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leviathanspain · 1 year

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one night only

eddie roundtree x dunne!reader

synopsis: your entire adolescence was being in love with eddie, and now as an adult you have to learn that love is a cruel thing

a/n: i got carried away writing this so it’s way more than just an eddie fic? it’s very angsty and very much not your happy ending, at least with eddie because he’s an ass in this

you practically screamed as you and camila fell into the van that held your two brothers and their band mates.

you had fallen into eddie’s lap, his face soft surprise as he helped you up. “boys.” you greeted your brothers who’s surprise overtook their features.

y/n dunne: our parents weren’t so happy to be having their teenage daughter on the road with a bunch of guys. but it helped that two of them were her overly protective brothers.

billy dunne: was i concerned? not as much as i should’ve been. i was sort of focused on camila.

graham dunne: i guess you could say that i took responsibility of her. she wasn’t quite the kid anymore but she still had a lot to learn about life.

you had decided to take on the challenge on managing the band. so far, getting gigs wasn’t getting any easier and the band was only getting worse. but at the end of the day, there was always someone who put a smile on your face.

you had gone out back to smoke, hoping that it would clear your mind, but instead you found the bane of your existence and the main reason you even left town.

“eddie.” you didn’t expect to see him out there but there he was, in his shining nighttime glory.

“hey y/n,” the sound of a chair being dragged over dirt and sand was heard and in front of you, “have a seat.”

you sat down and watched eddie take out another cigarette from his pack and hand it to you. you took it gratefully and waited for him to light it.

as the lighter flickered in his hand, you leaned forward with the stick in your mouth. silently you waited, and eddie lit it, but you held burning eye contact with him, before inhaling and smiling at him.

silence met the action and you flicked the cigarette, “i managed to get us a good gig, no weddings this time.” you promised and eddie laughed, “are you sure? cus the last gig-“

“was a bust. but i’m learning as i go, same as you guys.” you defended yourself and eddie laughed, “good girl.” he encouraged you, but all it did was leave you with a hunger.

y/n dunne: i could’ve died with eddie roundtree i love you written on my forehead and he wouldn’t take the hint.

karen sirko: everyone but eddie knew it.

you didn’t know what had come over you. one moment, you were in your room trying to get some sleep after a long day of arguing with club owners on the phone to drinking until the sun came up with the band.

y/n dunne: i wanted his attention. took me years to admit why i did what i did that night.

your hands were entangled in the fabric of his shirt. the man dancing against you was nameless to you, just a man you couldn’t resist the feeling to push up on. you had looked around to find eddie but he was long gone.

disappointed filled your head and you felt like you wanted to cry, but that was the alcohol already taking over. the man you danced with noticed the drop in mood and grabbed your waist pulling you in, “wanna get out of here?” his gruff voice whispered in your ear and as you looked around once more, you had agreed, feeling him pick you up.

billy dunne: she didn’t come home for two weeks, and when she did, it was with a marriage license and a raging coke addiction.

y/n dunne: i like to call it my daisy jones days.

graham dunne: i guess after dealing with your sister like that, you learn a thing or two for whoever’s next.

you dragged your bags to the door and knocked loudly. the weight of the bracelets on your hand made for an even noisier knock. after a few more moments knocking, the doors finally opened, eddie standing on the other end.

y/n dunne: i had hoped that i wouldn’t have to see him so straight off the bat. but i guess things happen for a reason.

he was shocked, plain and terrible shock was on his face as he stepped out of the way to let you in, “y/n! where have you been?! we have all be worried sick.” it was a rushed embrace as he hugged you and you quickly pulled away. you ignored his question and instead changed the subject, “where are my brothers? are they home?”

y/n dunne: it was seven in the morning, of course they were. i just couldn’t do it. i couldn’t talk to him like nothing, even if he didn’t know that i loved him, i did.

the sound of more bags being dragged into the house tore eddie’s attention away from you. as you left to wander the house, eddie was left to greet your new husband.

y/n dunne: i had left them alone intentionally. kit wouldn’t like eddie, and i knew eddie wouldn’t like kit.

karen sirko: a little diabolical i would say.

warren rojas: lady killer.

kit stuck his hand out to eddie and smiled tightly, “christopher blackwell. but you can call me kit.” eddie shook his hand, a silence overtaking them.

eddie roundtree: y/n had brought home a greek god. i mean, he had to duck under door frames, he was so ripped you could see the muscles under his shirts, his hair was tossled impossibly good…

karen sirko: i was so jealous. he was practically etched in stone.

graham dunne: i was pissed.

shouting heard distantly had filled the awkward silence between the two of them. eddie turned to look at the incoming figures from the hallway, “i’m here now, billy! i refuse to believe you even noticed i was gone!”

billy dunne: sad thing was she was right. graham had told me a week later.

billy was already readying another argument when eddie stood up from his seat and cleared his throat. “billy, have you met kit, your sisters husband?”

eddie roundtree: billy was pink for the rest of the day. i had never seen him so mad.

graham dunne: it was definitely a day to remember.

billy dunne: that day she came home with him was the day i got my first gray hair.

you grabbed kit’s hand after billy’s outburst, “let’s go? i’ve got a friend who’s got a place for us to stay at.”

your husband nodded, “should i load the car up again?” you nodded quietly, clearly upset over billy and having to see eddie, you needed to be free of this house, at least for a little while.

as kit began to load the bags up again, you ventured down the hall to your bedroom, grabbing all the remaining belongings and stuffing them into bags you found all over your room.

as you turned to leave, giving the room one last look, you nearly fell over at seeing eddie, “how long you’ve been standing there?”

eddie shrugged, “long enough to get ask if you’re sure about what you’re doing?”

you laughed, “really, roundtree?”

eddie raised his eyebrow, “what?”

you shook your head, “you don’t get to say that. you don’t get to have an opinion on how i live my life, because u like you, i’m living it for me, not my bandmate’s girlfriend!”

karen sirko: having to hear that argument while you’re ‘sleeping’ in your bed was rough.

camila dunne: i didn’t even know she had come back, only saw the back of her dramatic escape.

silence filled the space, eddie because of pure shock and yours because of regret. but it was too late now. you pushed past him, dragging the bags full of your belongings, you didn’t even say goodbye to your brothers as you threw yourself into the car, kit’s foot already slamming the gas as the two of you disappeared.

graham dunne: that day still haunts me. there’s so much that i wished i could’ve done differently. but we were different people back then, and we had other priorities.

billy dunne: i was hard on her because i knew her, i knew that this was a life lesson she needed to learn.

it had been months since you’ve seen the band. you had heard their song on the radio and fought the urge to call them. you wanted to, congratulate them on the feat they achieved without you. but the way you left things always had you hanging the phone up.

y/n dunne: i didn’t know who i was. i suppose i never really did. i was so lost during those days.

kit blackwell: the drugs were killing her. i would come home to her passed out in the bathtub, the lines next to her on the toilet seat.

the final cry for help was when he couldn’t wake you up. the water wasn’t working, and slapping you awake wasn’t either. taking the chance, he grabbed you, tossing you into the car before speeding away for the hospital.

y/n dunne: he saved my life that day. he wasn’t even supposed to be home and he found me..

kit blackwell: i knew something wasn’t right. one of those days it would happen, and that day it did.

the band had to find out about your overdose from your husband, who had hesitated to even contact them.

graham’s knuckles were white as he hung the phone up, the rest of the band looking at him with raised eyebrows, “what happened?”

graham shook his head, using a hand to cover his mouth, he paused before speaking, “y/n overdosed. she’s being discharged into rehab today. kit just called.”

eddie roundtree: was i mad? of course i was. but i was even more mad because i never knew she had been doing drugs in the first place.

the recovery had been slow and hard. everyday was hard and your temper had worsened. your husband took most of the hits, constantly arguing with you, until you’d apologize and tell him what was really bothering you.

“i’m sorry.” you’d finally break, tears welling as he opened his arms, always ready to receive you.

kit would hug you tightly, kiss you and nod that it was okay, because to him this was sickness and in health.

y/n dunne: i was an awful wife. i didn’t know how to cook, i couldn’t clean very well..

kit blackwell: she was perfect. i didn’t care of her faults, because to me she was perfect.

more months passed and you had finally reached out. kit had begged you to, knowing it would help your final stage of recovery by reconciling with the people you had hurt.

so there you were, outside their doorstep with another secret.

y/n dunne: i guess being dramatic has become my thing over the years.

kit blackwell: i didn’t want to send her over alone. but i guess she wasn’t really alone.

you could see your bellybutton stick out from under the dress. you rubbed a hand down your belly as the door opened.

karen greeted you, a wide smile on her face as she pulled you in for a hug. she hadn’t even noticed the protruding belly that when she bumped against it, she had let out a gasp.

“oh my god!” she was practically jumping off the walls as she realized.

karen sirko: i had never been happier for someone. she was clean, she was healthy, color in her skin, i mean what more could we have asked for?

y/n dunne: i was around twenty or so weeks but i was showing by twelve weeks, so i looked farther along than i was.

billy and graham had mixed reactions. they were your big brothers, how could they not be upset? but slowly, after a long talk with them, they had come around.

“just picture it. uncle graham.” you had nudged your brother and he smiled, “i guess it’s not that bad.” he leaned down to your belly, “uncle graham here..”

you laughed and pushed him away gently, “graham!” and graham erupted into a laughing fit that had you and the rest of the band laughing as well.

billy dunne: to be honest i wasn’t happy. i didn’t think she was ready, but i wasn’t either when camila told me about the baby just a few weeks later.

y/n dunne: he called me to apologize for things he didn’t even say. i accepted it because it’s billy, hardly does he ever apologize.

eddie’s reaction was almost like a silent horror. your absence has filled him with an unknown feeling. he couldn’t fill it, no matter how much booze he tried or how many girls he fucked, it was still a huge aching hole.

eddie roundtree: i was blinded by camila. i didn’t see y/n right in front of me until it was too late. but i think in the back of my mind i always knew.

warren rojas: it was obvious. i’ve seen it all from the beginning anyway but basically, y/n had been in love with eddie since we had been practicing in their garage. eddie was in love with camila for god knows how long-

y/n dunne: i had stopped loving eddie the day we fought. i couldn’t do it anymore, i wouldn’t torture myself any longer.

warren rojas: then she got married and eddie was starting to get jealous and then she got pregnant and that’s when reckless eddie came out.

eddie was like a wound up matchbox car. all he wanted to do was sit and argue all day every day. during practice was when he would antagonize billy the most.

y/n dunne: i had stopped managing them when i left. so i hardly knew what was going on because i was too busy getting ready to raise my kid. so when i get the call…

warren rojas: it was like a car crash. you couldn’t help but keep watching.

eddie’s voice was shaky as he talked, “i’m sorry, i didn’t know and now i do and all i can do is sit and watch you two be happy and have your kid. that should be my kid, i should be married to you.”

kit blackwell: i would’ve killed eddie if she hadn’t begged me not to. i knew she loved him, but her love had changed and she didn’t love him like that anymore.

y/n dunne: i would’ve hung up but he would’ve just kept calling.

you saved yourself the trouble and made kit drive you down to the house. you didn’t even bother to greet the band, making way to the back porch.

eddie was slung out over one of the chairs, a cigarette lazily hanging out his mouth and beer bottles tipped over.

he looked up at you with a wide smile, “baby..”

y/n dunne: i would’ve punched him but i was also heavily pregnant so..

kit blackwell: i did it for her.

you had left the house crying, clutching your own arms as a way to comfort yourself as you made way to the car, “kit.” you sobbed, and he got out the car quickly, “what happened?”

warren rojas: he was an asshole to her man. i had never felt so disappointed than watching and hearing what he said to her. he had practically yelled at her for not waiting for him and for marrying some other man.

graham dunne: by that point, i had actually taken a liking to kit. he cared about her, like really cared. no man would stay after what happened with her and rehab. but he was a good man.

billy dunne: i liked kit, and i didn’t like eddie. kind of a no brainer on who’s side i was on.

karen sirko: of course i was on her side. she was my best friend, and i was the future godmother of her child.

camila dunne: i didn’t know what to believe.

eddie had hit the floor with almost no effort. he was a mess, the beer bottle spilling over with him. no one else made a move to help him, not even as kit continued to barrel through the house like a storm, did anyone move a muscle.

warren rojas: i was scared that if i moved i would get punched.

graham dunne: my sister had failed to mention that her husband had gotten into boxing so he knew what he was doing when eddie hit the floor.

kit blackwell: i was pulling my punches.

karen sirko: it was incredibly romantic.

you and your husband had sped away quickly after, still crying in the passenger seat, it had been a painful drive home.

y/n dunne: i guess i should mention that eddie and i had slept together the first month we were out there. we swore we would never tell anyone but considering we were fighting all the time, it was obvious.

warren rojas: of course i knew. i had caught them! but it was a drunk mistake, at least they said it was.

y/n dunne: it was. but he was drunk and i was stupid. i thought he loved me and that he had finally seen me for me.

eddie roundtree: it was my fault she got addicted to drugs. my rejection did that to her.

y/n dunne: he said that? oh god no, i got addicted because it was los angeles in the mid seventies.

kit blackwell: he also asked her if she was sure the baby was mine. but she didn’t tell me that until the day after because she knew what i would’ve done.

you had invited the band except eddie over to your house to meet the baby.

y/n dunne: everyone thought kit had asked for eddie not to be invited but i actually made that decision.

karen sirko: was i surprised? not really, but i was even more surprised that he had actually listened and stayed home.

warren rojas: i would’ve supported eddie except he was actually in the wrong this time so i let it go.

the baby in your arms gurgled as kit opened the door. cheers erupted as the band waltzed in, karen going to grab the little baby from your arms.

you shouted “be careful!” as she took the baby outside. graham grabbed your arm and gave you a tight hug, “baby sis, how’s your baby?”

you smiled brightly, “he’s doing good, karen took him out back.” graham nodded and made his way out back.

billy hugged you next and kissed your forehead, “god im so proud of you. i really am.”

y/n dunne: of course i noticed eddie wasn’t there. i just didn’t think he would actually listen and not show up. but was i upset he didn’t go? no. i have a happy memory of my family all together and he didn’t ruin it.

eddie knew staying back was a bad idea, especially when camila had volunteered herself to stay back with him. she was pregnant too, and eddie wondered if making all the women he loved married and pregnant with other people was a method of torture forced onto him by god.

“i should’ve gone.” eddie muttered, as camila sat down next to him.

she shook her head, “she purposefully asked for you not to come. and you wanted to go?”

eddie shrugged, “i usually do that. i think-“

“that you need to get over her? she’s married to that real life ken doll and she’s got a baby. maybe you need to do the same and move on.”

eddie roundtree: none of that was what i wanted to hear. i wanted..

warren rojas: go get her back. steal her from him and run into the hills with the baby. blah blah blah, he had that all rehearsed and memorized and i had to hear his ‘plan’ constantly.

y/n dunne: i think at that point eddie loved me more than i had ever loved him. i was happy! and i think for a moment so was eddie.

the band was taking off. their success put a smile onto your face, especially as their fan base grew. but that still didn’t stop the last phone call you ever got from eddie roundtree.

eddie roundtree: everyone had been so focused on billy and his addiction that i thought of her. i called to tell her so she could talk some sense into him, after all she knew what he struggled with but..

warren rojas: it was a shitshow. i didn’t even know you argue like that through a pay phone.

y/n dunne: there’s nothing more i wish to ever say to him.

“you know, i loved you more than i ever loved anyone? not even camila, who i’ve spent years pining over. but you! you are the light of my life, you are the air that fills my lungs. y/n please don’t do this to me..” he pleaded, his voice was shaky and his hands were white as they gripped the phone.

“i don’t care, eddie. one night, it was one night and even then, it didn’t matter. why does it now? because i’m finally happy? don’t call me anymore.”

y/n dunne: it got worse after that but it doesn’t matter anymore.

kit blackwell: he had told her that he had slept with her because she was desperate.

eddie roundtree: it was so stupid. so stupid.

kit blackwell: that comment had only made things worse.

radio silence from eddie followed. you and kit had made the collective decision to move across the country, for the better of your marriage and your son.

y/n dunne: you think i wanted to stay in california after all that? no. i wanted a fresh start with my family and i got that.

ansel blackwell: new york is my home for me and my siblings. i think it was sort of a blessing in disguise that they moved out of california.

graham dunne: having her not there was definitely hard to get used to. but she was off being happy, and that made it easier for sure.

karen sirko: i had planned to move to new york anyway, so nothing changed for me.

eddie roundtree: are we done? because i don’t have anything else to say. it’s been twenty years.

kit blackwell: best twenty years spent.

y/n dunne: my heart has never been fuller.

#daisy jones and the six #eddie roundtree #eddie roundtree x reader #eddie roundtree x y/n #daisy jones x reader #the six #eddie roundtree angst #daisy jones and the six angst #warren rojas x reader

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diamond-coral · 3 years

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A Game

Summary: Tony suggests a game that you, the unfortunate intern, get dragged right into the center of: who can make a woman cum the fastest?

Pairings: all dark!: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader, Thor x Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader, Tony x Reader, implied natasha x reader

Warnings: DUB-CON/NON-CON (oral: f-receiving, fingering, tiny smidge of analplay) VOYEURISM/EXHIBITIONISM, BLACKMAILING, OVERSTIMULATION. The characters in this story are NOT good people. After reading the warnings, your media consumption is your own responsibility!

As Stark’s party mellowed down and all the guests left, you, the unfortunate intern, were called over to the small group of five Avengers seated in a section of couches.

“Y/n, come!” Thor’s voice boomed.

“Y/n, come!” Sam mimicked, deepening his voice to make fun of Thor’s.

You approached them as the men snickered at Sam’s joke.

“What can I do for you?” you ask, a fake smile plastered on your face.

Stark cleared his throat and raised a brow at you; a silent command.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“A round of drinks please, and add this to Sir Barnes, Sir Rogers, and I’s drinks.” Thor handed you the flask of his Asgardian liquor and you accepted it, hiding the slight nervous tremble of your hands.

“Of course, sir.”

“Someone’s been learning their manners,” Steve taunted, and it took all your restraint to not snarl at him.

“Easy there, Rogers,” Stark interjected, noticing how your fingers clenched Thor’s flask tighter. “Pretty sure Barnes fucked the brat outta her couple days ago when he came back from that shitshow of mission in Bosnia. Got a lot of pent up rage there, Buck?”

“Mission just put me in a bad mood,” Bucky shrugged. “Either way, I don’t think I fucked all the brat outta her. Got anything left for me, doll?”

“I have nothing for you, you self-righteous, ignorant prick,” you spat venomously.

“There she is. I always love a challenge.” Bucky smirked at how your knuckles were turning white around the flask. “Now didn’t Thor ask you to go fetch us some drinks?”

You huffed, opting to bite your tongue rather than lashing out, and spun on your heel toward the minibar.

Three-months ago, you would never have imagined your internship interview at S.H.I.E.L.D to bring you here. Your interview had been conducted by Captain America himself, and just as things began to look promising, it was interrupted by a sharp knock from Tony Stark. Tony had brought Steve into the hall, leaving the door to the conference room open, and you could only sneak glances through the window of the room, hearing Steve whisper about how it was “a question of morality” while they both kept looking back at you.

You got the position, and the next day, Tony sat you down and gave you an offer.

The Avengers needed to be ‘taken care of’, as he put it, and you being a ‘stress-reliever’ would boost morale around the team. Most of the them never had time for the outside world (apparently saving the world was a big commitment?) and were rarely ever able to make lasting relationships. You could accept the position, be compensated monthy, and get to live in the compound, or you could decline, and walk away with your mouth sealed by the confidentiality contract you signed before the interview. Something about S.H.I.E.L.D. work being linked to a lot of top secret information, meaning you weren’t allowed to speak any details of the job to outside parties unless you wanted to get sued for every penny you were worth.

You had been on the cusp of taking the second option before Tony mentioned your sister’s job as S.H.I.E.L.D. as an agent. She was half the reason you’d interviewed for an internship. A couple words from Tony about her possibly falling into a fatal accident on a mission, and you took the position offer in a heartbeat.

You almost overfilled the glass while getting lost in your train of thought. Setting down the bottle of expensive whiskey, you placed the last glass next to the others on the silver tray, and picked it up, gracefully yet begrudgingly making your way back to the small gathering.

“Y/n, finally. We were just talking about who here can make a woman cum the fastest.”

The complete utter bluntness of Tony’s words caught you entirely off guard, and you tripped over your own feet, stumbling in your high heels to keep the tray of drinks from falling before Sam reached an arm out to catch the tray and another arm to hold your hip and steady you.

You ripped yourself from Sam’s touch without acknowledging or thanking him, to disturbed by Tony’s previous words to do so. You began passing out the glasses of dark liquid. “And you’re telling me this why?” Your voice was flat in hopes of showing Tony you were completely disinterested in any plans he might have.

“Why, we need your aid, Lady Y/n,” Thor answered a little too cheerfully for your taste.

“I won’t be partaking in your little immature competition of toxic masculinity.” You crossed your arms and continued. “It makes it seem that women are nothing but prizes. Games to be played by boys as they fight over the highscore. Toys.”

“Aren’t they?” Steve cocked his head, eyes glimmering with amusement while a smirk painted his face. The rest of the men chuckled at his reply.

“I think HR would be shocked to hear that Captain America is being a sexist dick to a woman in the workplace,” you bit back, but your threat was weak and they all knew it.

“I think HR would be to busy writing a condolence letter to your sisters family if, let’s say, on her mission with Sam tomorrow in Russia, a stray bullet hit her,” Steve replied. A quick reminder at the stakes.

Sam clicked his tongue and shook his head in mock sympathy. “Those darn Russians and their careless aim.”

He abruptly pushed himself off the couch and clapped his hands together. “I wanna go first,” he declared.

“Just remember, you can’t use your dick,” Tony added. “Some of us don’t have super soldier serum enhanced fuckwands.”

“Please never, ever say fuckwand again,” Bucky said, scrunching up his nose. “Besides, the hydra serum didn’t do anything down there.” He waggled his eyebrows while elbowing his enhanced counterpart. “Don’t think I could say the same for this punk here though.”

Steve muttered a ‘shut up’ while the group snickered.

All while they compared sizes like a bunch of teenagers, Sam manhandled you onto the coffee table in the center of the couches. You let out a grunt as you were shoved onto your front, stomach pressed into the tabletop while your pelvis was slammed into the edge.

Sam kneeled behind you and brought up two fingers to your mouth.

“Get ‘em nice and wet for me, baby.”

The men around you went quiet, entranced as you reluctantly took Sam’s fingers into your mouth, sucking on them and swirling your tongue around them.

When Sam finally pulled them out, he looked back at Tony.

“You ready?” Sam asked.

Sam hiked the flowy skirt of your dress up your legs causing you to squirm and pathetically thrash; a desperate attempt at putting an abrupt stop to this stupid game.

“You’re on the clock.”

At Tony’s words, Sam immediately stopped your desperate attempt at worming away from him by catching you by the back of your neck and slamming you back down hard on the coffee table. Much to your disdain, the rough treatment made you wet, and that was the last thing you wanted them to see.

But when Sam pulled your lacy panties down, you could tell it was the first thing he noticed.

“Fuck babygirl, I didn’t need you lubing up my fingers, you’re already drenched,” he noted.

You let out a soft moan as Sam worked two calloused fingers into your pussy. Although they’re thick and long, they were nowhere near the size of his dick and you silently thanked whatever was out there that he wasn’t splitting you in half with it at the moment. Sam released the grip on your neck, moving to settle the hand on your ass before giving it a light squeeze and a slap that elicited another moan from you. While Sam slowly began moving his fingers- twisting, curling, and pumping them- he leaned over you, caging your body under his broad chest, to speak dirty words into your ear.

“Baby, you’re so wet right now, I think you like having them watch you.” Your cheeks burned in shame while he picked up the pace. “You want them to see how well-behaved you are for me? Want them to see how you come on my hand like a good little slut?” he cooed.

Slow pumps now turned to quick thrusts from his skilled fingers and Sam groaned as you fluttered around him.

“That’s it. You’re taking me perfectly.”

Twisting his wrist so his thumb could also strum your clit, Sam was moving so fast you’d easily mistake him for a superhuman.

“Yes, Sam, please,” you cried out, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Uh-uh, babygirl. Wrong word,” he scolded, although his pace never slowed as his fingers brutally fucked into you.

“Daddy!” you screamed. “I’m cumming!”

You chanted those words, cunt clamping down on his merciless fingers. He gave you no reprieve, mercilessly thrusting into you, until you squirted, your release coating his hand and dripping down his forearm. Only when you were almost crying, did he finally remove his hand from your abused cunt.

“Now that-,” Sam stated, grinning while he stood. “-is how you make a girl come.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever Birdbrain.” You don’t have any strength to look at Tony as he speaks. “Give her a couple minutes before whoever’s next.”

Whatever the conversation was between them (you couldn’t hear it over the buzzing in your brain), it was much too short to your liking. The few minutes Tony gave you only felt like a few seconds before Bucky was getting up.

“Guess I’ll take a crack at it,” he announced, rolling his head from side to side.

“No one says “take a crack at it” anymore, old man.”

“Keep talking when your in last place, Sam,” Bucky quipped, however, his tone was still light.

You felt a metal hand on your hip before you were rolled over onto your back, now facing Bucky while your eyes pleaded with him.

“Please dont,” you croaked.

Bucky just scoffed, kneeling down between your legs and wrapping both arms around your thighs as he pulled you closer.

“Tony?” His hot breath fanned your pussy as he spoke and you inhaled sharply at the feeling.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Stark said.

Bucky wasted no time the moment the words left Tony’s mouth. He started by licking up from your hole to clit over and over, the lazy stripes already driving you wild. Letting go of one of your thighs to bring his flesh hand to your pussy, he pulled the hood of your clit back, pausing his licking to blow on your engorged bud.

“Such a pretty pussy, doll,” he murmured before turning his head around and speaking louder. “You guys seeing this?”

He moved his head out of the way to showcase your glistening folds. A couple groans from the men on the couches had you trying to close your legs, but Bucky’s grip was like steel (especially considering his hand was metal).

“Wasting time Buck,” Steve commented and Bucky just rolled his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure I can still beat Sam and have time left over,” he scoffed.

Bucky directed his attention back to your folds, this time, diving in right away. He still had the hood of your clit pulled back as he encased the bud with his lips causing you to writhe at the intense sensation. And yet, you were held down with practically no effort as he methodically played with you. Each time he groaned against you, you let out an embarrassingly loud moan, and by the time he started sucking on your clit, you were wrecked. Your hand found home in his brown locks of hair while he quickly moved his tongue back and forward on your sensitive nub that was trapped in the vacuum of his mouth. The coil inside you wound tighter and tighter, and suddenly, while Bucky began shaking his head from side to side, it snapped. Your clit pulsed rapidly while encased in his hot mouth, and you screamed, legs locking around his head while your hand held his head in place. He worked you while you rode out your orgasm on his face until you could barely move.

Bucky got up from his knees, grinning down at you, so weak, you couldn’t muster it in you to glare back.

“Now I think I really fucked the brat out of you,” he said. “What was that?” He cupped his ear. “Did I hear a thank you sir?”

“Thank you, sir,” you whimpered weakly.

You were so fucked out, all the next events were but a blur.

Thor had feasted between your thighs the same as Bucky but was more sloppy, although, your body seemed to love ‘sloppy’. His tongue was constantly lashing and worming around your clit, the wet muscle accompanied by lewd slurping sounds, and in record time, Thor’s suckling and licking had you tensing and building up so much that your orgasm felt like a waterfall crashing over your body.

Steve was just as methodical and precise as Bucky, also pumping his fingers slowly in and out of your pussy. He was sweetly slow, dragging out your pleasure to the point where you were begging him to come. His warm tongue dragged across your sensitive cunt, while another hand reached up to grab a breast and pinch a nipple. You felt like your body was on fire. It wasn’t until Steve had inserted a thumb into your ass that he finally allowed your body sweet sweet release.

Your head span as finally collapsing on Tony’s floor, listening to the muffled voices above you.

You didn’t even register Stark’s words as he announced Thor had won and Steve had come in last. You barely even heard Steve’s defense that he was just enjoying himself too much in the moment.

Although ten-minutes later you had a somewhat sense of clarity, after hearing their conversation, you wished you were just unconscious. Even better, dead.

“I’m tellin’ you man, I made her squirt. She definitely came the hardest with me.” Sam’s voice rang.

“Dude- she was literally grinding against my face and holding me in a headlock with her legs,” Bucky argued.

“I literally made the brat beg to cum,” Steve inserted.

“I’d say that by bringing her to release the fastest, it was most intense with me,” Thor declared, victoriously.

You were on the brink of tears as they talked about you. Until another voice cut into the room. A female voice.

“What do you boys think you’re doing?”

It was Natasha. Your head jolted up as you felt a glimmer of hope surge through you.

That glimmer of hope was quickly extinguished at her next words.

“Not inviting me to the boy’s party?” she scolded. “You think a girl might beat you by a landslide?”

Nat squatted down next to you, running a soft hand on your cheek.

“Well you’re right. I’ll beat Thor’s record and cut it in half.”

She began unbuttoning her pants.

“And I’ll do it while riding her face.”

#sam wilson x reader #bucky barnes x reader #thor x reader #steve rogers x reader #dark!sam wilson #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky x reader #dark!tony stark #dark!natasha x reader #dark!sam wilson x reader #dark!thor #dark!steve smut

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rebeccccccaaa · 3 years

Text

𝐈𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞

________________________

ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ ʙᴀʀɴᴇs x ᴘʏʀᴏᴋɪɴᴇᴛɪᴄ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ: (ANON) heey!! Can you please write something (possibly smut pls) in which Bucky falls in love with Tony's adoptive daughter but they have to keep it a secret?

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: SMUT 18+, fluff, age gap (you’re like mid-twenties and Bucky’s early thirties) angry Tones, Steve being such an asshole lmao

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ’s ɴᴏᴛᴇs: I imagine that you were like thirteen to fifteen during the attack in new york and your parents uh… died ig and Tony took you in and they find out you got super powers teehee

________________________

It started when the Avengers had their first movie with Bucky as a new recruit. He had completed his evaluations and was applicable to join the team. That’s when he met you for the first time.

You were this beautiful ball of craziness and light and he couldn’t take his eyes off you. You were tipsy, he could tell and every sudden burst of laughter or even a sneeze you’d spark a flame setting something on fire making you laugh even more.

He practically fell in love with you that day.

Weeks later he chalked it up and asked Steve more about you. He told Bucky that your parents had died when you were young during the attack on New York almost ten years ago now and Tony took it upon himself to take you in and protect you.

“How did you guys know about her powers?”

“We didn’t. Few days after she moved into the Tower she sneezed during breakfast and set her food on fire. I don’t think she knew about them either.”

“Who were her parents?”

“We don’t know. She told us their names but it’s like they don’t exist; no medical history, socials, nothing.”

“Weird.”

You were a mystery, a beautiful mystery. But one thing everyone was that you were Tony’s daughter. Adopted, but still. And Tony still didn’t like him. It was an argument on it’s own to even let near the compound; telling him that he wanted to date his daughter would send him into cardiac arrest.

So you guys are sneaking around.

Of course you noticed his shy and lingering eyes. You were flattered. You agreed a bunch that Bucky was one of the most gorgeous men you’ve ever laid your eyes on. You didn’t push anything and waited for him to come to you. And when he did, he came hard, literally.

It started when Steve was away on a mission in Berlin. Bucky had woken up from a nightmare and he hadn’t had one in weeks. During his time here, because of his infatuation with you, he grew close to you.

You laid under him so perfectly; like you were meant to be there. The way you bit your lip to muffle your moans so you wouldn’t wake anyone. The way your eyes fluttered when he hit that particular spot. The stinging from your nails dragging down his back.

“Fucking hell, you feel so good wrapped around me, doll,” he grunted as he continued to thrusted in and out of you.

“Oh god, Bucky,” you moaned before pulling him down to connect your lips together.

“Ugh, your dad’s gonna kill me,” he grunted.

“Fuck him,” you chuckled breathlessly.

Breakfast the next morning was foul. Everyone was eating as normal and Steve was set to fly back in from Berlin, but y couldn’t shake the awkward tension between you and Bucky. Both girls could sense that something had happened and when you told them later that day they nearly screamed like teenage girls.

“You can’t tell anyone! Especially Tony!”

“We won’t say anything,” Nat giggled, “He’s gonna kill you.”

“Not if he kills Bucky first,” Wanda snorted.

Since then every lingering touch, every persistent stare, you found yourselves in either room making the most of however many minutes you had together until someone came looking for you. Your chest pressed against his, combing your fingers through his hair as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“You’re absolutely irresistible, doll,” Bucky whispered against your ear.

“Fuck, we’re gonna get caught one day,” you panted.

“I know but we haven’t yet, so be a good girl and turn around for me so I can that gorgeous ass while I fuck you from behind.”

You turned over, getting on your hands and knees instantaneously feeling a pleasurable sting from Bucky’s hand on your cheek. He quickly soothed the pain by rubbing his hand over the red mark before gliding up your spine to softly rub your back.

He slowly slid back in through your folds eliciting a moan from you both. His pelvis slapping against your soft skin, the sound echoing lewdly through the room. Your arms gave out and your face buried into the sheets under you letting Bucky hit deeper inside you making you nearly scream.

You threw your head back up covering your mouth to muffle the moans. Bucky bit his lip harshly in an attempt but wasn’t as successful as you were. His hips snapped violently, stuttering every now and then as he got closer to a release.

“God, Buck! I’m gonna cum! Fuck!” you whined.

“Shit,” Bucky groaned before spilling inside you, coating your walls with hot cum.

He fell forward pressing soft kisses to your slightly sweaty skin. He lifted himself and turned you around, settling between your legs lazily kissing you in your post sex bliss. You looked so pretty with your hair spread out on the sheets and the marks that littered your neck and your breasts. He truly fell in love with you and you did for him too.

“Y/n,” he whispered looking intimately into your eyes.

“Bucky,” you whispered back with a grin.

“I lo-”

“Hey, Buck. I’ve been looking for- What the fuck!” Steve barged through the door to find you two nude in each other's arms. You tucked your face in your shoulder away from the door in shame and Bucky saw red. He reached above your head immediately and threw as hard as he could at the intruder.

“Get out!”

Steve slammed the door shut with wide eyes and furrowed brows. Did he see what he thinks he saw? He went to the lab to look for Tony.

“Hey, Tony, do you know about Y/n and Bucky?”

“Excuse me?” he sassed.

“I uh- I found them together. In Buck’s room. Uh... naked.”

Tony slowly raised his head with an evil expression staring directly into Steve making the big super soldier feel timid.

“What!”

You and Bucky cleaned yourselves up and changed as soon as Steve left. You sat next to each other on his bed unsure of what’s to come next.

“Maybe Steve won’t say anything?” Bucky shrugged.

“My dad’s gonna kill me,” you sighed.

“Hey, I won’t let him-”

“Get the hell away from my daughter!” Tony shouted slamming the door to Bucky’s bedroom opened; behind him stood and guilty Steve and you felt rage.

“You fucking told on us!” you spiraled fire around your fingers ready to fight for revenge. Your hands and arms glowed bright red and orange and yellow and pits of fire glowed in your eyes. Steam practically

“Hey calm down,” Bucky grabbed your waist. He stepped in front you and lifted your chin to look at him. The second your eyes met with his, your entire body cooled down and you felt yourself fall in the ocean that are his eyes; as if a wave had dissipated the fire you created.

“Hey, what the hell is going on?” Tony fumed.

“Leave her alone. She has nothing to do with this,” Bucky defended.

“The hell she does. You’re sleeping with my daughter!”

“I’m not talking about this; I’m talking about what we have. If it was anyone else, you wouldn’t be having a cow,” Bucky growled.

“Tony,” you stepped forward.

“Dad,” you whispered; Tony's eyes snapped to yours.

“Please, I love him.”

“No,” he couldn’t accept it.

“Well, whether or not you like it, we’re gonna be together.”

“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“We’ll just keep sneaking around like we have been for months.”

“Months!”

“Yes, months. And it would’ve been longer if it wasn’t for you!” you pointed at Steve, who casted his eyes away in guilt.

“Dad, please. I love Bucky so much; and you’re not going to take him away from me,” you cried.

Tony noticed how sincere you spoke. And the way he easily calmed you down; he knew there was love between you two. He wouldn’t be to live with himself if he took something that clearly made you so happy away from you. As much as he couldn’t move past his issues with Bucky he knows that Bucky was right and that this has nothing to do with you.

“I don’t want any more accidents with walking in your private time. You’re lucky it was Steve and not me; I would’ve killed you both on the spot,” he said to you.

“Thank you, Dad,” you hugged him tightly before going back to Bucky’s side.

“And you; if you so much as put her in a bad mood, I’ll fucking kill you,” Tony said before leaving.

“Well, well, well,” Bucky looked at Steve.

“Bucky, leave him alone; it’s not like he almost ruined our lives and tore us apart,” you chuckled.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t think freak out like that,” Steve apologized.

“And why didn’t you lock the door?” he asked.

“Yeah, why didn’t you?” you looked at Bucky with furrowed brows.

“Don’t turn on me, this is not my fault!” Bucky defended as you and Steve shared a laugh.

“Well, I’m happy for you guys. You’re good together,” Steve smiled before walking out and closing the door.

“Wow, Toyn fucking terrifying when he’s in dad mode,” Bucky turned to you.

“Yeah, but he’ll come around.”

“I love you too, by the way.”

“I love you, Bucky.”

==========================

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ: (For all my work)

@mathletemadison

@buckybarnes101

@l-sofiamia-l

@Pluto-grl

Taglist?

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes smut #marvel fics #marvel smut

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arotechno · 3 years

Text

Jughead (2015), Issues 1-6: Discussion and Commentary

"I am like unto a god, Archie Andrews. Respect me as such."

Recently re-typed and ready to go, here is a broad discussion of the first volume of the Jughead reboot comic series. I was originally going to review each issue individually, but given that the first six comprise one story arc, I decided to do the whole volume in one go. That means this is a bit crunched for time and therefore not quite as in-depth as I wanted to go! But I encourage you to read the comics for yourself, if you are able.

This will not be spoiler-free, for the record! The images here are taken from my own copy using my phone, so they're not the best quality! But they also aren't especially crucial to this commentary, so you'll have to bear with me.

I just really like the inside cover art for this volume, alright (it's also the cover of issue 5)? I can't help it, I'm aro, I see heart imagery and something in my brain goes haywire.

When we first meet Jughead at the beginning of Volume 1, he comes off as lazy and apathetic, at least on the surface. After an all-nighter of playing video games, Jughead is dragged to school by Archie. There, they find that Betty has started a new campaign to save Fox Forest, a beloved local greenspace that is being threatened by Veronica’s wealthy father, Mr. Lodge. Jughead is… not very interested in Betty’s cause, to put it politely. It’s not that he doesn’t care about Fox Forest, but he does not believe that Mr. Lodge would be convinced to change his mind by a petition. He tells Betty as such, and she remarks that he lives a very hollow life.

“Man, you’re so cynical,” Archie tells him. “Is there anything you’d actually fight for?”

The answer is yes. What ultimately gets Jughead to fight for something? Food—well, kind of, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

When Archie and Jughead get to class, they learn that the principal of Riverdale High, Mr. Weatherbee, is being replaced out of the blue by a new guy called Stanger. Stanger is a stiff, serious type, and he immediately starts making changes: new uptight teachers, a strict dress code, new bootcamp-esque curriculum, and most importantly, supposedly nutritious slop to replace the food in the cafeteria.

This sends Jughead down a bit of a rebellious path—he’s not a rule-breaker, but he’s perfectly comfortable with bending the rules in his favor while narrowly skirting around getting into trouble. He starts selling burgers in the cafeteria, with the proceeds benefitting Betty’s fundraiser for Fox Forest.

(Hell yeah, Jughead, unionize that student body! Sell those burgers! You have nothing to lose but your chains!)

This stunt gets Jughead on Stanger’s bad side immediately, and a slowly simmering feud between them ultimately boils over when Stanger plants a knife in Jughead’s backpack to get him expelled. Thankfully, his dad is able to talk his sentence down to a week’s suspension, but that doesn’t stop his friends (and his mother) from worrying about him.

As an aside, I’d like to take a moment to appreciate Mr. Jones.

“Something’s off here and I’m not sure what it is, but I am sure Jughead didn’t bring a knife to school. My boy’s weird, but he’s not a criminal.”

I really like this line from him to Betty. He clearly knows his son and is willing to stand up for him, and it’s comforting to me, especially viewing the story through the lens of Jughead being aroace, that Mr. Jones is not at all bothered by his son being a bit on the strange side, as long as he’s still a good kid. Nothing but respect for Forsythe Jones II in this house.

Something fun and unique about this volume in particular is that in every issue, Jughead either falls asleep or passes out, and has an elaborate imaginative dream about the events of the story. In one he’s a pirate, for example, and in another he’s visited by a descendant of Archie’s from the future, who belongs to the time police. But towards the end of the volume, the line between these daydreams and reality seem to blur for Jughead. He comes to the conclusion in one particular nightmare that Stanger is trying to brainwash them all into becoming mindless agents for his evil organization—and then he realizes he may not be that far off from the truth.

Jughead brings this realization—that Stanger is using the school as a sort of training ground for secret agents—up to his friends, and understandably, they aren’t convinced. They worry that the compounded exhaustion of multiple all-nighters playing games and the stress of being suspended has started to get to Jughead, but he vows to prove it to them.

I mean, damn, Betty, that kind of hurts. (Don’t worry, Betty is actually a good friend, as I’m sure we’ll get into later in the series.)

To make a long story short (and to avoid spoiling the entire plot for those who haven’t read it!), Jughead does find proof, and once he does, his friends are immediately on board. They are ultimately able to save the day, and once it’s revealed that Stanger and the new teachers are ex-CIA trying to brainwash the students (no, seriously), Mr. Weatherbee is re-instated as principal and things return to normal.

I’m leaving out a lot of nuanced details, mostly for the sake of time, but there are a lot of surprisingly weighty moments to this first arc, and Zdarsky’s character writing is incredibly endearing and funny, while still hitting the serious moments when it needs to. There’s an interesting underlying commentary in this arc about military recruitment and U.S. propaganda; Stanger says that he specifically chose Riverdale because the students are so average. There’s something to be said here about the way the military industrial complex preys on average or underprivileged teenagers to convince them to serve when they feel they have no better path to take. It’s an almost funnily serious commentary for Zdarsky to make with a seemingly silly and off-beat comic series, and I respect him for that.

(If you recognize this panel, it’s because it appears on the page where Jughead’s asexuality is canonized. What a good page. So good that nobody ever points out this panel.)

By the end of Volume 1, we see that Jughead maybe isn’t as apathetic and careless as he seemed to be. Sure, he got up in arms about food of all things in the beginning, but it stopped being about food very quickly, once he realized that something truly messed up was going on. And it bothers him, deeply—at one point, the gravity of the situation begins to weigh on him so heavily that he nearly gives up entirely, convinced that there is nothing they can do and that they ought to just lie low until they make it out. But he does end up making things right, with the help of his friends, and in the end, he does decide to help Betty out after all. It’s the least he can do, really. You do get the impression that although Jughead’s friends often don’t take him seriously, they’ll always have his back when it counts—and he’ll do the same for them, even if he’ll insist on being a bit snarky about it.

(That slightly cynical attitude is still there, though, and truthfully, Jughead wouldn’t be the same without it.)

To close out, I am just going to share some of my favorite panels/quotes that didn’t fit elsewhere, including some choice Aro Moods. I hope this (admittedly brief) discussion of Volume 1 convinces you to read the comics, and to join me again when I cover the next arc. Until then, cheers to Chip and Erica.

Jughead’s attitude towards Archie’s romantic problems will never not be funny to me. He’s just like “RIP to you but I’m different.”

Kevin. :/ Kevin come on, man. Mr. Zdarsky, sir, this is character assassination. (Jughead’s face in the corner is a reasonable reaction.)

This one’s gone around so many times before (as have a bunch of other aro moments that I don’t think I need to bother re-posting here), but I just think it’s neat. Don’t worry, Betty lets go.

Aaand lastly, I just really like this line from Jughead. “The world is out of our hands, pal. You just gotta make your own weird way in it.” That we do, Jughead. That we do.

#my god the pain i went through to write this #aro #aromantic #aro jughead #ace jughead #aroace jughead #long post #jughead jones #ooohhh i'm gonna make shitterdale stans sooo angry #jughead comics #techno's jughead reread #<- tag for this little series #op

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icequeenbae · 3 years

Text

Daddy’s Struggles (m) | BBH

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Dad!Baek, domestic au, established relationship (duh), a slice of life, fluff, a lil smutty(!)

Warnings: some friskiness between mom and dad if you know what I mean, mentions of teenagers watching porn (I’m not promoting it, you guys lol), also this gets fluffin’ sweet get a bucket in advance

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: Baekhyun overhears your teenage daughter watching porn. You have to handle a small crisis.

Event: the BBH day @supermwritersnet

Author’s Note: This… came out of nowhere:D I blame my dear beta @baekshoney – we'd once discussed the idea of Baek being a teenager’s parent (in relation to a different story). Don’t we all love dilf Baek though? lol Anyways, this is a tiny glimpse into his future as a cute af father and husband <3 Let’s name him puppydad!Baek 😊 I hope this lifts your mood a little on a day like this!

On that note – happy birthday to our genius idol (aka mochi-cheeked hyperactive puppy), I wish that he stays healthy and happy and on the radar throughout the next 2 years (and forever)!! Don’t be too sad, guys, he’s hopefully going to finally lead a somewhat normal life for a bit 💞 Ok, I’ll let you get to it already~

A yawn.

You rubbed your tired eyes and dictated a reminder for tomorrow morning to your AI assistant. It was pretty late and you had your hands full all day with your kids. And while family time was always great, there hadn’t been a spare moment for you to tend to your own business. But two decades of dealing with your hyperactive yet loveable children (and husband) taught you to make the most out of what you got. So you were doing just that, organizing your errands and sorting important emails after everyone had scurried off to their rooms, and your husband — to the shower.

Baekhyun was quite exhausted himself, so you realized he must’ve gotten in the common bathroom by the time you exited the one in your bedroom. He did that sometimes when you locked the door out of habit. Not that he couldn’t come in, it was just… You used to scold him pretty badly for breaking into the bathroom. Picking locks wasn’t something you wanted your juniors to acquire as a habit. They had enough of their daddy’s traits as it was.

The thought made you chuckle. Your eldest son had already outgrown his father by at least five and a half – gotta be precise here! – centimeters (which made daddy very proud, but also a teeny tiny bit jealous). Despite his height, which, you were sure, was going to break the golden 180cm in the next few months, your boy’s build was exactly the same as Baekhyun’s. His shoulders were broad, his hips wide, and his waist was naturally narrow. Legs long and lean, and eyes always mischievous. He was eighteen and already seemed more like Baekhyun’s best friend rather than his child. Being both the hyung and the oppa of the household, he was the most mature out of the bunch, and always a big help to his parents.

Your middle child, your precious daughter, resembled you a lot. Her wavy hair and her big eyes with the longest eyelashes either of you’d ever witnessed. Seriously, that was the first thing Baekhyun’s friends had commented on when they came by to meet your new baby. ‘Is this even normal? Can she see through those? That’s one pretty baby!’ She was even prettier now, at her sweet sixteen, cheeks still a bit chubby, which – just as her button nose – were definitely an homage to her dad. Not to mention her hands that were even more delicate and exquisite than his.

The youngest, your six-year-old son, was a blessing. You weren’t planning to have more children after the first two until you suddenly thought… why not? Cannot say that you weren’t a little bit under the influence at the time. It was one of those rare weekends when your kids had a sleepover at their grandparents’, so you had the whole house to yourself. Deciding to have a domestic date and enjoy shameless daytime drinking, you indulged in a whole glass of wine before both of you were tipsy and giggling, then you added one more to the mix. At that point, all kinds of crazy things were brought up.

‘We should do this more often…’ You informed your partner. ‘This is exciting! We can walk around naked the way we used to before we had teenagers in the house!’

‘I miss our naked Saturdays…’ Baekhyun whined, almost spilling his wine while trying to sip it gracefully. ‘Now I barely even see you naked with your shower locking obsession!’

Pursing your lips, you dismissed his complaint.

‘After that incident… You cannot blame me for my caution.’

The incident was, well, your son needing to use the bathroom while his sister was taking too long and heading to the one in your bedroom. He nearly walked in on… an adult scene.

‘He didn’t even see anything, Y/N-ah,’ your husband grumbled, but you waved him off, downing your drink as if it was a shot of tequila rather than a glass of wine.

‘I don’t see a problem though,’ he blinked at you, not following. ‘We’re alone. Why not… See each other naked again?’

‘Right. We can also- Y/N-ah!’

‘What?’ You eyed his suddenly enthusiastic form with nothing but suspicion.

‘We can create a distraction!’

‘Hm?’

‘A distraction for them. So that they’d be busy with something else while we’re away.’

‘Hmm?’ You still couldn’t locate the source of his excitement.

‘Lemme show you,’ he slurred, tugging on your wrist to get you up and dragging you to the bedroom.

Let’s have another baby – that was his brilliant idea. Had you both not been such poor drinkers, one of you would’ve thought this through.

Nevertheless, you were glad that you didn’t. Because your little angel, who could sometimes be more of a tiny demon, to be frank, was the single sweetest thing to ever exist on planet Earth. He had his entire family wrapped around his little finger, and you – most of all. How could anyone blame you? That troublemaker was the spitting image of his dad and had a personality to match — just as playful and affectionate.

The chill spring breeze from the window licked at the bare skin of your arm, causing you to shiver slightly, coming back from the land of reminiscing. You stretched on the bed, noticing how protruding your nipples became from the cold even while hidden by the gentle fabric of your nightgown. Pulling the covers up, you grunted under your breath, wondering what was taking Baekhyun so long.

Just as you did, the door cracked open, and your husband sauntered into the room.

‘Ah finally, I thought I needed to go rescue you again,’ you chuckled.

That had happened before. He once used the common bathroom to shower before bed and ended up captured by your daughter, who was around six or seven at the time, in the hallway. She then demanded cuddles, knowing that her father was too weak to turn his precious girl down and send her back to bed. You found them both huddled up asleep on the couch, with your husband’s head tilted dangerously to the side. Terrible sleeping postures always had consequences, so you spared him the agony of the next morning, waking him up mercifully and helping to get your little girl to her bed. This was only one of many occasions – Baekhyun was a softie.

This time, however, he was a bit stupefied.

He didn’t react to your remark and seemed like he was going on autopilot when he came closer and sat on the bed.

You lifted the covers, inviting him to join you, and he followed your lead, still staring at the wall across the room.

‘Yeobo,’ you called, getting slightly alarmed. ‘Are you okay?’

He blinked, the stupor breaking, and looked at you with astounded eyes.

‘I- I think,’ he began, making you shift to face him properly. ‘I think I just overheard our daughter watching porn!’

His voice lowered to a whisper by the end of that sentence.

‘Oh my god,’ you whispered back. ‘How do you figure?’

‘I was walking down the hallway, and I thought I heard something from her room. I didn’t fully register what it was, but now that it processed… It was definitely porn!’

The signs of distress on his face almost caused you to break down in a fit of laughter. You held it in with all you got. Fathers and daughters, the eternal struggle.

‘First of all, ew. Aren’t you even a little bit ashamed to be eavesdropping on your kids like that?’ You didn’t let him protest. ‘Also, how do you even know it was porn, you know she sometimes mumbles and whimpers in her sleep. Like someone else we know…’

Giving him a pointed look, you leaned over his chest to turn the lights to the lowest mode, leaving the room dimly lit. It was always effective when you wanted to help him relax.

‘I wasn’t ea- And you think I can’t tell what porn sounds like? There are some generic… sounds. That give it away.’

‘When was the last time you watched it?’ You murmured, eyeing him curiously.

Of all people, you knew best how short his attention span was. Sometimes it could work to your advantage. Like right now, when you needed to de-escalate this before you could reason with him.

‘I- wh- I don’t know, probably when you were pregnant,’ he recalled. ‘The third one was somehow the toughest on me. You looked way too attractive for a heavily pregnant lady, let me tell you.’

‘Heavily pregnant??’ You scoffed, softening right after. ‘Well, you have a point, he was pretty huge. I swear, if he doesn’t grow up to be taller than Chanyeol, I’d be offended. That boy’s giant head prolonged my healing by at least a month.’

Baekhyun sighed and looked up at the ceiling, thinking back to that time.

‘He was the only one who caused you to tear, right?’

‘Yeah. Which is weird, considering that he was my third one. Ah well, I guess I’m not getting any younger…’

‘Aren’t you though? I’m constantly being asked about my pretty young wife,’ Baekhyun smiled at you charmingly. ‘And you only became prettier after the third pregnancy. I say it’s the hormones.’

Your cunning little plan was working. He was incredibly easy to distract.

‘Tell me the truth, was it the boobs? Or my butt? I did gain the most weight with the little daredevil, that’s for sure.’

‘It was all of you. You always looked so sexy when pregnant, I just wanted to have you all to myself,’ he cooed at you. ‘To feed you handpicked strawberries. And smother you with kisses. My beautiful young wife.’

At some point during this conversation, you shuffled closer to each other, now cuddled up snugly on the bed. Your finger slowly traced abstract patterns on his chest, happily exploiting the access to his skin where his pajama shirt was unbuttoned.

‘Ah, you’re just saying that to get under my nightgown,’ you batted your eyelashes at him, and he shook his head.

‘Maybe a little, but that’s true. And it’s not surprising that people are noticing – you are younger than me.’

‘A couple of years is nothing at our age,’ you murmured, bending your knee and moving your leg slightly up his to get cozy.

‘Well, you know what people say… Small kids make parents younger. Wanna have another one?’ He nudged you gently and laughed at the dirty look you gave him.

‘Yeobo- please don’t make jokes like this. I’d rather look for other elixirs of youth than go through that entire ordeal again.’

You knew that he was kidding, but the thought made you shiver.

‘I know, honey, I know. Like I said, you’re not in need of any elixirs.’

At this you relaxed, melting into his shoulder, and guiding his arm to wrap around you, warming your exposed shoulders.

‘Well, Mr Byun, same to you. Still as charming as two decades ago.’

‘Hey, I’d like to think that I’m more charming now. The experience and all.’

‘Who helped you gain all that experience though?’ You poked him lightly, and a low chesty laugh escaped his lips.

‘Of course, it was my one and only, my young, and beautiful, and smart and sexy little wife,’ he punctuated each compliment with a chaste kiss to your cheeks, nose, lips, and neck.

You squirmed in his arms.

‘Ah, you make a woman go mad,’ you purred into his lips mockingly.

He snickered softly, ready to lean in, but then stopped abruptly.

‘Wait a second- What about-’

‘Baekhyun…’ You murmured as he fussed on the bed.

‘I should probably go in there, and-’

‘And what? Embarrass your daughter?’ You held him down. ‘She’s sixteen, honey, it’s just the hormones. We’ve both been there. Let her be.’ You nuzzled his neck, pressing your lips to his sensitive skin lazily.

His mind was growing cloudy again since your hand was now caressing his inner thigh foxily. He’d probably realized what you were doing by now, but you were right, so he allowed you to sway him into giving the idea of an immediate intervention up.

‘Besides, I’m sure you wouldn’t be nearly as appalled if that was our eldest,’ you scoffed and added in an exaggerated tone. ‘Never took you for a sexist.’

‘But- he’s eighteen, and she- she’s my little girl…’ He mumbled in a small voice, hazed further by your not-so-subtle seduction. ‘I can’t let her- watch that-’

‘Don’t worry, yeobo,’ you whispered soothingly in his ear, slipping your hand into his loose pants. ‘I’ll talk to her tomorrow. Without you. No need to traumatize the poor girl, that’s how daddy issues develop.’

‘You should know,’ he bit back meekly, sighing when you finally wrapped your fingers around his semi-hard length.

‘The sass! It’s almost like you still got it, Mr Byun. Care to impress that young wife of yours?’

‘I sure will, you cunning woman,’ he growled playfully, completely giving in to it and attacking your laughing mouth as he lifted the covers over your head.

A/N: Thank you for reading! As usual, feel free to share your thoughts in the comments/ asks, and if you’re new – check out my Masterlist ^^

#theBBHday #baekhyun smut #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun scenario #exowritersnet #supermwritersnet #baekhyun event #baekhyun fanfic #dad!Baek #puppydad!Baek #icequeenbae fics

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psychdelia · 3 years

Text

christmas used to be billy’s favorite holiday. he loved setting up the tree every year with his mom, matching big smiles on their faces as she carried him to set the star on top. he would help her cook and bake, dance around the kitchen with her. she always surprised him with more gifts than he anticipated, and he would give her a card with messy handwriting and glitter and a drawing of the two of them with i love you mommy scribbled on the bottom.

and then she left and christmas joy was replaced with pain. his father screaming and presenting him with fists instead of gifts. and then max and susan came along and she was their little angel. spoiled with gifts and love while he received nothing but hurt.

billy hates christmas now. hates the holidays in general, but christmas the most. spends all day sulking, curled up in bed and crying. neil gets on him about it, maybe smacks him around before leaving him even worse than how he started. he lost all hope that maybe she’ll come back as a christmas miracle, scoop him up and take him away from all the hurt.

his plan for the day was to stay in bed. avoid the world. but then neil came barging in, demanding billy get off his ass and take max to the byers’ for a christmas party. he was stupid to think that he could catch a break after being forced to ‘celebrate’ with them yesterday, which essentially meant being forced to help susan in the kitchen and watch max get showered in love and gifts while he received nothing.

so he got up. threw on a dark green sweater, tight jeans and boots, still not nearly warm enough for hawkins winter. he silently drove max to the house, only looking at her when she didn’t get out after a minute of being parked.

“what.” billy spoke flatly, his first word of the day.

“come and hang out with us.” max rushed out, nervously fidgeting with the hem of her sweater.

billy just sighed.

“i’m not really in the mood to hang out with a bunch of snotty little shits, so,” he shrugged. “maybe next year.”

“it’s not just us! nancy and jonathan are there. and mrs. byers and chief hopper! and,” a pause. “robin and steve.” she added on quietly.

“max i don’t really think-“ he was interrupted by a knock on his window. he turned to find a very happy and smiling mrs. byers eagerly waving at them.

“come inside!” she urged as billy rolled his window down.

billy just looked at max and gestured towards the house, ignoring her dramatic defeated groan before she got out.

“you too!” joyce grabbed billy’s shoulder, smile faltering at the way he flinched, her touch unexpected. “max told me you guys already celebrated yesterday. what’s another celebration?”

“i don’t think it’s a good idea mrs. byers.” he replied with a small smile, hoping to charm his way out of this situation.

she sighed. “honey, it’s your second and probably last christmas in hawkins before you go to school back home.” she responded to his shocked expression with a sad smile. “we all figured you’d be applying to schools there. and max might’ve slipped up. don’t be mad at her! she’s just scared to lose you, is all.”

billy frowned and looked down at his hands. he hadn’t even told her he was only applying to schools in california. just trying to graduate and get the hell out of indiana, go back home.

“come on, kiddo. your sister would appreciate it.” a pause. “i’ll spike your eggnog.”

billy sighed, taking a few seconds to contemplate before getting out of the car.

“oh you must be freezing.” joyce rolled her eyes as she tugged at his sweater. “you kids and your fashion. you’re gonna get yourself sick like this. hawkins isn’t california!”

billy snorted. “duh.” he mumbled as she dragged him inside.

billy should’ve expected the stares. the guarded, confused and slightly angry expressions at his presence. he felt small, being glared at by nearly everyone in the room. he wanted to turn around, walk right back out that door. almost did if it weren’t for joyce stopping him in his tracks and holding his arm.

“oh, stop that you brats.” joyce huffed. “it’s christmas. be nice! and if you can’t be nice… no more cookies.” she smirked as they all groaned in protest in unison.

billy didn’t really care about the kids. he apologized to lucas not too long after that night, even agreed to the stupid deal to drive him around town and rev his engine to receive his forgiveness in full. it took him longer to approach steve, though. didn’t have the balls to do it until a couple months before steve graduated. he found him alone in the library, studying to get his gpa high enough to be able to graduate and get his diploma.

“can i sit here?” billy gestured towards the empty chair across from steve, who was glaring at him.

“only if you don’t give me another concussion.”

billy gnawed on his bottom lip as he slid into the seat, staring at the table and avoiding eye contact like a goddamn child.

it took him a minute to finally look up and spit out those two words he’d been meaning to say since that night. but it wasn’t the apologizing he dreaded most, it was the explanation and conversation that followed. he expected steve would ask questions, and shit did he have a lot.

billy kept his answers short, general. didn’t spill too much about all the shit going on in his life and in his head. steve didn’t look satisfied with his answers, but he eventually stopped asking questions. gave billy a stiff nod with a,

“yeah. fine. i accept your apology, i guess. just don’t fuck with me or the kids anymore.”

and that was that. billy kept his distance from them altogether. he occasionally carted lucas and max around for their stupid little dates, teasing them here and there. but it was never malicious.

now he stood right in front of the door in joyce’s house, itching to get out. lucas, max and her friends el and will were the only ones not staring at him apprehensively. the curly haired one was whining, asking why he had to be there, throwing in a few words he was probably too young to be saying. boy wheeler was following suit, making grand gestures and calling him an asshole. nancy looked just as prissy as always, turning her nose up. jonathan avoided eye contact. steve wasn’t quite glaring, but he didn’t look too happy to see him either. just because they were on okay terms didn’t mean they were on great terms. his girl robin didn’t seem too thrilled either.

“i’m just gonna..” billy pointed towards the table filled with drinks and snacks. he walked away as the commotion continued behind him, helping himself to the bowl labeled adult eggnog. he grimaced after the first sip before pouring himself a little more.

it was hard to make himself comfortable. he sat stiff and tense on the edge of the couch, as far away from everyone as he could get. the burn of the rum didn’t do much to heal the hurt in his chest, the pain of abandonment and grief he felt this time every year. he tried to tune everyone out, ignoring the kids yelling as they played video and board games, hopper as he snuck the teenagers more eggnog and beer, joyce as she continued to force feed everyone her christmas appetizers.

he found himself staring at the tree, messily decorated to the brim and a little lopsided. his gaze shifted to the walls, family pictures of just the brothers, then joyce and the brothers, and some including hopper and el. he was unconsciously playing with the chain around his neck, chest getting tighter and tighter. he forced his eyes away from the pictures to find jonathan helping joyce cook and set up dinner in the kitchen, laughing and smiling.

that was his breaking point. he set down his empty cup and sped off to the bathroom, scrubbing at his wet eyes. he shut the door behind him, pacing back and forth, trying to breathe through the lump in his throat. he eventually gave up trying to fight the tears off, a christmas tradition for him at this point. he eventually sat down in and slumped back against the bathtub, closing the curtains and shielding him from the rest of the world. he tuned out the music and chatter from outside, instead hugging his knees to his chest and hiding his face in his hands as he cried.

he knew he shouldn’t have listened to joyce. he shouldn’t have gotten out of his car and stepped foot into this house. he should’ve just gone home and lay in bed all day, much less embarrassing than crying in a goddamn bathtub with people right outside.

but here he was, trying to make up for lost time and bonding and memories with max, to show her that he cares and loves her and isn’t going to abandon her like his mother. and yet he was alone, abandoned and abandoning max in just 5 months. his chest hurt as he cried harder, tears freely slipping down his cheeks and staining his stupid sweater. he was nearly wheezing for air, not getting enough in between his sobs.

he must’ve been too loud because he didn’t hear the door open and shut. didn’t even know he wasn’t alone until steve pulled back the curtain, stunned to find him curled up there and crying.

billy wanted to snarl at him, glare at him with a smartass comment about the bathroom being occupied, but all that came out when he opened his mouth was another choked sob.

“shit, man, you don’t look so good.” steve spoke the obvious. “hargrove, you gotta breathe. don’t want you turning blue on me.”

billy turned away, shielded his face with his arms for god knows what. maybe he was expecting a punch, to be told he was a little bitch for crying like this. but all he received were hesitant hands gently prying his wrists away from his face.

“hey.” steve murmured, now only inches away from him. billy didn’t realize he climbed into the tub with him, kneeling before him in the cramped space.

“fuck off.” billy breathed out, all bark no bite, trying to pull his arms away from steve’s grip. but steve didn’t let up.

“why? so you can suffocate yourself to death in mrs. byers’ bathroom?” steve mused, rubbing circles into billy’s wrists with his thumb. “not gonna happen.”

“i don’t need-“ he choked up, words cracking as more tears unleashed. “i don’t need a fucking babysitter.”

“i know.” steve let go of his wrists, sitting back against the opposite end of the small tub. billy almost whimpered at the loss. was so glad he could will himself against at least one thing.

“what about a friend?” steve took in the way billy’s eyes shifted towards him, expression guarded. “look, man, you’re graduating and leaving next summer,” how many people had max told? “and you’re obviously going through some shit so i don’t see why i can’t at least try to help you through this so we,” he sighed as he gestured between them. “so we can be friends and not on bad terms anymore because i’m tired of having enemies.” he rushed out, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “i know what it feels like to want to leave this shithole, trust me. robin already applied to schools in cali too and i was maybe thinking about going with her and if we end up in the same place then maybe we can all be friends and help each other out.” he rushed out again.

billy just stared at him, bottom lip quivering pathetically. here steve was, offering to be his friend and follow both him and robin all the way to california. he’d be stupid if he didn’t take the offer.

“what? you following your little girlfriend out to cali for her to dump you on your ass like the last one?” billy was never too bright in the friendship industry.

“what? no. robin’s not - we’re not like that. we’re just friends.” steve frowned. “i already applied to some community colleges out there. but this isn’t about that right now.” he waved his hand dismissively. “you gonna tell me what’s up with you now? a secret for a secret?”

billy opened his mouth to try and reject the offer, to tell steve to fuck off again, but another sob wracked his body. he let out a frustrated groan through his tears as he scrubbed uselessly at his eyes.

“fuckin’ hate christmas.” he choked out, grabbing onto the saint necklace. his mother’s. “it-“ a whimper. “it was my favorite. at least until my mom,” he shut his eyes tightly, tears spilling out of the corners. “she just. up and left. left me with no note or explanation and a piece of shit father.” he exhaled shakily. “he beat her. and when she left..” he trailed off, gesturing towards himself. “there were no more fucking homemade pies or trees or gifts. just him. always drunk and angry every christmas, blaming me for her. then max and susan came into the picture and they had their perfect little family. celebrated every year.” the without me went unspoken.

billy hadn’t realized steve was inching closer and closer to him until he looked up from the bathtub and found steve inches away from him again, eyes big and sad as they looked over him.

“what are you-“ billy didn’t get to finish his sentence before he was enveloped in a big hug, the guy squeezing him tightly.

“hugging you.” steve mumbled into his shoulder, forcing billy’s face into the crook of his neck. in no time he was crying yet again, right into steve’s fucking shoulder.

steve was good at hugs. good at comfort. the way he rubbed all along billy’s back, one arm secured around his waist made him feel safe in a way he hadn’t in probably a decade. he let himself go again, freely ugly crying into his expensive and soft christmas sweater, clinging onto the material with weak, shaky fists.

“i didn’t know.” steve finally spoke after a minute. “shit, man, no one knows anything about you. i figured your dad was a hard ass after we talked about the fight but not that bad.” he pulled back just an inch, catching billy’s eyes with his own. “does anyone else know?”

billy shook his head.

“why don’t you tell hopper?” steve frowned. “that’s not normal or okay.”

“no point.” billy shook his head. “i turned 18 in november. can’t do jack shit now but wait until i graduate.”

“then move out.” steve said it like it was easy. like he could afford it, like he had anywhere to go.

billy laughed but it was more sad than humored.

“and where would i go?”

“with me.” steve’s response was immediate, no hesitation. “my dad’s always gone on business trips and my mom’s italian.” he said it like it was self explanatory. billy’s confused expression prompted him to continue. “she can’t stand bad parents and she loves company. you’re another mouth to force feed, too. she makes great pasta.”

billy shook his head. “i can’t just move in with you. what if they say no or-or it doesn’t work.”

“they won’t say no.” steve assured. “come on.” he urged. “it’s just one more semester and then we’re off to the golden coast.” he smiled dumbly. “it’ll work. trust me.”

billy went silent. thought about it for a minute. what it could be like to get out of that house. live and be friends with steve. go back home with him later on.

billy slowly nodded. “okay.” he mumbled. “okay.” he repeated again, louder and solidified.

they’d make it work.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #oof #crybaby billiam rights #hurt/comfort #billy hates christmas #but steve will get him to love it again in no time dw folks #starcourt never happened in this btw #it’s just what s3 should’ve looked like if the writing was… idk… good…#give me billy’s happy ending saying fuck neil #give me robin and steve and billy being gay icons and road tripping to california #give me roommates harringrove who fall in love

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lunnybunny12 · 3 years

Text

Sandor Clegane X reader (Rory)

MODERN AU

A/N: This is a modern AU based off of this headcanon.

Word count: 2036

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, mentions of death

Master List

As an Infantry Soldier, Sandor served in the field, working to defend his country against any threats on the ground. He'd capture, destroy, and deter enemy forces, assist in reconnaissance, and help mobilize troops and weaponry to support the mission as the ground combat force. He'd seen good people get murdered, shot, hanged, killed. People with families to get back to and friends who would miss them. Sandor had neither, and yet he was allowed to return.

He took a large gulp of his drink and looked at his surroundings. Sandor had been to the bar many times before and the familiar hum of other patrons as they'd pull frothing glasses of beer to their lips was there like always. He heard the occasional clicks from the back where the pool-tables were placed. The smell of alcohol, snow and pine-scented air freshener drifted through the air as you dragged a damp rag across the bar.

"Oi Barkeep. Beer." Sandor called, fiddling some change from his pocket.

"Keys first, Dogface. Then you can drink," You retorted, not moving from your place at the bar. (Dogface- A nick-name for Infantrymen because they sleep in "Pup-tents" and hide in "dugouts")

Sandor sighed in annoyance and paused to look at you. It hadn't been the first time you had told him this, he never understood why but he knew full well that you weren't joking with him.

"Again?"

"Yes, again. now hand them over."

He begrudgingly did as he was told and slid the car keys across the bar, avoiding your outstretched hand completely. You snatched them away and placed them in your pocket, with a fake glare.

"Good boy. They'll be in the same place when you come to pick them up tomorrow." You said popping of the cap of a beer and sliding it towards him and going back to cleaning the bar.

"You're lucky you're one of the few people I can stand in this town" He grumbled.

"Oh I feel so honoured" you joked and rolled your eyes.

Since there were other customers to attend to you couldn't talk long, but it's not like he'd say much to you anyway. The community he had found himself in was quite tight-knit. Everyone knew everyone and it was tricky to not run into someone who had something to talk about. Sandor however was a very quiet individual who often kept to himself making him stand out to many of the residents.

As the night continued and other staff started their shifts, Sandor found himself looking at you from time to time. He watched you collect glasses, chat to customers, tell jokes and take orders. He found himself doing it allot recently and he didn't understand why. At some points, he had even begun te eavesdrop on your conversations since he had nothing better to do.

"Ah (y/n) hows Rory? Heard the lad had an accident" A customer asked as you took their order.

Sandor's ears pricked up. He'd never heard of a Rory before at least not from you, and from what he knew there wasn't a Rory in the village.

"Yeah, the silly thing fell down the stairs and hurt his leg. He's upstairs having a lie-down. he should be up and about in a few days though," You chuckled.

You had changed so much since he was dragged off to the army. You weren't a crazy teenager anymore but a grown woman, with a proper paying job and a life outside of work. Yet you were still the same when it came to your personality: humerus, silly, carefree, cheerful and stupid... my god were you stupid, you had to have been to be his friend.

"Right, consider me.. clocked out" You smiled to yourself and looked at Sandor.

"Why do you need to clock out? You own the bloody place." Sandor said.

"Yes, but its this new fangled technology thing that Mr Ray insisted I use, and you know what he's like. 'His town his rules.' Plus it helps me keep tabs on whos working."

"At least you understand half of the tripe you just said." Sandor joked taking another sip of his drink.

You rolled your eyes and patted his shoulder as you headed towards the door. "Goodnight everyone!" You yelled earning a cheer of goodnights.

Everything was different when Sandor went away. One day he was there and the next he wasn't, no warning, just a letter that said that he had been accepted into the army and to not expect him back for a long time, that was if he came back at all.

When he did eventually return he had also changed. His personality remained the same, as you expected but he had changed physically. He was taller, broader and stronger and his hair had been cut making his burn a more prominent feature.

If it was up to you, you would've stayed away from him but since yours was the only bar in town, he would come for a drink. Out of politeness you talked to him and sent the occasional harmless jab his way and in return he was civil. You were still angry that he hadn't said goodbye but you still cared, you must have done to take his keys.

It was misty that morning. All mornings were misty since the Autumn season rolled around. You loved Autumn. You loved the feeling of the wind rushing past your face and how the leaves crunched beneath your boots. Your favourite place to walk was at the park and since Rory had stopped limping around your apartment, you thought the park was a good idea.

Rory was a large thing. The hound was easily half your height when stood on all fours and towered above you when on his hind. In his youth, he would have been jet black and full of energy but as he aged, the fur around his snout and paws had dimmed to a light grey and he had mellowed out.

As you walked along the wet grass a sudden yelp bit through the air.

"Someone get their fucking dog!"

You immediately ran to the voice to see Sandor, on the ground with your dog licking his face.

"Rory! come here. You silly thing" you laughed as you latched the lead onto the dog's collar and pulled him away from Sandor.

The man looked awful. His hair was a mess and he was covered in dirt. The shirt he wore was the same as the day prior and he seemed half asleep.

"Were you sleeping in the bush?"

"Oh yes, I'm fine thanks for asking" Sandor huffed as he pulled himself off of the grass.

He was in a mood and in all honesty, you would be too if you were sleeping in a bush.

"What kind of dog is that? Looks like a living mop"

"He's a wolfhound and I can guarantee he's cleaner than you."

"Well, you try and stay clean when you've been sleeping in the park for 5 days," Sandor growled, dusting off some leaves from his pants.

"5 days?" you asked. "You've been sleeping here for 5 DAYS! What happened to your apartment?"

"No money to pay for an apartment."

"What about your job?"

"Why do you care?" Sandor asked, bending down to grab the blanket that was hidden in the shrubbery. He was about to walk away until you stood in front of him with a serious look.

"I care because we were friends once and I'll be dumbed if I let my friend sleep in the cold. So I will ask again... What about your job?"

The look Sandor gave you wasn't out of shock or surprise. It was a look of familiarity. A look of relaxed friendliness that you hadn't seen since before he left.

Sandor sighed and scratched his neck. " My job fired me a few weeks ago. Said that 'I have talents that could be useful elsewhere.'"

"They fired you without reason?"

"I stacked boxes (Y/n) and that's all I did."

"Load of cunts," you sighed. "Right you're coming home with me, you're gonna get a shower and we can talk about a job later."

"I didn't ask for your help."

"No, but you're getting it anyway. Follow me Dogface."

A month had passed since then and things once again changed.

You gave Sandor a job at the bar more suited to his skillset and became the security. The town was a tourist hotspot in the summer months and you would get the occasional rowdy bunch that you nor the rest of the residents liked to deal with. In the other months, Sandor would just hang around, help with any shipments that required heavy lifting and occasionally cover for a staff member. Since you couldn't have him sleeping in his car or in a bush you gave him the spare room in your apartment and when he could afford it he insisted on paying rent and wouldnt take no for an answer.

One day when Sandor came back from his shift, he was met with you, laying on the couch with Rory draped over you with his head on your chest. Rory had done this more than once and you thought it was adorable, whether it was to protect you or because he was cold you didn't know but it was adorable just the same.

"You look comfortable," Sandor said slipping off his shoes at the door.

"Oh, I am. Very much so. I was in the mood for cuddles and since you weren't here Rory stepped up" you joked, petting the sleeping dog.

At the corner of your eye, you saw Sandor's demeanour change. He straightened his posture and took a sharp breath in.

"You alright?

"I'm fine. move your legs." Sandor said sitting on the couch beside you as he leaned to grab the tv remote.

He had been doing that a lot. Whenever you joked about ding something a couple would do, he would shy away or close himself off and to be honest you were only half-joking. It why you were so upset when he left without a word of warning. You liked him but if he liked you was a different story.

"You jealous?" You asked

"Jealous?" Sandor chuffed. "Of Rory? Nah. You wouldn't go for an old dog like him"

"I like old dogs. They have more charm and personality than the younger ones." You answered as you ran your fingers through Rory's fur and kissed him on the head.

Sandor sighed and continued to look at the TV. He looked so handsome to you, he always did. Sure he was rough around the edges but its what drew you to him in the first place.

"I like you too, you know."

"What?" Sandor laughed and looked a you. He thought you were joking like you usually did but by the look on your face, you weren't.

By that point Rory had jumped off of the couch to get some water, allowing you to sit properly.

"I like you, Dogface."

"In what way?"

"In a romantic way... since before you left" a second of silence cut between you when you started laughing at yourself. Like a real laugh. "I don't know why I'm telling you this, it's not like you feel the same anyways."

"How do you know I don't like ya?"

"Look at me, Sandor. The only men in my life are you, the customers and my dog, I'm not exactly a noble-born am I? Just a daft bar made"

You stood up and walked to the fridge to grab a few beers.

"I like a daft bar made. They're way more entertaining than the smart ones."

"Very funny" you said handing him a bottle and sitting back on the couch with a huff.

"I also like my bar made: brave, and strong, and funny. With... a nice dog and a home of her own. Look, I like you too. I like being around you. I...I like your face."

You laughed and shuffled closer to him and leant your head on his shoulder.

"Cute" you mumbled and leant up to kiss his cheek. " I like your face too"

#game of thrones x reader #game of thrones #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane #sandor clegane x you #sandor the hound clegane #sandor x reader #the hound x reader #the hound #sandor clegane deserves the world #house clegane

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prompt-master · 3 years

Text

A Moment To Breathe

Sunlight burned into their untrained eyes in the best of ways. It hurt, and it was so real. It was the realest thing they had felt in a long time. There was nothing left in their minds but the welcomed high of elation for the taste of freedom. They were free. They embraced the sting in their eyes, the chilled wind on their skin, the smell of smoke in the air… they had survived the killing game of class 78.

Makoto felt like he was floating away, only tethered down by the friends next to him. The giddiness he felt had his heart doing flips; his cheeks burned with how hard he was smiling. It wasn’t until he could really feel the world around him that he understood they won. They won. They lived against all odds. They were ok, they were together.

Their silent processing was broken by a shrill cheer. Aoi threw up her arms, smiling brighter than the real sun, as she ran out the gates of the school.

“Woooooo! We did it!” Aoi spun around, her smile was one that couldn’t be forgotten, “We’re really free! We did it!” she yelled.

“Y-... yeah…” Yasuhiro’s smile grew to match Aoi’s, who was currently jumping up and down in the ruined streets, “Yeah, we did do it…! Holy shit, we’re okay!”

Yasuhiro joined Aoi in deliriously overjoyed laughter. He ran over and threw her into the air by the waist, spinning her in circles as the two celebrated with everything they had to offer.

Makoto heard a hum next to him; glancing to his side he saw Byakuya with a relieved smile on his face- the largest smile Makoto had ever seen on him. It only hit Makoto then, after seeing Byakuya’s joy, that the hum he heard was one of affirmation. It was Byakuya’s own way of showing his excitement, watching the “idiots” of the group revel in the glory of their win.

Toko shuffled her feet towards the two, looking around at their surroundings with a sort of anxious wonder. But there was no denying the excitement she felt too, not with the awkward breathy giggle she had. Makoto wondered what sort of poetry was weaving together in her head to explain this beautiful feeling, if it could even be captured in words.

“Fukawacchi!” Yasuhiro yelled, gently tossing Aoi back to solid ground. He opened his arms up wide for Toko, who flinched and watched him with a slightly guarded look, “C’mere, Fukawacchi!”

“W-wh-what? Why?! What do you- kya!” In no time at all Yasuhiro swept Toko into the air just like he did Aoi, spinning her around in unrelenting excitement.

“Woohoo!” He cheered as Toko screamed for him to put her down, “We’re free, Fukawacchi!” Makoto was about to intervene when Toko’s screams died down and erupted into giggles.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” That soft voice left Makoto feeling ready to face anything so many times back in the game. And now Kyoko’s voice held a gentleness to it that almost made up for all he went through.

“Yeah.” Makoto said, watching as Byakuya approached the group, only to shout in protest as he’s thrown. “I can’t believe it’s real.”

“It’s all because of you, Naegi-kun.” Her voice was so certain that it felt wrong to deny it, “We have you to thank for our happiness, and our future.”

Before he could respond she grabbed his wrist and gently tugged him towards the group. Already he could sense the energy winding down, they’d had a long day - no, they’d had a long month - after all. After getting back to solid ground, Byakuya angrily smoothed out his hair and clothes again. Aoi dropped down so that she was sitting on the floor next to Toko; who was telling Yasuhiro to never pick her up again with an open smile on her face. As though drawn to each other, the group followed suit. Eventually all of them were sitting on the floor, a bunch of teenagers alone together in this Hellish world. The world that had fallen apart in memories they might never get back.

Aoi laid on her back with her hands up in the air, staring at the beams of sunlight that passed through her fingers. Her fingers began to tremble as the adrenaline high wore off, her giggles tapering away. “We did it.” she said again, as though the mantra ensured nothing wrong would ever happen again. “We did it.” her tone flattened, the sky beyond her fingers was red and imposing. Ruined like the rest of the world, but still there.

“We did it.” Aoi said.

The mood was somber after that, no one truly knowing what to say. Or perhaps, they knew it was better to stay silent. They could give that moment away to those who did not make it out with them. Makoto hugged his knees to his chest, observing the fallen buildings around them. The world that was once prosperous was in ruins at their very feet. And with those ruins, there was an eerie silence to match. Earlier, the silence felt like the world stopping for just a second to let them celebrate. But now it felt like cold loneliness, like there was a long journey ahead of them.

“Are we alone?” Yasuhiro asked. Perhaps it was simply the exhaustion… or perhaps it was the somber mood, but he did not sound panicked as he normally would. Instead he was just… stating the obvious in a quiet voice, as though wary of the truth behind it.

“It would seem so.” Byakuya said, “I thought it would be more… hectic out here considering what she showed us.”

Toko scooted closer to Aoi, who placed a hand on her back, “So, what d-d-do... we do now?”

“Yes.” Kyoko turned to Makoto, the trust in her eyes never wavered, “What should we do now, Naegi-kun?”

Everyone, even Byakuya and Toko, awaited Makoto’s word. They would not soon forget how he dragged them out of the pits of despair by their wrists. His words may be naive platitudes at times, but now more than ever they needed something to look forward to.

“We find our future, of course!”

And Makoto was certain that they would find it. He felt that so long as they were together they could find a hope that was tangible and real. Something that could leave them feeling like anything was possible. Forward was the only way to go, and they would walk that path together. With the unity they’ve formed from their experiences, how could anything hurt them ever again? They would function as each other's shield, sword, and support. They would spark the new age of hope.

"I am not putting any amount of bleach in my body, Hagakure."

... So then why… Why were they stuck arguing again?!

Bickering had become somewhat of a routine as this point and it certainly didn’t help that the group was almost never apart. Sure, back in the school they felt claustrophobic and forced together, but now they didn’t even have the comfort of a private dorm. They had to pile into the worn down beds inside of ruinous apartment buildings that were just barely holding together.

Makoto watched from where he was confined to bed rest as Yasuhiro dragged his hands over his face in frustration. “Togamicchi, I promise it’s not going to kill you.”

“Oh yes.” Byakuya had his arms tightly crossed, glaring at Yasuhiro and the container of bleach in his hands, “Just like you promise your ‘predictions’ hold any sort of accuracy. And just like you swear all those ‘artifacts’ you bought were not scams.”

“Ah, c’mon! My mom taught me this trick, are you calling Ma a liar?!”

“Well. She is teaching her son to drink bleach, apparently-”

“It’s not a lot of bleach!”

“Honestly, I thought you weren’t moronic enough to try and kill us only after the killing game, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Makoto laid back against his makeshift pillow, letting the bickering fade away into background noise for his thoughts. The argument wasn’t going anywhere, they were just talking in circles again and again without making real progress. Just like how every time they travelled it felt like they put no distance between themselves and the school.

It’s odd, isn’t it? They argued so much, and for what? Why were they still doing this? Makoto felt like they should have moved past all this the moment they stepped out of the school. They understood each other now, and they were the only allies around. And yet… the arguing continued. Why?

It almost felt like… they had never really escaped. It was an odd feeling, like something rotten was chewing at Makoto’s heart, but he truly felt stuck in the story Junko crafted for them. She had thrown them onto a dizzying rollercoaster of highs and lows, where the tone never held steady long enough for them to feel okay. Junko had created her own never ending cycle of despair and hope, a cycle that pushed both sides to the extremes.

They escaped the school, but not the cycle.

But Junko was the creator of the cycle. Shouldn't it have fallen with her? Why was her work still terrorizing them after her defeat? How much longer would they have to fight? Makoto knew the world wasn't ready… but he felt so underwhelmed with how little impact their win seemed to have. It was less that Junko created despair… and more like Junko was despair's foot soldier.

"A-a-actually, Hagakure is right…" Toko piped in, letting out a little "Eep!" when Byakuya glared at her.

She continued to speak, "I-it's not that I doubt you Byakuya-sama! But I-I did research for a novel and…"

Silence… and then Byakuya uncrossed his arms. Makoto could feel the hope part of the cycle begin to work, a high to combat the low. And then another low would follow after. It would never end, despair and hope could not live without each other after all.

That was life.

There was a reason the two went hand in hand though. Makoto watched the group continue to laugh and tease each other as they worked to purify some drinking water. They were getting along just fine, like lovely friends.

“What are you smiling for?” Kyoko asked him, it wasn’t accusatory, just curious.

Makoto let out a light laugh, admiring the way his friends all seemed attentive to him and his emotions, “Oh. It’s nothing.”

His friends often said that they needed him to combat despair, but Makoto needed them back just as much. In a way, they had created their own cycle. A much more hopeful one, one that consisted of them lifting each other up. And if surviving the low points ahead of them meant getting to see his friends this at ease… Makoto would face despair every day, head on. He had to; after all, he made a promise to face the world. Not just him… all of them.

It’s easy to forget things aren't perfect when you're so excited about winning. But just because things aren't perfect doesn't mean you won’t be ok.

#danganronpa #makoto naegi #fanfic #fan fic #thh survivors

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chaoticallysapphic · 3 years

Text

just the start chapter one

summary: It’s such a sweet beginning and such a horrible end. Before you die for someone, you have to love them with your very being. You have to see just how much this world needs them despite their doubts and you have to be happy up until the very end. If not for you then for them.

a/n: I give to thee part one of the just a scratch prequel. This is a series that I will most likely very slowly update because tgt has my full attention and this is all I have for it so far. Please tell me your thoughts on it and as always thank you @medeliadracon

word count: 3k

Your kids are going to be the death of you. It was meant to be an easy, minimum stress day where you handed the kids a test you’d been helping them study for over two weeks. Afterward, it was a lesson on the creation of the Earth Kingdom and its early history, but ten-year-olds never like to make things easy on you. You caught three of your students trying to cheat off of one another and two forgot to bring pencils to school. Someone tried to feign illness to get out of it, which led three others to try their luck as well.

Another one of your students decided to continuously interrupt what was meant to be a painless fifteen-minute lesson into a thirty-minute lesson that had everyone groaning in their seats towards the ends. You did not get paid enough for this.

You may have been a bit harsh by assigning them more homework than normal and it would come back to bite you in the ass when it came time to grade them. The problem is that if you yell at them or call them assholes you’ll lose your job so instead you decide to punish them with more work and you finally leave the classroom with a tense demeanor and a need to see your favorite person.

You usually don’t let work get to you like this, you're known as the sweet teacher that everyone adores so on the days when you snap or hand out extra work your students know they messed up big time. But last night you may have lost track of time as you read a new book you had purchased the day before.

You couldn’t help how it sucked you in and locked you inside its pages until late into the evening, so you woke up late with the book lying flat against your chest and your head laid in a weird angle on the arm of your couch. You weren’t able to eat any breakfast as you ran to school with half of your shirt untucked and your hair messily pinned back.

It’s early evening now and you know she will most likely stay late at the office so you decide to bring her some of her favorite food from a fire nation food cart. By now the owner knows you by name and happily whips up the usual as you tighten your coat around you. Summer is slowly saying goodbye and in its wake autumn is bringing a chill as the sun goes down. Soon enough it’ll be the best kind of weather to cozy up inside with a mug of tea and a novel.

You’re suddenly thankful for your outfit choice, a pair of dark brown loose slacks that button at your waist with a white long-sleeved blouse tucked into the waistband. You do regret the pair of burnt orange heels you paired with the outfit, school required women to wear them which you felt was incredibly wrong with being on your feet for the majority of the day.

Usually, you’d pack a pair of flats to change into but this morning you forgot it along with your scarf. So as your feet ache you decide to strike up a conversation with one of your favorite people.

“How are you doing today?” Kaito, the food cart owner is a sweet old man who you’ve been coming to way before you met Lin. It’s only a block away from the school so when you first started working there you’d rush out during lunch to get something to eat in hopes that food would calm you down.

“I’m doing okay, although I must say the local gossip has kept me entertained today,” he places the boxes of your food into a paper bag as you hand him the yuans for the meals. You quirk a brow with an amused smile and ask “and what is the gossip today?”

“The Avatar has come to Republic City!”

“Wow, are you sure about that?” You grab the bag of food from the cart and wait for his reply before leaving.

“Well, my buddy told me, said he witnessed it himself and I believe him.”

“I’m putting my trust in you Kaito. If that’s a lie I’ll be very sad,” you say teasingly before taking a step back to walk away. He calls after you, claiming he’d never lie and while you know he’s telling the truth you still decide to playfully stick your tongue out at him over your shoulder. “Have a nice night!”

Those around whom don’t know you, which is everyone except for Kaito, watch in bewilderment at the thirty-nine years old woman who acts like a child towards the elderly cart owner.

That little encounter helped ease your nerves a bit as you walked towards the police station, cars zoomed past as the streetlights flickered on to illuminate the streets. Lin had been talking to you about needing a mode of transportation, she hated you walking everywhere for fear of getting mugged, but you enjoyed walking. It gave you time to look back on your day and think about what needs to be done before your head hits the pillow.

Some overpriced car will slash that time in half and with it your moment of silence. That being said it would be nice on your feet and back. You jog up the long stone steps in front of the precinct, a few officers are filing out for the night, all of which have slowly pieced together who you are.

They throw smiles your way as you hold the door open for them before walking inside. Ishi, the lady who runs the front desk smiles as she watches you walk past with the bag of food in hand. Everyone here likes you, which is no surprise, especially since anytime you visit Lin is left in a good mood for the rest of the day.

Phones are ringing as you walk through the main office where desks are lined up, a couple of the detectives and rookies offer a hello in between flipping through pages of paperwork or dialing the phone. Without knocking, because at this point you know it’ll just result in Lin yelling, you open the door to her office.

You find her hunched over her desk with her glasses resting at the tip of her nose. She’s got papers scattered across the desk with her chin resting in her hands. At the sound of the door opening, she glances up and lets out a sigh of relief at seeing you instead of some officer.

“Thought I’d bring you an early dinner and hopefully rip you away from your work for at least a few minutes,” you say as you set the bag down on the desk. She pushes away from the desk and, taking off her glasses, collects the mess of papers to help prep the desk for the meal.

“You know you didn’t have to do that, right?” She asks you this as she moves past you to put the stack of papers on the couch. You shrug and begin to pull out the containers of Komodo sausage and spicy fire noodles. “I wanted to, besides I know you probably skipped lunch.”

At the site of the containers from Kaito’s Lin shakes her head with a smile. “You know, one of these days I’m going to make you eat something other than Kaito’s food.”

“Hey!” You look up with a playful scowl, chopsticks in hand. “I eat my own food and that meal you made me.”

She rolls her eyes and comes up to pull you into a brief kiss, you smile as her lips touch yours and lean closer to her. Any ounce of stress left from your workday vanishes just as it always does when it comes to Lin.

“Fine,” she says, her lips gently brushing against yours, she’s smiling too. “I’m going to make you eat something other than our home-cooked meals and Kaito’s.”

“Never,” you whisper before pecking her on the lips. You pull yourself away from her, truly you want to stay in her arms and kiss her until you're breathless but you know she needs to eat. Plus you don’t want this food to get cold. “Now c’mon, eat up and tell me about your day.”

You hand Lin her chopsticks as you sit down on the leather chair opposite her desk, she rolls her desk chair to sit beside you and picks up her container of sausages and pours them over the noodles. With your legs crossed over one another your foot brushes against her leg as you do the same. This is a routine picked up long ago, just at the start of your relationship actually.

Most days you’d come here for dinner or drag her out of the office to eat at your apartment. She was grateful for your care, to be honest at first she tried to push you away, to keep you at arm's length, but she couldn’t. Lin gave up within two days of knowing you and has ever since been enraptured by your mere presence.

“It was…” Lin sighs, “the Avatar has come to town and destroyed public and private property along with interfering with Republic City Police business. I’ve been neck-deep in paperwork ever since Tenzin came to bail her out.” She stabs her chopsticks into her noodles with a scowl and swirls them around to gather a bunch of noodles around them.

“I heard about her coming to town but I didn’t know she did all of that.”

“Yeah, and she tried to tell me how to do my job!” Setting your container down you reach over to rub your hand up her arm in a soothing manner. You tend to let off steam by reading or spending time with others whilst Lin bottled it up and let it twist into something akin to resentment.

Thankfully she recently started opening up to you and somehow she was surprised by the fact that you actually listened to her. “She’s some privileged teenager who knows nothing about this city or the law, and she tried to tell me how to do my job.”

“Lin you have to think about what you were like as a teenager. What she did was wrong, but they tend to be a bit entitled at times. Once she finds out how much you really love this city she’ll take it back and respect you.”

“Well, thankfully she won’t have to because Tenzin said he’d take her back to the South Pole.”

You roll your eyes at the mention of Tenzin, not being able to help yourself. You are a nice person, really you are and you try not to let people get to you but fuck does that Airbender get on your nerves. When he found out Lin was dating someone, a woman on top of that, he freaked out and somehow tried to make it about him.

When Lin said she happened to like men and women he stood with his mouth open in confusion. You know how hard that was for her to say. You were the second woman she had ever been with, the first some one-night stand she had met some years ago in a smoky bar. But you were the first woman she had ever dated and for her to finally admit it was a big step. You had stood there with her hand in yours as you tried to silently support her.

He shut up when she said she loved you. She hadn’t told him until a month ago so your irritation was still warranted, but you knew it was probably time to get over it. It just upset you that he expected her to spend the rest of her days alone while he happily creates as many airbenders as he can with the woman he cheated on her with. Due to him, Lin still held back to some degree regarding your relationship, which you understood and didn’t hold it against her. But you did hold it against him.

“C’mon, I know you hate him and I definitely don’t like him but at least he’s getting rid of her.” Lin sets her container down to thread her fingers through yours. You nod and gently squeeze her hand twice, a little thing you came up with a month ago. She squeezes back twice and you smile, she smiles back.

“You’re right, at least he’s doing one good thing.” Lin can’t help but laugh at that, she slowly lets go of your hand so you both can go back to eating. For a while, it’s comfortably silent as you both chow down. Lin didn’t realize how hungry she was until the delicious scent of Kaito’s cooking wafted through the air.

You’ve been happily in a relationship for almost a year, with your anniversary just days away it makes Lin wonder what these kinds of days were like before you. She can’t seem to remember, all the memories of this office that she can conjure up involve you in some way.

Lin already made sure to have time off for that day, she scheduled herself to leave early and has even been scoping out the best restaurants and jazz clubs in the area. She’s surprised herself with how much effort she’s putting into planning this. To be fair Lin Beifong never does something half-assed but even when she was with Tenzin their anniversaries were a bit simple, and she let him plan them.

“By the way can you be ready by six on Saturday for me?” You bite your lip with furrowed brows as you try to think up what's happening Saturday. With your muddled brain, it takes a few seconds for you to remember your anniversary, which is surprising seeing as you wrote it down in your calendar two months into your relationship. You even found a present for her last month.

“Hmm,” you tap your chin as you try to fight off a smile. “I don’t know, what’s Saturday?” You quirk a brow and Lin knows you’re teasing her by the look on your face.

“You know what’s Saturday.” She stares you down with an exasperated expression and sets her empty container on the desk. Biting your lip you try to continue playing dumb “I don’t think I do, can you help jog my memory?”

Your chair is close enough to hers that she can easily grab onto it and pull it until your knees are touching. In a swift motion that you could definitely never succeed at doing on your own, Lin grabs you by the hips and pulls you off your chair until you're straddling her lap. The last of your noodles go flying to the floor, not that either of you notices, as you let out a shriek of surprise.

“What happened a year ago on Saturday?”

“Y’know I think I rearranged my bookshelf that day, it was life-changing if I’m-” You begin to laugh as she scowls, “being honest.”

“You’re impossible,” she huffs. You lean down to peck her lips, your free hand going to cradle her scarred cheek. She leans forward to kiss you back but you teasingly pull away and watch as she chases after your lips.

“Hmm, did I go on a date with someone almost a year ago?”

“Y’know what I am perfectly fine going back to being single.” Lies, she doesn’t know how she’d cope without you in her life. You’ve added color back into her world and reminded her what it feels like to be happy, to feel loved and secure. It terrifies her if she’s being honest. Everyone she’s ever loved has disappointed her, she doesn’t know what she’ll do if you end up leaving her too.

“Okay, okay! Yes, I know what Saturday is.” You reach behind you to place your container on the desk, it falls onto its side due to the awkward angle but you’ll just clean it up later. Now with both hands-free, you gently cradle her face between them. Lin’s hands rest on the curve of your hips. “What kind of outfit should I wear? Something elegant or something you can easily take off?”

“Why not both?” She says with a smirk. Lin pulls you into another kiss, this one is slow and less innocent than the others. Her lips slant against yours as she pulls you closer by your hips.

You kiss her back at the same, slow pace, neither of you pushes further than the kiss. For a few minutes, you both lazily kiss one another, you missed her. Yesterday was so hectic that all you could do was call her when you finally finished grading some papers.

Reluctantly you pull away, you’re all for going further, but just not this second. You want to keep teasing her, you just can’t help it. Lin doesn’t hate your playful side, if anything she adores it which surprised quite a few people. You were this cheery woman with a bounce in your step who looked at Lin like she hung the moon.

Grumpy, bitter Lin, or so she thought. In your eyes she was amazing, she had a dry sense of humor that caught many by surprise, and she was so incredibly gentle with you. Before you even started dating she let you hold her hand or pull her into a hug, even if she did grumble about it at first.

She wouldn’t tell you then, but she secretly loved how you kept coming back despite her trying to pretend like she wasn’t totally head over heels for you. It made her feel desired and important.

“Now you’re just being greedy.”

Lin shakes her head at your words, her eyes locking in with yours once more. “I can show you greedy.”

You slowly move your hands from her cheeks to softly scratch her scalp, she lets out a relaxed sigh at your ministrations. You smile as you move them further back, her usual simple hairstyle is messed up in the process, but she doesn’t mind. It’s easy to fix.

“I’d like to see that.” You know you’ve egged her on, challenged her, and she does not back down from a challenge. Perhaps you could help relieve some of her stress on the couch before dragging her out of the office for the night.

The idea of teasing her and dragging this out flees from your mind as Lin pulls you into a heated kiss. You can’t help but think when she slips her tongue into your mouth, this woman will be the death of me.

#lin beifong #lin beifong x reader #lin beifong/reader #lin beifong fanfiction #fanifc #lok fanfic #legend of korra #lok #just the start #jts

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zmediaoutlet · 4 years

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in support of wildfire relief, @jesusonthetortillas donated $10, and requested pre-series pining!Sam, with diary discovery. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

After his little lesson from Sabrina, the hot librarian's assistant, it's not hard at all for Dean to find what he's looking for. He drops Sam off at the library the way he usually does, and flirts with Sabrina on his way out like he usually does, but instead of going to his shift at the construction site like Sam thinks he's going to, he circles back around, through the library stacks on the main floor, and waits like a dingus by YOUNG ADULT – ADVENTURE, watching the back of Sam's nerdy, nerdy head where he's hunched at the computer banks, getting up to no kind of good.

It wouldn't have come to this, Dean thinks, if Sam weren't so—he doesn't even know how to think about it. He doesn't know when to pin it down. They were doing okay. Sam ran away, a few years back, but since then he's—well, he's always bitching at Dad and bitching at Dean half the time too, but he's done good in school, he's done his part with the hunting. It was sometime at that last school. September in Maryland. Dad was gone a lot of the time, because Dad always was, and Dean went with him on about half the hunts but Sam got to stay behind, got to just call in research tips and last-minute lore checks, and Dean thought he was pretty happy, as much as Sam ever seemed happy. Chill, just doing his homework at the rickety desk, not complaining any more than usual about Dean's usual dinners of fast food or Kraft or Top Ramen. Seventeen and getting tall and mellowing out, and finally hanging out with his little brother was just fine. Dean thought.

That was two towns ago, three months ago. Dean picks his nails with his pocket knife, leaning on one elbow by the Hardy Boys. Sam's still working away on the computer. Anymore he always is. After school he's always angling for Dean to bring him to the library and if Dean won't drive him then Sam walks, even when it's raining, like it is half the time in frickin Washington, anyway. Always finding a free computer and settling in and disappearing onto the internet. Not coming home until the library closes, and moody if Dean's there when he walks in, and Dean just—he thought they were past all this crap. He thought that maybe Sam had—settled. Figured out how things were, how things had to be.

Well. Either way. Sabrina, with the glasses and the sexy dreads and the legs that very much went all the way to the floor under those wide-legged pants she was always wearing—she gave Dean a computer lesson, free of charge, and he's got a way in, now. Sam won't talk to him, won't hardly look at him. Dean chews the inside of his cheek, watching Sam type on the battered public machine. Sam's not the only one who knows how to research a case, in this family. Dean's going to figure this out. He's gonna fix it.

A bell rings, at five o'clock, like the end of a school day. Sam jerks like he's been shocked and looks up at the ceiling, clearly annoyed. He's been engrossed for two hours, typing away, reading. Real frickin' boring, on Dean's end, but he stayed put. Like staking out a house for a job—nothing to do but wait. He takes a few steps backwards, makes sure the shelves hide his face, and there's a general rustling as people leave—a mom and her kid, and tears because the kid's favorite book wasn't here—and when Dean looks again the computer banks are empty, and Sabrina's checking out the last few patrons, and Sam's—gone. Walking home in the rain, little goth that he is. Fine with Dean, if it gives him a few minutes.

When he settles into the chair Sam was in it's still warm. He opens up Netscape Navigator, the library's homepage welcoming him in a friendly kinda way—big yellow smiley face, that's fun. He goes to where Sabrina taught him, in the menu at the top: view, and then History, where it turns out the computer saves all the webpages you went to just in case you need to find them again, and there—oh, jackpot. Gotcha, Sam.

All kinds of crap. A weather website, a bunch of Ask Jeeves searches, something called DiffEQandU. Some mythology stuff, too, and Dean goes to one that turns out to be a history of kitsune. That's something, at least—Sam doing his important homework, in there with whatever other crap he's been working on.

The last bunch of results are all pages from some website called Livejournal, which Dean's never heard of. He clicks one at random and is brought to—huh. A splashy red page, with a big picture on top of kids graduating from high school in those dorky blue robes. He scrolls down, skimming, looking for the important details among the mess, but it's hard to tell what it is. A forum, it looks like. Kind of like the ones Dean's been on where people trade car parts, or swap ghost stories. A square box, dated yesterday, that says WHEN IS HARVARD'S APP REVIEW???, and a panicky paragraph where some chick might die if she doesn't get in. Another, the day before, with questions about the SAT, and a link that says 43 comments that, when Dean clicks it, brings him to a bunch of apparently teenagers all giving each other tips from some test they're worried about taking.

College. Dean's stomach curls into a knot. It's all—college stuff, applications and tests and deadlines. The usernames are all weird shit: tmntpizzadelivery, quistis4ever, willyshakes. Dean can't tell—is one of these kids Sam?

Sabrina's nearly done with her line of book nerds. Dean rubs a hand over his mouth and clicks away, tries another of the Livejournal results in the history. Another forum, this one apparently about—soccer? Jesus, Sam. Another forum, this one about Conan the Barbarian, and that one's at least easy to snort at, with people's shitty drawings of Red Sonja and excitement about a possible remake. There are personal pages, though, too—one titled Delaware Sucks, in which some girl complains about her life—one titled trent reznor rules my soul, featuring a goth kid who won't shut up about Nine Inch Nails and his bitch of a mother. Another, with a plain blue-and-grey color scheme, with the title on the road, and a new post from today—from an hour ago—with the text just reading, I don't know what to do anymore, and six comments underneath, waiting.

"Hey—ready to go?" Sabrina says.

Dean jerks in his seat. Sabrina's raising her eyebrows at him, behind her glasses, a little smile curving her mouth that promises something a little better than book dust and computer lessons. "I'm always ready," Dean says, grinning, and gets her to roll her eyes—yeah, he's in there—but his eyes drag back to the webpage, the posts. He scrolls down, quick—post after post, waiting to be read. "Real quick—borrow a pen?"

She has one—she's a sexy librarian, of course she has one—and he uncrumples a receipt from his jacket pocket and writes down the URL, careful to get it right. rearviewmirror.livejournal.com. He wants to click on the comments, but.

"Come on, the movie's starting soon," Sabrina says, and Dean closes Netscape, folds the receipt very carefully into his pocket, stands up. He's got a date to make out with a hot chick in the back of a movie theater, and maybe a little more, and Sam's whole Eeyore routine has to take a number. Dean will figure it out. He's got an easy way to run a stakeout, now.

December 4

Still can't decide. Anyone else going through this?

current mood: agonized current music: motorhead (AGAIN)

Comments:

teenagehamburger: Yes!! I still don't know where I want to go. Mom wants me to stay close to home, but Delaware sucksssss. Where are you looking?

rearviewmirror: Anywhere. TBH I'm still not even sure I should apply.

teenagehamburger: WTF?? Of course you should!! College is the big escape, remember?

December 1

He's driving me INSANE

current mood: annoyed current music: motorhead (again)

Comments:

bloodofreptile: lol you got it bad

rearviewmirror: right now I just want to hit him with a brick, actually

teenagehamburger: LOL!! Sorry :( :(

rearviewmirror: Sigh. I guess it could be worse, right?

teenagehamburger: Definitely!! He could be the cute cheerleader from 4th period who doesn't know I exist….

coppertonebuttgirl: oh, sorry hammie, that sucks <3

November 29

The thing is, I don't even want anything crazy? I just want to be—me. Just me, without anyone breathing down my neck. Trig teacher says I could get in to one of the top ten, but I just want to go *anywhere that's not here*

current mood: restless current music: Pearl Jam (home alone!)

Comments:

bloodofreptile: i hear you lol. why don't they get that the rules and hovering and all that shit just makes us want to run faster?

rearviewmirror: Exactly! My teacher keeps talking about college like it's a place to expand your mind and stuff, and that's fine, but lately I just want to expand my horizons. Kind of ironic?

bloodofreptile: yeah lol haven't you lived like everywhere?

rearviewmirror: Feels like it.

teenagehamburger: Is You Know Who going to college too?

November 18

I feel like it shouldn't be this hard. Normal people have it easy.

current mood: indescribable current music: silence

Comments:

coppertonebuttgirl: feel free to talk to me anytime <3

November 3

Dad's gone again. Didn't say goodbye. We went to the movies and he gave me a beer, and we watched the stars for an hour in the parking lot even though it was freaking freezing. Happier than I've been in a while. Don’t want it to change but it has to change.

current mood: current music:

Comments:

teenagehamburger: OMG, that sounds so romantic?? I can't believe you were drinking!! Aren't you underage?

bloodofreptile: lol relax it's not a big deal

teenagehamburger: I'm just saying!!

coppertonebuttgirl: wish it wasn't hard for you <3

bloodofreptile: dude you've got to say something

rearviewmirror: I literally can't.

bloodofreptile: ok but it's gonna drive you crazy. do you even know if he's gay? start with that maybe

The posts go on, and on. Reading backwards through time, it's a strange piecing-together. rearviewmirror is active in about ten communities and Dean reads through all of them, that week, bringing an illicit cup of coffee in to the library when he doesn't have a construction shift. He reads with his hand over his mouth and by the time he has to get off the computer he's got a headache, every time, his throat dry and aching.

The journal's been active for six months. Dean clicks through the pages to the very start and reads it in the right order, his heart pounding oddly in his ears. I don't know what this place is. A journal, I guess, considering the name. I just need somewhere to talk where no one will listen.

It's not a pouring-out, like some teenage girl doodling hearts around her crush's initials. He holds back. Never says exactly where they're living, never mentions names. To figure out who it was, you'd have to be one of two other people, and Dean knows that Dad can barely turn on a computer, much less go onto the internet and pore over some teenage angst-fest. Dean spends half his time wishing he were the same. Maybe if he hadn't asked Sabrina for help.

At home, Sam's the same as he always is. Comes home after his own stint at the library, eats the dinner Dean gives him. He reads, most of the time. Does his schoolwork. Dean says, careful one night, "Hey, True Lies is on. Wanna watch?" but Sam only gives him a strange, uncertain look and says, "No, I have a paper due," and he shuts himself into their bedroom with the door very firmly closed, and Dean sits there on the couch alone with a beer and Jamie Lee Curtis being sexy as hell on the fuzzy TV, and he—he doesn't know what to do.

He remembers that day, the looking at the stars day. It was November 2. A nasty anniversary, in their family, and yeah, Dad left. Dean got it. He'd thought Sam did, too, by now. It was better to have Dad gone, on a hunt, than trying to drink himself to death at home in the apartment. At least he was working, that way, and not hurting himself. To distract both of them, Dean picked Sam up from the library and they went straight to the movie theater—the Blair Witch sequel, with Dean providing running commentary about how dumb they were about dealing with ghosts, which at least made Sam grin and elbow him to shut up, even if he was laughing too, the liar—and, yeah, afterward they'd picked up Taco Bell, and then after that Dean swung through the liquor store drive-thru and they parked out, and he let Sam have a beer, and they both sat on the trunk and leaned back against the cold glass or the rear window and didn't really talk, much. The stars, big above them. The night, quiet. Sam was pressed against his side, chilled out and not bitching about anything, and Dean tucked his hand behind his head and he was pretty content with the world, right then. His brother, here, and a six-pack waiting, and nothing happening right then that'd hurt them. Sam smiled at him, that night, before he went to bed. It was sweet—like he used to be, when he was little—and Dean had ended up falling asleep on the couch, watching the public access, but his dreams that night were—good, like they never were on the night of November 2, and it had felt… okay.

do you even know if he's gay?

The college prep—that wasn't a surprise. It hurt but it didn't shock. All his worrying, all his whining, wanting to be 'free'—whatever free meant—it was all part and parcel of the last decade. Dean should've known better. Sam wasn't mellowing out. Sam was a stubborn little shit and he'd always wanted to have a life that wasn't—this.

The gay thing. That hit different. One of the communities Sam followed was for lesbian and gay youth, talking about their coming out experiences. Sam didn't post there much but he commented, asked questions. How do you know? What does it feel like? The hamburger girl was from there, a lesbian chick trapped in some Delaware high school. Encouraging, commiserating. They talked about how college would be their big escape, their chance to go to a big city and find their way. Meet people. Only apparently hamburger girl was crushing on the cheerleader from fourth period, and Sam—

Dean makes an excuse the next day. Saturday: no work for Dean, no school for Sam. Alone in the apartment together, all day, after Dean's week of reading—he can't face it. "Where are you going?" Sam asks, eight a.m. with his hair fucked up and coffee clenched between his hands, and Dean looks at him in his pajama pants and his ratty hand-me-down shirt, skinny and tall and hiding things Dean can't handle, and he says, snappish in a way he doesn't mean to be—"Out, Sam, for christ's sake—" and sees Sam's expression shutter before the apartment door slams behind him.

He goes for a drive, out of town. Cold, threatening rain like it always is, but it won't snow. Out—past the airport, past the suburbs, out to Black Lake. They killed the nymph that was drowning people out here, him and Dad, when they first arrived. Sam stayed home. Sullen on the other end of the line when Dean called to say they'd finished the job, and they were getting burgers for dinner, and did Sam want one. Whatever, Sam had said, like even answering was an imposition. That was November, too.

He sits on the hood, heels braced on the bumper, arms locked around his knees. The lake looks cold. He wants to sink into it, wants to feel that freezing shock, like the polar bear dive he did on a dare back in Illinois. The way the brain just goes blank, tv-static filling up everything and washing all the shit away. All the weird crap you don't want to think about, frozen, and the only thing to focus on just—getting out.

He's not going to dive into the lake. It's nine in the morning and he's wearing his only pair of boots. He hasn't gone out with Sabrina all week. He's been piss-poor at the construction site and McMillan nearly brained him with a hammer yesterday, because Dean wasn't paying attention, and the foreman screamed at him in front of the whole crew. None of that feels close, right now. He breathes the wet-clogged air, cold and mossy, turning his ring restlessly on his finger.

Back at that high school they went to in Raton, Mrs. Encinas in 6th period English told Dean he'd be smart, if he didn't just give up all the time. All he needed to do was take the time to read between the lines, to actually interpret what he was reading and not take things on face value. He made some joke. He doesn't remember what it was, now. Like he didn't know what the fuckin Great Gatsby was saying, when he hoped and hoped and never got what he wanted. When happiness always felt like it was about a thousand miles away, on the other side of a lake he couldn't cross, and hope went out like a snuffed light. Dean can read what's not there. He's done it his whole life.

The problem: Sam's little online journal went back six months. They've lived in four towns, in that time. He never uses names, never puts up anything that'd really identify him. They were in Maryland, August-September-first of October, and it was a comment right at the end of August, on the community for gay kids, talking to the hamburger girl: I like someone, too. He doesn't know. He. The same he that carried forward, through all his journal entries, from Maryland to Washington across whole breadth of the country. He likes classic rock. He drives me nuts. He gave me a beer, and I wanted—

Dean curls forward over his knees, sliding his hands into his hair, breathing hard between his knees. He can read between the lines and he wishes that he couldn't. He wishes—god. What? That Sam would just meet a nice girl and fuck her and get it out of his system? Except how he was writing, it wasn't like it was new. It was something he'd been thinking about. When did you know? had read one of the forum posts, and in the responses, among all the dumb teenage crap about formal dances and jerking off to the wrong person in the music video, there was a comment by username rearviewmirror that said, I broke my leg and he carried me to the car and I wanted to kiss him.

Sam broke his leg in July, the summer he turned fifteen. He'd been trying to stay quiet but he'd had this trapped whimper in his throat that he couldn't stop, and Dad had stayed behind to cover their backs and it had been left to Dean, to scoop Sam up, his whole body quivering with the shock—to hug him close between the trees, humid Georgia night making every place their skin touched slick with sweat—to let Sam cling to his neck, shuddering, and to put a hand on his back and whisper, hey, Sammy, it's not even that bad, huh? no bone sticking out, you did good. we're gonna get you a cast and I'm gonna draw you a great picture, okay, Cindy Crawford with her tits out, right there on your shin and Sam had been so shaky that his laugh sounded like he was crying, but he'd nodded against Dean's neck and chattered out sounds cool, Dean, and when Dean got him to the car Sam hadn't wanted to let him go—so they crawled into the backseat together, Sam still half in his lap and with his arms still tight around Dean's neck. Dad got into the front and frowned at Dean in the rearview, and Dean nodded, and when the car leapt forward Sam gasped and gripped at Dean's shirt when his leg got jostled, and Dean put his hand in Sam's hair and said, it's okay, you're okay, and Sam—wanted to kiss him.

He can't square it. It's like there's some twinned version of his brother, in this place Dean never knew existed. All these secrets he's been hoarding, this other person he's been. These wants that make him a stranger.

He goes back home with stuff for lunch around noon. Sam's reading, in the bedroom. "Got pb&j or grilled cheese," Dean calls, down the shotgun kitchen through the thin-carpeted hall, and Sam calls back, "I'm not hungry," which is a goddamn shit of a lie. He grows like an inch a day, he's never not hungry. Dean braces his hands on the counter and counts to five, in his head. He puts the bread away, and puts the cheese in the fridge. He goes into the living room and turns on the TV and it's college football, which is boring as hell, but it fills the apartment with noise. He wishes Dad were home. He wishes he were hunting.

The Huskies lose. Sam hasn't come out of the room, as far as Dean can tell. He's had—four beers? He looks at the table. Five. It's getting toward dark and it's raining, a-fucking-gain, and Dean's still wearing his jacket and his boots and his ears are cold, because the heater in here sucks, and he's shredded the label of the beer everywhere, everywhere. He brushes it off his knees and that just means it's gonna get ground into the shit-brown carpet, but—who cares. He's got other things on his mind.

He gets the last beer out of the fridge. Should've bought more. "Got some spare cash," he says, to the dark hall. There's a halo of light around the half-closed bedroom door. "Thinking pizza for dinner."

Silence.

Dean pushes the beer bottle against his forehead. "C'mon, Sam. It's not going to kill you to prefer pepperoni or sausage. Just say something."

"Doesn't matter," is the response.

Dean squeezes his eyes closed, slams the bottle down to the counter. It's four steps to the bedroom and the door flies open under his palm. "Just fucking say," Dean says, and Sam's looking at him with big eyes, curled up on the twin bed with his back up against the wall, books spread open all around him. Homework, of course. "Just say it, okay? What do you want?"

Sam stares at him. "I don't care! Get—whatever, pepperoni. Jeez, what's up with you?"

"Sure you don't want sausage?" Dean says, kind of nasty, and Sam frowns, shakes his head. Goddamn it. Dean drags a hand over his face, sags against the door frame. He's—a little dizzy. Oh—okay, so maybe he should've eaten, sometime since this morning. "Damn it, Sam," he says, his stomach twinging.

"What?" Give him this—maybe he's sneaking around, maybe he's lying about half his life, but Sam doesn't shrink back from an argument. He's still in his pajamas. He shoves his notebook away, lifts his chin. "What?"

"Been doing some reading," Dean says, and watches Sam's face scrunch disbelievingly. "Rearviewmirror? You don't even like cars."

It's weirdly satisfying to watch Sam blanch. He's been so unaffected the last little while it's almost a relief to get a real reaction. His mouth parts, his eyes go big. He stares at Dean in total silence except the rain drumming on the roof, and then he says, "That's—private."

"Not that private," Dean says. "You're putting shit on the internet for any asshole to read, Sam. It's not a pretty princess diary with a sparkly lock."

Sam's face is white. He licks his lips, his back rigid against the wall. "How did you—you never—"

"I know how to use a friggin computer," Dean says, and watches Sam close his eyes. "So? Got a lot to say to a bunch of strangers. Might as well say it to me. I mean, I'm your brother, right? Family."

It comes out hard but his voice cracks, on the last word. He swallows and some of the anger dissipates. Sam's jaw flexes and he tucks his hands behind his neck and his knees drag in, like defense. Like he needs defense. Against Dean. Like it's Dean who's wrecking things.

Dean's legs go out from under him. He sits down. Right there, in the doorway to the bedroom, the frame hard against his spine. The rain's loud and he doesn't—what is there to say? "You should've told me."

That's really it. Sam looks at him. Disbelief. "How?" he says, and Dean tips his head back against the wall, looks at the popcorn ceiling, says, "I don't know, it's not my damn secret. But you should've."

"Yeah, that would've gone great," Sam says, sarcastic.

Silence. The rain. Dean drags his hand over his face again, clears his throat. "So. You're—queer." For some reason it seems like the simplest thing to start with.

Sam snorts. "I'm not, like, jerking off to JC Chasez," he says, bitter.

"Who?" Dean says, but shakes his head. "God, whatever. Jesus, Sam, I can't—don't talk about you jerking off. You're not—you don't date chicks, either. Ever. So you're—"

"I don't know," Sam says. Kind of firm. Dean closes his eyes to not look at him. "I don't know, okay? But that's not what—" Pause, while he drags in a breath that's audible across the room. Dean curls over, his forehead between his knees. It's too big to hear. Sam blows out air. "You read the whole thing?"

Frail. Cobweb soft, like if Dean breathed too hard it'd break. Dean folds his hands over his head. "I read the whole thing," he says.

"Don't—" Sam says, quick, and cuts himself off. Dean can't stand it—he looks, peeking up, and Sam's made himself small, there at the head of the bed. His mouth is small, his lips between his teeth—his eyes, big and scared. "Dean. I wouldn't—I swear. I wouldn't—"

"Kiss me?" Sam flinches like from a raised fist, when Dean's all the way over here. Dean licks his lips, dropping his hands so they dangle useless between his knees. "Or, what. Leave? Either way it's pretty fucked up, for me, Sam."

"Oh my god," Sam says, very quietly, and—christ. Looks like he's gonna cry.

"Sam," Dean says, and no matter how pissed he is, that's not—Sam fights back. Sam always fights back, he's frickin' annoying that way. He's not supposed to crack like this. Dean rolls up to his knees and Sam's looking away, neck craned unnaturally so that his face is pointed at the broken-blind-covered window so that Dean can't see, but Dean can—Dean can see his teeth so hard in his lip that the skin there's white, and his chest shaky, and his fist clenched in the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms, and, and—"Sammy," Dean says, again, and Sam's eyes close and there is—shit, shit, a tear, running fast out of the corner of his eye, streaking down his cheek so quick that if Dean could blink he might've missed it.

Dean's gut hurts, like he took a punch from a werewolf and he's gonna be bruised for the next three weeks. He doesn't have anything to say to make it better, not when it's this screwed up. This isn't Sam bitching about Dad or whining about crossbow practice or pouting about a move. Sam's been thinking about this for two years and he's managed to talk about it with people, online at least. Dean's coming at it with a week's slow raw realization and he doesn't know how to make it—not how it is.

He gets over to the bed, on his knees. Sam won't look at him, like the view of nothing through the blinds is the most fascinating thing in the world. There's a wet shining trail, down his cheek to his jaw. A damp circle on his t-shirt. Dean says, because he can't think of what else to say, "You really—you want—" and even then, can't articulate it. A kiss. Sex. A kind of close they've never been. He says, slower, "Is that why you want to go?"

Sam drags in air. Sounds like it hurts.

Dean drags his teeth over his lip. There are books all over the bed. He pushes them away, and Sam's notebook. He pushes up—knee on the mattress, and sinking down to his hip, and Sam's close enough to touch, now, and he jerks and looks at Dean like he's an alien. A ghost. Something that can't be real, only they both know that it is. Dean touches Sam's hand, fisted there in his pants, and Sam jerks again, his stiff shoulders back against the wall, and he shoves Dean's hand but no matter the crazy growth spurt Sam's been having Dean's still stronger, still has the reach—he grips Sam's wrist and yanks, gets him off balance, and then he's right inside Sam's grapple and has his hand flat on Sam's chest, pressing him harder against the paint, and Sam stares at him wild-eyed with his breath both fast and deep and Dean leans forward and presses their mouths together. It's a bad kiss—he barely hits on center, and Sam freezes—but there's the touch of warmth, Sam's lips—soft—and the shocked air hitting Dean's face—and Dean drags in breath through his nose and resettles, fits his mouth to Sam's soft open lower lip and makes it better, his head tipping, easy pressure there, just the faintest amount of suction so that when he pulls back a millimeter there's a little smooch sound, and that makes it—real.

He kissed his little brother. No getting around that. No pretending. His nose brushes Sam's cheek and Sam's not really breathing, and Dean—fuck, Dean does it again, pressing in and letting Sam's wrist go so that he can get a hand on Sam's jaw, tipping him so it's good. Sam makes a tiny noise and breathes out hard against his mouth, and when Dean kisses him for a third time Sam meets it, his lips moving finally out of that still shock, his fingertips brushing Dean's arm all careful, his heart pounding under Dean's hand.

Dean pulls back. An inch between them—not enough but all Dean can seem to manage. He swallows. His lips are tingling, and his eyes are closed and he doesn't want to open them, and his fingers—jesus, he's got them tangled in Sam's hair like Sam's some easy hot chick he's picked up at a dive bar, pressing her up against the wall in the bathroom hallway, knowing how the night's going to end.

"We can't," Sam says. Sam. His voice, steady and familiar. "We—Dean. This isn't—"

"No," Dean says, god knows why. He pulls back, though—pulls his hand out of Sam's hair, stands up. His legs wobble for a second. He has to open his eyes and so he drags in a breath and does, and Sam's sitting there with his shoulders high and tight and his hands fisted on his knees and his hair a little fluffed on one side, a little screwy. His mouth parted and his eyes—fixed on Dean's face, looking all over it. Like he's memorizing a trail map, for an unknown stretch of land.

"I'm drunk," Dean says. It's not true. Five beers—he's buzzed but he knows what he's doing. Sam doesn't contradict the lie. "Acting nuts. Sorry, Sam. I—"

"I want pepperoni," Sam says. His face isn't white anymore. He's flushed, dark pink in the hollows of his cheeks. His eyes are dark, wide and fixed on Dean, and there's still that shining trail on his cheek but it's drying. "Order from that place on Melrose. Garlic knots, too."

Dean backs up a step, pins on a smile. "What, you think I'm dumb? Like I wouldn't get knots," he says, and Sam doesn't smile but he nods, brief and fast like Dean's picking up a play in some con they're running, and Dean snaps a finger-gun at Sam—fuck, what is he doing—and turns out of the room, says—"Okay, dinner in thirty minutes or less or your money back!" and walks through the kitchen and out into the living room and out the front door, and closes it behind himself, and leans against it and stares blindly out into the rain, the setting sun still sparking some tiny golden bit of light out to the west, past the horizon.

He licks his lips and tastes salt, not his own. Sam's hand, on his arm—skimming, brushing light through the thickness of his jacket. Like he wasn't sure he'd be allowed to really touch. He drags in the rain-soaked air. He'll drive, to get the pizza. He'll drive, and he'll give Sam time. When he gets back he'll offer Sam half the pie and a beer, and there'll be some movie on TV that Sam probably won't want to watch, but maybe he will. They'll be—brothers. Dean knows how to do that. It feels like it's all he's got left.

It's—not easy but it's not all that hard, either. There's a brutal week where Dean's torn between walking on eggshells and wanting to wrestle Sam to the ground, and Sam goes perfectly silent—not pouty withdrawal or furious silent-treatment, but as still and quiet as though he's not even there. Dean can't bear it. It takes Dad coming home to break it—Dad, and christ, when he calls to say he's coming back Dean completely freezes and his mind fills up with—with—but then Sam looks at him and takes the phone out of his hand and says, his mouth's full—what's up? and after that it's like things… settle. It's not okay but it's livable.

rearviewmirror.livejournal.com goes quiet. Dean checks, occasionally, over the months that pass. When he's looking up some random piece of lore for Dad, when they're hunting alone and Sam's stuck back at whatever shitty hotel they stored him at, and Dean's on research duty because Sam's in high school and can't answer his phone. Dean types in the address and checks, and it's still that last post. Anyone else going through this? He hopes, sincerely, not. It's too fucked up for anyone else to bear. At least the Winchesters have practice.

They run PT. Sam does his homework. Dean watches TV. Hunting focuses things. There's stuff to kill and people to save and things aren't falling apart any more than they ever are, so—Dean deals.

Sam leaves.

It's January. Dean's in a library, alone. Dad's working a job north of Boise and he sent Dean down to Wendover to take care of a haunting, and Dean's done and Dad called and said two more days and there's this raw wounded spot where Dean should be able to turn, to look over his left shoulder and say—but it's empty there, and so he's in a library.

Sam started posting again, when he got to school. Small stuff. That he was sorry for the long break. That he'd ended up at a university after all. The hamburger girl doesn't respond anymore but the Nine Inch Nails boy does: thought you were dead, he says, no-caps like he's so goddamn cool, and Sam says, Just working some stuff out.

Sam likes his professors. He plays pick-up soccer with some of the guys from his dorm. His roommate snores. He doesn't listen to music at all. There's nothing—real. There's none of the sadboy shit, nothing about what he's feeling, no pondering of what it all means. He picks up a few different Livejournal friends, clearly people from his classes, who crack jokes about Ancient Civ and Linear Algebra. He joins a community focused around civil rights litigation. He might as well not be there.

Dean reads it all. If Sam's not calling then Dean's gonna check in whatever way he can. When Sam left Dean made sure he had at least one good knife in his bag and he said don't forget the salt when Sam hiked his backpack onto his shoulder, and Sam snorted and looked at him like a gunshot but he nodded, and Sam's not dumb, he knows how to take care of himself, but. Dean's the big brother, here. He's within his rights, to check and make sure baby bro's not being a dumbass.

January and it's fuckin cold, in Wendover, but the library's too warm. Dean keeps his coat on anyway, scrolling through the comms. He's kinda turning into an expert, navigating the pages, recognizing the shorthand. He hasn't made an account. Doesn't know why he would. He finishes his scan of the comms Sam's part of and doesn't really see any relevant posts, and no comments from rearviewmirror that he can find. He chews his cheek and goes back to the main page, thinking—okay, he can get out of here. Beer and dinner, and finding a motel that doesn't look toxic, and waiting for Dad to call. Not the worst night he could have. He refreshes, one last time, just in case, and there's a new post. He reads:

January 23

Done with class for the week. Feeling restless.

current mood: current music:

Comments:

lawblog69: we should go out!!

bloodofreptile: go get laid

Dean snorts. At least the NIN kid is consistent. He refreshes again and there's a new comment.

bloodofreptile: go get laid

rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

He takes a breath, sitting there at the computer bank. It's quiet in here—the good people of Wendover aren't much for the library, apparently—but he feels like someone's right there. Like he could reach out and touch, when it's just words on a glowing screen. Still—the speed of the comment—Sam's… sitting there. Right now, on a computer in Palo Alto, looking at the same thing Dean is.

He refreshes.

bloodofreptile: go get laid

rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

bloodofreptile: still holding onto that? very hufflepuff. how long has it been?

rearviewmirror: my whole life

Dean presses his knuckles to his lips, hard enough that he can feel his teeth pressing back. Jesus, Sam. He refreshes—another comment, from coppertonebuttgirl, agreeing about the restlessness but apparently she's off to a date with her boyfriend, and Sam responds and says sounds nice :), and jesus, Sam, Dean thinks. Off to have the big college experience like he wanted so bad, off to have that new shiny life, and after five months away he's still all sadsack, still not actually living.

He clicks the comment box. He types, unaccountably mad. He hits submit, and gets a warning that it'll show as anonymous. He waits, and refreshes, and reads:

Anonymous: Just go hit a bar. Live a little. Thought you were supposed to be smart, college boy.

rearviewmirror: Since when does smart have anything to do with it?

Dean rolls his eyes. He can hear Sam's voice saying it, nettled and trying to sound like he isn't.

Anonymous: You're on here mooning after Cindy Crawford when Claudia Schiffer and Tyra Banks are out there in the real world. Have a beer, get over it.

A pause. Dean has to refresh twice. The librarian walks by with her cart of books and gives him a distracted smile, and Dean's so addled he doesn't actually process and then return it until she's already gone.

rearviewmirror: I don't think it's something you get over. It mattered. It still does, to me.

Dean chews his thumbnail. Sam's face, turned unnaturally, looking out that window at the rain. The wet track, on his cheek.

Anonymous: Matters enough that you're never going to move on?

rearviewmirror: I didn't think you could move on from family. Maybe I was wrong.

The air goes out of Dean's chest. He turns away from the computer, entirely, swiveling the chair so he's looking out at the lonely bookshelves. He flexes his jaw and swivels back around. Hits refresh.

The thread of comments is gone. He blinks, confused. He doesn't think he was hallucinating—been a while, since he was that tired and drunk. But—oh—in its place, a single comment, under the brief conversation with the NIN kid:

rearviewmirror: Tell me if it's you.

Dean licks his lips. He closes out of the browser, picks up his notepad and keys. On the steps outside it's cold, cold, fucking cold, and this town is bleak. He walks down to the Impala, waiting there in the iced-over grey snow, and braces his hands on the hood, and blows out a long purling winter-dragon breath, and then fishes his phone out of his pocket. Another new phone, but he's got Sam's number memorized, and he almost calls before he chickens out. If it's not actually wanted—he imagines that conversation and he's just not constitutionally capable, right now, of facing how goddamn awkward it'd be.

He texts: It's me.

The response, after seconds: Where are you?

The shitty part of Utah. That's saying something. Easier, like this. Like it's not him kicking down a doorway right into Sam's head.

I don't have class tomorrow.

Could be random, if he didn't know who he was talking to. Dean leans his elbows on the hood of the car, looking at the little box of black-and-white text. He chews his lips and thinks. Before he can respond, another message:

I don't want to move on.

Dean tips his head enough that he's pressing the edge of the phone into his forehead. His fingers are cold. He sniffs, his nose dripping in the icy weather, and types, careful to make sure he gets it right: I'm nine hours away.

Less, if he goes over 100 in the boring parts of Nevada, and if he doesn't stop at all for a catnap.

Stop in Reno for a nap. You get weird when you drive all night. Text me when you're close.

Dean works his jaw, standing there in the cold. He's got nothing to do, for two days. He's got most of a tank of gas. He's got—nothing. Nothing. He gets in the car, and he drives.

It's only 9:30 when he gets to Reno. There were parts of Nevada where he drove very, very fast. He pulls into a truck stop, gets more gas and parks out near where the semis are lined up, the drivers early-birding the night away. Still cold here but less so. He twists around so his back's to the passenger door and looks out the driver window at the neon signs of the truck stop, the cars going in and out of the gas islands. He ate a little but his stomach was all twisted up and he couldn't get much down. A beer would go easier but he doesn't want to be drunk. Well. He does. This is insane. This is—completely stupid.

He pulls out his phone, looks at it. Dials and holds it to his ear, and it rings three times—long enough for him to change his mind four times—before there's an answer, and Sam's voice says, "Dean?"

His voice. Dean closes his eyes, tips his head back against the cold glass of the window. "Long time, no speak," Dean says. It feels rusty.

Sam's quiet for a second, on the other end. "Not really, though. Right?"

"I guess so. It's not the same." Dean listens to the little acknowledging sound Sam makes. There's silence again, for seconds that he counts—one and then two and then three. He listens to the cooling tick of the engine, through it, and then says, before he loses his nerve, "I shouldn't come. Right? This is nuts."

There's some noise, staticky. Like something passed over the mic on Sam's phone. After a beat, Sam says, "You should do what you want to do."

"Oh, should I," Dean says, and it comes out sarcastic, but he doesn't really mean it to be mean. Sam doesn't take the bait, staying quiet on the other end, and Dean opens his eyes again, watching a huge truck muscle past the gas island, watching the normal world go by. He rubs his eye. "I've been—it's been weird, Sam."

Understatement, but he doesn't know why he says it. That kind of stuff isn't for Sam to worry about.

"Go to sleep," Sam says, instead of responding. "An hour or something, just enough so you won't drive off the road. Text me when you're close."

Same thing he said before. "It'll be like three in the morning when I'm close," Dean says, and Sam says, "I'll be awake," and then the line disconnects, and Dean's left there alone again on the bench seat, but it—feels different.

He sort of sleeps, sort of doesn't. He's got a talent for going to bed wherever and whenever he has to—on spare tires and on forest floors and in a closet, once, with a propane tank as his pillow—but his brain won't shut up. He drifts in and out, for the hour Sam asked him for, and then he gets out of the car and goes into the 24-hour c-store and buys a big cup of coffee and a Hershey bar, and points the hood west, and follows the yellow dashed line home.

He texts from a gas station outside Sacramento. Sam texts back in less than a minute with an address. Dean glances at his map of California and responds: 45 minutes, and it's more like thirty when he pulls up to the—yeah, the motel, and he makes a sound that's sort of like a laugh except it doesn't feel like one. He turns into the parking lot and the headlights flash the building, and there, sitting on the sidewalk with his back to a pillar.

Dean parks. Sam has his arms folded over his knees, but he unfurls, stands. Dean gets out of the car and Sam's—jesus, ten feet away, his face totally visible under the streetlight. His hair's a little longer. "Did you get taller?" Dean says, and Sam huffs, his head ducking, and—fuck everything else, it's Dean's little brother, and he drags Sam into a hug, folding his arms over Sam's shoulders even if he has to lift on his toes a little to do it. Sam goes stiff for half a second, but he hugs back, and Dean turns his face in, Sam's hair in his nose like it always is, and feels him—warm, and safe. All Dean ever wanted for him, pretty much.

"You have to get the room," Sam says, when they pull apart. At Dean's eyebrows he shrugs, the corner of his mouth curled. "What? My scholarship doesn't include seedy rent by the hour stuff."

"Oversight much?" Dean says, but he goes in, and he gets a room. Two queens, because that's what the tired miserable little desk clerk says they have available. Means Dean doesn't have to think about other possibilities, and it means that when he dangles the keys off his finger and Sam half-smiles at him, when they've walked down the cold sidewalk side by side, when Dean opens the door and finds the different motel room, same as the first—Sam sits on one bed, and Dean sits on the other, and they look at each other, and it's like it's two years ago and they're just two kids, waiting for Dad to come home.

Sam is taller. Taller than Dean, now. His hair long enough to fall in his eyes, which it does constantly. Newish sneakers, and old jeans, and a hooded sweatshirt, and a denim jacket over the top of that. Not warm enough for the Bay in winter, but Dean bites his tongue before he says anything about it.

"How are your classes?" he says, instead.

Sam's cheek sucks in, like he's chewing it. After a second he says, "You don't want to talk about my classes, man." His head tips. "Anyway. You read about it, right."

It was a mistake not to stop for beer. Dean needs something to do with his hands. "Your algebra professor sounds like an asshole," he says.

Makes Sam smile before he ducks his head, looking down at his lap. "I thought—" He swallows, audibly. He shakes his head, his hair falling down and hiding his face. "Only reason I started posting again was that I wondered if you might still—if you'd check."

It's quiet, honest. Dean hasn't talked to Sam in person for half a year and he's off-balance. Expecting Sam to snark, to be dismissive, to roll his eyes. Small hours of the morning, maybe he's too tired not to be honest. Maybe he's growing up. Dean's not prepared for that.

Sam looks up at him when Dean's silent for too long. His teeth dig into the corner of his mouth and he drags his hand through his hair, gets it off his forehead. "I said I didn't want to move on. You know what I meant, right?"

Dean huffs. "Yeah, I'm not an idiot, Sam," he says, and Sam's eyes tighten. Dean leans back on his hands, tips his head back on his shoulders to look at the ceiling. "Thought this was the whole point of getting out. Getting away, making a whole new life. Being someone else."

"I'm still me," Sam says, unseen. "And it wasn't the whole point. I want a life. That part—whatever, that doesn't matter right now. But I never thought the other thing was going to go away."

He stands up, so Dean can see him. Dean looks at him down his nose, and Sam's—god. Tall. That keeps being his first thought. Tall, and maybe not a stranger, even if he's real damn strange. Sam steps closer, in the little space between the two beds, chewing his lip again. He's gonna make a sore there. "Dean," he says, and Dean raises his eyebrows in response. "You came."

"Yeah," Dean says, rueful. "Well. I'm Cindy Crawford."

Sam's face ripples—a frown, surprise—and then a huffed little laugh—and then he steps between Dean's knees and touches his chest, his jaw. Leans down, slow, telegraphing like they're practicing a fight, and Dean stays exactly where he is, leaned back on his hands, and Sam's mouth touches his—softly. Not hesitant. Dean lets his eyes close and feels it. Puff of air against his face as Sam lets out a tense breath and then another kiss, the damp inside Sam's lip catching against Dean's, and Dean kisses back then, reaching up and getting Sam's jaw, his jacket, fisting the denim and pulling Sam closer. There's a stagger—Sam's knee landing on the bed by Dean's hip, and Dean gets an arm around his lower back and kisses him again, tasting him. Salt, and when Dean kisses him again and presses his mouth open, licks inside, there's coffee-taste, Sam's tongue—slick, tentative—he stayed up, to wait for Dean—his kiss clumsier now, like he doesn't have much practice.

Dean pulls back a few inches. Sam's half-draped on him, his weight nearly in Dean's lap. His eyes are dark but big with surprise, like he didn't expect Dean to go with it. "Sammy," Dean says, and Sam—shudders, his hands closing hard around Dean's shoulders. Okay, Dean thinks, filing that away. He drags a thumb over Sam's jaw, where he's got a barely-there prickle of stubble. "What are we doing?"

Sam shakes his head, licks his lips. "This," he says, holding the side of Dean's neck. "This."

They peel Sam's jacket off, and then Dean's. Sam's still in that hoodie, soft black, and Dean gets his fingers just under the hem of it, barely grazing Sam's stomach, kissing him again—tangled up close on the edge of the bed, Sam's thigh slung over his. Sam keeps touching his face, his chest. His amulet, swinging forward between them when he urges Sam down to his back on the mattress, a knee between Sam's and his hand still there on Sam's belly. Sam grips the amulet and breathes out hot against Dean's face and lifts up for another kiss, which Dean gives him easy, and it's—god, it's good. The lights on, the room warm, Sam wanting underneath his hand. His mouth, slick and open, learning how to press back, how to give as good as he's getting. Dean kisses his cheekbone, his jaw, settles his hand flat on Sam's stomach to ground him, says, "Sammy, you've done this before, right?" Sam hitches breath, nods. Dean sorta laughs, lifts up so he can actually see Sam's expression. "More than once?"

"Twice," Sam says, and when Dean raises his eyebrows he frowns, vaguely indignant. "Jenny Morrison, just before graduation." He licks his lips. "And—a guy. After student orientation, here."

"Playing the field, huh?" Dean says. There's no reason it should make his stomach go molten hot. He rubs Sam's stomach, feels the rise of his breath. "You like it?" Sam nods, again. "What'd you do?"

Sam's cheeks are dark, brick-red. He licks his lips again and Dean ducks back in to kiss him, knocking his mouth open, tasting inside. Earns himself a small deep noise and Sam's hand sliding through his hair where it's too short to grab. He nudges Sam's nose and sits up, peeling off his overshirt. "C'mon. What'd you do? Didn't put that up on your journal, how am I supposed to know?"

"It was a rush party," Sam says, looking at him. He pulls his t-shirt off over his head, making sure his amulet stays put, and Sam blinks heavily, his lips parted. Jeez—it's weird. Hot. Sam wants him, Dean thinks, and it sends a rush of blood south. "He's—uh. Pre-med, smart."

"Not looking for his biography, Sammy," Dean says, and spreads his hands on Sam's hips, pushing up. The hoodie moves, the t-shirt underneath rucks up—Sam's pale here but still that faint all-over tan, darker than Dean's skin. He licks his lips. "What'd you do? Jerk each other off?"

Sam nods, again, his mouth open. God, Dean can imagine it. On some dorm-room bed, their heads leaned together, Sam's mouth open just like this—panting, his hand fumbling down—fuck, fuck it's hot, Sam nervous and into it and trying, making sure. "You liked it, huh?" Dean says, stroking his thumbs over Sam's bare belly.

"Yeah," Sam says, thin on not enough air, his knee drawing up. "But I—I thought about—when you kissed me—" and Dean kisses him again, groaning. Jesus, Sam's gonna kill him. Thinking about some shitty nervous freaked-out kiss when another guy's got his tongue in Sam's mouth. Sam grabs his shoulders, sits up, and Dean accommodates him easy, letting Sam touch him back—Sam's hands sliding down his chest, around to his ribs, grasping. "Dean," he says, panting.

"Let's get this off, huh?" Dean says, pulling, and Sam yanks the hoodie off in a second flat, his hair all ruffling up behind it. The shirt comes with it and there's just Sammy's bare smooth skin, that same pale tan all over. Small brownish nipples, slim muscles. His body. Dean dips and kisses his bare shoulder, licking there, biting, and Sam's nails dig into his ribs so he does it again, swinging a leg over so he's straddling Sam's lap, taking his time. He scrapes his teeth over the swell where Sam's collarbone dips into the arch of his trap, and Sam grips his neck, his back arching. He's hard. Shit, he's nineteen, he has to be hard. Dean slides his fingers down Sam's belly to his belt, tucking under the waist of his jeans, but Sam grips his wrist, then, groaning, saying—"Wait—wait—"

Dean drops his head to Sam's shoulder, groaning back. "We waited," he says, but Sam's hand is on his shoulder, pushing him back, making him look. "What?"

Sam's pink. "Have you—with a guy?" Dean rocks back but Sam's holding him close, looking all over his face. "Dean. Have you—"

"Yeah," Dean says, and watches Sam's ears go red. Sam doesn't need to know when, but it was all in the last year. Three dudes, hookups that were way too easy. They were good—turns out that Dean just likes sex, any way someone will give it to him—and he learned what it felt like to have a dick not his own in his hand, how it felt to slip a cock into his mouth and make a man groan. He hadn't thought about Sam while he was doing it, not really, but he's thinking about it now, and Sam's eyes have dropped, his lips between his teeth. Jealous? Dean smiles while Sam can't see and breaks Sam's hold on his wrist, and slides his hand down, and cups the crotch of Sam's jeans where he's swelling them out. Sam jerks, eyes flying open. "Means I know what I'm doing. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam breathes, and then it's—undoing his belt, and unzipping, and then—god, he's still got his sneakers on. Dean backs off and kicks off his boots, deliberately, and Sam blinks at him hot-eyed with his chest heaving and his jeans half-open looking like a friggin porno, but then he gets with the program, and the shoes thud to the shitty carpet and then they're practically racing, undressing, and when Dean kicks his boxers off to the side Sam's—naked, half on the bed, staring at him. Dean stares back, circling a hand around Sam's ankle. God, to look at him, in the lamplight. Long legs, hairier on the shins and lightly furred on the thighs, and a decent dark bush around a dick that's—jesus, that dick. Big, bigger than Dean's, bigger than—Dean licks his lips and looks up with an effort and Sam's staring right back at him, focused between his legs, his mouth parted. "Like what you see?" Dean says, and Sam doesn't answer, just reaches for him, and Dean crawls up the bed and settles on his elbow above Sam with their legs brushing bare, Sam's dick hot against his hip, and Sam kisses him with both hands on his face, his thigh dragging up against Dean's, his lips almost trembly.

Dean soothes a hand down Sam's ribs but Sam's—fuck. Shaking. They haven't even done anything. "Sammy," Dean whispers, between Sam's needing brief kisses, and Sam shakes his head and kisses him again and then ducks his head down, his nose brushing under Dean's jaw. Dean pulls Sam closer—tips, so they're on their sides—and pulls Sam's leg over his hip, pushes in, and—ah, shit, shit that feels good, Sam's big dick brushing in against his, dragging heavy and hot. "Oh," says Sam, small, and Dean slips his hand further and grips Sam's ass, the muscle tight and small—pulls in, and pulls again, encouraging, and Sam grips Dean's shoulder underhand tight enough to hurt but follows, pushing in with the rhythm Dean's urging. He's breathing fast, hot against Dean's throat, but he's got it—humping in, meeting Dean, making their dicks slide, his cockhead smearing wet against Dean's belly. Dean hums, kissing Sam's temple where he can just reach it, just enjoying the—insane way it feels. He lets Sam's ass go and Sam keeps going—good, good—and he licks his fingers sloppy, and reaches down between them, and for the first time he gets a grip on Sam's dick, feels the heft of it. Sam makes a sound like he's been shot and Dean says shh, easy, slicking his hand down to the base, squeezing hard as he pulls back up, and Sam makes another gulping strange sound, his thigh clutching hard around Dean's hip, his hand crushing Dean's lower back in closer. "That feel good?" Dean says, and Sam—comes. Fast, humping in, spurting up Dean's belly and his own, the slick getting all over Dean's dick, hot and wet, the sensation enormous. Dean squeezes him through it, knowing, and Sam humps in again and grabs his ass, nails digging in. Dean tips his head back, feeling it. God, it's good. Sam. His brother.

He swallows. His dick's throbbing, wanting more, feeling left behind. Sammy shudders and Dean licks his lips, pushes Sam back so his shoulders hit the bed. He flops—boneless, shocked—and Dean drags his hands over Sam's ribs, frames his hips. His dick is still big, flushed and wet, his balls clutched up high, and Dean licks his lips and says, "Okay," to no one, and leans down, and gets Sam's dick in his mouth.

A shock, Sam's body practically lifting off the bed. "What," he says, somewhere Dean can't see him—"What are you, oh—" and Dean thinks, oh, what if no one has done this? What if Jenny just opened her legs and she and Sam humped awkward and teenage in some backseat—what if pre-med only wiped his handful of Sam's jizz on the mattress and passed out—what if Dean's the first one, here, opening his jaw wide, careful of his teeth, slicking down, getting the whole fat length of it in his mouth. Only—he can't, fuck, Sam's too big. He fists the base, pulls off, spits and slicks the wet down. When he glances up Sam's up on his elbows, staring, and Dean grins at him, jerks it again, swallows. He can taste Sam's jizz, leftover from coming before. "Hang on," Dean says, and goes back down, letting the head bust his lips open, slicking tight down to his fist, dragging his tongue hard against the underside, suckling easy. Sam takes his statement as an order and grips his head, his shoulder, his hips cringing up into Dean's mouth, and Dean heaves in air, feels Sam firming up again, thick and needing and good.

He's only done this a few times but he—shit, he liked it. Likes it better the other way around, of course, but like this—his dick pressing into the bed, throbbing—Sam splitting open his mouth—yeah, it doesn't exactly suck. He bobs up and down, making sure to pay special attention to the soft ridge at the head, and Sam's making insane noises, now, up above him, petting his head and his shoulders and gripping, trying to shove up. Dean leans into his hip so he can't, fists his dick, pulls off gasping and licking his lips. Sam's still staring, down the length of his torso, and Dean jerks him through the goopy mess they're making—his spit, Sam's precome, what Sam's already come. "You like it?" Dean says, and Sam—rolls his eyes, the little shit.

"You're smug," Sam says, and Dean raises his eyebrows and says, "You're damn right I am," and lets Sam's dick go and goes down, down, no fist in the way until Sam's dick hits the back of his throat and he gags—breathes through it—slurps up with tight lips and then goes right back down, getting his throat used to it, learning the feel of this massive, awesome dick. Sam moans, pushes his hips up, and Dean lets him, rides it—lets Sam fuck up, lets him get a rhythm, like fucking—Sam, fucking his face—and Dean reaches down between his own legs and fists his own dick, finally, groaning in relief and making Sam shudder as the vibration rumbles through Dean's open throat. Sam grips his head with both hands, holding him down, and Dean drags in air through his nose and holds there, filled up with Sam and choking, spit flooding out of his open mouth—the world dark and just Sam's taste, his smell—and Sam makes a little sound—and Dean grunts and lifts off, breaks Sam's hold and crawls up his body, straddling his hips and dragging his dick against where Sam's is all sloppy-hot, dripping wet. Sam gasps up at him and grabs his hips, his ass, fucking up into him, and Dean grips both their dicks in two hands, fucking into the tight wet channel he's making for them both, and Sam pulls at his ass, spreading it, rocking his hips to help, moaning and looking helpless up into Dean's face, and Dean leans down and breathes against him and Sam still comes first, creaming them both, his dick flexing and twitching in Dean's grip, and Dean braces one slick hand on the bed and fists himself seriously, jerking fast, and Sam moans and kisses his jaw and pulls at his ass with those big hands, his fingers slipping low, dipping—and Dean jerks and spills, his belly seizing, his thighs clamping around Sam's hips, Sam's lips open and dragging wet against his throat, his fist gripping the bedspread so hard that his fingers cramp.

Sam's stroking his hips, repetitive and soft, when he's done panting. Dean swallows, shifts his weight. He's slumped on top of Sam, his face buried in Sam's shoulder. Wet between them, sliding, and he releases his dick and slips his sticky hand out, bracing on the bed enough to get some air between them. When he lifts up Sam's eyes are half-closed, but he focuses on Dean's face right away, and his hands stop their stroking and just squeeze, warm and tight. "You okay?" Sam says.

"My line," Dean says, and Sam rolls his eyes again, squeezes again. Dean sits up more but Sam doesn't let go. "C'mon, we should clean up."

Sam's eyes tighten, just barely. He sits up, keeping his grip on Dean, and Dean rocks back but doesn't tip over. He gets a hand on Sam's shoulder to keep his balance and Sam says, steady, "Don't freak. Okay?"

"Who's freaking?" Their dicks are still pressed wetly together, though Dean's basically soft, now. Sam's still plump, thick. He swallows. "C'mon, we're gonna get cemented together," he says, and Sam's mouth purses but his grip goes light, and it gives enough room that Dean can lift off, get his feet under him. Jesus, there's enough jizz on him that it's rolling down his belly—he claps a hand to it before it can drop, smearing it over his abs. "You come like a geyser, dude," he says, not really complaining, but Sam's cheeks are red when he looks back up, and he feels—shit. He doesn't know.

He goes to the bathroom. Fluorescent light, pink-painted sink. He wets one of the five-cent washrags and wipes himself up, and he's not turned on anymore so his thought is mainly that it's just gross, and that bed's going to be wrecked, and also, what is he doing. What is he doing.

Sam's hand appears, reaching around him. He jumps. In the mirror behind him, Sam's tall, looking over his shoulder. Looking at Dean, even as he wets the other rag, cleans himself up. Dean chews the inside of his lip and can't really turn away. Sam's got red marks on his shoulder, where Dean was biting him.

"Stay," Sam says. He tosses his wet rag back into the sink and settles his hands on Dean's biceps, squeezing. When he steps forward his dick presses into the small of Dean's back and his chest is warm, damp. "Tomorrow at least. We've got the room. Stay."

"You want your dick sucked again?" Dean says, and that time it is mean and he did kind of mean it to be, and Sam's eyelids dip and his jaw clenches, but he only slips his hands away from Dean's arms to his ribs, holding him. It feels… Dean shakes his head. "Sam," he says, but there's not really anything that can go after it.

A big hand slides up and over, flattening on his breastbone. "It's not just this," Sam says, meeting Dean's eyes in the mirror, and it makes Dean's cheeks go hot.

He covers Sam's hand with his. He shivers, for some reason. He says, "I should take a shower, I've been in the car all day," and Sam says, "Okay," and Dean takes a shower and Sam sits on the closed toilet, watches him through the clear curtain. Gives him a towel when he comes out. Takes his hips, when he's dry, and presses him to the tiled wall, and tips his head up, and kisses him clean.

Five in the morning, or later. There's a clean bed and Dean hasn't slept in a day. He lays down and Sam lays down with him, a few inches away until Dean relents and turns over, and Sam curls up behind him, holding on, his mouth against Dean's shoulder. There's going to be a call from Dad, at some point. Dean's going to have to meet him somewhere, because there's going to be something bad that needs killing. He can't stay. He's wired and tired, all at once.

"Sleep," Sam says, and Dean turns his head against the pillow, knows he will.

"Hey," he says, and Sam makes a quiet noise. "If you put this on your journal, maybe bloodofreptile will finally shut up about you getting laid all the time."

"His name is Dennis," Sam says, and Dean laughs, weirdly glad. Dennis. Yeah, that fits. "And this isn't going on the internet."

"Probably a good idea," Dean says, and Sam says, again, "Dude, go to sleep," and Dean tips back into Sam's warmth, and does, and it's the best sleep he's gotten in a year.

#fffr #wincest #weecest #first time #long fic #my writing #--seriously this one also went too long #but idk it felt right this way

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wholesomemendes · 4 years

Text

Your Teddy Bear

Mendes Triplet Au (Peter Mendes)

Summary: No one could’ve guessed you would have ended up with Peter, but the two of you give each other a love neither of you ever thought you’d be lucky enough to experience.

Author’s Note: This is my first time writing with the Mendes Triplet concept by @thotmendes and I’m honestly so excited about it. Also, shout out to @fallinallincurls for talking concepts with me the other night that inspired me to write this and @princecharmingmendes for telling me too write it along with a ton of other people that got me to finish this (such as @itrocksmysocks who sent me a bunch of Peter pictures that were absolutely adorable). So I hope you guys enjoy this! It’s literally 4.6k of just pure fluff and more fluff after that. As always please tell me what you think!

Warnings: Mild Swearing (like literally only one or two words)

No one knew how Peter Mendes ended up with you. Hell, Peter didn’t even know how he ended up with someone like you, but somehow almost every night he fell asleep with his head on your chest, your hands brushing through his mess of fluffy curls. You commanded the room any time you walked in it, confidence radiating off you in every aspect as you strode past everyone with your shoulders pushed back and chin held high. Known to be the life of the party, you were the one people could rely on to flirt your way past the guy at the liquor store to bring the best booze to all of the frat parties, and your name was well ingrained into the minds of almost every student at your wide campus.

Peter, on the other hand, was only known by a handful of students and for a completely different set of reasons. Typically when one thought of Peter they first thought of Raul, the oldest of the Mendes triplets that was known for partying and hooking up with girls, or Shawn, the captain of the hockey team that could easily get any girl he wanted just by looking them in the eyes and serenading them with his singing and guitar. If by some miracle they knew Peter for another reason, it’d probably be because he happened to be one of the smartest students in every single one of his classes and often was asked for tutoring or help with homework. When you thought of Peter Mendes you thought of the smart Mendes, which was exactly why it just didn’t seem right that the two of you were together.

It wasn’t like you were unintelligent by any means, you got As and Bs in all of your classes, but you weren’t even close to the level of Peter’s smarts. Most students would say Raul would be your type, you both had dominating, cocky almost personalities on the outside and loved to party, a seemingly perfect fit. Or even Shawn, who had a smooth, laid back persona would be a great match for you if he didn’t already have a girlfriend to love.

But you knew how you ended up with Peter. It was just 6 months ago when that curly headed boy walked into your life, flipping it completely upside down in the best way possible. You remember it clear as day; you had just gone into the kitchen of the frat house to get another drink when you spotted a cuddly giant leaning against the counter looking completely out of place, swirling his drink inside of his solo cup. You excused yourself, reaching behind him to grab some pop causing him to look at you with wide eyes, apologizing profusely for being in your way. Giggling at his reaction you reassured the startled boy that there was nothing to worry about, before properly introducing yourself.

“I’m Y/n by the way.”

“I know,” he responded, cheeks heating up after realizing what he had said. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t completely infatuated by you, how could he not be? You were absolutely gorgeous and the definition of perfection in his eyes, and something about your mysterious aura left him wanting to know everything about you. Yet here he was, completely embarrassing himself in front of the girl he was secretly crushing on. “I’m sorry that was so weird, um, I’m Peter,” he stuck his hand out for you to shake it, a laugh escaping your lips as you took it firmly in your own. His heart was beating out of his chest at the fact that not only were you engaging in a conversation with him, but you had just shaken his hand, which he was now realizing was not a common thing for teenagers to do and was probably screwing up any chance he had of getting to know you.

“So what’s in the cup?” you asked, motioning to the drink that was pretty much still filled to the brim, a clear sign that its contents were not appealing to him.

“Oh, um, it’s beer, but I’m not really that much of a drinker, especially in large crowds.” His cheeks burned bright red under your stare and he wondered how much deeper of a hole he was going to dig himself into with all of this information he was giving out. Surely someone like you would find him boring soon, it was only a matter of time before you left him to talk to someone hotter and much more interesting.

But to his surprise you moved closer, leaning against the counter next to him as you brought your cup to your lips. “Want to know a secret?” you whispered, Peter nodding frantically like a little boy about to get a new toy, “I’m not that into drinking either. I only really do it at parties and even then I usually keep it to a minimum. I’ve been here for three hours and all I’ve had is half a white claws I ended up giving to my friend. This is Pepsi.” You took another sip from your cup, watching as his jaw dropped at the information causing a smirk to form on your face, “You know I’ve never actually told anyone that, but I have a feeling you’re not gonna go around telling everyone what I tell you.”

“No, no, I won't, I promise.”

“Good, now what do you say we find somewhere quieter to get away from all of this. I’ve had a long day and I have a feeling you love parties just as much as you love drinking.” Peter thought he had never smiled so wide as you took his hand and pulled him into an empty room, one you just happened to know wouldn’t be used tonight. The two of you talked for hours, about how he was dragged there and then abandoned by his two identical brothers, to the research he was doing for astronomy class. You listened intently to everything he said, even adding some of your own input about topics he never thought you would be interested in, and he truly thought in that moment that he had never felt more seen, more appreciated and thought of as someone other than the unknown Mendes brother. You parted ways when it got too late for the both of you, exchanging numbers with a promise to see the other again soon, Peter’s heart racing at the thought of seeing you once more. You never told him, but he had your heart that first night you met him, finally having someone who wanted to know more about you than how to get in your pants.

So even though it shocked the entire school to see Peter’s arm wrapped around your shoulders two weeks later, the two of you felt perfectly content and at peace with one another, your personalities balancing each other out, fitting in like the missing pieces to your own individual puzzles. If you ever had a bad day, you knew that the moment you saw your cuddly giant of a boyfriend looking as comfy as ever in his softest sweatshirts, glasses adorning his beautiful face, your mood would instantly be lightened and everything would be alright. And that’s exactly what you needed right now, a cuddly Peter to turn your day around.

So there you were, headed to the triplets apartment off campus to see your man. Raul, Peter, and Shawn had all bought a four-bedroom apartment only a couple minutes off campus after their sophomore year, and you were around so much that they trusted you with the code and your very own key. You fit right in with the boys easily; you had seen Raul and Shawn at a couple parties before you met Peter, but you never spoke more than a few words to one another. Now that you were dating Peter though, you were practically treated as their sister, blending right into the dynamics of their tight knit family. If there was one thing the Mendes brothers were, it was close and you never quite understood how deep their connections were with one another until you were around them so much. Peter was never known to be a player, always wanting to just be in a serious relationship, so it had been years since he had brought a girl home around his brothers. For that very reason, Shawn and Raul were extremely protective over him, but you easily passed the test they gave you right off the bat. They loved you, not to mention they could tell that Peter was head over heels for you long before he told you 3 months into your relationship. He had been laying on your chest, breathing starting to become heavy as you lured him to sleep with your head massages.

“I love you,” he mumbled into your shirt almost incoherently, an innocent slip of the tongue in his sleepy state. You froze, hand pausing in his hair for a second as he whined from the lack of your touch, not even processing what he just said. You hadn’t ever told one of your boyfriends that you loved them, the thought always seeming too permanent and constricting. But Peter was different and you knew that from the start. He made you feel things that you worried in the dead of night you might never experience and even though it was early in your relationship, Peter felt emotions so deeply and openly that your heart was completely owned by him.

“I love you too, Pete.” He hummed in confusion at your words, suddenly a lot more awake as he sat up to look you in the eyes.

“What?”

“You told me you loved me and I said I love you too.”

“You do?” he asked, eyes wide, happy tears prickling in the corners of them.

“I don’t know how I couldn’t bubs,” and with that he surged forward, connecting your lips to his with as much passion as he could possibly muster.

After he woke up, Peter immediately told his brothers about the night’s events, the two of them filled with joy that someone could make their brother as happy as he was. A month later he gave his virginity to you and the praise (and teasing) he got from his brothers was never ending. You weren’t forgotten either for later that day when you showed up, Shawn immediately began wiggling his eyebrows at you as Raul started cracking sexual jokes, Peter looking sheepish in the background. You had rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance, though you could never be truly mad at Peter for sharing your relationship with his brothers. You learned very quickly that there was little to no privacy with the three of them and anything you did was fair game in their conversations. You didn’t mind, you loved how close they were, not to mention how supportive they were of one another, and you definitely didn’t complain when you had two extremely buff guys protecting you from drunk creeps at parties that didn’t seem to grasp the concept that you were in a relationship.

But being close to the brothers also meant they were used to your random appearances when you typically showed up unannounced even to Peter, who never complained about getting to spend more time with you. Which happened to be the case today, when you stormed in, muttering a quick hello to Raul who was spread out on the couch as you headed towards Peter’s room.

“Peter?” you asked, knocking twice before entering at his request, not even greeting him and instead landing face down on his mattress with a huff.

Your boyfriend closed his laptop, saving his work and sitting up to give you his full attention, running his fingers over your back, “What’s wrong, angel?”

“She’s such a bitch!” you complained, rolling over onto your back to stare at the ceiling.

“Who?” This is how it usually went if you were having a bad day, he’d ask you generic questions, allowing you to let out all of your pent up frustration until you were ready to be cuddled for the rest of the night.

“Marissa! You won’t believe this. This guy comes up to me after class today and tries to give me his number and I’m obviously like no, sorry, I’ve already got the greatest man in the world, I don’t have any interest or need for anyone else. But guess what?!”

It didn’t even phase Peter at this point that a guy tried to get your number, it happened so often that he was partially immune to the doubts and jealousy that came with it. In the beginning it was hard for him, constantly feeling like he wasn’t enough and didn’t deserve you, but you proved to him time after time again that you were completely gone for him and that he was more than you could ever dream of. And he would never, ever question your loyalty to him, if there was one thing you weren’t it was a cheater. “What?”

“Turns out this dude had a girlfriend, Marissa, and so of course she was pissed that he was trying to get my number, which is understandable. But guess who she blames it on?”

“You?”

“Me! Like are you KIDDING me?! I’m not the one with loyalty issues here, sweetie, yet here you are accusing me of trying to get with your man. Why would I even want his number? Even if I was a cheater, which ugh I want to throw up just thinking about it, you’re a hundred times hotter and better than him in every way so it doesn’t make sense. So no, it wasn’t me, sorry your boyfriend’s a manwhore, Marissa.” A chuckle escaped Peter’s lips, head tilting back against the headboard as he laughed. You turned your head at the beautiful sound, meeting his eyes a few seconds later for the first time that night. And just like that. Mood completely better. The sight of him, hair a fluffy mess basically asking to be played with, adorable glasses being pushed up by the scrunch in his nose, and comfy pink sweatshirt on his frame making him look as soft as ever.

“Hi bubs.”

Peter smiled his loving smile he reserved for you, laughing to himself at how quick your mood could change around him, “Hi angel. Feeling better?”

You nodded, crawling up the bed into his open arms, sliding underneath the covers next to him as you rested your head on his chest, “I love you.”

“I love you so much.” He adjusted in the bed to better lay down with you laying on top of him, stroking your hair before placing gentle kisses on the top of your head, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, bubs,” you snuggled further into his chest, cheek squishing against the fabric of his sweatshirt, “Just wanna cuddle you all night long.”

“I can do that,” Peter whispered, voice soft against your ear, “You doing anything for the rest of the night? I heard Raul saying there’s a huge frat party he’s going to later.”

“Yeah I heard about that,” you admitted, “But I don’t think I’m gonna go. Rather just lay here with you. If you want to, that is.”

Peter’s heart swelled three sizes at your words, nodding his head as he traced I love you onto your back like he always did when he was given the chance. It was true that ever since you started dating Peter you weren’t found at parties as often as you used to be. You still enjoyed going to them, you even managed to bring Peter to a couple of them and he found them much more enjoyable with you by his side, but more often you found yourself just wanting to stay in with your man rather than being surrounded by a bunch of people you hardly knew. “I’d love that,” he spoke against your ear, still leaving butterfly kisses in your hair, “Why don’t we have a movie night? I bought your favorite cookie dough, I could go pop them in the oven if you wanted.”

Your head perked up at his words, a smile gracing your face, “Mrs. Field’s Chocolate Chip?”

“Mhm,” he hummed in response, a squeal leaving your mouth as you jumped off the bed pulling him with you.

“Come on, come on, cookies, Pete!” He laughed, grabbing your hand in his and letting you drag him to the kitchen. He loved how different you were with him, how you were so carefree and loving compared to the confident, I don’t care vibe you gave off to everyone. It was like a secret only he got to see and as long as you kept showing it to him, he was gonna soak in every second of it.

Upon arriving in the kitchen, you jumped to sit onto the counter while Peter rummaged through the fridge in search of the mouth-watering cookie dough. You leaned over to wash your hands in the sink next to him before rolling the dough into large balls to get the biggest cookies possible. The first time you made cookies with Peter he was shocked at how much dough you were rolling for one cookie, claiming that they weren’t going to turn out well if they weren’t perfectly symmetrical to the suggested sizing on the side of the packaging. But once he tasted the big cookies he had no complaints, and neither did the rest of the triplets. Once the package was finished and you had two sheets of cookies in the oven, you watched as Peter set the timer on the oven, little tongue sticking out in concentration.

“Come here, big guy,” you motioned him closer to you, wrapping your legs around his waist once he stood in the middle of them, hands on your thighs. You placed your hands on his shoulders, one hand making its way to play with the curls on the back of his neck. He stared up at you with doe like eyes, hands frozen on your thighs no matter how much he wanted to move them. Even if you had been dating for over half a year now, Peter was still shy and nervous about touching you, so even having him put his hands there in the first place without you telling him it was ok was a big deal. “You can move your hands if you want,” you whispered, eyes holding his soft gaze, feeling his thumbs start to slowly rub circles against the fabric of your jeans, “You’re so handsome, did you know that?”

He blushed at your words, head ducking down to look at the ground, “‘M not handsome, you just have to say that cause I’m your boyfriend.” You knew Peter always had trouble with having self confidence, years of believing that his brothers were better than him really took a toll on his heart. But even if he was a part of three identical triplets, every time you looked at him all you saw was the cutest, most handsome man alive. Maybe he didn’t have endless tattoos like Raul, or piercings like Shawn, but he was Peter, your Peter, and you would do anything to convince him that he was more than enough for anyone, especially himself.

“Pete, look at me.” You lifted his chin up with your finger, other hand smoothing along his shoulder, “I would never tell you something that wasn’t true. I don’t tell you you’re handsome because I feel I have some weird requirement as your girlfriend to do so, I do it because every time I look at you I get butterflies in my stomach over how gorgeous you are. No one has ever made me feel like you do, bubs, and I just wish you could see what I see when I look at you.” With that you brought his lips to yours, tasting the sweet vanilla of his chapstick as he moved in sync with you. You squeezed your legs tighter around him, one hand deep in his unruly curls as you pulled him closer to you, his hands moving up to find purchase on your hips. He squeezed your hips lightly three times, a silent I love you as you kissed, causing a smile to form on your face at the soft boy in your arms.

“You better not be fucking over there!” Raul’s voice tore through the moment, the two of you breaking away from each other in order to turn around towards the couch where he was staring back at you with eyebrows raised. You rolled your eyes at his antics, turning around to find Peter with red stained cheeks and bashful eyes before calling back to the older triplet, “Don’t worry, Raul, we’re not stealing your job!”

A sincere laugh escaped Raul’s lips as you lightly pushed your boyfriend away so you could hop off the counter, earning a small whine from him in response, “Come on, bubs, let’s check on these cookies.” A couple minutes later you had a fresh batch of cookies sitting on top of the oven, the smell filling the entire apartment quick enough to have Raul next to the two of you in minutes with an already burnt tongue because he refused to wait for them to cool down. Just as you and Peter had bit into your first cookie, Shawn had come stumbling into the house with his hockey gear, a wide smile on his face, “Do I smell cookies?”

“Only the best. Want one?” you asked, handing him the plate, while Raul complained from next to you that he was just about to grab another.

“Is that even a question?” he asked, practically moaning when the taste hit his mouth, “And this is why I love having you around.”

“You say that like I’m the one that buys and makes the cookies. Peter’s the one that does all the work.”

“Yeah, but Peter only makes them for you. We only had oven baked cookies once or twice a year before you came.”

“Hey! I make dinner for you guys almost every night,” Peter countered, a slight furrow to his brows, “Not my fault the both of you can’t make your way around the kitchen without burning it.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Raul said, snatching one last cookie before heading off to his room.

“Come on, bubs,” you ushered your boyfriend forward, grabbing his hand as he picked up the plate of cookies, “Let’s go watch Netflix.”

“But I only got one cookie!” Shawn whined from behind the two of you.

“You can get them once we’re done,” you called out before shutting Peter’s door, “if there’s any left.” Peter laughed from behind you, loving the relationship you had with his brothers. Honestly, he didn’t know what he would do if you didn’t get along with them, his brothers were his world and their opinion mattered to him more than anyone else’s. But now that you were so prominently in his life, he could easily say that your opinion was on that same level, if not higher than that of his brothers.

“Hey angel?” he asked nervously, playing with the strings on the hood of his sweatshirt.

“Yeah, bubs?”

“Are you doing anything tomorrow morning?”

“I don’t think so, why?”

“Do you maybe want to stay the night?” You had stayed the night a handful of times, probably more than you should for the length of your relationship, and everytime the two of you woke up with the most content smiles on your faces, wanting nothing more than to just stay that way for the rest of the day.

“Of course, Pete, as long as I get to steal one of your sweatshirts to sleep in,” you told him, walking over to him and replacing his hands with yours on his hoodie strings. His hands found their way to your hips, rubbing in gentle circles to calm the racing heart he always had around you.

“I’ll give you all of my sweatshirts, you look better in them anyways.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, giving him a soft kiss, “I’ve never met a man that looks more cuddly in a sweatshirt than you do. You’re my teddy bear, bubs.” A wide smile formed on Peter’s face and he leaned in to kiss your lips one more time before he was opening the drawer to his sweatshirts. He handed you the one he knew was always your favorite, grabbing his own set of flannel pants and a shirt to sleep in. He turned around to let you change in privacy while he did the same, even though the two of you had seen each other in much more intimate situations prior to this. No matter how many times you told him he didn’t have to turn around, he always claimed he just wanted to respect you and didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable in any way, shape, or form.

“All done, bubs, come cuddle.” You opened your arms to him from where you were laying in his bed and a large smile found its way to his face as he launched himself into your arms. Giggling at your adorable boyfriend, you adjusted so he could lay under the covers with his arms wrapped around your body. You turned the tv on, scrolling through random romcoms on Netflix while Peter munched on a cookie beside you. One of the things you loved about Peter was how much he loved romcoms, always falling in love with the romantic content as much as you.

Halfway through the movie and you swore the two of you had eaten enough cookies to keep you full for a week, while saving one for Shawn of course. Somewhere in the midst of things, Peter’s head found its way to its beloved spot on your chest and your fingers immediately began massaging through the curls on his head. “You smell different, Pete. Did you change shampoo or cologne or something?” You couldn’t put your finger on it, but the more kisses you left on his curls, the more you felt something was different. He dug his head into your (his) sweatshirt, mumbling something incoherent while trying to hide his rosy red cheeks. “What are you trying to say? I can’t hear you while you’re eating my sweatshirt,” you teased, watching as his red face lifted up to meet yours.

“It’s yours,” he mumbled again, shoving his face back into your chest. You leaned down again, taking a sniff of his hair and finding it to resemble your typical scent right away.

“Why are you using my shampoo, bubs?”

He sighed, turning his head so you could hear him better, “Cause you left one of your bottles here last time you used it and I don’t know, just missed you a lot and you always smell so good.”

“Oh yeah, what do I smell like?”

“Home.” He answered with such sincerity that you knew this was something he had thought about for a long time. Your heart burst, love pouring out of you in such ways that you almost felt like crying happy tears right there on the spot.

“I, um, I have a candle that I keep next to my bed because I think it smells like your cologne. And it calms me down when I’ve had a bad day and I can’t come see you,” you confessed, hands coming back to his hair.

“You can always come see me, angel. Love having you around.”

You smiled to yourself when you heard his speech becoming more slurred, sleep overcoming him, “I love you, Pete.”

“I love you too, angel. My beautiful, beautiful angel.” He left feather-like kisses over your sweatshirt-clad chest, snuggling deeper into your warmth as his breathing began to even out. You reached over to turn off the tv, feeling safer than you’ve ever felt with your big, cuddly teddy bear in your arms.

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ethvn-torchio · 3 years

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Walls Could Talk | Chapter Two

a/n: sorry this chapter took so long! writer’s block is a bitch 😩✌

Summary: Steve and Peggy's search brings them to Paris - where they happen to meet up with an old friend.

Warnings: an intense makeout session/implied sexual content (it’s not smut, i haven’t decided if I’m putting actual smut in this fic)

Wordcount: 1.5k (unedited, also I'm sorry it's so short 🙃)

AO3 | prev chapter | next chapter (coming soon!)

ᴏᴄᴛ 𝟸𝟿, 𝟷𝟿𝟺𝟿

ᴏxғᴏʀᴅ, ᴇɴɢʟᴀɴᴅ

Steve wakes up in a cold sweat, bolting upright in bed. Was he still dreaming? Was this...was this real?

He gazes at Peggy - to make sure she was there, that all of this wasn't a mere fantasy, who begins to stir.

So, not a dream then, at least. His heart is racing, his mind buzzing and yet still confused and his breathing erratic. She's speaking to him, saying something, and he isn't quite listening, his heart thundering his ears. Adrenaline surges through his veins.

“I’m...I’m sorry, Peg. I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he whispers. His pulse was still racing.

Lightning illuminates the room for a split second and he can see the sympathy in her eyes.

"It's quite alright, Darling. Will you tell me what's wrong?" She asks, trailing her fingers through his hair.

"I...I don't- I don't remember much," he admits. "It was just...some stuff from the past...or, future..." he could almost laugh at that if he was in a better mood.

She nods sympathetically. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

He drinks in her appearance, nodding slightly. He presses his lips against hers softly.

He kisses her, gently and imploringly at first.

His one hand softly trails down her back, and he notices her sharp intake of breath when his hand ghosts over her lower back.

"This hurt?" he asks.

She nods stiffly. "I do believe I forgot to tell you with everything that happened tonight. I had a bit of a scuffle in the restroom with a Hydra agent. She slammed me against the sink," Peggy explains.

An idea forms in Steve's head; a single minded goal to make her forget.

He would make the only thing on her mind be him.

Wordlessly, he smiles and dips his head towards her neck, brushing his lips against it. His teeth graze against a sensitive spot on her neck and she makes a soft "Oh,"

His hands go to rest against either of her thighs. He pulls back, pupils blown.

“Steve,” she whispers. She lifts her hips in a silent invitation.

He leans down to kiss her, his lips against hers, and she's already breathless. He doesn't want to rush things, but he can't resist her.

Her hand slides down his back, and she lets out a soft moan against his mouth. His hands trail up her shirt, he can feel the goosebumps on her skin. He kisses her neck, and she can feel his hot breath against her skin.

"God, you're so beautiful. I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too," she replies.

He pulls her in for a desperate kiss once again, pulling her close.

—

The rain came and went, and with it sunshine followed.

“Peggy. Peggy, wake up,” is the first thing Peggy is greeted with in the morning.

Peggy groans, rolling over in an effort to ignore him. “No, not now,” she mutters, burying her face in the pillow.

Peggy feels weight on the bed as Steve sits down next to her. She tries in vain to ignore him.

"Oh, c'mon now, Peg. It's a new day, it's time to get up," he says.

“You are far too cheerful considering how early it is,” Peggy complains, shielding her eyes from the light pouring in from the blinds.

“...Peggy, it’s eleven in the morning.”

Peggy groans, glancing at the clock as if to make sure he’s right. “Point withstanding, you’re still too cheerful.”

“Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Steve teases, narrowly missing a pillow flung haphazardly at him.

“Do shut up, Steve.”

He snickers.

Peggy yawns, stretching her sleep-infused joints. "Where are we going, again?"

"Word is our target's in Paris,” Steve replies. “Or at the very least, someone important is.”

Peggy hums, sitting up. The blanket wrapped around her falls off, revealing her bruised back.

"Jesus, Peg. Have you seen your back? That looks like it hurts," Steve notes.

"Yes, thank you for that insightful observation."

"I just mean- do you want ice or something?"

Peggy shrugs nonchalantly. "It doesn’t quite hurt. I can deal with it, I’ve faced worse."

“To be fair, you are the woman who fell asleep standing up in a trench.”

“Exactly,” Peggy winks. She stands up, beginning to sift through her suitcase. “So tell me, Steve. When’s our train leaving?”

—

ᴘᴀʀɪs, ғʀᴀɴᴄᴇ

A few hours later, they arrive at their dingy, rundown hotel just outside of Paris. The lobby smells like bleach and old carpet, and a radio plays a somber, mellow jazz tune.

Peggy clears her throat, waiting for the receptionist to acknowledge them.

The receptionist does not, however, care to notice.

“Can we have a room, please?” Peggy asks the woman at the front desk.

The woman hardly looks up from her magazine. “Name?”

“Carver,” Peggy answers automatically before Steve can.

The receptionist takes a long, seemingly never ending sip of her tea. Finally, she says. “Take the elevator to the third room, first one on the left. Here’s your key,” the woman says, sounding as disinterested as she possibly can. “Enjoy your stay,” she adds dryly.

Peggy eyes her warily. There was something a bit...off, about that woman.

Perhaps it was just her imagination.

They make their way to the elevator, and Steve finally breaks the silence. “So...is it just me or was there something weird about her? I mean, she could’ve just been a disgruntled employee, but…” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck.

Peggy hums. “No, I happen to agree. Though, perhaps we were just inconveniencing her by making her do her job.”

The smile fades from her face. “Stop,” Peggy whispers. She tilts her head toward the door, which was ajar. She clutches her gun in her purse.

Steve snorts. “Maybe,”

She laughs right along with him, but she pauses abruptly outside their door.

It could be the maid...but they haven’t even gotten into the room once.

Silently, the two stalk toward the door. The smell of smoke escapes from the room when Steve nudges the door open.

Which, in both of their experiences, usually did not happen to be a good thing.

In the chair in the corner, there sat...

Howard Stark.

A collective groan escapes the couple.

“Howard, must you break into our hotel room?” Peggy scolds, turning on the light.

“We thought you were an intruder.” Steve adds.

Howard smirks, taking a long drag of his cigar. “Technically, I am. But don’t you kids worry - I bring a peace offering. By peace offering, I mean I’m inviting you to stay in my Paris apartment instead of this dump,” Howard gestures loosely. “I mean, I don’t think this building even has heat.”

Steve shrugs. “Wouldn’t it be better to stay somewhere inconspicuous?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Peggy agrees, her arms crossed.

Howard sniffs. “Okay, fine, don’t accept my extremely generous offer to let you stay at my apartment. I know when I’m not wanted. Just know I’ll remember that in the summer when you want to come over because I have air conditioning and you don’t.”

Peggy rolls her eyes. “Quit the melodramatics, Howard. We’ll stay with you,”

Steve wraps an arm around her. “Yeah, we- wait, we will?”

“...What? This building doesn’t have heat, and quite frankly I enjoy summer visits to Howard’s house.”

“Attagirl, Peg.” Howard beams. “I’ll meet you two in the lobby,”

—

Later, the trio eats lunch at Howard’s apartment.

"-you are not funny, Howard." Peggy informs him, pointing at him with her fork. "You could've at least feigned innocence."

"Innocent? If you looked up "innocent' in the dictionary, you'd see my picture on it," Howard says defensively.

Peggy snorts at that. "Oh, please, Howard. With your history you could easily father a small country,"

Howard grimaces. "Eugh, kids hate me. Plus, who has time to tend to a baby all the time? I mean sure, kids probably aren't annoying when they're...late teenagers? But for most of their lives, kids just seem so clingy and needy."

Steve picks at his plate absentmindedly, reminded of a conversation he had with Tony.

"Clearly, you must've met a different version of my father. He was cold. He was calculating. He never told me he loved me, he never even told me he liked me."

The sound of Peggy’s voice brings him back to reality. "...That's because they're children, Howard. Babies aren't self-sufficient from birth. Do you expect them to come out of the womb ready for rocket science?"

"Well, thank you for absolutely shattering my argument, Agent Carter." Howard mutters, downing his coffee. Deciding to change the subject in order to deflect attention off of himself, he says, "Steve, you still with us?"

Steve snaps to attention. "I, uh, yeah. I was just daydreaming, I guess."

Peggy makes a mental note to ask Steve about that later.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Howard asks.

Steve shrugs noncommittally, continuing to eat with much less gusto than before. "Just thinking about our mission,”

Peggy eyes him carefully, choosing to say nothing but clearly knowing something was wrong. In due time, she would ask.

In due time hopefully meant whenever Howard left the room.

—

lmao so like i was listening to a bunch of james bond songs bc they’re dramatic and spy-ey right (cough cough tho a song that fits the general tone of the fic would be "the world is not enough" by garbage)?? and then there’s absolutely none of that in this chapter lmao. sorry if this chapter was boring compared to last one but i mean we can’t have constant action in the fic, silly goose.

also can we talk about how it took me like 8 DAYS TO WRITE THIS and it’s this short i’m sorry ajsjdfkgjjklk 😶✌

taglist (dm me if you’d like to be added!):

everything taglist: @return-of-the-simp @thereblogcrusader @stillmourningtonystark

walls could talk taglist: @deedepee @rizwritesfandom (extra thanks to riz for helping me when i was struggling with being descriptive u a real one) @mcu-academy

If you enjoyed, please rb/leave a comment! I'd love to hear your thoughts!

#steggy fanfiction #jo's writing #steggy #steve rogers #peggy carter #fanfiction #fanfic #mcu fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #peggy carter fanfiction #walls could talk #I'm sorry like this chapter lowkey kinda sucked and akdhdkhdjsj

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hailxhydra · 3 years

Text

the more you say (the less I know)

By @hailxhydra for @iwritedumbshit

via @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Tony Stark & Peter Parker, Steve Rogers & Peter Parker

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers

Summary: TONY STARK IS DEAD. The words were plastered on the front page of every newspaper across the world. Tony Stark, the resident genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist, was dead. Completely, irrevocably, unchangeably, dead.

Or was he?

After the events of Endgame, Peter Parker decides he has to go back in time to save his mentor’s life, finds out that Tony wasn’t everything Peter thought he was, and chaos ensues.

“You sure about this, kid?” Steve asked Peter, coming up from behind him to clasp his hand on his shoulder. Looking out into the crystal clear lake and the surrounding forest, Peter gulped, trying to get rid of that unsettling feeling at the bottom of his stomach bubbling up until it overflowed, and he broke down right in front of everyone.

“What?” he said, swallowing the lump at the back of his mouth. Turning to face Steve, he shook off the hand on his shoulder, which immediately went straight into the pockets of his black pants. He glared at Steve, though obviously not in a malicious way. He was met back with a blank stare. The impassiveness of it was relieving; Peter didn’t need any more emotion from anyone, let alone the person who had abandoned his mentor for years, without a goodbye, nor some contact information. The bleak, vacant gaze held a sort of comfort for him, being something steady, something that he could hold on to while all around him, there was chaos. It was a lifeboat.

“Look, we’ve all been there. Believe me, I know what it feels like. I was in ice for seventy years. I lost everyone. But I had people to help me through it. You do, too. You don’t have to do this.”

“What’re you trying to get at?” he blatantly asked, rolling his eyes and turning back to the lake, the calm lake, the lake that had absolutely no problems, the lake that was steadfast and balanced, the lake that was everything that Peter wanted to be. “Are you implying that I might do something? I can’t change what happened either way, what with the implications, plus, the Grandfather Paradox is a bunch of bullshit, it just creates an alternate timeline, like with blue robot lady one and two, and anyway, how would that work without any local quantum interference? It’s crazy, I mean like-”

“I’m not talking about the science behind it. I can’t know what you think, but, looking from the outside, it is pretty clear what you want to do. Now, I don’t know if anyone else realizes it, and maybe it’s just because we’re so similar that I would have taken the same line of action, but you have family here. People who care about you. Just, spend a few minutes mulling over your decision. You have to be completely sure before you do anything drastic,” Steve said, starting to walk away after he was done.

“You’re really big on monologues, aren’t you? It’s a very 40s vibe you give off!” Peter called after him, a smile gracing his face in this tough moment. Steve just made a peace sign in return, his back still facing him, and continued his conversation with Sam. He looked around, taking in the serenity of the lake house. Tony had bought it during the Blip, so Peter had never gotten around to seeing it with him. He quietly stepped inside, making sure not to make any noise as to give away his position. He wanted solitude, without anyone barging in every few minutes to check in on him, or to offer him some juice, or to whack his head with a newspaper (although that last one was mainly Sam and Bucky, and he didn’t know from where they even got the endless supply of newspapers).

The inside was nice. A change of scenery from the dark outfits everyone wore outside. Built almost entirely of walnut wood, the lake house served as a reminder that he would never get those five years back. The five years, in which everything had changed. He wondered if May had gotten dusted, too. If she had gotten married again, or had a kid. They didn’t have much time before the funeral to catch up, always being whisked away to talk to one person or another. He led his fingers across the panels of wood, taking in the peacefulness inside. Feeling a presence creeping up behind him, he swiveled around to punch the person in the gut. He widened his eyes when he realized who it was.

Bucky Barnes, aka the Winter Soldier, aka the White Wolf, aka the most dangerous man on Earth, was keeling over, hands on his midsection, looking like he was about to puke.

“OhmygoshI’msosorry,” Peter rushed, hands outstretched, but stopping in mid-air, as if he was rethinking his decision to help him up.

“Come on, kid. Why do you have to do that to a hundred-year-old man? Ever heard of ‘respect your elders’?” he groaned, stabilizing himself by putting his hands on Peter’s shoulders and lifting himself up.

Peter felt his cheeks heat up and turn scarlet before muttering a small, “I said I’m sorry.”

“What I came here to say was before you so rudely knocked me over, was that I think Bruce is firing up the machine. He wants you to suit up and get ready. It’ll be ready any time now,” Bucky said, giving a Chesire cat-like grin before turning away to talk to someone Peter didn’t know.

Peter laughed and shouted, “That wasn’t a good pun at all!”

Bucky looked back at him, gave him the middle finger, and yelled back, “I’m a hundred-year-old assassin, give me a break!”

Peter shook his head and turned to look at the suit in his hands. The suit itself was grey, with streaks of red running down it (the Avengers were very fashionable, to say the least). It had a leathery texture, but not quite leather; it was comfortable, yet effective at the same time. Most importantly, it would protect him from the quantum energy and radiation that came with time travel.

Looking at it, Peter felt unworthy, but, wearing it, he felt like he could do anything that he ever wanted. He felt like he was an Avenger. It wasn’t like anything else in the world. It was special. It was distinctly his, not anyone else’s; his.

“My wittle spidey is all gwown up now!” May exclaimed, smiling at Peter in his new time-traveling suit.

“May, I’m not a baby!” he pouted, stomping his feet on the ground, purposely acting immaturely. “I’m not your ‘wittle spidey’! I’m a grown-up kid!”

“Whatever, it’s fine. Just come with me. They’re all ready for your big superhero entrance.”

Getting there was a long hike. For some absurd reason, Bruce had decided to put the time travel machine smack in the middle of a dense forest, and it took quite a while, even in his super suit, to reach the destination.

“Peter? You ready?” Bruce (Professor Hulk) asked. He put his big green hand on his shoulder, and Peter felt something break there.

He suppressed a cry and said weakly, “Yeah.”

“You sure about that? One of us could do it.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Bruce gave a soft smile and led Peter over to the launching pad.

“So what do I have to do again?” he asked.

“Just stand there. Make sure you’re holding the stones and the hammer. You need to return those things at the exact time they were taken. If you don’t, it’ll-”

“Create another timeline, I know. That’s all I have to do. Just return the stones. To the right time. Okay, let’s do this.”

He stretched out his hands and legs and went to go and stand at the pad. Surveying the crowd, he caught a certain someone’s eye. Steve took off his hat, bowed down, and smiled at him. He gave a small thumbs up to Peter, reassuring him that this was the right decision. Peter cleared his throat, nodded a few times, and gave Bruce the signal.

“Five… four… three… two… one.”

“How long will it take?” Sam asked. “I need a break.”

Bruce looked at his monitor in confusion. Typing something into it, he showed Sam the calculations. Sam just raised his eyebrows.

“I’m not some science genius. You’re going to have to explain it to me.”

“He was supposed to come back in two seconds. He should’ve been back by now.”

“What?” he asked, although there wasn’t anything he could do, and he knew that. Steve smiled a bit and turned around to face the wilderness. Unfortunately, this action did not go unnoticed by Bucky. He lunged towards him and pulled him up by the collar. He raised his eyebrows to his hairline and gave Bucky a bewildered look.

“What did you do?” he threatened. Steve gave a smirk and raised his hands, surrendering. He shrugged (which was really hard, given Bucky was still holding onto his collar), and slowly took Bucky’s hands off of him. Once they were completely off (and into his jacket’s pockets), Steve huffed.

“I did nothing, Buck. It was his decision, not mine.”

“Will you tell us where he is?” Sam asked, coming up from behind them. Steve simpered, looking Sam straight in the eye.

“No, I’d rather not.”

“I know you did something you little piece of-”

December 16, 1990 || New York City

The streets of New York City were bustling with people trying to do last-minute Christmas shopping, the shops illuminated with strings of Christmas lights. Although the rain dampened the mood (in more ways than one), the crowd hurried from store to store, trying to acquire the perfect gift for their friends and family, brightening the otherwise bleak scene.

The women, clad in their voguish outfits of pantsuits and tinted oval sunglasses, directed their tired husbands to different toy stores, presumably to buy a set of some knick knacks and trinkets for their children. The little boys and girls dragged their mothers and fathers to various windows, pointing at the numerous playthings propped up in the front.

The teenagers, dressed in baggy sweatpants and flannel jackets and too many chains to look good, looked bored as hell, and were smoking in some neglected corner in the adjacent alleyway. They laughed, sending puffs of smoke billowing into the atmosphere, seeming so carefree in that small moment.

Muffled conversations could be heard throughout the streets, though no one was paying much attention to the stifled voices, choosing to focus on the more fortunate aspects of life. A man, speaking into his phone in hushed whispers, hugged his briefcase tight to his chest and sent out panicked glances if anyone came in close proximity to him. A woman, an unlit cigar hanging from her mouth, clutched her handbag, a small purse dog whining in it, and grinned at any unsuspecting young man that came near her. A young couple, looking like they were physically connected to each other, walked along the jam-packed street, sneaking in kisses as if they weren’t allowed to be seen in public with one another. There were, in total, at least a few hundred people in that small street, all trying to get away from the stress of day-to-day life.

Although it was a lighthearted scene down on the streets below the towering skyscrapers, the rain poured down onto the throng of people, the immense clouds covering the full moon, giving the place an eerie aura.

In an alleyway off to the side of the square, Peter dazedly woke up, scratching his eyes, just recovering from the gripping experience of time traveling. He had returned the infinity stones to their particular places and time periods. The soul stone to Vormir in 2014, the Tesseract to that old SHIELD laboratory in 1970, the time stone to the Sanctum and the Ancient One in 2012, the power stone to Morag, the Aether to Asgard in 2013, and the mind stone to the oblivious Hydra agents at the Avengers Tower in 2012. So, as you can see, it had been a really long day for Peter.

He groaned and raised his hands, only to find them covered in dirt and some wet, slimy substance he couldn’t remember the name of. It wasn’t just his hands; the whole alleyway was covered in this substance.

“Ew,” he groaned, making sure not to be loud, so that the horde of people wouldn’t see him. That would cause multiple complications in Peter’s plan, probably resulting in him being sent to an orphanage because they couldn’t find his parents. It could also be more drastic and he could end up in some government facility because his name wasn’t on any of their rosters. He might also have been classified as an alien, and that would definitely thwart his mission.

The pitter patter of the rain woke Peter up from his delusional fantasy, and, putting his palms on the damp, muddy ground, he stood up. Tip toeing out of the alley, he surveyed his surroundings in order to make sure no one was watching him, and wandered out onto the street. People shouldered their way through the crowd, always looking behind their back to see if someone was following them. Peter did the same, though for different reasons than them.

He walked along the street for a while, getting whisked away by the crowd. There wasn't really a place to go for him right now, so he just wandered around, window shopping (though he had absolutely no money), trying not to think about the past Christmas he spent with Tony, eating food until they threw up, and opening the presents they gifted each other, Rhodey, Pepper, and Aunt May.

There were a lot of… characters on the road. Some of them smiled at him very creepily, staring at him as though he were something enjoyable to eat for supper, and others were confused as to why a child, dressed up in a weird suit without his parents, was solemnly walking along the boulevard - Halloween had passed two months ago, and it was now Christmastime. One couple was kind enough (or evil enough) to hand him a Hershey’s chocolate bar. Not those bite-sized little ones that Peter used to get from Delmar’s or that one grocery shop in Queens. This one was king-sized. It could’ve lasted Peter at least a month if he were back in Queens in his apartment.

A sense of dread overtook him. The mission. He couldn’t fail it. No, he had to prove to himself that he was ready.

But what if he wasn’t?

He pushed his way through the mob of people. They stared back at him, eyes wide in shock. He didn’t care. He sprinted all the way across the road to the other side of it, shoving away the people who got in the way. He reached the empty wall, feeling the bile rise in his throat.

He puked onto the wall. The people moved away from him. His heart pounded in his chest. Blood throbbed in his ear. Holding onto the wall, he sobbed. The world seemed to turn fuzzy, and everything he saw was distorted, as if he were in a VR game that was malfunctioning. The wall in front of him turned wobbly. Instead of a straight wall, it was now a curved structure. The ground underneath him seemed to give out. He was falling. He was falling to his death. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t call for help. No one wanted to help him. Another round of bile seemed to erupt from him, and he puked even more of his lunch onto the wall. The world was ending. The world was ending, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

He couldn’t save people from dusting. It was his responsibility to save them. People were counting on him, and he let them all down. He let Mary and Richard down. He let Ben down. He let Aunt May down. He let Mr. Stark down.

He could hear people in the distance, calling for help. He also heard an indistinct sound of laughter. A familiar sound. This sound, unlike the multiple other people screaming, he knew. He knew this sound.

“Mr Stark?” he mumbled from force of habit, pausing to throw up for the third time. All the sound ceased. The tears didn’t, though. They continued flowing in wet, fiery streaks down his cheeks. He could see the crowd make a partition, though his vision was seriously warped. A teenager, probably around his age, walked through the space. He could hear the crowd whispering and pointing at him, although the other man paid no attention. He had to squint his eyes to see him, choking back a sob. He couldn't embarrass himself more than he already did. He cried violently, and the man crouched down and cocked his head to the side. Almost, but not quite, as if he was observing him. As if he was some experiment in a glass cage.

He sobbed harder, and he retched, wishing something would come out so the man would move away from him. The man just tilted his head to the other side and squinted his eyes. He looked at all the other people and shooed them away, and they obliged. Peter and the man were left in solitude, a small sort of bubble forming around them, giving them some peace and quiet.

“How do you know me?” he asked in a low, menacing voice that made Peter cry even more.

“I don’t know!” he bawled. “I’m sorry!”

The man picked Peter up by the arm and looked him straight in the eye. He couldn’t see well through the tears in his eyes, but the man looked truly scary. He heard some shouts in the background, cheering the man on. He grunted and threw Peter onto the ground, walking away to his group of friends.

Peter tried to pull himself up, but, through his severe panting and sobbing, he could not sit upright. He then resorted to lying on the murky ground (on which there were some questionable substances). Gasping for air, Peter tried to calm down.

Key word: tried.

The tears never stopped flowing. The memories didn’t, either.

Memories of Mary and Richard. Of how his last words to them were, “I hate you!”’ before they boarded that damn plane.

Memories of Ben. Of how he died in his arms, bleeding out from the gunshot wound, while he couldn’t do anything to save him.

Memories of how he left Mr. Stark for five years. Five freaking years. And, just as he came back from the dead, Mr. Stark had to go and sacrifice himself for the universe.

Lying there, on the ground, the crowd walking around him to avoid stepping on the child, he fell into a deep sleep, unbothered by the disgusted looks thrown at him by the supposedly “posh” people of New York City.

#this is just chapter one #i'm going to add more at some point #i hope this is what you wanted!#ahhh i'm so excited #i hope you like it #peter parker #tony stark #time travel #steve rogers #bucky barnes #sam wilson #ben parker #may parker #irondad #spiderson #endgame #avengers #avengers: endgame #i tried basing the sort of panic attack on ones i've had

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walkerwords · 4 years

Text

“The Savior Sessions” Part 1 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: Gene Page/AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: This will be a collection of conversations set before the events of season 9 in which the reader speaks with Negan while in his cell as they recount events and memories from their time in the Apocalypse as well as stories of his own.

Word Count: 2417

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “Open Season” by Josef Salvat

Note: These are going to be smaller stories that I will be updating randomly. Each fic will be a conversation/situation about Negan in his cell in Alexandria. Some maybe very short, others not. I am still working on the other stories, but I wanted to post this as I work on those as well. Thank you for your kind words about my family, I really appreciate it.

------

“I just don’t know why you’re asking me to do this, Michonne.”

You stood across from Alexandria’s head of security in her kitchen. Michonne meticulously cleaned her Katana as you spoke, remaining calm the entire time. When she had asked you to meet her today, you never imagined this would be the reason.

“Gabriel is worried about his state of mind,” Michonne said, “He thinks somebody should be speaking with him on a regular basis.”

“Isn’t that already Gabriel’s job?” you asked. “He’s always the one who’s down there.” Michonne sighed, sliding the blade back into its sheath.

“He believes that he can no longer get through to him and that they’ve become too familiar with each other,” Michonne said, placing her sword down and bracing her hands against the kitchen counter, “I also think we can benefit from it and I suppose he can as well.” You frowned.

“You’re asking me to become Negan’s therapist,” you pointed out. “How is any of that beneficial?”

“Whether we like it or not, Negan did run an entire community unchallenged. He may have insight into this world that we don’t and I have started to think that perhaps keeping him so isolated isn’t doing anyone any good,” Michonne explained. “I am asking you because you don’t have a relationship with him. The two of you never interacted during the war and you made sure to stay out of his line of sight for most of it. You’re not a total stranger, but he doesn’t know you like he knows Gabriel, me, or even Aaron.”

“So, basically, you want someone he can’t push around by pushing their buttons,” you concluded and Michonne grimaced.

“You were also a teacher, (Y/N),” said Michonne, “that is something you two have in common. Maybe that will get him to open up or at least… God, I don’t know what I want the outcome to be, but Rick wanted Negan to be a symbol for how we can grow as a society. I don’t know if he can ever be redeemed, but if he can even a small amount, then it may start with you.”

“You pulled out your Rick card,” you said with a sigh, “not fair.” Michonne smiled with a shrug.

“I knew it would come in handy someday,” she said and you finally gave in.

“Okay, I will be the big bad wolf’s confidant, but if he tries anything or pisses me off to a degree that makes me want to commit murder, that’s on Gabriel,” you said with a wink and Michonne visibly relaxed.

“Thank you, (Y/N),” she said, relieved. “I’m going to let you run it the way you want to, but try not to piss him off if you can.” You smiled at her brightly.

“Oh, you know me, Michonne, something like that is inevitable.”

-----

When you arrived at the cell an hour later, you dismissed the guard who stood out front.

If you were going to be talking to Negan to gain insight and trust, you didn’t see the need for a chaperone. As the guard left, you pushed open the heavy door and sealed it behind you.

“Gabe, if you’re here to give me another life lesson, you can save it. I’m not in the mood,” Negan said in the darkness of his cell. You had never been this close to the man before. You had fought against the Saviors of course, but always at an outpost or in a larger fight. Rick had also used your talents with the sniper rifle and kept you up high most of the time. This whole situation was alien to you and while it was unnerving to be so near to a killer, you didn’t let that stop you from stepping out of the shadows.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not Father Gabriel,” you said, dragging a chair from the wall and centering it before the jail cell. Negan, who had been laying on his bed with his back to the door, slowly sat up and turned towards you.

In the cool light of the room, you could see him clearly now. His hair was shorter than the last time you had seen him which was when Rick had dragged him into this cell about five years before. He still had the stubble on his face, but the cocky grin that you had gotten used to seeing through your scope was nowhere to be seen.

“Have we met?” he asked, tilting his head in curiosity. You shifted slightly in your seat, trying to get comfortable.

“Not officially,” you told him. “I’m (Y/N).” Recognition dawned on his face then.

“Yes,” he said, sitting forward on the edge of his cot, “Little Miss Grimes has mentioned you before.” It wasn’t news to you that he spoke to Judith. Most people knew that she visited Negan often. The only person who probably didn’t know was Michonne. Judith had confided in you that she wasn’t scared of the man and that all she wanted was for him to know he wasn’t some kind of wild animal. You now started to realize that her reasoning was exactly why you were here. “So what can I do for you, (Y/N)?”

“I’ve been sent by the overlords of Alexandria to be your new best friend,” you explained, crossing one leg over the other.

“Is that right?” he asked, leaning forward. “Gabe get too bored with little ole me?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask,” you told him, “but I am here as a favor for Michonne so how about we just accept the new normal?” Negan bowed his head slightly.

“Well then, what exactly do the big shots upstairs want us to do? Compare breakup stories? Organize a block party?”

“I see you haven’t lost your wit,” you pointed out, leaning back in your chair.

“We all have our things, (Y/N),” he said, “I am curious, though,” he went on, “where were you when your people were trying to kill all of mine?”

“Usually on a rooftop,” you explained, “Grimes always had me up high with the guns.” Negan seemed genuinely thrilled by the thought of that.

“And you never got me in your cross-hairs and took a shot? Damn, that is incredibly terrifying.”

“I was never ordered to,” you told him. “I was more surveillance than an assassin.”

“Either way, my men never saw you watchin’ me,” he said and it sounded like a compliment. The way Negan was looking at you reminded you of kids staring at a lion in a zoo. Ironic seeing how he was the one in the cage and not you. Every glance was out of curiosity and you thought you noticed a bit of gratitude in his eyes. Perhaps Michonne and Gabriel were right after all. The man just needed someone to talk to.

“Okay, how about this?” you said, after a moment of silence. He waited for you to continue. “You and I are just gonna talk. You can ask me anything you want and I’ll answer and hopefully, you will return the favor when I want to .” Negan raised a single brow.

“It’s that simple?” he asked.

“Do you want it to be difficult?” you asked. “I think I could add some really brash and annoying terms to the arrangement if you want."

"You are a very strange person," Negan said.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"As you should," Negan said with a cheeky grin. "However, I am curious about one thing. Don't you hate me?" You mulled over his words for a few seconds before shaking your head.

"Hate, it has caused a lot of problems in this world, but has not solved one yet," you quoted easily. Negan's eyes lit up.

"Morrison?"

"Angelou," you corrected.

"Ah," he said. "Wise woman. So what you're saying is that hating me isn't going to solve anything, am I right?"

"Pretty much," you agreed, crossing your arms.

"But I killed your people," he reminded you. Negan was clearly trying to put you off, but you had expected this.

"And I killed your people," you said. "Do you hate me?" Negan scoffed, leaning back on his hands as he watched you through the bars.

"You're good," he complimented.

"You didn't answer my question," you said. Negan licked his lips before shaking his head.

"No, I don't hate you. Although, I don't even know you so that could change." This time you let out a quick laugh that was pure instinct at this point.

"Fair enough," you conceded.

"Alright, (Y/N), if you are so inclined to answer questions, answer me this: how did you end up with this merry bunch of survivors?"

"Simple," you said, "I saved Carl Grimes from a Walker." Negan's face dropped at the mention of the late teenager. You knew about the soft spot Negan had for Carl. It wasn't a mystery, hell, Carl wouldn't have lived long after he attacked the Sanctuary if Negan didn't like him.

"You saved him?" Negan asked, pulling you from your memories.

"Yeah, I met Carl and his mom, Lori, shortly after everything happened," you began, "They, alongside other survivors, were camped at a quarry outside of Atlanta. I was on my own, trying to make it to the coast when I came across their campsite. I was wary of people, of course, but I knew I wouldn't make it far on my own. I stayed around the edge of camp for a while, just gettin' a feel for the people when Carl ran off when Lori wasn't looking. He was running around with another kid from the group." You paused, unsure if you should divulge much more, but Negan was staying entirely focused on your story.

"Carl was with Sophia...Carol's late daughter." Slight surprise entered Negan's eyes, but he remained quiet. You went on, "The two of them got turned around and then Carl being Carl, decided to run off alone without Sophia. He was near me when the Walker came out of the trees and grabbed him. I didn't really think at that moment. I just ran for the kid. I shot the Walker in the head and the next thing I know, I had a crossbow pointed at my back."

"Let me guess, Daryl?" Negan figured.

"Damn right. Son of a bitch thought I was shooting at the kid, but luckily Carl spoke up and explained. They took me back to their camp and Lori insisted I stay so that's what I did."

"And here you are," Negan said, impressed.

"Here I am."

"That kid was pretty damn special," Negan said fondly. "This world really does take the good ones, don't it?"

"I always think that it would have been easier if a person had killed him instead of a Walker, you know? At least then we would have an enemy."

"What, you don't think the Walkers are the enemy?"

"They're just a part of the new world," you explained. "Can't really call them an enemy if they didn't intend to be here in the first place."

Negan was quiet again as your words sank in. In fact, you were surprised that he hadn't spoken over you whenever he got the chance. According to the rest of your friends and family, the man loved to hear himself talk. You stored that new observation away for later.

"In your opinion," Negan said slowly, "what kind of person classifies as an enemy, or rather, just evil?"

"I've seen darkness, Negan," you told him. "We all have and it was before we even heard your name. If you're trying to ask me if I think you’re evil, the answer is no, I don't. Most of us here like myself, Daryl, Michonne, we've all seen what happens when someone has lost all trace of humanity. Seen what they do to other human beings and trust me, those are the evil people of this screwed-up world. You haven't lost your humanity, Negan, and I pray you never will."

Negan leaned his forearms onto his knees, rubbing a calloused hand over his bearded face. Something had clicked inside his head, that much was apparent, but you weren't sure what.

Yet.

"Sounds like you've been through hell," Negan whispered.

"And back," you finished. "Multiple times."

"You gonna tell me that story? About the loss of humanity?" His question wasn't overly eager, instead, it was all curiosity and you were starting to think that was the main characteristic of the man who once called himself the "big bad wolf".

"One day," you nodded. "If you'll let me come back again."

"I get to decide?" he asked, intrigued.

"Yeah, no point in coming down here if you won't talk to me. That would be wasting both of our time."

"Then by all means, (Y/N), feel free to drop by," Negan said, spreading his arms wide in a welcome gesture. You rolled your eyes but nodded.

"If it means anything," you said as you stood from your seat and turned towards the door, "Carl once told me that you were the only person he always trusted to tell him the truth, and coming from him, that's a lot."

Negan looked at you for a long moment before bowing his head. "Thanks for that," he said softly. You gave him a small smile, one more out of understanding than anything. Whether people hated him or not, nobody could deny that he cared about Carl Grimes and that the teen's death had affected him as well.

"I'll see you tomorrow," you told him as you pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the sunlight. Negan didn't call you back as you climbed the steps and began walking home.

You watched as Alexandria spun on, unaware of the emotions that ran deep through you at the moment. Gabriel and Michonne had been right, after all, Negan needed to talk to another human being, but perhaps that was exactly what you needed as well and you had a feeling this was just the beginning of an odd relationship.

TAGS: @thanossexual

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honestlyhappyharry · 3 years

Text

Chapter 8

Some news

A/n: slightly mature content towards the end, viewer discretion advised

Chapter 7

For the past few months, you had been going out on dates with Harry, usually during your lunch break so it didn't make Lily curious about where you were going in the night. Although there had been a few nights out. Your relationship was now official to both of your friend groups and Harry’s family. Your family still didn’t know, and you did want to tell them but it had never been the right time.

"Hey, Ellie." You say into the phone. Harry’s text of come out with me tonight xx H had caused the call, as you needed someone to watch Lily.

"Y/n, how are you?" She asks politely.

"I'm good, I was wondering if you're free to babysit Lily tonight?" You ask getting right to the point.

"I'm really sorry, I have my SAT exam tomorrow." She tells you and you nod, as much as you needed her to babysit Lily, her school was infinitely more important.

"Thank you anyway." You tell her before hanging up. That crossed out any teenagers you knew who could babysit Lily. Maybe Eleanor?

A few moments later and you're on the phone with Eleanor only to get an "I'm sorry, Lou and I are going out. Ask your mum." She suggests and you agree. Harry was the only person who knew that your parents didn't know that you were together again.

“Hi, mum.” You say once you’ve worked up the courage to dial her number. Lily looked up at you from the stool at the kitchen island she was eating her breakfast at when she heard you say ‘mum’

“Hello, love, what’s happening?” She asked and you smile at just hearing her voice. While it hadn’t been that long since you talked to her it always felt like a long time, and now with the dating news acting as a wedge, it felt longer.

You picked at your nails before answering. “I was wondering if you’re around tonight to watch Lily?” There was hope that she wouldn’t ask too many questions but you knew that was foolish. Lily did know you were going out and she stopped asking why once you told her she might get to see grandma.

“Yeah, I’ll watch her any time. I do have to go to a hair appointment this morning but I can come up down.” After your mum found out you were pregnant she saw no issue in retiring with your dad in Santa Barbara, just under two hours away so she could be there to help out with Lily but she was also far enough away. “Where are you off to?” She continued, a certain tone laced in her voice that you hadn’t heard since she last tried to set you up with some young guy.

“We can talk about that later.” You tell her, thankful that LIly could only hear one side of the conversation.

At 6 o’clock you were finishing making dinner, shrimp tacos requested by LIly. Once you’d put a couple of tacos on the plate she was downstairs sitting exactly where she did at breakfast.

Ding Dong! The doorbell sounded, you had to tell LIly to sit down while you go and open it. She reluctantly agreed, only due to the fact her food was there.

“Honey!” Your mum said as she embraced you in a quick hug in the foyer. “You look very nice.” She mentioned, looking at your white lace dress. Oh, she was definitely close to figuring it out.

“Hi mum, thanks for coming.” You told her and she nodded while she took off her coat and placed her small handbag on the side table.

“Anytime. But you do have to tell me where you’re going.” She didn’t even miss a beat asking you about what was happening. You hoped she’d drop it or forget but knowing her character, you knew there wasn’t much of a chance.

You suck in a deep breath, she’s your mum, she loves you and she loves Harry. You tried to convince yourself it was going to be okay. “Harry and I are dating again.” You couldn’t even look at her to see her reaction.

“Oh. Oh wow. That is surprising news.” That was neither a good nor a bad reaction and you still couldn't meet her eyes. “I’m happy for you.” Finally, after your heart couldn’t race any faster, there she was. Smiling at you widely.

“Thanks.” You smiled back, before pulling her in for a hug.

Once she pulled away she looked over your dress again. “I knew I’d seen the dress before.” She smiled, knowingly. You have had it since you started dating Harry but you hadn’t worn it since you broke up. “Does Lily know?”

“No.” You shook your head. “She doesn’t even know he’s her dad.” Her face was flooded with disappointment. “We are planning on telling her soon.” You rush out.

She nodded, finding a more joyful expression. “That’s good, she’ll be okay.” You knew it was wrong to not tell her but before you could confide more in your mother, Lily was there hugging her grandma.

Lily immediately dragged her off to the kitchen and you followed, setting up a plate for your mum. Harry’s text dings through Outside, gorgeous x H

“Okay, I’m going.” You announced. “I love you and be good for grandma, she’ll tell me if you’re not.” You told Lily as you placed a kiss on her forehead.

“I love you too.” She waved you out. And with that, you left your mum and Lily in the kitchen before you slipped some white heels on and headed out the door.

Once you’d walked out the door it did feel like you had entered a whole different life. What you felt for him was like nothing you had felt in a long time. Of course, Lily was your entire universe but this was different. Loving Harry was earth defying,

He was wearing a basic, white dress shirt and some black skinny jeans. It was almost like you were back in 2015. Between his outfit and the little smirk pulling at his lips, he looked very hot as he leant against the bonnet of his Range Rover.

“Hey, baby.” Harry winked before he stood up off the car. A light blush littered your cheeks at his nickname. Even that was hot. He walked a few more steps over and once he was close you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. His arms went to your waist as he stroked up and down. “I’ve missed you.” He pouted once you broke the kiss.

“I’ve missed you more.” You smiled up in him, as usual, you got lost in his eyes.

You’d never had a bad date with Harry and that night wasn’t an exception. Harry had ignited a confident spark in you and things felt like they were slipping back into how they were all those years ago.

As you drove into the driveway home you noticed the time, 9:26. Lily would definitely be asleep by now and you hoped your mum was downstairs watching tv and not cleaning your house like she so often did.

The car was shut off but you both sat there, in silence.

Harry’s hand trailed up your thigh, slightly bunching up your dress and you raise your eyebrows at him, a little concerned but certainly not pushing away his advances. He only smirked and continued.

Harry’s very expert fingers were barely on your core for a second when he moved them off. You were quick to pull it back onto you. “Please can’t we just have sex in the back of your car now.” You half begged, half demanded of him.

He snorted. “I would definitely have you begging for it in the back.” The wink he shot you was hot and did make you wet. He continued after he saw the desperate look on your face. “If I didn’t care about you and want our first time to be special.” His hand cupped your cheeks before he pressed a sweet kiss to your lips, only to pull away when you tried to deepen it.

“You do know it wouldn’t be our first time, you dork. We have a child.” You giggled at him, it broke up the sexual tension in the room.

In reply, he rolled his eyes and gave you an annoyed look. “You know I’m trying to be sweet and sentimental and you’re calling me a dork.” He nudged you with a different smirk.

After you playfully added. “Guess who won’t be getting any tonight.” Before you turned away from him and got out of the car.

He was quick to follow you and he slammed his door shut as he raced after you. “I fucking hope you’re talking about someone who’s not me.”

You just threw a smile back at him.

Once you got inside your mum was already right next to the door and gave Harry a huge hug. “Harry, it’s so nice to see you again. I’m so happy you’re together again.” She exclaimed and you chuckled. She was kind of ruining the mood.

“It’s nice to see you as well, Y/m/n,” Harry said, surprisingly chilled out about the ambush from your mum. But he had always liked your mum and she always adored him.

“Lily’s inside. I’m going to drive home now but I’d love to go out for dinner sometime.” She said. “All of us together hmm, once you tell Lily.” She continued as if you didn’t know what she meant. Before you knew it she grabbed her things and walked to her car before she drove out of the driveway. You glanced over to Harry to see him waving at her.

“Now where were we?” Harry said, his attention was back on your and his hand went to your waist.

“Just about here.” You told him as you placed your lips on his. His hand travelled up and down your waist, just touching your breast each time which sent tingles through your body. With your lips attached you two move and before you knew it you were pressed against the stairs while Harry continued to touch you all over.

There was something thrilling about making out with Harry in the dark of your house like you were a teenager again.

“Mumma!” You heard a voice say that immediately made your eyes snap up to see Lily stood at the top of the stairs.

2 minutes later and Lily was sat on the stairs while you sat a step-down and Harry stood 3 stairs down at the bottom.

Now it was time for the hard part. “You know how Madison has a mum and a dad.” You started and Lily nodded. This had always played on your mind as the best way to tell her. “When you want to have a baby you have to have a man and a women and that’s who you call mum and dad.” You told her and she nodded again.

“But I don’t have a dad.” Lily quickly jumped in with a frown on her face.

“Yeah, you do.” You confessed and her mouth dropped open. “You just didn’t know he was your dad because... well because some adult stuff happened.”

By the look on her face, you knew she was about to guess and you cringed as you waited. “Is it Uncle Lou?” Harry started laughing out loud and really quite hard. You shook your head at her while you giggled at her.

“No, Lil, Harry is actually your dad.” You quietly said but her face just lit up.

“Uncle Harry?” She asked before pointing towards him and both of your faces dropped.

She had suddenly created a very weird tension. “Yeah, but who told you he was your uncle?” You asked her quickly with a lot of concern. It would be very awkward if she called him Uncle Harry around your families.

“Lux.” She simply stated. Right, that would figure as Lily would have gone to see Lux after she met Harry at Disneyland and asked who he was and that was the answer Lux could give her.

Harry was still finding it hilarious when you looked over at him and glared, telling him to stop laughing. You knew she’d have more questions but for now, she needed to sleep.

“Could you tuck me in, Harry?” She asked and you raised your eyebrows at Harry who nodded towards her. Lily always managed to surprise you with how she reacted to different things.

Harry went to tuck Lily in just as he was about to go she piped up with a question that caught his attention. “Who are your mum and dad?” He wasn’t really sure what to say, feeling like he was stepping on eggshells around what you wanted him to tell her or not tell her.

Instead, he took a seat on her bed and figured he might as well be honest. “Well my mum is a fantastic lady named Anne and my dad, well the man I consider to be my dad, is named Robin.” Lily nodded in content with his answer but Harry felt the need to continue. “I’m sure they would love to meet you, they are technically your nana and poppa.” Lily’s mouth dropped a little.

“So I now have a mum and a dad and a grandma and a grandpa and a nana and a poppa.” Harry nodded. “Wow, this is the best day ever. Can I get a puppy too?” She wondered.

Harry let out a laugh. “Why don’t I talk to mummy and convince her?” He suggested, he’d suggest anything to set he smile on her face again. It was like a little ray of sunshine.

“Yes, please comvice her.” She said, mispronouncing ‘convince’ much to Harry’s adoration.

Once Harry went to tuck Lily in your took off your shoes and went up to your room, in the hope Harry would figure out where you went. You changed out of your dress and put on some silk PJ shorts and a matching PJ top before you went to sit up in bed.

By the time Harry got to your room, you were almost drifting to sleep. “Hey.” You smiled once you saw him appear in the doorway, signature smile and hands in pockets.

“Hey, I should go.” He said as he walked over and placed a kiss on your forehead. Now he stood next to you on the edge of your bed.

“Stay.” You shook your head and grabbed a hold of his hands. At this point it wasn’t even that you wanted to sleep with him, you just wanted to be around him.

His face changed, smirking down at you. “Sleep in your underwear and I have a spare toothbrush.” You said, in the hope of persuading him.

He walked over to your closet and started taking his clothes off. “So you’re trying to get me to strip, are you?” He smirked and sent you a wink once he noticed you staring at him. It wasn’t your fault he was built like a Greek god.

“No, but you did start something in the car.” You murmured, blushing slightly as you went back to look at your phone but he was just so hot.

Harry climbed in bed next to you and started running his hand up and down your thigh. Eventually, you gave in and rolled over so you were on top of Harry. “Lights on or off?” Harry asked, putting his hand on the light switch.

“On.” You smirked before you leant down to kiss down his chiselled chest.

“Good to know nothing’s changed.” He sent you a smirk as he looked up at you. You smirked on his skin.

And that night was the ending of everything going back to normal

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