago. She had to work from 5 to 10, but the rest of her time was her own. It was easy to forget how good it felt to be able to do whatever she pleased, even if it meant doing nothing at all.

Slamming the door to her place, she exited the tight lobby at the same time her neighbor was doing the same.

An elegant, warm French-Nigerian student with pearls in her box braids, Gloria was a major in biochemistry, sold handcrafted clothes on Etsy to support an association funding single-mothers and led the singing choir of her parish on Sundays. Céline was convinced that by the time 2030 would roll, that girl would either become President somewhere or be canonized. She was simple, pure goodness. It almost hurt sometimes to be near her, to feel her compassion and strong faith in all things good and worthwhile.

They were crossing paths in more way than once; Céline, climbing slowly, on her jagged way to something slightly better. And Gloria, glorious as her name, a bright future ahead of her. That the two of them converged on a single thread in Moineaux Street never ceased to amaze the older woman.

“Hey, you!” Gloria chirped with a lovely French accent.

The onyx-skinned girl had insisted they talk English when she had realized Céline was fluent. Gloria was planning on applying to an Ivy League university next year and she wanted to “brush up” on an already flawless practice.

They exited the building together, chatting their way to the metro where they parted. Watching her disappear, Céline felt envy for the young French girl. Gloria knew without the shadow of a double who she was and what she wanted. She had plans for the next five years, and the means to achieve whatever goal she set her eyes on. No shadows had ever damaged her beliefs. It felt good to talk to someone so anchored in life, and yet it was still a curious thing, to watch life from the sidelines.

She had never been as outgoing and warm as Gloria, but she could still remember a young, hopeful girl volunteering to clean-up after global disasters and aliens fights. She hadn’t known real fear back then, only the aftermath of darkness. She still didn’t know how to feel about the Avengers, only that superheroes had been a part of her world ever since she was a little girl in a strange new place.

Céline still remembered where she had been during Tony Stark’s press conference and the revelation of his identity as Iron Man, and how they had watched the return of Captain America in her cramped dorm room not too long after that. Then the battle of New York had happened and it was the first time she had sensed the world had changed. She had been a 20-something then, fresh out of Canada and itching for a way to make her mark. Her work as a volunteer for the Red Cross had still seemed so small, the search for survivors in the rubble so daunting. Four years later and it looked like catastrophes would continue to happen, this time in Eastern Europe, and by the time she had turned 25 she had been caught into the politics of the Accords. The following years had been nothing but running, her delusions of grandeur shattered in the most painful way deep in a Russian hellhole.

Now she was supposed to be 35 and she had let her a decade slip away from her, had let shadows engulf what could have been and, much like the world in the aftermath of Thanos’ hubris, uncertainty made her stand still.

Hesitation was a byproduct of fear, but every day she dipped her toe a little further, either found her determination or foolishness to cross the confines of humanity and back. A fine mix of liquid courage, happy pills and late-night despair often helped dissolving this great uproar into oblivion.

Then it was just easy.

There were no heavy burdens. No restraints, no threats. She did not have to ponder over her own existence, wondering who she was and where she was going and if anyone followed. She was Céline, the foreign girl who enjoyed raves and fluorescent lights on plaster. Céline was easy to talk to. She wore long-sleeved shirts because she claimed she was always cold, she loved the strong smell of camellias because it reminded her of home and she fancied Florent, the owner of the youth center she worked at five evenings per week. Céline was ordinary. Céline was safe.

Sometimes even she forgot Céline was not real.

At first she had found it difficult to make a life out of thin air. People had parents and friends, credit cards and social accounts. History. But then almost four billion people had a five-year gap to fill as well, and everything could be solved by six magical little words: I was part of the Blip. In a way, it was ironic that the first thing she had truly belonged to had been a catastrophe erasing half the world population. She didn’t know a single person that the Snap hadn’t fucked in some way or other, and yet Thanos’ decimation had saved her life. And now, to figure out what to do with it…

There was definitely a market for new identities in this world that had been empty for five years. She had been given an exorbitant price for her fresh one, a blank state that would probably be useful to criminals and con-artists.

What languages had she been good at? English. French. Spanish. London had been the easiest flight to grab, so England he had been. Her dark hair, caramel skin and brown eyes had blended well with her supposed identity. She had been Tina Abbott, a shell-shocked girl from Bristol, on her way to an Asian vacation when her body had disintegrated in the commercial plane she made out of thin air. The middle-aged bureaucrat hadn’t cared to poke holes in her stories, ticking the boxes as the story unfolded.

“Tina” had ditched her papers as soon as her correspondence flight to Brussels had landed and paid cash for the next one. Tina became Sarah and Sarah became Céline, transiting from forger to smuggler without staying long enough to make a mark. With the chaos of 3 billion people simultaneously coming back to life, it wasn't like someone was bothering to check on her now that she had settled for a while. As long as she paid the outrageous rent of her borderline slum, she could be a legal alien as much as she pleased. Immigrations services and the GRC in particular had enough problems in the wake of the Flag-smashers’ uprising.

Céline didn’t have much time to ponder Karli Morgenthau’s actions when a sudden concert of shouts alerted her to some commotion inside the limestone building; carefully, she opened the door to the youth center of Belleville.

#orshidsdump #zemo fic #mcu fic #TFATWS fic #baron zemo #foul language

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askullinajar · 4 years

Text

Fifty Shades Dicked

The time has come for the third instalment of Fifty Shades of Ectoplasm

This is entirely the fault of the heathens over on the discord, namely @ironsilversaltandtea for posting the photo that led to it all, @achillesangst for making some interesting art of it, and @stormwalkers and @wolfjawswriter for just general shenanigans and egging on.

Warning: Any accuracies, historically, scientifically, or to canon, are completely accidental. This is pure crack. No actual hanky-panky - as I am but a totally innocent asexual - but a whole lot of inappropriate jokes. You have been warned.

Fic info: Post teg. Rating: Mature, clearly. Pairings: Implied locklyle. Word count: 1626

Summary: The gang stumble across a certain something previously owned by Mr and Mrs Lockwood. Shenanigans ensue.

It was a mild spring morning the day we managed to scar Lockwood for life.

The company was going through a lull in cases - something about warmer weather and extended daylight made ghosts not want to show themselves - and we were using that time to do a spot of spring cleaning. The fact that Holly had threatened to quit if she found another of George’s rotting ‘experiments’ stuffed in a random cupboard had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Holly was out with her flatmate on what she insisted was ‘definitely not a date, stop being nosy’ and had appointed Quill to keep an eye on us. His only purpose seemed to be nabbing whatever alcohol we found buried in cupboards from the days when Lockwood’s parents were still around and lounging in a chair complaining about this and that. I wasn’t really paying attention, to be honest; I was too busy trying to get Skully to stop dripping ectoplasm all over the newly-cleaned surfaces as he hovered above us making increasingly rude comments.

��You could help you know!” I snapped at him, interrupting Quill’s ranting about the extortionate prices of laundry detergent.

“Moi?” said Skully, swooning dramatically in midair. “I am but a simple street urchin, I know nothing about this so-called ‘cleaning’ thing.” He waved a hand and sent half the kitchen appliances skidding across the counter and crashing to the floor. “Whoopsie!” he said, though his sadistic grin was far from apologetic.

I picked up the salt shaker and threw it at him. It passed right through, of course, and collided with the wall, but a few grains of salt came loose and hissed as they came into contact with his ectoplasm.

“Ow!”

I ignored his complaints and went to put the appliances back with Lockwood and George’s help. When the boys hefted up the microwave, I noticed the floorboard beneath it had come loose. I knelt by it and dug my fingers in to prise it up.

“There’s a box under here,” I informed them, brushing dust away from the wilted cardboard.

George kneeled next to me and adjusted his glasses to peer at it. “Interesting. Reckon it contains anything of paranormal significance?”

“Or anything valuable?” said Quill, kneeling on my other side.

“It’s probably just stuff my parents hid when authorities came to call,” shrugged Lockwood, turning away with his bright pink feather duster to clean the higher shelves. “They weren’t exactly supposed to bring possible Sources into the country.”

Whatever it was, investigating it seemed more fun than cleaning, so I prised up the floorboards either side of the gap and wiggled the box free.

The box was filled to the brim with packing foam, but when I dug it out and managed a first glimpse at what it was hiding, I nearly choked.

“What is it?” said Lockwood, whirling back around at the noise. “Are you alright, Lucy?”

My face pulled taut in a gallant effort not to laugh, I dug my hands into the box and pulled out its contents: a finely crafted china teapot, in the shape of a dick and balls.

Immediately, my hearing filled with spectral laughter as Skully burst into loud cackling above me, gripping his stomach and gasping for nonexistent breath. Quill and George weren’t far from joining in.

“Oh my god,” Quill gasped, wheezing as tears of mirth filled his eyes. “Tony, what exactly were your parents into?”

Lockwood’s face had gone a brilliant shade of red as he stammered for words. “It- It can’t be theirs- they- it must have belonged to the last people who owned the house…”

George took the teapot off me, which I was very grateful for as I was dangerously close to dropping it with my hands shaking from laughter. He cleaned his glasses on his shirt, placed them back on his head, then took the lid of the phallic pot and peered inside.

“Oh,” he said, the laughter immediately wiped from his face. “Oh, this definitely belonged to your parents, Lockwood.”

“What?” said Lockwood, eying the teapot from a distance as though weary it would blow up any minute. “What is it?”

George silently handed the teapot over to Quill before standing, going over to the sink, and dunking his head in the basin of what was now very cold water.

Quill reached into the teapot and pulled out a stack of old photographs. I leaned over his shoulder curiously as he flicked through them and immediately started choking for real. I recognised Celia and Donald Lockwood from the few photos Lockwood had scattered around the house. I was not prepared for the positions they were in.

“What is it?” Lockwood insisted. “What’s on them?” He moved to reach for them but Quill jerked them out of his reach. Unfortunately, this put them right into Skully’s line of sight and the ghost started cackling even harder than before.

“Holy shit, those are some saucy parents he has. Come on, Luce, show the boy how he was probably conceived!”

“Nope!” I blurted, snatching the photos from Quill’s hand and lurching to my feet to make a beeline for the living room and - more importantly - the fireplace. “Lockwood, trust me, you do not want to see these.”

“If they’re photos of my parents, I want to see!” cried Lockwood, chasing after me.

It was then that the umbrella stand in the hallway fell into my path - entirely on its own, Skully would insist later - and my feet collided with it causing me to crash down to the floor, my grip coming loose from the photo stack and resulting in a whirlwind of erotic snapshots to fall down around me.

“Oh no.” Lockwood’s voice seemed very cracked and distant, and when I pushed myself up and turned to him, the poor boy had his hands clamped tight over his eyes, his face and ears tomato red. “George, please tear out my eyes!”

“Only if you tear out mine too,” George said, coming into the hallway with his hair dripping wet. “God, this is almost as bad as when I walked in on my mum-”

“Do not finish that sentence!”

“At least you don’t have to look your parents in the eyes after this,” George muttered, folding his arms over his chest. “Took me three months to get over that.”

“I’m going to have nightmares,” moaned Lockwood. “Lucy, please tell me you’ve picked them all up by now.”

Quill and I were systematically gathering them up and tossing them in the fireplace. Only when Quill had lit the fire did we give Lockwood the all-clear.

“I am never cleaning the house again!” Lockwood declared, collapsing against me with his face buried into my shoulder. I patted his back sympathetically.

“At least we got a new teapot out of it,” said George. “Tea, anyone?”

“There is no way I am drinking tea out of that thing,” said Lockwood. “Can we please get rid of it?”

“Or...” I said, spying the blackened skull perched on a shelf in the kitchen. “I have another idea.”

Holly returned to find us all - minus George, who was making sure there were no loose photos lying around - sheepishly sitting around the kitchen table sipping tea. The kitchen was clean, at least, but Holly didn’t even seem to notice, her eyes going straight to the teapot on the table.

“What. On earth. Is that?”

“Our new teapot,” I said matter-of-factly. “Like it?”

“That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen,” said Holly, her nose wrinkling. “I have never understood the appeal of these things.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” said Quill, sipping his tea casually.

“I’m throwing it out,” said Holly, picking it up with the tips of her fingers like it was contaminated, which it probably was.

It was then that Skully decided to make his presence known by forming directly out of the ‘spout’, his ectoplasm contorted grotesquely into the happy farmhand.

Holly, to no one’s surprise, shrieked and hurled the teapot all the way down the hall where a loud thump and yelp ensued.

“Oh my gosh, George, I’m so sorry!” Holly cried, rushing down the hall with the rest of us at her heels to find George curled up on the floor, the shattered remains of the teapot as well as the skull surrounding him. “Are you alright?!”

George groaned and pushed himself upright to reveal his glasses askew and a bright red mark on his face in the perfect silhouette of a dick and balls. I tried to stop myself laughing and only half managed.

“I think I have a concussion,” George slurred.

“Hospital,” said Holly, helping George up and bustling him to the door. “Hospital, now.”

The nurse looked from the penis permanently etched onto George’s face, to the haunted look in Lockwood’s eyes, to me and Quill who were still snickering, before finally turning to Holly who she seemed to deem as the most sensible one of the group. She wasn’t exactly wrong. Perhaps she remembered us from the time George got a condom stuck over his head and nearly suffocated.

“How?”

“Dick teapot,” I blurted, trying not to look at Goerge’s face because if I did I would most certainly die of laughter. Unfortunately, this made me picture it again and I snorted anyway.

The nurse heaved a great sigh as if this was just the same old bullshit she had to deal with every day.

“Just once,” she said, “why can’t it just be ghost-touch.”

George rubbed at the imprint on his face, then seemed to realise it looked like he was wanking the dick off and stopped. “You know,” he said, ignoring me and Quill wheezing next to him, “I’m actually with you on that one, ma’am.”

#oops #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #locklyle #george cubbins #holly munro #quill kipps #skull in a jar #quarantine fuel #enjoy

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Chivalry Fell on its Sword, Chapter One (Branjie) - Athena2

Summary: Brooke is a young knight hoping to earn a position on Princess Vanessa’s royal guard, only to find something even more special as she and the princess grow closer.

A/N: So I’ve had this idea for months now and just couldn’t get the words to come, but I’m happy to finally start posting. I really hope you all like this!

Thank you so so much to Writ for supporting this from the beginning and brainstorming with me several times, and for betaing! Also thank you Barbie for supporting me and cheering me on with your comments! I love you both.

I really appreciate all your support and feedback on my writing, both on here and on tumblr. It encourages me to keep writing, and I’d love if you could give some feedback on this fic!

Title from From Eden by Hozier.

—

Despite the early autumn sun beating down and her heavy armor baking beneath its glow, Brooke runs cool with confidence.

Her ears ring with the noises of the day: the crowd shouting and laughing, the clinking of gold as people place their bets, the clash of wood against armor, the whinnying of horses, the clang of expensive, intricate steels as swords meet under the sun. It’s a rough symphony that makes Brooke feel more alive than any lute or lyre.

Her lance drags her body down, muscles sore and screaming from six rounds of jousts, but she welcomes the ache. It’s always there, whether she’s shaping steel in the forge or winning in practice fights, and it means she’s doing well. And right now, she’s doing very well.

Only one more opponent between her and winning Princess Vanessa’s birthday jousting tournament, between achieving the dream she’s had since she was a child curled up beneath thick wool blankets in the farmhouse, not knowing that warmth would be ripped away.

Only one more opponent between her becoming a knight on the princess’s royal guard, to finally have recognition of her talent. One more opponent and it would all be worth it–running away from the orphanage and begging the forge owner Patrick to take her on at only 13, four years of her skin baking in the heat of molten metal as she shaped swords and armor in order to pay for her own equipment, four years of stealing food and straining her back sleeping on a straw mattress in an extra stall in Patrick’s horse stable.

Brooke steadies her shoulders, grips her lance tighter, and hops on Snowball, her soft white mare. “We got this, girl,” Brooke whispers confidently. Snowball neighs in response, more than used to Brooke’s inner thoughts being shared with her furry ears, and Brooke takes the reins. With the leather between her gauntlets, everything within Brooke falls into place, calm and completely sure of herself, humming with the anticipation of the victory that’s surely coming.

She’s been sizing up the knights–some who’ve been knights as long as she’s been alive–all day, noting weaknesses and strengths and patterns. Even the strongest fighters have a weakness, Patrick told her. She just had to find it. Her final opponent uses a small shield, allowing him more room to maneuver his lance but leaving his side open, and his foolishness will be Brooke’s advantage.

This win, and the knighthood, are hers.

The queen, Princess Vanessa’s mother, signals the start of the joust, and Brooke takes a breath and nudges her horse down the track. Dirt and mud explode beneath Snowball’s hooves, the crowd’s screams fading to a dead silence as her opponent nears. She positions her lance, the tip connecting just above his shield–

Brooke grins as the crash tears through the air, laughing to herself as the knight hits the ground, mud splattering up his armor and pristine white cloak, the golden rose of the Mateo crest awash in brown. Only a fool would wear a white cloak in a jousting match, and Brooke knows it serves him right.

Brooke almost lurches out of her saddle. She won. Her years of cuts and bruises and pain from battle training with Patrick paid off, and she won’t have to hide every last crumb of food so people don’t steal it from her, won’t have to shiver in the stable anymore. She’ll have a real bed, maybe even a real home, in the castle that she’ll fight to defend. She’s proved every customer who came to the forge and said a girl had no business with swords wrong, and it feels almost as good as the gold.

A lull in the stands gives way to mutterings and curses, punctuated with hesitant claps over the biggest tournament upset in decades. Brooke smiles beneath her helmet. No one would put money on an unnamed knight with a blank breastplate, and she’s guessing she cost people a lot of gold. That’ll teach them to bet against her.

The princess stands, and silence reigns once more. “As you know, this year’s winner will be appointed an official member of the royal guard. Would the winning knight please come forward?”

Brooke’s stomach twists more than it did during the joust, suddenly aware of every eye in the arena on her. Let them look, a whispering brave voice, her voice, comes through. You won. You deserve it. She trots over to the dais, the steps stretching in front of her until she finally reaches the top and sinks to her knees before the princess.

Brooke can’t see well through the slit in her helmet, but the princess’s small frame–Brooke doubts Vanessa would even reach her shoulder–drips with confidence and charm and something Brooke can’t place. Kindness, she realizes. It’s not something Brooke has seen often, not something she knows how to recognize, but it fits the hopeful, awed tone villagers use when talking about the princess, confident she’d rule as well as her father, who died last spring and had one of the grandest funerals in centuries.

“Would you please remove your helmet?” Princess Vanessa asks gently, and the fact that she asks rather than commands makes Brooke think the villagers are right.

Brooke’s shaking hands slide up the metal, releasing a spray of sweat from her soaked hair and launching gasps from the nobles around her. They clearly didn’t expect the tall, bulky armor to be filled out by a girl, especially not with hair as short as hers.

Brooke blinks wildly as she adjusts to full sight again, the word exploding with color and noise around her, and one good look at the princess explains why people fight tooth and nail for a glimpse of her in her carriage when she passes through the towns.

The princess’s rosy cheeks bloom against smooth skin, sun-baked and as golden as the Mateo crest. Tiny strands of soft brown hair spring forward in the heat, glowing under the sun. But more than her looks–the very air around seems touched by magic, like being close to her and earning her trust would bathe you in that same magic.

Brooke has never seen any princess or noble up close, but Vanessa fits the part perfectly, even as her mouth drops open and she gasps when she sees Brooke, as shocked as everyone else. No one has said a word yet, everyone just staring at her like some animal, and Brooke lowers her head, her brave voice too distant to be her own voice anymore.

“I think you need to come back to the castle,” the princess says.

—

The walk through the castle is a blur, up twisting staircases and down winding halls, past smooth gray stone and colorful tapestries, before ending in a council room with Brooke kneeling before the queen and princess. Brooke can’t help but feel like she’s on trial, that her entire fate is in the princess’s slim hands. She’s losing her confidence, losing her sureness now that she’s here on her knees and not perched on horseback. Brooke always knows every move she needs to make in the arena, knows each fighting strategy and attack pattern. But she has no idea what her next move is in this pristine council room.

“Please state your name.” The queen is direct and firm, but not mean, and Brooke holds on to hope that she’s not in trouble. There weren’t any rules against girls being knighted, but Brooke reminds herself that this woman makes the rules. If the queen doesn’t like Brooke, she can make her life miserable any way she wants, and no one will question it.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes, Your Majesty.”

“Your age?”

“Seventeen, Your Majesty.”

“And the castle you fight for? The lord sponsoring you? Your crest?”

“I don’t have any of those, Your Majesty.” Brooke says quietly.

“What brings you to the tournament this year?”

There’s a glimmer of suspicion in the queen’s eyes, and a chill runs through Brooke as she realizes why. People entered tournaments on behalf of lords that paid their way, or if they were from other royal families. She’s an unknown knight with no family or lord sponsoring her, clearly straight from the streets, who entered a prestigious tournament and beat members of the royal guard. Brooke couldn’t have come up with a more suspicious story if she tried.

But how can Brooke explain to a woman whose shoes alone cost more than people in the villages make in a lifetime that she couldn’t enter the tournament until now because she had to work in a forge just to pay off her armor, sword, and horse? How would a woman who has everything brought to her understand the four years Brooke spent sweating over molten metal, singeing her fingers and straining her muscles, all in the hopes of a title and gold that amounts to mere change for a queen?

Still, the condescension is nothing new. She’s faced in it the smirks of men who came to the forge as they realized that even with her height and muscles, Brooke was still nothing more than a girl, and in the whispers that a peasant such as her had no business among the noble ranks of knights.

The queen can look down on her all she wants. Brooke used to burn with shame over people’s words, but she’s learned to let it push her instead of ruin her. She’s wrapped armor around her heart like she did around her body, and both will protect her from the queen’s disapproval. She straightens her back and puffs out her chest. She earned her win, and she won’t let anyone take it away.

“I had other commitments, Your Majesty. But I think you’ll agree I won fairly,” Brooke says. The proper words she tries to use are twisted on her tongue, unfamiliar as a new food in her mouth, but if she has to fight for herself, she will.

“Mother, we had open entry for the tournament, and she did win fairly. There’s no laws prohibiting women from being knights. I would be honored to have such a strong knight in my guard.” The princess’s voice is firm, filled with an awe that no one has ever used when speaking about Brooke. It’s the kind of awe commoners speak about the princess with, and Brooke’s cheeks blaze at the princess holding her in the same regard.

“Very well, Vanessa.” The queen is unreadable, and as Vanessa rises, Brooke realizes they’re dismissed. They’re dismissed, and she isn’t in trouble.

“Come with me, please,” Vanessa says to Brooke.

Brooke leaps to her feet and exits as gracefully as she can with her left knee throbbing in pain. It’s nowhere near Vanessa’s easy grace, the way she glides across the floor and moves through the air like she’s weightless.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes, is it?” Vanessa asks pleasantly.

“J-just Brooke is fine. Your Majesty,” Brooke adds quickly.

Vanessa waves her hand. “Don’t worry about that. Call me Vanessa.”

Another hallway opens in front of them, and another after that, with twists and turns along polished marble statues and gold-framed portraits and tapestries with silks so expensive the fabric shop in Brooke’s village stopped stocking it because no one could afford such finery. How could there be so many rooms in one place? What could you even do with them all?

Vanessa smiles hesitantly. “It’s a lot, huh? Believe me, sometimes I still get lost in here. One time I walked in on the financial advisor in the washroom. That was quite a meeting.” The princess bounces with joy as she talks, letting out infectious giggles that put a smile on Brooke’s face without her lips’ awareness.

They finally stop in front of a door. “I had a bath prepared for you,” the princess explains.

Brooke stiffens. She should have never thought Vanessa was kind. She obviously thinks Brooke is just a dirty street rat, but Brooke can’t be mad because Vanessa isn’t wrong.

“I thought you might like one after all that jousting. It was so hot out, I almost melted. Look at this hair.” Vanessa laughs, gesturing at the frizzy curls framing her face, and Brooke realizes that Vanessa has done this out of kindness, so Brooke can be clean and comfortable.

Brooke cracks a small smile. Maybe the princess really is nice. She stood up for Brooke in the council room, and there’s not even a hint of cruelty in her warm brown eyes. “Thank you.” She pauses as she realizes that the clothes beneath her armor are soaked through with sweat, and her spare set is still in the jousting tent. “Um, Your Majesty, I had a bag–”

“I had it brought up for you. I’ll be here when you’re done, and then we can have dinner.”

Brooke nods, stepping inside the room and gasping at the elephant-sized bathtub. Steam curls above the lemon-scented water and fogs the gold mirror on the wall.

Brooke’s grateful for the fog as she sheds layers of steel and leather. Even with her height that towers over men and the muscles she got early from farm chores, the person underneath the armor is just too vulnerable, too unprotected. With her armor on, she’s in control, invincible, and she knows just what she has to do, knows she’ll win against whoever she’s fighting. She heard people calling her the Secret Knight as she left the arena, and she’d much rather be the Secret Knight than Brooke.

Brooke is just a nobody, an orphan who cried every night her first week at the orphanage, fingers wanting her mother but meeting empty air. But the Secret Knight doesn’t cry, doesn’t let anything bother her or make her feel small. The Secret Knight fights bravely and wants to protect the princess, wants to be a hero like in the stories her mother used to tell her.

She touches the smooth gold ring hanging from her neck, her last piece of home. A way to hold on to what she had: hot, sticky summers on the farm, eating fresh bread dripping with warm honey as she fed the chickens and brushed the horses.

That’s gone now, she reminds herself. Patrick told her to remember where she came from, and she will, even though she’s grateful she dug herself out of that place and never has to go back.

She hisses with pain as her knee hits the air, swollen and bruised a brilliant purple. Nothing’s out of place, so she’ll manage. She’s learned to take pride in injuries, just like Patrick taught her, because they meant she was learning and fighting well.

The hot water soothes her battered muscles, takes away some of the ache deep in her bones. The tub is big enough for her to stretch out her long limbs and still not even touch the sides. She sinks below the water and lets the warm darkness rush over her like a blanket, enjoying every bit of heat. She wishes she could stay curled up under the water forever, in a warmth she would never lose, weightless and without worry, safe from the world. She stays under until her burning lungs force her to surface.

Brooke scrubs her skin raw with a bar of soap, trying to erase every bit of muck and sweat. Her heart sinks when she looks at her hands, calluses rough on her fingers and palms, old white burn marks from forge metal dotting her wrists, the gray tinge to her fingertips and the dirt caked under her nails, the dust and grime of the streets laying claim to her no matter how hard she scrubs. Burnt fingers and dirty hands are a badge of honor at the forge, signs of a good job, but that pride in her work has no place here among the royals’ polished hands and manicured nails.

She can layer on the lavender soap like icing on the chocolate cakes she could never afford, but what’s underneath will never be as sweet.

She pulls on her spare set of clothes, black pants with only one patch and a flowy white shirt. Her best things, but nowhere near fit for dining with a princess.

Vanessa smiles when she opens the door, and Brooke nervously returns the gesture.

“Dinner’s set. You must be hungry. I know I am.”

Brooke is, her stomach hollow and rumbling now that the excitement of the tournament has passed. She didn’t even eat breakfast, giving her last apple to a young boy she saw on the way to the castle, and her mind is lost in food as they walk down the hall.

Brooke gasps.

The table overflows with food: crispy golden chicken beside steaming roast pork, bowls of colorful vegetables, crusty bread, and pitchers of gravy. Brooke’s stomach gives a renewed growl, but she almost loses her appetite at the golden plates and mound of silverware. She’s dining with a princess, after all. Surely there’s rules to follow, and she knows none of them.

There were different rules for eating in the streets. If there were people around, you had to eat as fast as possible so nobody stole your food. But if you were in private, your food kept secret, you had to make things last as long as possible. Brooke has lasted for days on a single piece of bread. There’s enough food here to get her through a month.

Vanessa uses the smaller fork for vegetables, kindly meeting Brooke’s eye as she does.

“So,” Vanessa begins, “Do you live in one of the villages?”

Brooke’s not sure if Vanessa’s asking out of curiosity, or if the queen’s suspicion has rubbed off on her, but Brooke has no idea how to speak with a princess and this seems the easiest route.

“Yes, Your Majesty. In Greenville.”

Vanessa nods. “I’ve passed through a few times. I’ve never visited, though.”

Brooke shrugs around a mouthful of the best chicken she’s ever tasted. “Not much to visit.” She used to think the lush green fields and rusty red barn of her farm were the whole world, the only world she needed, with tomato vines reaching toward the sky and the bleating of sheep in her ears, all contained within an old wooden fence. It wasn’t until she was in the village properly, in a cold orphanage cot instead of her thick farmhouse blankets, dreaming of sparkling armor and a gleaming sword, that she realized how small her world really was.

“Do you work there as well?”

“I work in a forge there, making weapons and armor. The owner used to be a swordsman. He trained me.”

“Well, he certainly did a good job,” Vanessa says with a grin. “I’ve never seen someone fight as well as you. You were incredible out there.”

Brooke’s face is on fire. She knows she’s an excellent knight–knows from Patrick taking her on at 13, from the reluctant praise she earned from him in her training, from finally beating him when they sparred. Without the advantages others have, she can’t afford to doubt her abilities, to doubt whether she’d win the tournament, and she doesn’t. She knows how good she is, but to hear it from Vanessa, who’s grown up around knights and battles, means something else entirely. Of all the knights Vanessa has seen, she’s noticed Brooke, picked her out as the best one, and pride stirs happily in her stomach, bringing a smile to her face.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Brooke manages.

The meal continues in a happy silence until Brooke is ready to burst, but then a servant brings in lemon cakes and she finds room for the tart sweetness.

Vanessa takes a breath after the dishes are cleared. “Tomorrow you’ll meet with the guard. We have a feast for my birthday coming up, and they’ll prepare you for that. I’m planning to appoint you my personal guard, if that’s all right with you.” Her face is so hopeful that Brooke can’t deny her. It’s her duty to protect Vanessa, after all.

“We should go to bed now,” Vanessa suggests.

Brooke rises with her, only to stagger as her bruised knee gives out. She just hopes Vanessa didn’t see. None of the knights in the stories ever let an injury stop them, and she doesn’t want there to be any reason why she can’t serve on the guard.

“Are you hurt? You’re limping.” Vanessa’s voice radiates concern, her hand hovering near Brooke’s arm. The gesture makes Brooke smile a little, Vanessa being so concerned that she’d try to hold up someone nearly twice her size.

“I’m fine.”

“Let me have the medic check you,” Vanessa offers.

“I’m fine. You don’t have to do that. Please,” Brooke begs in a small voice. She’s never been to a medic before, and the idea of some stranger poking at her knee terrifies her, though she can’t admit that to the princess. Knights aren’t afraid of anything, and they saved people and won battles even when they were hurt. Brooke won’t let a little bruise stop her from serving the kingdom.

“How about if I look at it?” Vanessa asks quietly. “You shouldn’t be in pain.”

She’s sincere. Brooke can tell because of how rare sincerity is. Vanessa really doesn’t want her to be hurt, and Brooke thinks of what an odd princess she is.

Brooke agrees, and Vanessa tells her to sit before leaving the room and returning with an ominous black bag that makes Brooke gulp in fear of what might be inside. She’s heard that medics have a lot of sharp instruments. But she’s stronger than fear. She’s a knight, after all.

Vanessa takes the chair next to Brooke. “Put your leg in my lap,” she says.

Brooke hesitates. She’s not sure how clean her pants are, and she doesn’t want to ruin Vanessa’s dress.

“Don’t worry about the dress. I hate this one anyway,” Vanessa says, like she’s reading her mind, and Brooke obeys, stomach fluttering as Vanessa rolls her pants up, exposing muscled skin dotted with bruises.

Vanessa’s expression is unreadable as she takes in the mess of blue and purple around Brooke’s knee, and Brooke keeps as still and stiff as a statue. It’s bad enough she’s letting the person she’s supposed to protect give her medical care. She won’t show any signs of pain on top of it.

“I’ll just put on some cream and bandage it.” Vanessa’s hands are soft and delicate as they rub cool white cream over Brooke’s knee, some of the pain easing at the touch. Brooke doesn’t know if the relief comes in the form of cream or Vanessa’s gentle touches, but she’s grateful for it either way.

“All done. Does it feel any better?”

“A lot better,” Brooke says truthfully. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Vanessa stands, gesturing for Brooke to follow. They walk down more halls, and Vanessa walks next to Brooke rather than in front, glancing over every few seconds like she’s expecting Brooke to fall. It’s strange to have the princess beside her like an equal, and even stranger to be on the receiving end of a worried gaze. It makes something twist in Brooke’s stomach, a fluttering sensation she’s unfamiliar with.

“Here’s your room,” Vanessa says. “I had your stuff brought up.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Your M–Vanessa.” It’s the first time she’s said the princess’s name, and she likes the way it hangs in the air, the softness of it in her mouth, the way it brings a smile to Vanessa’s face. Somehow, it carries more power than Vanessa’s official title, making her not just a crown and a throne, but a real person with a real name that she probably got while squirming and crying in her mother’s arms.

“Good night, Brooke.”

Yet again, Brooke finds her jaw dropping open when she steps inside. A sliver of moonlight shines through gold-framed windows, illuminating an enormous bed with roses carved into the polished wood bedposts. Thick white blankets are heaped on the bed, a cloud among the gleaming mirrors and oak wardrobe taller than her. Some part of her registers that this is just a spare bedroom, nowhere near as nice as the princess’s.

She wrestles her boots off and tugs off her clothes and collapses into bed, wriggling under the covers with a sigh. She melts into the pillow and tugs the blankets up to her chin. It’s so quiet in here, a silence Brooke hasn’t had since the farm. There’s no horses whining in the night, or villagers shouting, or rickety carriages rumbling over dirt, carrying fancy goods most people couldn’t afford to fancy places most people would never see.

But she made it. She got out of the dust and dirt that clouded her eyes and filled her lungs. She’s here now, full to bursting with pride and knowing she’ll prove herself tomorrow, the silence as pure and clean as the air around her.

Brooke never thought she could sleep in such silence again, but she’s warm, with a full stomach and Vanessa’s smile to fill her mind, and she drifts off in seconds.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #knight au #chivalry fell on its sword #athena2 #concrit welcome #tw mild violence #submission

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