#Running To Catch An Airplane Trope
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SV fic where every Cang Qiong peak lord is actually a transmigrator, but such different varieties that Shen Yuan and Airplane are still the only ones who identify one another as such, and they think everyone else is actually the character they represent and everyone else is convinced they're the only transmigrator.
Yue Qingyuan transmigrated into his character's early childhood, but the twist there is that he was a child of a similar age when he transmigrated, and is fully convinced that he had found a magical portal to another world, somehow failed the test of heroism, and is now stuck in a crapsack dystopia that he failed to fix by not being a good enough portal hero. The idea of transmigrators possessing others bodies never occurs to him because he doesn't realize that he himself changed bodies at any point, he just thinks he got a fantasy world makeover that made his hair longer and swapped out his clothes (he was, like, eight years old at the time).
Liu Qingge also transmigrated into his character pretty early on, but in his case he didn't come originally from our world, he came from a wuxia story's world. He was a swordsman and martial artist there, too. He has no notion of any kind of plot or system, he just thinks that he managed to kick enough ass to ascend to the next life and next tier of learning to kick ass, which now involves more flying around and energy blasts and such.
Mu Qingfang is in one of those "doctor from the future goes to an old-timey/magical world and applies advanced knowledge to max out their doctor skills" type stories. He is from our world but from like, the 1920's-ish, and he never read PIDW or any isekai at all. No one ever catches on to him because anything weird he does just seems like Airplane's anachronistic writing or is no more or else inscrutable to the other characters than the rest of his medical knowledge seems to be. He has some suspicions about Shen Qingqiu being a transmigrator like him, but in his own case he gained all of the original Mu Qingfang's memories when he transmigrated so it could also just be amnesia, and he doesn't want to broach the subject if he's wrong. Also he figures it's not necessarily his business, he's just interested because transmigration is a fascinating medical mystery.
Qi Qingqi, on the other hand, had plenty of familiarity with isekai and such as a concept, but she transmigrated as a teenage girl and is pretty sure she's in her own girl's adventure story. But she's desperately trying to avoid any semblance of plot because the girls in those stories always end up married to guys by the end and she's not into dudes. Consequently she's a little worried that some of the troubles embroiling everyone else are a result of her running away to Girl Warrior Peak and not ever meeting like a handsome prince or anything along those lines. It's well after bingqiu becomes a thing that she realizes she's in a danmei instead, and then she's just convinced that she gay'd up the universe (you're welcome) and starts to relax a bit.
And etc, etc, Wei Qingwei and the rest are all living different tropes and angles of a transmigration experience.
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Birthday Week Vignettes
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As a little gift for my bestie and worstie, for her birthday week, I’ve written a selection of fun little vignettes (stretching the terms fun, little and vignette to mean several thousand words of something gory or fucked up).
It has been the greatest and most treasured experience I’ve had on here getting to know you. From the hilarious shit talking, to expanding my horizons in terms of what I read and write, and giving each other constant new ideas and support, I am so grateful for all the downsides of existing in an online space as it’s meant making a wonderful, cherished friend. Happy birthday and may we enjoy your presence in our lives and this garbage fire for a long, long time to come! 😍😍❤️❤️😈😈 @safarigirlsp
*
Day 1; assassin!Mills x RC
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Summary: The Museum needs two operatives to pose as a married couple and go into a chateau full of depraved people letting loose and acting out their fantasies in an Eyes wide shut-type party. That old chestnut.
A/N: I’m a sucker for going undercover as a couple, in every iteration of that trope, and undercover at a sex party is an especially fun variation. This little episode didn’t fit into my main assassin!Mills story, but it was too interesting to throw out completely, so this seems like the best way to share it. If you like the premise, I’m happy to write a conclusion for it.
CW: mentions of wlw, mlm, group sex, fetishes, voyeurism, dubcon, murder, drugs, alcohol, sex work
WC: ~5.5k
*
Cipher and Gage picked up their small leather bags soon after they landed, exiting the airport hand in hand. Cipher’s steel toe boots thumped loudly on the tiles, his long leather coat rustling with every casual move of his tall, broad frame. Gage sized him up out of the corner of her black-rimmed eye, appreciating the sexy, disheveled swoop of his sandy hair, the frosty glint of his blue eyes, his sharp jawline dusted with a few days’ growth of beard. Her eyes wandered lower, to the tight black tank top that peeked out from his unbuttoned white shirt, the studded belt drawn tight around his narrow hips, and the tightly coiled muscles of his legs working under his equally tight pants. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on him in the car. Their quick encounter in the airplane toilet was too short for her appetite.
She walked briskly in her six inch shiny leather boots, barely reaching his shoulder despite the added height, feeling the chill in the airport as a gust blew under her scandalously short skirt. A man walking past them balked at what the blown up material revealed and she giggled to herself. Cipher squeezed her hand tighter and walked even faster in retaliation, leaving her to practically run to catch up with him. They barely jumped into the stretch limousine parked and waiting to take them to the rendezvous point that Rostov decided on when Cipher pulled her roughly onto his lap and glared, squeezing his large hand painfully around her thigh until she squirmed and pouted, removing her round Windsor sunglasses and giving him a plaintive look, all innocence and invitation. She had often remarked that it didn’t serve him any good to get all worked up over other men ogling her like that; if he wanted an attractive and flirty wife like her, then there were consequences to deal with.
They had enough time to redress and clean up as well as could be managed on a backseat when the limousine pulled up on Museum property. The partition rolled down and an Acquisitions operative pointed the barrel of a gun at the pair.
*
The heavy metal door creaked and moaned as it was pushed open for Adriane. She entered the small circular cell, windowless and bleached by harsh white halogen lights, where Cipher and Gage sat bound and gagged.
Without gracing either with eye contact, Adriane walked briskly, sweeping an elegant circle around the small cell, her heels clacking an ominous rhythm on the concrete floor. “In a moment, you will be separated. You will never see each other again,” she spoke the chilling words quietly and emotionlessly, as though to herself, as she circled the young pair like a crow awaiting carrion to feast on. “Whoever talks first will go free. The other will not leave this place alive.” She tossed the last words over her shoulder as she slipped like a shadow out the door and it closed heavily behind her.
She was not negotiating. She was not trying to entice them with anything only to pull the rug out from under them, as other people they had dealt with in the past had. The pair understood the danger they were in as they locked eyes, determined to leave this place together, and alive.
*
30 minutes, my office. A, the letters scrolled across the beeper in your hand.
When you arrived, with a minute to spare, you were feeling pretty smug about yourself that you managed not to be late, to say nothing of the fact you were chosen as the operative to be entrusted with this last minute, highly sensitive task.
Adriane’s office looked like the wardrobe department of some grungy photo shoot, with distressed denim, faux leather, fishnets and studs galore. Racks and racks of clothing were hurriedly rolled in, no doubt for the purpose of outfitting for this impromptu exhibition you were going on.
“Our guests have a meeting with their prospective employer this evening. We intercepted the coordinates Rostov provided and took Cipher and Gage on a detour here,” Adriane informed as Mills strode out from behind a rack with an armful of clothes. You looked from him to Adriane, wondering if this was some test and her omitting he would be there was supposed to catch you by surprise. Satisfied you did not betray your heart jumping into your throat, you diverted your attention to the racks of female clothing surrounding you.
“Won’t he know we’re not them? You know, when he looks at us?” you asked too snarkily for someone who knew Adriane wouldn’t waste anyone’s time if this was a real concern.
“Rostov doesn’t know what they look like. Both he and our guests are too discreet in their dealings to allow something like that. And the private party you are attending is designed to ensure privacy. At least where your faces are concerned.”
You felt a nervous knot tie in your gut, thinking ahead at what the night would more than likely demand of you. “And their stupid nicknames?” you asked, forcibly casual, as you pressed a red plaid skirt to your hips, wondering if it would even cover half your ass.
“For the same reason. They are decently intelligent, cautious people in their business dealings, even if their behavior otherwise is questionable. Under different circumstances, they might have been potential operatives for the Museum. As it stands, their use is limited to a single outing.”
You followed Adriane to her laptop computer, as thick as a briefcase, sitting in front of her leather chair, with a video paused. Scattered on the desk were photos of Cipher and Gage, taken over the last few weeks, as evidenced by the changes in the color and style of their hair. They were photographed several times in rather compromising positions, not that they seemed to mind. Gage was always smiling brightly when her hand was shoved possessively in Cipher’s back pocket, and he was not shy about embracing her in a town square and kissing her with what you personally deemed to be an excess of tongue, with both his hands on her ass, peeking out of another too-short skirt. Frenzied moaning and the squeak of leather grabbed your attention and you looked up at the video Adriane played.
“This was just over an hour ago, in the back of the car we sent for them,” she informed, looking unimpressedly at the screen.
The parallels between you and Julian were not lost on you. Two people, outrageously in love, killing for a living. Except the pair rutting wildly in a limo were free to be out in the open, not concealing anything from anyone, while you could only look at Julian askance and steal brief moments when you were sure no one was looking, which was hardly ever.
“The girl has great stamina,” you quipped, averting your eyes discreetly. From their copious, almost defiant public displays of affection, you didn’t imagine either would be bothered to know a few people had watched some blurry, low resolution footage of their intercourse, but the aversion was for your sake, not letting the Museum make a voyeur out of you. It was enough they made you a ghost and a killer.
“You need to become Cipher and Gage for the duration of this Exhibition,” Adriane underscored. “They are ruthless, reckless, and passionate. Their reputation precedes them in Rostov’s inner circle.”
“We understand,” Mills assured, seeming to imply that even if you didn’t quite get it, he did.
Adriane came up to stand next to you and snatched the blue tinged, white rimmed sunglasses off your face, replacing them with a dark, edgy pair more in line with Gage’s confirmed style. “Rostov is a hedonist with wild delusions of grandeur. He will try to flirt with you, and his demands are known to go far,” she informed in a tone that signaled you were to go along with it, as far as necessary.
“I’m cool,” you shrugged, stomach twisting with disgust you were still not entirely able to suppress.
“He will likely flirt with you too, Julian,” Adriane said in the same demanding tone to him.
“Mh,” he grunted vaguely, shucking on a leather biker jacket and ruffling his hair, as he studied his reflection, deciding if it all came together just right for Cipher.
You barely contained a grin, thinking of this scrawny little man, twisted with perversion, trying to entice the architectural marvel that was Julian Mills.
A clink of metal on hard wood rang through the air. “Put these on.”
Julian made his way to Adriane’s desk first, picking up the two rings with discreet tracking devices installed inside. He deftly slipped the smaller one up to the knuckle of his ring finger and let the other one drop. You followed moments behind and picked up the ring off the desk. It gaped around your ring finger, looking too big even for your thumb.
“Doesn’t fit,” you dismissed, setting it down and pushing it towards Adriane.
“Let me,” Julian said lowly, his long, thick fingers wrapping around your wrist. He brought your hand up and twisted the ring off his finger, sliding it carefully over yours and inspecting his work when he was done. He seemed to approve of the way your hand looked adorned with his wedding ring.
He then picked the other ring up and set it in your hand, expecting you to put it on him.
“Do I have to love, honor and obey?” you looked up at him as he offered a waiting hand. His silence filled the air with crackling intensity and you fought with yourself not to look away.
“Just obey,” Adriane answered for him and brought the moment to an end. Without ceremony, you slipped the ring on Julian’s finger and turned away from both of them.
Obey, you scoffed inwardly. Love was easy. Honor, you conceivably could. The only demand they both had of you was the one you struggled with most.
“You leave in 15 minutes,” Adriane informed as dispassionately as ever.
Before you left, curiosity got the better of you. “You got all this information out of them… Which one cracked?”
“They both did, of course,” Adriane gave a serene, composed smile, assured in the Museum’s methods.
“So who got to go free?”
Adriane blinked and for a moment, you had the distinct sense a huge grin would slice across her face. A jeering, hideous one, mocking your naiveté. “You should go get ready,” was all the reply she would give, and all the reply you needed.
*
As you descended in the gold-adorned elevator, on your way to the armory, Julian was quiet, looking at his panel and committing every detail of the plan, of Cipher and Gage’s history and activities, of intelligence on Rostov - all he could - to memory.
“Why was I chosen for this task?” you asked, choosing the opposite approach to Julian’s and clearing your mind before jumping into the task at hand.
He was silent as you descended for several levels and you started to assume he had not even registered your question. “It was an opportunity to improve your field mechanics,” he answered like a politician on the campaign trail.
Silence then followed from you. “Field mechanics,” you repeated, deeply unconvinced.
He turned and looked hard at you, pleading with you to hear what he was not allowed to say. “Adriane is under the impression that we are convincing as two people in love.”
It was not a compliment. The words had the cadence of a slur, and his tone of regret. It was not a good thing at all. He narrowed his eyes, satisfying himself that you took his meaning correctly.
*
The warm sunset, full of purples and oranges, gave way to a fine evening as you drove outside the city. As soon as you exited, you donned your masks as a precaution, wary of how far Rostov’s eyes reached. Yours was a white mask that extended into a crescent moon shape above your forehead and under your chin. Along its edges and around the eyes, the mask was outlined in silver and small stars twinkled along its face. Julian’s mask was white and gold, representing the sun, with five curvy rays creating an inverted pentagram around the smooth white face of the mask, adorned with golden arabesque designs. You looked at each other once the masks were on and the eerie blank canvass they presented, not knowing what face and expression they hid, was chilling.
You joined the scattered trail of other cars, uniformly black and armored, as they traveled noiselessly down a private road that would have been impossible to find without very specific instructions. The road was maintained to perfection, allowing you to glide smoothly down and weave its serpentines as they appeared without the slightest trouble. If not for the heady mix of trepidation and excitement that kept you wired and buzzing awake, you could have been lulled into a dreamlike sleep and sunk into the impenetrable darkness that surrounded you.
After stretching for what felt like an eternity, the road finally ended at a well-fortified gate, where you were ushered in and led up a lavishly landscaped path. A veritable army of masked guards stood sentinel all along the path, the entrance to a grand building and all the way to a sequestered area separated by gold stanchions and a red rope. Neither the host nor the guests wanted the security’s scrutiny while indulging in their hidden pleasures, a mistake that Julian and you were instructed to exploit. Behind unadorned gunmetal gray masks, the guards’ eyes followed every guest as they approached the rope forbidding entrance to the room beyond to all but a select few. There, you were instructed to shed your clothing and don party attire.
Rostov had purchased the magnificent château a few years back and it currently served as the crown jewel of his ostentatious tendencies and debauched proclivities. He restored it to its former glory, and had it outfitted with every modern comfort to boot, ensuring maximum pleasure and safety. It soon became the perfect place to host his monthly bacchanals, a pleasurable distraction from his usual activities of acquiring and testing biological weapons.
Invitations were handed out either to former collaborators who had displayed a keen sadistic and perverted streak, or to prospective talent, like Cipher and Gage, to ascertain if they possessed the requisite depravity of character to join in on Rostov’s activities unflinchingly. Masks and the privacy of the location guaranteed zero risk of discovery and damage to anyone’s reputation that would result from engaging in this sort of activity in a public venue.
With that in mind, you did not hesitate to disrobe. There was little to remove anyway and the mask served another useful purpose in making you bolder by hiding your face and whatever chagrined expression it might reveal. Julian watched, his eyes moving appreciatively behind his white and gold mask, as your skirt hit the floor and you removed your cropped top in one smooth movement. He waited, and at first you wondered why, but quickly surmised he meant to wait and have you undress him. You were proven right when he stepped into you as your last stitch of clothing came off and stood facing you, to shield you from any prying eyes. He did not put it beyond this rabble to be spying on guests as they changed. You slipped his trench coat off and, suddenly aware of your nakedness and his imposing proximity, made quick work of his shirt and pants, unzipping them roughly and making him flinch, before tugging them down just as harshly. Remembering your role, you chuckled, as though you had done it to tease him and crossed your arms over your bare chest, eager for the dress, as revealing as it was. Julian seemed unfazed by being completely naked in a large anteroom and offered the white halter neck satin dress for you to step into. The dress had a large slit in the side and flowed with every step, and the back was left entirely bare. It glided as smoothly as water up your body as he pulled it up and tied it at the base of your neck. He pressed his mask into your neck, in an approximation of a steadying kiss, and you felt the length of his body pressed into you, with the material of the dress dividing you leaving little to the imagination.
Julian’s attire was similarly revealing. A similar white material folded and tucked in around his hips, like the bottom half of a toga, and draped over his torso, cinched over one shoulder with a gold hoop and cascading down like a cape. He looked like an ancient marble statue, its perfection exaggerated by an impassioned artist in ardent love with his model, was brought to life.
The low thump of the music pulsed through the closed door as you neared it, and Julian brushed the bare skin of your lower back with his clever fingers as he claimed your waist, holding you close to his side as you ascended the steps and entered the party.
The renovated château was a blend of showy rococo and sleek modern styles. The dichotomy made for a luxurious experience, striking a balance between the lavish furnishings of the past and the present-day creature comforts, such as telephones, cameras, air conditioning, and modern mechanics. You followed a servant, distinguished by her plain gunmetal gray mask, into a spacious ballroom where the main activities were taking place. Heavy velvet curtains were drawn over the tall windows that lined the walls, keeping the lighting in the room low and atmospheric with only the dimmed chandeliers and scattered candelabras to set the mood. Dry ice created a mist swirling around the floor and ghosting around your steps. Erotic house music filtered in from the speakers embedded high above, and its thumping bass rattled in your bones as it provided a steady rhythm to rut to.
You passed sections of the ballroom, some divided by pillars and more heavy drapery, others raised on a dais, and each offered different activities. In some, more accessible areas, guests mingled and leaned masked faces close to exchange conversation and toasts, lifting only the bottoms of their masks to take quick sips. On a chaise longue, red and trimmed in gold, lay a man with his toga hiked up around his waist, straddled and vigorously ridden by a woman with nipple piercings connected by a series of chains and pendants, and her dark skin extensively tattooed. A small group of people, in various stages of undress gathered around them and commented on the participants and their activity.
You passed onto a higher level, leaving the couple behind you, and noticed that this area had raised platforms around one central viewing point. Each platform had two red leather sofas, one lower and one higher, permitting more positions and participants, surrounded by several waist-high columns. Each column held an object for members to use, either for pleasure or pain. You took in a few, including phallus-shaped implements, ball gags, riding crops, and pliers. In the viewing area, more of those comfortable chaise longues were laid out for those wishing to observe. Several platforms were currently occupied, but one drew your attention. A masked woman had her long legs wrapped around two men, one inside of her, the other inside of the man between them, and the three were being observed by a masked man in a black robe. He was one of Rostov’s inner circle, designated by his robe as untouchable – unless he asked to be – and irrefusable. His build was wrong; he was too young and too fit to be Rostov, so you moved on.
Sooner rather than later, you remembered as the stench of too many bodies fucking in an enclosed space hit your nostrils, you would have to engage in some activity yourself, lest your restraint draw unwanted attention. Even now, you felt appraising eyes land on you and Julian as you passed. You could not blame them. For all the young and attractive participants present, paid or drugged, who walked around and offered themselves like hors d’oeuvres to be sampled, they smacked of sex workers who were only doing a job. Some had the shaky, twitchy physique of junkies, while others had the used up bodies of veteran sex workers. You and Julian, by contrast, were trained by the Museum to be lethal, and having looks to kill was not a mere phrase where you came from. All those lessons in walking runways, learning classical dances, gymnastics, yoga, and the subtle art of erotica over the two years of your training made you both stand out in the most noteworthy way. Every step showed off your bodies, effortless grace and proud bearing; every brush of your fingers against Julian’s sculpted arm promised something more between you, and you felt eager eyes follow you, hoping to witness the moment you decided to take it farther.
The sounds of leather cracking and moans, quickly drowned out by delighted praise or mockery, led you into a large chamber, lined with ornate columns. A red carpet painted the floor red and several servants walked unobtrusively around with smoking censers, diffusing aphrodisiac scents around the cavernous chamber and perfuming the aroma of sex before it grew stale. In its center sat a long table, with a smorgasbord of men and women on top. From your vantage point, you could see two women with their heads between the other’s legs, one on her back, the other over her on her knees, both writhing and exaggerating their pleasure as their surgically enhanced breasts jiggled in one unmoving spot. Next to them were two handsome men on their sides, performing the same act and moaning deeply around the other’s shaft. In the middle was a piano bench with three women of widely varying ages in an embrace, busily alternating positions and acts. Around the table sat the more important attendees, watching, some stroking themselves or others under the table. The first woman you’d seen dressed in a black robe sat on the lap of a bony old man, his skin hanging like wet paper over his frame. She wriggled on his lap from his touch under her robes and pulled up a sleeve to offer her arm. He produced a syringe and injected her with a cloudy substance before resuming his ministrations. Julian walked by and caught the woman’s attention. She reached out for him and he extended her a hand, letting her pull him in close as she arched her back and spread herself across the table for him to sample. Julian loomed over her until she couldn’t wait anymore and tugged on his arm, splaying his large hand over her comparatively small breast, instructing him to knead at her chest. He did so, leaning closer over her so he could swipe the empty syringe from the floor and tuck it into the folds of his clothing. When he accomplished his task, he disengaged from the woman and you could see her roaming hand had found his way in between the folds of his toga and was trying to get in another one or two strokes as he retreated. As his partner, his wife, for the evening, you felt no need to disguise either your proprietary sense or your jealousy. Grabbing for his elbow, you jerked him towards you and spun him out of the way, positioning yourself between the woman in black and the object of both your desires. Too late it occurred to you that it could be huge mistake to challenge a high-ranking member. Your body spoke for itself, like a cat bristling and hissing, ready to claw out any eye that rested too long on Julian. You looked at her hand, suspended in midair as she considered demanding Julian back. With what relish you would break each and every finger, enjoying the snap of each knuckle. The flash in your eyes seemed to communicate this rather eloquently to the women and she turned back to the decrepit old man she was sitting on and threw her head back, her deranged laughter muffled behind her mask. The scene drew many masked faces to turn towards you and examine you with uncanny glittering eyes from behind impassive disguises. They had the eerie curiosity of carrion birds, waiting for their prey to become carcasses.
Julian drew you close, acting possessively, as if the fighting and territorial behavior was part of your foreplay. Grinding his hips into your backside, you felt him stiffen reflexively. His hands squeezed your hips and you threw your head back against his broad shoulder, letting him play out the scene and get you safely away. His hands roved up your body, following the contours of your waist and ribs. One hand slipped inside your dress and drew a lazy circle around the nipple, drawing it into a stiff peak and rolling it between his rough fingers. You let a shudder roll visibly through you and pressed your thighs theatrically together for the benefit of those savoring your reaction, creating some friction and relief. Julian’s other hand snaked up and coiled around your throat as he bent to whisper in your ear. “Fuck,” you heard a guttural grunt as he panted behind his mask, and his strained voice sent a jolt of pleasure through your body. You arched your back into him before you could think not to and his hips responded with a deep thrust as his stiffening cock sought some relief against the curve of your ass. “We should get out of here, he’s--” words failed him and he had to swallow hard before resuming, “he’s not here.”
As you straightened up, trying to find the closest exit point and make for it, one of the marauding sex workers, emboldened by whatever chemical cocktail she was on, made her way to you and placed one hand over the breast Julian wasn’t cupping, and the other around his neck, inviting herself into your company. Not worried about causing trouble due to her rank, you unceremoniously slapped her hand away from Julian, to delighted comments and encouragements from the throng watching on. She tottered like a toddler and you knew a single push could knock her down, and in her state, she likely wouldn’t even feel it. Still, she did not take the hint and tried to touch Julian again. His hand fell away from you and you caught her wrist, twisting only a little before she crumpled into the ground.
As you turned to leave, you nearly bumped into a woman, stripped to her waist, holding a young man’s wrists over an antique letter writing desk. Another woman, with sagging breasts that suggested breast feeding several children, bound in a leather harness, was whipping the youth across the back while an old man in black robes held his hips and frantically pumped. His legs were wiry and crooked and his gut was visibly round as he worked around the protruding flesh to stick his small member into the young man. You squeezed Julian’s thigh in question, as the gesture could be viewed as announcing your eagerness to join in. He wrapped his hand around yours and stilled you, signaling no. Rostov was scrawnier than this round-bellied man. But you were likely getting close.
Julian raised his masked head towards the upper levels of the chamber. All along the top floor were small viewing chambers, like opera boxes, and most of them held a member dressed in black, with a select guest, or guests, keeping them company. It was there he spied him.
Rostov, ever the attention seeker, was the only attendee with a mask made entirely of gold. Noticeably shorter than the naked woman accompanying him, he seemed to be watching Julian too. Without flinching or looking away, Julian stood and waited for a few beats. Finally, Rostov seemed to make up his mind and with a quick summoning gesture, a servant materialized next to you and asked you to join the host on the uppermost level.
As you were led along the balustrade to Rostov, you saw peep show-like personal rooms with acts going on in glass cages. These seemed to be one per box and, anticipating that you were brought here to perform rather than talk, you were grateful you wouldn’t be ogled by a multitude of criminals. Just one.
In one box, there was a woman in thigh-high boots and a collar around her neck, with a leash leading to some unseen master, bound to a velvet-cushioned chair. The viewer was issuing commands on what was to be done to her and you tried not to listen as you passed that box and approached another. In the glass box, a throuple was enjoying hot wax and blindfolds. At Rostov’s box, you saw a naked man wipe himself down as he exited and a pair of servants untied the woman and helped her out of a harness. The truncated scene confirmed what Julian had shared about Rostov and his penchant for more dominant men and submissive women. Gage’s impish and dominant behavior was a departure from that, so you made sure to remember not to play a meek, passive role.
The small man, hardly larger than a child, wore a golden mask that was reminiscent of hannya masks from Japanese theater, with large eyes, and a twisted grimace with a gaping mouth, revealing sharp teeth. Rostov examined Julian first, holding his large hand in his two small ones, looking at the golden band on his ring finger. He gave yours a glance to confirm he had it right, and let Julian’s hand go. As if examining a thoroughbred, he ran his hands over Julian’s thickly muscled chest, the marvelously sculpted ridges and valleys of his arms.
“You hold Gage so close, so very close,” Rostov said in a thick accent and sighed. “I can see why.” He ran a finger over your mask, down its smooth, cool cheek, and lower still, dragging his small hand flat down your chest, down the valley between your breasts. Julian shifted his weight and his chest involuntarily puffed up, making Rostov huff a small laugh.
He walked a few small steps away, into his box, and Julian surmised he should follow. When Rostov lounged on the divan, Julian did the same, and they were at last on the same plane.
“From the moment you two walked in, I had one single thought.” He waited until Julian leaned in closer, tacitly asking for an answer. “I want to fuck your wife,” he stage-whispered, loud enough for both of you to hear. “This is a family, Cipher,” Rostov placed a proprietary hand on the back of his neck, pulling him intimately in. Without the masks, they would have been a hair away from kissing. Julian heard Rostov’s labored breath behind his mask and was sure the man was hard to bursting, though his proportions were such that robes successfully hid on his body what they could never hope to hide on Julian. The man’s eyes devoured him, taking in his body greedily, lust shining in his beady eyes. “We do everything as a unit,” he coaxed.
Julian did not blink. He was playing the role of a man who did not share the woman he loved, and it came naturally to him. Both he and Cipher were the sort to risk powerful people’s displeasure for what they truly wanted. He observed his host, aware of his own intensely masculine appeal and let the man’s desire win out, breaking his determination and making him willing to negotiate.
“Bah,” the little man waved a frustrated hand, “I can see that your wife is not the sharing sort – for a moment there, I was worried she would break my wife’s arm when she was playing with you. And you can imagine the sort of pain in the ass she would be then,” Rostov laughed and phlegm rattled in his lungs. “I’m saddened to see you have the same sick notions of fidelity.” He sighed again and shook his head. “I’ll satisfy myself with watching you this first time, then.” With the matter decided in his mind, Rostov rolled away from him, and servants came in to escort you and Julian inside the glass box, while the pair that was in it before you came back and fell into an embrace with their host.
*
@thegrislady @lumberjack00fantasies @queeniebee @vedavan @mythrielofsolitude @house-of-cadwyn
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The Things That Don't Matter (ft. Blythe and Roger)
This oneshot could be considered a Part-2 to 'Butterflies'. You don't have to read 'Butterflies' to understand this, but if you wanna read it anyway, feel free to here.
Enjoy.
===
The airplane ride was a bit… hectic. There was the usual turbulence. Sure,. Of course. It's a flight after all. Dad tells her stories of turbulence all the time during his flights.
Then there was a crying child and its poor, poor crying mother seated next to Blythe. Alright... classic trope! Everyone has that one annoying child on their flight or so.
But then the airplane food Blythe ordered accidentally spilled all over the child which made it cry more. She could feel the glares from annoyed passengers from all over the plane, piercing into her like knives...
Thank God the flight was short enough. Blythe was very, very relieved to finally step off that plane.
Frustrated and tired as she was, she supposed it didn't matter anymore. She was here to see her dad!
Now, all she had to do was go through the airport, find her Dad, get out of there with him, and enjoy one week back in her childhood home.
And soon enough, she spotted him. A tall figure with short brown hair, and stripes of gray growing in. He was wearing that familiar red plaid flannel and dark blue jeans. Looking down at his phone.
"Dad! Over here!"
At the sound of his daughter's voice, Roger's head snapped up. And when he noticed Blythe, running towards him with her suitcase trailing behind her, Roger found himself running to her too.
"Blythe!"
"Dad!"
"Blythe!"
"Dad!"
"BLYTHE!"
"DAD!"
The two of them finally collided in a hug, almost falling over from the force of it.
But that didn't matter to them.
Blythe's suitcase was thrown away, and slid on the airport floor.
But that didn't matter right now.
It was almost as if the world around them had tuned out. The sights around them started to blur and every sound muffled into unrecognizable nothingness.
But it didn't matter. All that did was the tight, warm embrace between father and daughter. Such an embrace that they had missed so so much.
"I missed you." Blythe whispered, her breathing still quick and unsteady. From the running? From the reunion?
It did not matter.
"I missed you too, Blythie. So so much…"
They hugged each other tight as if they'd never get the chance again. Blythe took her time, savoring her dad's warm hug and familiar smell. That old, musky cologne he'd always put on. Oh, how she missed it…
Unfortunately for the moment, it had to end. Things in the outside world did matter, and they had to catch up with the world. Otherwise, it'd continue going on without them.
"So, how have things been while I was away?" Blythe said.
"Nothing much. The usual- go to work, fly somewhere, go back home, do home things, go to work. Your calls and texts are what keeps me going, hon."
"Awww, Dad…"
"How about you? Your life in Downtown good? I mean, other than the updates you're sending me all the time."
"In general? It's been awesome! I'm glad everyone has been so friendly to me so far. Except for... well, you know of course, since you do read all my updates and all, ahah... Anyway, I'm was working on a few designs that'll may or may not be featured on the magazine next month! Or, I hope they'll be, at least. I'm not sure, the editors can be very picky…"
"I see…"
"But we won't have to worry about that this week! I'm here, and we can go home and do even more catching up."
"Oh yeah, of course! Come on, Blythe. Grab your poor little suitcase off the floor and let's book it on home. The car's parked over there."
"Perfect, let's go!"
===
Day 8: homecoming
aww that was real sweet now wasn't it :)))
Let me tell you, the moment i came up with the title i felt so smart for a bit like "WOW this is so sophisticated and meaningful because because!" But i suppose it doesn't really matte- *dies*
i know i said this whole thing about being committed to the prompts and writing everyday, but now I'm hesitant. This month is the last month for my school year, and then SUMMMER BABBYYYY. But then also- up until summer, we'll be super busy finalizing projects and all. Plus studying for the final exams. Sooo yeh.
We'll see though. I managed to multitask this lil oneshot and my homework today. All i need to do is do that for... 23 more days. Yeah.
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The Red Thread (01)
pairing: idol!namjoon (third pov) x fem!reader (first pov)
genres: fluff, smut, angst
tropes: soulmate au (red string), magical friends, overthinking and not solving problems
summary:
After a tragic event, you find a letter that gets you out of your comfort zone. Meeting Namjoon seems to be simple, but then you see the thread. The string brings about life changing decisions. Are you both ready for it?
chapter warnings: anxiety and depression symptoms
word count: 700
author’s note: think of this as a prologue?
< previous | masterlist | next >
~*~ If you enjoy this chapter, please reblog it! ~*~
NAMJOON’S POV
The cool autumn air felt good against his skin after being in an airplane for hours. Namjoon was relieved to see this would be an easy walk to the vehicle that had been hired to chauffeur him around the area. No one seemed to stare at him too much, no group of cheering girls or demanding paparazzi was waiting for him.
In this country, unfortunately not his home, he could do things without feeling like he was part of a reality show. This little vacation would help him decide the next chapter in life. He had told himself this just over two years ago, but he was still unsure of what to do in life now that it was done.
“Mr. Kim, good afternoon. I’m Nathan Parks,” a man said, nodding in greeting as he stood by the vehicle. Namjoon returned the nod and let Nathan take his rolling suitcase. The bag hanging from his shoulder stayed with him as he entered the back of the SUV. “At the moment I’m your chauffeur, but I’m a well-rounded worker.” Nathan’s voice was laced with teasing and openness. “If you need me to run an errand, let me know. If you need me to secure an area, I can do that.”
“I’ll remember that,” Namjoon replied with a chuckle, noticing the intricate rose and thorn tattoo design covering both arms. He thought of Jungkook, who had been showing him a new tattoo design before Namjoon had gotten on the plane. The scenery whizzed by as they drove, a lot of golden-leaved trees and rolling hills. A comfortable silence followed for a long moment.
“My daughter and girlfriend are big fans. They don't know about the job, of course, but I will be asking for a photo or autograph before this is over. Perfect birthday or anniversary present,” Nathan admitted almost sheepishly. He cleared his throat and became laid back and professional like before. “Would you like to go to your residence or somewhere else?
“I’d like to get settled in, thanks,” he replied. “And I’d be happy to do that. I’m sorry you have to keep the details a secret, I know it’s hard with people close to you.”
“No worries, my daughter is fourteen and isn’t really into Dad anymore. Ashlyn is going to kill me, though,” he added with an amused smirk, glancing at Namjoon in the rearview mirror. Namjoon couldn’t help but be charmed by what he knew of the man’s family. He’d help the guy out before he left.
After a forty-minute ride to a condo on the outskirts of the city, Namjoon began to unpack and get settled. Nathan mentioned he’d be in the connecting condo, with security camera feeds. Namjoon had hired him to be bodyguard as well as chauffeur, as the company didn’t want him to go anywhere without protection. Once he was done putting a few things in the closet and dresser, Namjoon flopped backward onto his plush bed and stared at the ceiling.
“Now what?” he murmured to himself. He was free from a hectic schedule that he was so used to - in and out of the military. As usual, his mind started to go through all the things he wanted to do and if it was possible to do it. Hiking, sleeping, recording, writing, exercising, restaurant hopping, and so much more. He had asked for access to a studio, but it had to be put in Nathan’s condo because of room issues. Since he wasn’t hungry, he went with another enjoyment of his on the list.
First, he wanted to see the hiking trails. He would leave early in the morning and catch the sunrise as he started. One of the main reasons he decided this part of the world was a good vacation area was the renowned outdoor activities. Namjoon rolled toward the nightstand, reached out, and picked up his phone.
[ namjoon ] top 3 best hiking trails in the area?
[ nathan ] what level?
[ namjoon ] moderate.
[ nathan ] on it, give me half an hour. Are you wanting to go out this afternoon?
[ namjoon ] no, just before sunrise tomorrow
[ nathan ] sounds good, i can bring coffee
#bts rm#kim namjoon#namjoon x reader#bts rm x reader#rm x reader#soulmate au#post military bts#namjoon fanfic#namjoon soulmate au#rm fanfic
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Running to Catch An Airplane Trope
Adrien has lost just about everything now that his father has been unmasked as Hawkmoth. But he isn't about to lose her too.
Enjoy!
Read on Ao3
Adrien watched as Nino walked up to the podium and took his diploma, to general applause and the loud cheers of his family.
His hand tightened around his own diploma. There hadn’t been much of either when Adrien walked up, the first name called.
Barely any applause. Mostly just whispers. Some worried. Some… accusing. He supposed he couldn’t blame them, after everything that had happened still so fresh in the mind of the public.
There weren’t any loud cheers from his family. Mostly because there wasn’t much of one left anyway. He’d known for years that his father would never attend something as plebeian as a high school graduation, but…
Adrien hadn’t thought it would be like this. He’d had no clue at all about any of it.
It had taken all five of them - Ladybug, Chat Noir, Carapace, Rena Rouge, even Queen Bee - but they’d finally done it. Hawkmoth and Mayura, unmasked for all the world to see. No going back, no sneaky tricks to get away from it.
The only cost? Adrien’s family. His father and Nathalie, jailed. His mother, gone for a second time. His home, leveled in the pitched battle that followed. All his life except for his heartbeat is what it took to bring Hawkmoth to justice.
His teammates still didn’t know why he’d left so quickly afterwards, how he’d immediately detransformed and broken down. For most of them, they would never know. After all, no need for the secondary heroes now that the terrible Hawkmoth had been unmasked. Paris would rest easy under Ladybug and Chat Noir’s watch.
There is more clapping and Adrien mechanically joins in, only to be startled when everyone begins standing up around him. The ceremony is over, just like his days of childhood. His classmates are chatting excitedly amongst each other as they head across the street. It takes him a moment to gather the strength to stand up, but when he does, he is surrounded by his real friends.
Nino. Alya. And…
“How are you feeling?” Marinette asked softly.
This was the worst part. It was their graduation! Everyone should be happy and celebrating and here he was, dragging down the mood with his own misery. Just like always. It wasn’t fair to them, not in the least. Swallowing his emotions, he offered a strained smile.
“I’m doing better,” he lied.
Marinette didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t say anything. Nino threw his arm around Adrien’s shoulder and they all followed after the rest of their class. For a moment, the prospect of having Dupain-Cheng pastries was almost enough to make Adrien forget it all. It was a good choice of venue for them - what better place to end their time together than the site of so many of their happiest memories?
Adrien was just about to sink his teeth into a passion fruit macaron when he started listening into what his former classmates were saying.
“-Going to school for botany, so I can open my own flower shop!” Rose said, giving Juleka a hug out of excitement.
Adrien shoved the macaron in his mouth and walked toward another part of the shop to find another. There, he overheard what Alix was saying.
“Yeah I got a plan to skate with the best in my new university. Gonna try to keep the family tradition of historians alive since clearly big bro ain’t up to it with all his conspiracy stuff. But that doesn't mean I gotta be a stick in the mud about it.”
Eventually, Adrien found a place in a corner, a good ways away from the rest of his friends. Some of them cast glances his way, but no one made a move to talk to him. What could they say anyway? ‘Sorry your dad was the magic terrorist that turned every single one of us into super villains at one point or another?’
And he certainly wasn’t about to approach them either. Not if they were going to be talking about the future. They all sounded so hopeful and excited, he didn’t want to bring them down with his uncertainty.
Having his entire life charted out in meticulous, color-coded detail, he wasn’t very confident in his own planning abilities. Even in his superhero career he was more often than not following someone else’s plan. What was he going to do with his life now, when even his superheroics weren’t necessary?
The party was still going on when Adrien sneaked out. He was sure nobody would miss him from there. No doubt the mood might even lighten once he was gone. Nino and Marinette would at least have a better time now that he wasn’t bringing everything down.
The only good thing he could say about his father now was that at least he’d actually paid Adrien for his modeling. Even if Adrien only recently got access to that bank account, it meant that he could afford a house to rent now that his childhood home was cinders.
Turning the lights on as he entered, he shuffled over to the television and hesitated. He used to like turning it on to have some background noise, but it was hard to escape the news about his family these days. Backing away from the TV, he opted instead to turn on a music playlist.
Adrien collapsed onto the couch, the weight of his loneliness bearing down on him now more than ever. Maybe he could have handled everything else, but on top of all of it, the defeat of Hawkmoth meant that Ladybug had basically gone off the grid. No akuma battles, no late night patrols.
His mind wandered - Where was Ladybug? What she was doing?
--------------
Long after the party had died down, Marinette went up to her room and pulled out a letter that she had hidden away months ago. It almost felt like another lifetime when she had sent out that application. She had sent it not because she had intended to go but because it was something she was expected to do.
Someone like her, with her hopes and dreams worn on her sleeve since she was twelve, didn’t just ‘forget’ to send out her university applications. It would’ve looked suspicious. So she sent the letters, knowing in her heart that she would never be able to leave Paris because walking away from it would mean leaving it defenseless.
But now the danger was gone. She didn’t need to protect her beloved city anymore.
Holding the acceptance letter to a semester long fashion internship in Milan, her heart pounded in excitement. After so long, she could finally start living her life again.
--------------------
There weren’t a lot of people left in Adrien’s life.
He’d never been super close to most of his classmates, so that wasn’t a huge loss to him. But the retiring of most of the super hero team, plus Nino, Alya, and Marinette being super busy these days did cut deep.
But, as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop as Chat Noir, he reflected that at least he had Ladybug. Getting a call from her out of the blue was surprising, but he jumped at the chance to see her again after the maddening quiet of the last couple months.
A part of him was worried, however. Why did she want to see him? Ladybug didn’t do anything without good reason. And what good reasons were there left for them in a post-Hawkmoth world? Did she want his miraculous…? His hand brushed over his ring. No, she would never. She knew how much being Chat Noir meant to him. Besides, if she wanted to disband all of them, she would’ve taken his ring along with the other miraculous.
Heart pounding for more reasons than one, Chat Noir landed on their favorite meeting spot in one of the towers of Notre Dame. As he spots her iconic red and black outfit, he pushes aside his worries. Everything else aside, Ladybug was here - that alone was a huge load of his shoulders.
She turns around at the sound of his boots landing on the ground.
“Just the cat I was waiting on,” she said with a smile.
“I hope I didn’t keep such a beautiful woman waiting for long,” Chat replied, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to it. “What’s up, bugaboo?”
“I’ll get right to the point, chaton.” Ladybug took a deep breath. “I’m going to be going away for a few months. I got an internship in Milan. I’ll be leaving next week.”
His heart dropped and he took both of her hands in his. Eyes locked onto their interlocked hands, he murmured, “Lovebug, I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it that long…”
She freed one hand to cup his chin, pushing it up until they were looking eye to eye. There was a soft but sad smile on her face.
“I know its a whole new world for us, and I’m sure its been rough for you. So I’ll make you a promise-”
“A purromise?” He punned half-heartedly.
“...sure, a purromise,” she replied. “The first time I see you after I get back, chaton, we'll blow this whole thing wide open.”
He frowned. She couldn’t mean…?
“We'll reveal our identities, I swear." To prove her sincerity, she held out her pinky.
“But… why can’t we do that now?”
"To give you something to look forward to, of course," she said with a smile. “So what do you say?”
Staring at her pinky for a long time, he eventually grabbed it with his own pinky. The promise had been made.
They chatted for a little while after that, but eventually Ladybug had to leave. People would notice she was missing if she was gone for too long.
Chat watched her leave, turning into a dot on the horizon. After all, who was going to notice, even if he was out for an hour more?
-------------
The days run by, lost in a blur of video games and books and other distractions that kept him in his room. There was no Nathalie to force him into his usual activities. No father to breathe down his neck. Just him slowly losing track of time as the days ticked past, unnoticed by Adrien. He didn’t even realize it was the day that Ladybug had said she was going to be leaving for Milan until his phone lit up for the first time in days.
It was Nino, of course. He was practically the only one calling him these days, except for the group chats that he was in. And even then, the last few calls had been a bit of a blur, running on autopilot like he was.
Adrien answers the phone. “Hey, bro, what’s up?”
“More like - what’s out? And the answer is me. I’m outside. Open the door, my bro.”
Nino hung up, leaving Adrien to blink in the darkness of his living room, illuminated only by the light of his paused game. Standing up, he rushed over to the door and opened it a crack. Sure enough, Nino was standing there.
“‘Sup dude?” He pushed open the door, letting the sunlight filter into Adrien’s house for the first time in days. Nino scrunched up his eyebrows in concern. “T-shirt and sweatpants this late in the day, my dude? You feelin’ alright?”
“Same as usual, I guess,” Adrien said with a shrug. “What’s the occasion?”
Nino let himself in and pulled open Adrien’s curtains. “Don’t really need one to hang with my best bro, do I?” He saw Adrien’s face. “Okay, okay, so I needed some time outta the house. Can you blame me? With everything going down with Marinette, I could use some space away from that bummer fest to take my mind off things.”
“Things going down with Marinette?” Adrien asked. Did something happen?
“Yeah man, Alya was a wreck last night. We helped Marinette pack up and honestly, watching those two say goodbye just about made me tear up." Nino tugged at his cap, getting ragged from the years.
Adrien takes a moment to shake off the gray stupor that's been hanging over him for months, that had been doubled because of Ladybug’s absence.
“Uh... what? Is Marinette going somewhere?” That is someone he should make more effort to keep in touch with, if he's being honest with himself. Maybe once she comes back from her vacation or whatever, they can get coffee.
"Dude, you never listen to anything I say anymore,” Nino said, clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes disapprovingly. “I know it's tough with your dad and all, dude, but you've got to get out of your own head. Marinette's leaving."
"What? Leaving? Like, leaving leaving?"
"Might as well be, dude. She's getting on a plane this afternoon and not coming back for 6 months." Adrien got stuck by deja vu. Something about that time frame sounds familiar... "She wanted me to tell you she'll miss you while she's gone."
"I... can't believe I didn't say goodbye. Where is she going? Why is she going?" He’s more alert than he has been for months. He took a seat next to Nino, leaning forward a little as he hung on Nino’s words.
"A sweet fashion internship dude. Way over in Milan."
And it clicks. Internship. Milan. The whole semester. There’s no way… it can’t be a coincidence.
If Adrien is wrong, he doesn't lose anything. He'll see his lady and his friend when they both return. But if he's right - and he's got to be right! - then she's gone. She's gone and he won't get to say goodbye, to tell her that he loves her, that he's always loved her.
Nino's still chatting away in the background, "...and to be honest, I'm surprised she didn't come see you before she left. Alya said she wanted to clear the air about that massive crush she had on you in high school-"
"I'm sorry WHAT?" Adrien tries and fails to keep his voice level.
Nino raises his eyebrows. "Dude, I thought you knew by now.” He shakes his head. “Everybody knew."
That raises far too many questions for Adrien’s liking, but he is too focused to be sidetracked now. He leans into Nino’s space, clarity in his eyes for the first time in a long time, one question on his mind.
"When does her plane leave?"
"What? Like in, an hour or so, dude.” Nino’s eyes widened as he realizes what Adrien might be planning. “But there's no way-"
"-igottagoniceseeingyouninobye!"
Adrien throws on a pair of converse sneakers, tongues sticking out in his haste out the door, untied laces flying. Nino is shouting something behind him, but Adrien doesn’t have the time to listen. Once he was out of his friend’s line of sight, he transformed and ran. He runs faster than he ever had in his entire life, his rooftop blurring under his feet as they carried him across the city.
He can't believe it took all this for him to figure it out. At this point, he doesn't care that she might reject him. The only thing that matters is that he has to know for sure. Nothing was more important to him in this moment than to look in those bluebell eyes and tell her he's figured it out. Figured her out.
He can't have her disappear for six months and forget about him. About what they could be.
Getting to the airport took longer than expected. Getting across the whole of Paris wasn’t easy, but he did it. Even if he had to stop way outside his destination to detransform. Nothing was about to stop him. Not even his own body, wheezing and protesting the sudden activity after a summer of slacking could slow him down. There was something more powerful than muscle and sinew at work here.
The airport was busy and Adrien froze at the front door, catching more than a few odd looks from people. He didn’t have any time to spare for them, however. His eyes, his heart, were too busy frantically searching the crowd for just the barest sign of her. Despair that he was too late had begun to lace its tendrils around his heart when the crowd parted for a split second.
He saw her.
Not just Marinette, in a cute floral summer dress, hair tied back and lugging her bags behind her.
No. In that half of a moment, he saw Ladybug and Marinette as one. The strength behind her eyes, the determined squaring of her shoulders even though he knew she was scared. If he had any doubts before, they were gone like mist before the sun. He was only barely aware of himself bolting towards her, parting the crowd in front of him to a tune of a host of disgruntled French travelers.
His hand snags her wrist just before she reaches the security checkpoint. She turns, part of surprise, part out of curiosity. Her eyes widen when she sees him, but he doesn’t have the chance to savor it. He’s already pulled her into a hug, pouring all the love he’s bottled up inside himself into it.
Hand cradling her head, his mouth close to her ear, he can barely manage to pant out a few words, the exhaustion of pressing himself so hard so fast finally catching up with him.
"M'lady.... princess....found you..."
In a voice so quiet only his senses, made keen by years of using the black cat miraculous, can make out, she whispered, “...Chaton?”
He grins, gasping, and nods. Her eyes tear up and she hugs him back twice as hard. "How did you know?"
"Internship in Milan. Had to say goodbye. Had to tell you...Mari, I love you."
She's stunned for a moment, and pulls back to look him in the face. Matching her gaze, he feels himself falling inescapably into those bright blue eyes. He never thought he could fall even more in love, but today seemed to be the day for revelations. The moment broke only when she rolled forward on her tiptoes, placed her arms around his neck for leverage, and pressed her lips to his.
Time began again when a booming voice called out a flight number overhead. Marinette, kiss-drunk, pulled back and bit her lip, making Adrien’s heart do a backflip.
“That’s mine.” She pouts, then brightens and smirks, "You know, I hear Milan is lovely this time of year. You should come visit me sometime, Mr. Moneybags."
-------------------
Two months later
Adrien rose with the sun, one of the few habits from his teenage years he’d never managed to shake off. Marinette was a few rooms over, taking the guest bedroom of his Italian villa while they lived in Milan. He started to make breakfast.
It wasn’t a miraculous cure - their relationship, her being here with him. His life was still in shambles. There were moments where he couldn’t be strong. He still felt lost most of the time.
But she was a constant. He could build a life around her - together. She was there when he needed to be weak. And her steady determination that he’d find his way was more often than not enough to ground him.
He put his breakfast on a plate and left Marinette’s on the kitchen counter, knowing the smell would do more to coax her out of bed than any amount of knocking or reminders. In the meantime, he pulled out his laptop to get a head start on his online class work for the day. It was just general requirements, but it gave him time to test the waters, see what he liked and what he didn’t.
No matter what, though, he knew she was going to be there every step of the way, cheering him on just like he knew he would be right there for her. A perfect team, just like they’d always been.
Yesterday was rough. Today would be better. And tomorrow? Adrien smiled as he heard Marinette's morning grumblings down the hall. Tomorrow shone bright with possibilities for both of them.
#Miraculous Ladybug#Adrien Agreste#Marinette Dupain-Cheng#Adrienette#Chat Noir#Ladybug#Ladynoir#Nino Lahiffe#ml fanfiction#my writing#Running To Catch An Airplane Trope
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Do I Haunt Your Mind?
Summary: You finally work up the courage to confess your feelings to Loki, but it goes badly wrong.
Genre: Angst leading to fluff
Loki x fem!reader
The prompt was: “You look happier.”
(Yes this is the “miscommunication leads to angst leads to fluff” trope I’m not even sorry.)
Letting out the mother of all sighs you flopped down on your bed in the compound, grateful to finally be horizontal after a gruelling flight back to New York. While you had spent the entire flight back dreaming of your own bed in your own flat in Manhattan, the compound had been closer and all you had wanted was to lie down for an indeterminable length of time as soon as possible.
That and you had missed the people who had become your adopted second family. You had missed Tony’s sarcasm and sassiness, Nat’s ability to match your own dry sense of humour, and Thor’s Golden Retriever energy.
Most of all, however, you had missed Loki.
Since your first conversation all those months ago where you assured him you didn’t think he was a monster you had struck up a tentative friendship, something you thanked the stars for daily. You found that you had a kindred spirit in Loki, however laughable that would have seemed only a few weeks before. You both enjoyed the same books, enjoyed having the same deep discussions about God knows what, and enjoyed teasing the other senseless until one of you was in fits of laughter. You had, however, done something very foolish in the past few months.
You had fallen in love with him.
It had been a sudden realisation and it had scared the hell out of you. One minute you had been listening intently to him talk about growing up in Asgard and the magic his mother had taught him, the next you were thinking about how his lips would feel against yours and how his hands would feel tangled in your hair. You found yourself scanning every room you entered hoping he would be there and experiencing a sinking feeling of disappointment at the times he wasn’t.
The times he was there, though, made you a different person. You were loud, you laughed at the stupidest comments, and tried hard to make yourself the centre of attention, all so you might catch him glancing your way.
When he did your heart almost leapt out of your chest with joy.
You hadn’t fallen this hard for someone in a long time, and definitely never for someone like Loki. He was a god for Christ’s sake. He probably viewed you as nothing more than something to kill the time with while cooped up in the compound. You knew Thor had had a thing with that scientist, everyone knew Thor had had a thing with that scientist seeing as he never shut up about her, but that was Thor. You didn’t expect Loki to be going half crazy over a mortal like you.
You were more than half crazy for him. You were so far gone it almost made you cry out of frustration that he would never feel the same way. You had dreams about him, you imagined what it would be like to have him wrapped around you in bed, you thought about how it would feel to run your hands down his back. You were so far gone it was pathetic.
You had thought taking some time away from the compound to go home and see your family would set your head straight again and you’d arrive back and laugh at how much you’d acted like a lovestruck teenager, but the time away hadn’t changed your feelings, it had only strengthened them. The first person you had wanted to see when those airplane doors had opened was Loki, and he was most definitely the reason you had decided to come to the compound instead of heading straight home to your flat, no matter what other lies you told yourself.
You were totally, completely in love with the God of Mischief.
With a groan you flopped your arm over your eyes and let yourself fall asleep in a desperate attempt to ignore everything for at least another few hours.
oOo
Your eyes snapped open. You didn’t know what had caused you to wake but one look out of your bedroom window told you that you had slept for much longer than anticipated. It had been mid afternoon when you had arrived back at the compound and the sky outside was now an inky black. There was your sleeping schedule out the window.
You pulled yourself from the bed with a stretch, feeling a great deal more refreshed than you had a few hours ago, a lot more clear headed. You weren’t some fifteen year old with a crush, you were a grown woman who was being ridiculous. Telling Loki how you felt was the only way you were going to find any peace, and the high likelihood that your feelings were unrequited was a chance you were going to have to take. You were a big girl and you’d eventually get over it.
First, however, you needed tea, if for no other reason than to plan out how you were going to approach this. Your mind was in overdrive as you padded down to the kitchen. How exactly did one go about telling a Norse god that they were in love with them? You wished that you could confide in Wanda. This was her area of expertise but if things went wrong, and you were more than certain they would, you wanted to be able to lick your wounds without pity from anyone.
You flicked the switch to boil the kettle and pulled your favourite mug from the cupboard, a little smile pulling at your lips as you thought about the times you’d come to the kitchen for the exact same reason and Loki had already made a steaming cup of tea for you. God, how you wished everyone else could see the same side of him you did.
You swirled and dumped your teabag, added your milk and sugar, and turned to go and curl up on one of the sofas to work out your plan of action, but your heart gave an almighty leap as you glanced out through the glass doors across the way.
Loki was sitting alone out on the terrace.
You swallowed hard and gripped your mug. It looked like the universe had decided you were going to improvise this.
A little shakily and with your heart racing in your chest you crossed the living area and slid open the French doors to join Loki outside. He didn’t look up but you knew he knew it was you. The night was still and you breathed in the unique scent you had some to associate with New York. How had you managed to stay away for so long?
With a racing heart you sat in the seat next to Loki, curling yourself into the arm and gratefully pulling one of the terrace blankets over your legs.
“Hey stranger,” you greeted him, your nerves making you sound a lot chirpier than normal. “I missed your stupid face,” you fell into the familiar routine of teasing him.
Instead of rising to your teasing, though, Loki stayed quiet, the only indication that he heard you was a slight raise of his eyebrows. He didn’t even look up from his book.
You shifted a little uneasily in your seat, ignoring the alarm bells in your head screaming that something was wrong.
“Get up to much mischief while I was away?” You tried again, bringing your mug to your lips in a vain attempt to hide your nerves.
Again, he didn’t look up. “Perhaps,” he said eventually, and the coldness of his voice made your heart sink. What the hell had happened when you were away?
The alarm bells in your head were growing louder and your stomach was turning, but still you pressed on, desperately telling yourself that he was pissed at something else and not you. It couldn’t be you.
“Ohh please tell me you pulled one over on Tony! I mean, I love the guy, but his ego can be infuriating, and the whole alpha male thing he has going on makes me want to bash my head against the wall sometimes,” you rambled on, hoping that Loki would forget about whatever it was that was bothering him now that you were back.
When the silence stretched on and Loki sat unnaturally still beside you, you chanced a glance in his direction only to find him studying you with the same cold look you recognised from the Before Times. If it was possible your heart began to race even faster. Something was very, very wrong.
“You look happier,” he said eventually, his voice still cold and his eyes never leaving you.
Your brow furrowed slightly. You were sure you hadn’t said anything to him in the past few months, but had he picked up on how much you had been missing your family? Had he heard you telling Wanda about how excited you were to see them again? Was he mad because you had left him?
“I am,” you answered, giving him a small smile. If only he knew how he had haunted your every waking thought in the weeks you had been away. “The trip home was nice. I needed it more than I knew.”
Needed it to know that I’m absolutely crazy about you, you thought.
You waited for your Loki to reappear. Maybe he needed a few minutes of letting you know how he had missed you before he came back to himself. He wasn’t great with his emotions, this you knew, so maybe this was his strange way of telling you that he had missed you.
Instead, Loki scoffed at you and your confusion grew. Before you had the chance to work up the courage to ask what was bothering him, he slammed his book shut and pulled himself from his chair.
“He’s welcome to you,” Loki practically spat, his voice ice cold. “I don’t have time for runts.” He strode past you and you heard the glass door slide open and slam shut.
You were struck dumb, only able to stare blankly at the space he had been sitting.
I don’t have time for runts
Weeks ago you had confessed to him how you felt like the runt of the Avengers litter. You didn’t have magic, you weren’t a super soldier, and you definitely weren’t a Russian killing machine. While Loki had all too easily reassured you that you were a valuable asset to the team and a worthy holder of the title of Avenger, you now knew it had all been a lie.
Suddenly, you felt sick as the familiar feeling of anxiety overwhelmed you. If Loki saw you as the runt of the group, then you were sure the others did too and were just too polite to say anything else. Hell, you were sure Tony was regretting the day he’d asked you to be part of the team.
In the space of just a few minutes you had gone from feeling secure in your place on the team to feeling like the others were definitely talking and laughing about you behind your back.
Your trust had been shattered
For weeks after you retreated into yourself and nursed your hurt. You kept mostly to your rooms, not having the energy to interact with the rest of the team. It had been a while since a single comment had thrown you so off kilter, but Loki had struck right at your biggest insecurity. He had made you doubt yourself in ways you hadn’t since you first joined the team. You were crushed and had even begun to question if you wanted to remain part of the Avengers.
How easy it would be to sneak off in the middle of night and leave it all behind…
You had grown used to everyone knocking at your door to check up on you. They didn’t know what had happened, you were too ashamed to tell anyone, but they knew something had floored you and made sure you knew they had your back. If it wasn’t Wanda coming with food it was Peter with a snack or Vision with his almost fatherly-like advice, but when someone came knocking on your door this evening you wanted nothing more than to be left alone to hurt.
You stayed quiet, an action that had become your way of letting whoever came to your door know that you weren’t up for company, but whoever it was knocked again. And again.
“Go away, please!” You called out and threw your head back onto your pillow.
But your bedroom door creaked open and you silently cursed whoever it was. Wearily, you lifted your head again, and your mouth dropped open when you saw Loki standing at your bedroom door.
“You can’t be serious,” you breathed out quietly, pulling yourself into a sitting position on the side of your bed. “Do you want something?” You asked, unable to mask the bitterness in your voice.
To Loki’s credit he looked painfully uncomfortable. He paced for a few seconds before gingerly leaning back against your chest of drawers.
“I...uh...I’ve noticed that you haven’t been yourself these past few weeks,” he said simply.
You raised your eyebrows at him. “Perceptive aren’t you? I wonder what could possibly have happened?” You retorted, your voice dripping with sarcasm.
Loki’s eyes snapped up to meet yours and you swore you saw a twinge of pain in them. Was the God of Mischief feeling remorseful?
He let out a breath, his gaze jumping around the room before settling back on you. “I wanted to apologise for the way I spoke to you. It was unforgivable and I’m truly sorry for the pain I”ve caused you lately. Believe me, it wasn’t my intention.”
You studied him, trying to decipher if he was being genuine or if this was just another one of his tricks. As though he knew your intentions, he let his mask slip, and his face told you all you needed to know. He genuinely was sorry.
“Thank you,” you said softly, at a loss as to what else to say.
Loki gave you another awkward nod and made as if to move towards your door, but you quickly decided to seize the moment while you had it. You needed to know.
“Do you really think I’m a runt?” You asked, hating yourself for how hurt you sounded.
Loki spun to look at you, his face a mask of pain and regret. “I absolutely do not,” he replied with such conviction you felt your mood begin to lift for the first time in weeks. “Your strength is astounding and you grow more fierce with every passing day.”
Quickly, you felt your eyes begin to sting. “Then why…” you trailed off, hating how emotional you were becoming.
For a brief moment Loki closed his eyes, as if the mere thought of what he’d said to you was causing him pain. “I was hurting and I wanted to hurt you...for hurting me,” he confessed, making you more confused than ever.
“Loki...please...what did I do?” You gazed at him through your tears, begging him to tell you. Hurting him was the last thing you ever wanted to do, and you needed to know how to fix this, how to fix him.
For a few moments he said nothing, making you think he was going to leave and leave everything still a mess, but he finally joined you on your bed, resting his arms on his knees and gazing down at the floor.
“I’m not great at this, so please bear with me,” he said, his eyes still on the floor. “I saw a photo of you on Stark’s laptop device when he left it unattended. You were with another man. I was...angry and...hurt because I thought...I thought our friendship may have been growing into something more. I thought I may have had the chance to court you, but if he makes you happy...well, then I’m happy for you,” he finished, finally turning his gaze to you with a pained smile.
For the second time in the past few weeks you were dumbstruck, and for the first time since your conversation with him on the terrace you laughed. You laughed so hard you doubled over. Immediately, you were filled with relief, with joy, and most of all with hope.
“Oh, Loki, I’m sorry!” You said eventually, taking in the stunned expression on his face. “I’m so sorry. Loki, the photo you saw? That’s my brother. There is no “other man” in my life, I can promise you that,” you explained. Your eyes were still full of tears, but they were tears of happiness.
You watched Loki’s face go through a myriad of emotions, from disbelief, to shock, and finally to what you hoped was delight. Tentatively, you reached out and took his hand in yours, his fingers curling around yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I would be honoured if you courted me, my prince,” you said, your voice thick with elation. This was everything you had dreamed of for the past few months.
Loki raised your hand to his lips, placing a feather light kiss to your knuckles. “I have dreamed of hearing you say those words,” he replied simply.
Your hand still clasped in his, he gently pulled you closer, guiding you onto his lap and resting his hands on your waist. Your heart began to speed up, this time with excitement rather than anxiety, as you locked your arms around his neck, one hand twisting joyously into his hair. It was just as soft as you imagined. His eyes flitted between yours and your lips and your breath hitched in your throat. God, he was so beautiful.
“By norns I’ve wanted to do this since the first time we spoke,” he breathed out, so close to you that you could feel his warm breath on your cheek.
And suddenly, finally, he kissed you. It was slow and deep. He kissed like he had all the time in the world. One hand left your waist to come up and cradle your neck, the pad of his thumb so lovingly caressing your cheek. It was better than you ever imagined, and your heart was full.
When you finally broke for air, he rested his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling your neck. “There is none more deserving to be called an Avenger than you, my darling girl, and I will cut down anyone who says otherwise,” his voice was rough, but his words warmed you from the inside, and you leaned in to kiss him again.
#loki#loki odinson#Loki Laufeyson#loki of asgard#marvel#loki (marvel)#MCU#loki fanfic#loki fanfiction#loki x reader#loki x you#loki x y/n
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realize - mdzs character hcs
you know that trope where person a runs to the airport to catch person b before they fly off forever?
well let’s add in some of our lovely mdzs characters
° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °
Lan Wangji
it would be for the best
Lan Wangji knows that he has to let you go, so that you can pursue your dreams to the best of your abilities
and let all of your hopes and dreams take flight (quite literally)
and even if you interpreted this as him not putting up a fight for you
and had you leaving in tears rather than the happiness that he had wanted to send you off with
it would be for the best
“Wangji, you look upset,” Lan Xichen comments
and Lan Wangji knows then,
that if his brother could tell that this was not right,
that perhaps maybe he should be a little selfish
and the one question spurs him into dropping everything he was doing,
forget the company,
forget the meeting,
forget everything
all he could focus on was getting to the airport to see you
the hour is counting down as he’s driving into the airport parking lot
the minutes are speeding by as he rushes into the terminal, eyes scanning everywhere for you
he remembers exactly what you were wearing this morning,
you hair tied up in a loose bun, with a warm comfy hoodie for the long trip across the world
he’s running around the terminal, desperately hoping that-
when Lan Wangji hears it, the sound of an airplane taking off,
he turns just in time to watch a white blue air plane take off from the ground
Lan Wangji stills, watching the logo of your airline turn into a small dot in the sky
it feels like all the air has deflated from his lungs, and Lan Wangji can’t believe that you actually left
that he actually let you go
and he turns around, wondering what to do about his broken heart when someone slams into him,
out of habit he steadies the person in his arms and when he looks down, he actually realizes
it’s you,
“y/n,”
“Lan Zhan,” you both say each other’s names
you’re pulled into a tight hug immediately, even though you were expecting one,
“what are you doing here-”
“don’t go,”
you’re not quite sure you heard right,
“what?” you breathe out,
“stay with me, don’t go,” Lan Wangji repeats,
how could you say no?
° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °
Jiang Cheng
every single time he thinks about you
he misses you
he told himself that he wouldn’t see you off at the airport today
not because he didn’t want to cry
but because he didn’t believe that this would be goodbye between the two of you
even though the next time you see each other might be in a year (or even a few years)
you both would continue long distance
and you get his sentiment, you really do
so you don’t push Jiang Cheng to send you off on your studies abroad
because this wasn’t goodbye
but as JIang Cheng sits at his work place, he can’t help be constantly draw to the ticking of the minute hand on the clock
and it bothers him so much
he misses you so much
that he actually goes,
“fuck it,” and doesn’t even pack up his stuff
just grabs his phone and jacket and leaves the office in a hurry
no one stops him,
he wouldn’t stop even if they tried
the gps in his car is suddenly matchmaker today, giving him the fastest route from his work place to the airport
he runs into the airport, manages to get past security somehow and begins walking mindlessly in the terminal
because since he told you that he wouldn’t be sending you off
you didn’t send him any information about your flight
he wants to call you, but each time that you don’t pick up makes him realize that you might probably already be on the plane,
did you fly off already?
did you really leave without saying goodbye?
it’s 30 minutes of running and walking about in the mildly busy terminal, that he realizes, you might have actually left
you said that you were going to be leaving some time just before noon
and now it was already well past that
Jiang Cheng feels defeated
sad,
so when he looks to the side, and sees a person sitting alone at a closed check in point,
he’s sad enough to believe that it’s you
he stares
suddenly the person looks up
and when you both lock eyes,
he realizes,
it is you
Jiang Cheng’s walking (fast strides actually) over to you
kneeling down in front of you to pull you into the strongest hug you ever felt,
“you missed your flight,” Jiang Cheng says against your temple, arms hugging you in delight, elation
“didn’t want to go without seeing you,” you mumble into his neck
and he just holds you tighter
° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °
Xiao Xingchen
Xiao Xingchen continues to wonder how he could possibly let you go
how was it that he managed to convince himself,
to let you go on this trip, this study abroad trip
for 3 years
it would be much too long without you
and Xingchen feels stupid that he’s realizing that now when there’s literally 15 mins to the time you take off
“would you mind speeding up a little please?” Xingchen asks the taxi driver, who only huffs at him,
“sir, there’s traffic,”
and that feels like the line that seals his face,
by the grace of god, Xingchen makes runs into the airport with minutes to your take off time,
and he forgoes all politeness (for the first time in his life) and shouts your name as loudly as he can in the terminal,
“y/n! l/n y/n!!”
you’re in the middle of trying to get to your flight, running late
which is why you’re more than surprised that you hear your name being called,
and when you turn around, you can’t believe who it is that is actually calling you,
you didn’t want Xingchen to send you off
because if you saw him again, before your flight,
“y/n!! y/n-ah!”
you knew you wouldn’t be able to leave
you manage to stare at him for a few seconds, cause he has yet to see you
then you turn around, pull your luggage away
because he wanted you to go, to be happy
just as the check in point looms in front of you,
a strong grip grabs your arm
and you’re turned around, to see Xingchen really here, really close,
“y/n-ah,” Xingchen say your name, out of breath
and you can’t help but drop your luggage and hold him,
“you’re making it really hard for me to go,”
“then just stay,”
and it doesn’t take any more convincing than that
#mdzs#mdzs headcanons#mdzs character headcanons#mdzs lan wangji x reader#mdzs jiang cheng x reader#mdzs xxc x reader#lan wangji x reader#mdzs lan wangji#mdzs jiang cheng#jiang cheng x reader#xxc x reader#xiao xingchen x reader#mdzs modern au#mdzs tropes#mdzs reaction#mdzs reader insert#mdzs x reader#mdzs scenarios#tangledwriting
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Delicate | Billy Russo
Summary: Billy takes you on a surprise weekend trip and is forced to face some truths about himself. [Fluff] [Alternate Timeline - Castle Family Alive] [Billy Russo x F!Reader] [Assistant!Reader Trope]
Word Count: 4.4k
|Masterlist In Bio|
A/N: This is in the same universe as my fic Little Moments and Meet The Parents but can be read separately as a stand alone story. I may be doing several in a series with these two.
___
"I want to take you somewhere." Billy says walking into your shared office near closing time. He's got on a pair of jeans, a sweater and his boots. Not quite the usual work attire but you love his casual wear.
"A date?"
"No. More of a long weekend trip."
You raise your eyebrows and push away from your desk. A weekend trip is a big surprise. Not that you have plans or anything. "Where to?"
"England."
"England?!" You splutter. "That is not a weekend trip Billy!"
Billy gathers your jacket and purse from the hooks behind the door. "It is. The flight leaves in about two hours."
"Billy! I haven't packed a single thing, I-I'm not ready!" You take your items from him and run a hand through your hair. Weekend trips are like in-state or nearby. They're a night at a hotel and seeing a museum for two days or something. Not flying to England and doing Gods know what.
"You cannot be serious."
He wraps his arm around your shoulders. "I am serious. I've got your stuff packed. Don't worry."
"What did you pack me?"
"Clothes. Trust me, I know what you wear."
"Why the surprise? Why not tell me sooner?"
Billy chuckles. "Don't worry about it. You'll like it."
"Where are we even going?" You sigh as he walks with you out of the office and down the steps to the main floor. "London or Wales? Are we going for business or pleasure?"
"We're going to Devon."
"Where the fuck is that?"
"England."
You smack his back and he laughs. "You son of a bitch. Why?"
"Pleasure."
"Ugh why now though? Why not later?"
Billy opens the passenger door to his car as you approach it. He leans on the roof, gesturing you inside. "C'mon the airport is almost half an hour drive, and we gotta stop at the apartment for our stuff."
You sink down in the passenger seat and glare up at him suspiciously. He's being like this on purpose. You hate not knowing what is going on and he knows it. The last thing you expected to do after work was to be hurried onto a plane that is no doubt a multi-hour flight. But here you are and there he is, staring down at you.
"Get in? I'm not the one wasting time now."
"God you're beautiful." He leans in and kisses your cheek quickly. "And I know you're pissed." He closes the door and walks around to get in the driver's seat. "I promise it will be worth it."
You lean your head back and close your eyes as he drives out of the lot. "It better be. This is very spontaneous and off my usual rhythm."
"I know. But you'll love it. I know you will."
"Mmm." You turn on the seat warmer and relax into the lush comfort. "You're also lucky I love you, and trust you."
Billy chuckles as his hand finds yours, thumb stroking the tops of your fingers.
"I wouldn't let anyone else pack me a bag, let alone take me to a foreign country for a weekend." You scoff. "That sounds so wildly pretentious."
"It's alright. It is a little pretentious, but we've earned it."
"You've earned it."
"Hey." He squeezes your hand and you open your eyes to look at him. "This company is just as much yours as mine."
"Bullshit. It is not. My name isn't on the lease, it's not on the LLC, I'm just your assistant and girlfriend."
Billy scoffs and turns the car into the parking garage of his apartment complex. He lives close to Anvil, honestly you don't actually need to drive. He just likes to show off his car. It gets dark as you enter the garage but you can tell he's not having any of your shit.
"When I marry you, your name will be on all of that."
"What?"
"What?"
"When you marry me?" You swallow hard as he stops the car in a space. It's only been a
about six months that you've officially been an item. A little quick to be thinking about marriage.
Billy kills the engine and pockets his keys. "Yeah, when." He opens the door so nonchalantly, like he hasn't just thrown you for a loop. He walks around and opens your door. "C'mon, up and attem sweetheart."
"You're joking right?"
"About what? Marrying you one day?" He puts his hand on your back as you head to the elevator. "You're absolutely going to be a Russo. No doubt about it."
"I don't have a choice then?"
"Of course you have a choice." He presses the button to the penthouse and puts in the security key to make it go. "You can say no."
"Are you asking me right now?" You laugh and he turns, hands on your hips as he walks you into the wall, eyes locked on yours. "W-what's this about?"
Billy licks his lip and sets his jaw. It's not anger. He's making a decision in that brain of his. Is he asking? Is he teasing?
"You'll know when I ask."
"It's only been a few months. Don't rush."
"When you know you know right?"
"Billy, c'mon." You give him a look. "Using Frank's lines now?"
Billy steps aways, hands falling from your body and he runs a hand over his hair. "Sometimes that asshole is right about things."
You chuckle. "Sometimes."
"Enough about that. We have a plane to catch." The elevator dings and the doors open to the short hall before his penthouse. "Get your pretty ass changed and let's go."
"So pushy." You giggle and he shoves your shoulder. "Hey!"
"I'm pushy." He pushes again and you stumble into the door before he pins you against it. "You're so lucky we don't have time to mess around."
"Lucky?" You wiggle your ass against his waist. "Or unfortunate. Because any chance I miss to have-"
His hand comes up along your throat and you groan, tilting your head back. "Keep talking and I'm gonna make time."
"Or maybe we'd miss the flight."
"Little shit." He drops the hand on your throat and swats your ass before unlocking the door and ushering you inside. "Go change. Now."
"Okay, okay, good grief."
"We'll just join the mile high club." He calls out as you head to the bedroom to change. "I've always wanted to see how we'd fit in a tiny bathroom!"
"Those things are filthy! No!"
"Then you can ride me in the seat in first class!"
You pop your head around the door and he is grinning, leaning against the kitchen island. You narrow your eyes and he just raises his eyebrows. "Not happening."
"We'll see sweetheart."
"Whatever."
"Mmm. I'm very persuasive."
You roll your eyes and go back to changing clothes. If he thinks you're gonna do the dirty on an airplane he has a world of disappointment coming.
_________________
Billy always gets his way it would seem. Because less than half an hour ago you were on his lap, bouncing on his dick while he grinned oh so smugly. The flight was less than full for the first class seating, your nearest neighbor was across the aisle and six sections back. There were dividers between the seats, privacy walls. That's what really ended up convincing you in the end.
All that and you maybe sort of got off to the thought of being semi public about the whole ordeal. A kink you didn't know you had until Billy was whispering filth in your ear and making you squirm.
"How much longer?" You ask, curling into your seat and yawning.
"Three more hours. We'll land in Exeter."
"Seven hours to a spontaneous weekend? This is insane. When we arrive it's going to be dark. I assume you have a place for us to stay?"
Billy rolls his eyes. "Of course I do. We're not camping out in a train station."
"Oh fuck you."
"Get some sleep."
"I'd love to but I don't sleep well on planes."
"You fuck well on 'em."
"Billy!" You kick his leg and he grins. "Shut up!"
Billy puts his hand out and you take it. "We can go another round to kill the time."
You grab the complimentary earbuds in a little package and rip them open to stuff them in your ears. "Can't hear you."
"Bullshit."
"What?" You smirk, gesturing to the earbuds. "Can't hear ya."
Billy leans in and your eyes lock with his. "Maybe I should raise my voice then. And ask if YOU WANT TO F-"
You slam your hand against his mouth and he grins behind your palm. "Son of a bitch."
"You know I am." He licks your palm and sits back in his seat. He side eyes you, gauging your reaction to his childish move while nonchalantly opening a travel guide pamphlet.
You wipe your hand on his thigh and he chuckles. Whatever awaits in Devon in three or four hours better be good because he is really dancing on your last nerve. What has got him so wound up, you have no idea.
____________________
Devon is... breathtaking. It's the English country side on the ocean. The town you drove through was all cobblestone homes and shops and it looked like a fairytale honestly. Places like this didn't actually exist in your mind but here you are. It's so radically different than New York, even the country side of the state. You're stunned silent for the majority of the drive to your destination. Even in the evening it looks incredible.
Billy turns onto a road with a gate through a dense wooded area. The gate is open and he slides the rental car through carefully as not to scratch the sides on the narrow stone walls along the roadway. The path winds and winds until it opens up, the drive lined with a shorter stone wall as it leads to a large beautiful house.
"Where are we?"
Billy turns the car into the dirt and rock parking area in front of the door to the house. "We're in Dartmouth, just outside of it actually."
"Why? This place is beautiful, don't get me wrong. I'm just confused why we're here."
He looks over at you and brings your hand up to kiss. "I told you I was taking you on a weekend vacation."
"So you rented this house? Or does someone live here that we're staying with?"
"I bought it." He looks up at the door from beyond your window. "It's ours."
You turn and look at the house. "What? Billy you don't just buy a house! What on Earth is going through your head?!"
"What's going through my head is that I saw an opportunity and I took it. A friend of mine, Martin, had this place here after he got out of the Marines. His wife was English. Anyway, the family moved recently, and left everything behind because it is too expensive to haul across the ocean to Texas where they were relocating."
"So you bought a house with someone else's whole life inside?"
"Well, they took their personal belongings. It's furnished and decorated but we can change that."
You look over at Billy and lay a hand on his chest. "This is insane. Why would you buy a house in England?! What could you possibly want to do with it?"
"Live in it."
"Billy. Anvil is in New York. How do you propose to move here, bumfuck nowhere England, and run the company?"
Billy smiles and kisses your cheek. "Semantics. C'mon let's go see the house."
"Billy!"
He climbs out of the car and walks around to open your door. "It's beautiful, you're going to love it."
You step out with his hand in yours and he pulls out his keys to unlock the front door. As the door swings open you're hit with the smell of cinnamon, warm earthy spices, and vanilla.
"Come inside." Billy pulls you in gently. "It's incredible."
Inside is far more than incredible. It's like a dream, a home from some show book. The floors are dark natural wood, there are stairs with intricate banisters by the door, three archways to various rooms that are just the epitome of a country house. It's rustic, traditional like a farm house that's been updated to the modern century but kept it's charm. You feel like you're in a fairytale still, but it's real. It's so real and the house is so beautiful. You've never seen anything like it with your own eyes.
"Billy...this is...why?"
"You're very attached to that word y'know." He chuckles and rubs your shoulders. "Stop asking why and start enjoying."
"I will, I mean but- this is...I don't know what to say."
"Stunning right? So different than the penthouse or your apartment."
"Radically different."
"Come explore with me." He takes your hands and walks backwards leading you into a dining area.
You look around at the empty china hutch, shelves with various pots and pans for storage and decor, the huge wood table that looks like it was handmade by someone many years ago. "You're going to propose."
"What?"
"You're going to propose to me here aren't you?"
Billy laughs and steps close, cradling your face in his hands. "Maybe."
"Maybe?!"
"Yeah, maybe." He kisses you softly. "And maybe I just brought you here to get away from everything. Work, family, obligations. We can be us here. You and me, no one else."
"Billy we can be us at home, in the penthouse."
"I know, but this is a good place. The air is cleaner, life is simpler, everything is just easier here. We can unwind."
"You really bought this place?"
"Hundred percent. I've got a few payments still but it's almost paid off." He leans on a counter and you step between his legs. He gathers you close, hands on your sides. "It's got five bedrooms."
"Expansive."
"I think if...well..." He ducks his head in a chuckle, eyes refusing to meet yours. "If kids were ever, y'know, on the table. It'd be a good home."
"William Russo, you cannot be serious about that. You've thought of having kids? You?"
"No! No, fuck no. Maybe. I don't know." He pushes away from the counter and you'd stumble back as he walks into the enclosed patio off the side of the kitchen. "I'm just saying, it could accommodate kids."
You step down into the patio and look around. It's a simple screened in area, a sitting area and a terracotta chiminea sit on the right. "You'd have to marry me first."
"First?"
"Before I have a kid."
He laughs, leaning on the door to the outside area. "Of course."
"I thought you were afraid of having kids. Didn't want them to end up like you."
"Yeah well, I told myself a long time ago I'd never mess my kids up like I was messed up if I had them. I'd love 'em every day, make sure they know their dad loves them." His voice cracks and you cross the patio to lay a hand on his arm. "I won't have my kids wonderin' if their dad loves them. I won't."
"Hey, hey, you're not your parents okay?"
"I know. We'd be good, learning from our fucked up childhoods." He laughs joylessly and gathers you into his arms. "We'd have the happiest kid ever."
"We could. Maybe. One day."
"Lotta maybe's goin' on today." He bites his lip and puts his hand in yours. "It's late. We should go to bed."
"We've got a few days right? We can explore the house and grounds tomorrow."
"Absolutely."
You slide a hand over his jaw and pull him down for a kiss. "I do love this by the way. It's very romantic."
Billy smiles against your lips. "I'm not all hard edges and sharp wit." He kisses you slowly, pulling your lip between his teeth. "I do love you."
"I know." You bump your nose to his. "And I love you too."
_____________________
The sound of rain wakes you and you open your eyes to an unfamiliar room. It takes a moment to remember where you are. England. In a house Billy bought. Right. You rub your eyes and yawn big.
"You awake over there?" Billy asks, voice heavy and raspy with sleep.
"No."
"Yes you are." He reaches over under the blankets and wiggles his fingers up your side. "Little liar. How long you been awake?"
"Few moments."
"Mmm. It's raining. Can you hear it?"
"Yeah." You roll onto your back and Billy lifts his arm up so you can snuggle into his side. "It's nice."
Billy's hand finds your hair and twirls a piece between his fingers. "It rained the first time we met, remember?"
"It did?"
"Mmmhmm. The day you interviewed for the position at Anvil. It was pouring rain, I remember because when you came in you had on bright orange rainboots that you changed out of in the main room before coming up to do the interview."
You look up at him and his eyes are closed like he's picturing that day. "You saw that?"
"Of course I did. I see everything in Anvil."
"That's been so long ago, it seems like ages."
"Almost two years now."
"Crazy how things have changed."
Billy's hand leaves your hair and joins your hand on his chest. "Things will continue to change. Always."
You hum in agreement. He's right, logically, things will always change. But you feel he means more by that. "Billy, if you were to propose to me, how would you do it?"
"There is no fun in telling you."
"There is. It's healthy to discuss this in a relationship. So, how?"
Billy sits up a bit and you slide down his chest, face on his stomach. "Now, that's not fair. What about you? How would you propose to me?"
"I think, well, I think you're too smart. I think you'd figure it out before I could get it set up. I'd have to be blunt, slap a ring on the table and ask if you wanna do this."
He laughs, hand going to his chest as he struggles for words and air. "That is a hell of a proposal sweetheart!"
"You're a hell of a pain in the ass."
"Oh baby I know." He drops a quick kiss on your head. "I know. Now for me, I like to think I'd be a classic man. Dinner, dancing maybe. I'd get on one knee in a doorway somewhere and ask you, surprise you."
"You like to think? What's the reality look like then?"
"Reality is that you'd probably find the ring before I could plan something. You little snoop."
"Hey! You gave me free reign of the penthouse. No secrets."
"Yes yes. Alright, maybe I'd just surprise you. On a walk or something."
You rub over his chest and he hums. "I'd like that. But you don't wanna marry me yet. It's too soon."
"It's not too soon if you know."
"Yeah...let's get up. We have a house to explore." You sit up and he follows. "Maybe we can go into town for some breakfast too."
"Sounds like a plan."
______________________
The house is huge, well cared for, and beautifully designed. It's nothing like the apartments you grew up in your whole life. You never had a house, always dreamed of one. You like to think this one is exactly the summation of all those dreams. Like somehow Billy knew exactly what you wanted one day before you even knew yourself.
The gesture is lovely, the intent is good, but you cannot help but wonder why. Why now? Why this house? Why this place? Surely you shouldn't be one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but damnit you and Billy have just begun living together at his penthouse. You've not even settled the lease on your apartment. Now he's gone and bought a house in another country. It makes you worry, it makes you suspicious.
You don't want to push him. He has made it clear he doesn't want you to ask why, but to just accept it. That's not like you though. You can accept up to a point.
"Billy, I want to talk." You say as he sinks down in a chair beside the pool in the back area. You've gone out there post dinner for a swim after the rain.
Billy sets his phone on the side table and raises his eyebrows at you. "We've been talking all day sweetheart."
"I want to talk seriously. No antics, no sarcasm."
"Yeah, okay." He runs a hand over his hair. It's his nervous tick. A dead giveaway that he is truly listening to your words. "What's goin' on?"
You take a seat opposite him and take a deep breath. Where to begin. "Why did you buy this house?"
"I told you. Martin's family was moving and-"
"No." You say softly. "No, you didn't have to buy it from them. You chose to. Why?"
"I liked it."
"Okay. A house like this is a lot of money I presume. And yes, maybe the family gave you a discount or something, none the less it's a major expense for it to be a place you only come to now and again. What is the plan here?"
Billy chuckles and looks back at the house. "The plan is to live in it. Obviously. It's a house."
"Billy."
"What?"
You stare at him, lips pursed.
He looks away.
"We've only just moved in together, back home in New York. Do you plan on moving everything here? I'm just not understanding how this works Billy."
"Maybe someday we could move here. I suppose that's the end goal."
"You're thinking long term then? That I will surely be in your life for the rest of it?"
"I don't like where this is going." Billy's eyes harden and you know that look too well. "Don't do this."
"I'm not doing anything. I'm just saying that we're still very new into this relationship. It's been about six months, and a year of aqaintance-ship before that. I just feel like maybe you're making some very big moves and it's a bit much."
Billy leans back on the chair and closes his eyes. "I knew this was a bad idea."
"No, hey, no. I love this place, it's beautiful."
"I should have waited but I was just so excited about it."
"Honey."
"No, listen I don't know how to be in love. I've never been in love before, I'm sure of it." He looks over at you and you reach out and grab his hand. "I wanted to do this for you, to start putting things in motion because I don't want to lose you. I know that sounds so ridiculous, how does buying a house make you want to stay with me? I don't know honestly."
You squeeze his hand gently. "I'm not going anywhere I promise."
"I've never had something like this." He gestures to the house. "A stable home, a loving family. When we started dating, I knew I loved you. Hell. I blurted that shit out that night in my apartment. You had every right to be freaked out, to leave and quit Anvil. I was half shocked you didn't."
"I do love you Billy. The feeling was a hundred percent mutual. Don't doubt that."
"I don't. But I doubt myself all the time. Am I in love with you? Or do I have love for you? Over the last few months I've sorted out that I'm in love. I don't know how to be in love. I don't know what steps to take, how fast things should move. I can count on one hand the number of relationships I've had that were more than sex, and they obviously didn't end well. If the house is too much, we'll wait. I don't care if it's years, we'll wait to move here. Or if you don't want to then we don't have to."
"I'd like to, one day."
"I just-" his lip trembles. "I think I bought it because I wanted a better life for us. We both had messed up childhoods. I had a messed up early adult life in the military, did shit I didn't want to because I had to. This house is our chance to start over, to be new people."
Your eyes widen and he threads his fingers between yours on the hand you've been holding. "What about Anvil?"
"I can relocate. Or just...do something else. Anvil seemed like a great idea when I got out of the Marines. But now it's tethering me to my past." He brings your hand to his lips. "I want to be more than a dog of war. I want to be a normal guy with a wife and a kid or just a dog is fine too. I never pegged myself as one to want the white picket fence life but here we are."
You lay your hand on his cheek and he leans into it. "Three years. Give us three years together and if you still feel the same, and we're still together, we'll do it."
Billy leans in, bumping his nose with yours. "You drive a hard bargain."
"Learned from the best."
He smiles big, lips meeting yours for a quick kiss. "It's a deal. But I do still want to come here for vacations, long weekends and the like."
"Absolutely." You hold his face, his beard scratchy under your palms. "It'll be our private getaway."
"Mmhmm." He guides you up as he stands. "Now, time for the fun we actually came out here to indulge in."
You glance at the pool and he plucks at the sleeve of your tee. "It's our pool."
"Yes it is."
"It's very private." You giggle. "Not a neighbor for a few miles."
Billy lifts your shirt hem. "That's right."
You step back and pull your shirt off, pushing your pants down quickly. Billy quickly shucks his own and you both laugh at how ridiculous you look. You jump in and he follows suit.
"I've never skinny dipped before. It's so strange, like I shouldn't do it."
"It's freeing." Billy says, floating up to you and cradling your face. "Revel in it. Feel alive."
You press your lips to his. "I've felt alive since the day I met you."
"Me too." He presses your foreheads together. "Me too."
__________
end
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Header image by delicate-venus
Thank you so much for reading, please reblog to support and encourage content creators like myself. -A
*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted works.*****
#ben barnes characters#billy russo#the punisher#the punisher series#the punisher netflix#billy russo x reader#billy russo fanfic#billy russo fic#ben barnes fic#ben barnes
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legend of vox machina episode 8: A Silver Tongue OR new, unsettling meaning to “he runs into rooms and puts his tongue in interesting places”
pike episode PIKE EPISODE
yes other things happen but PIKE EPISODE
need to check who did the designs for this episode, love how pike looks here
still desperately love anjali bhimani
keyleth knowing exactly what to do when it needs to be done
vax encouraging her anyway bc just because you know what you have to do doesn’t mean you’re confident you can do it
them starting the spell on cassandra's throat together
"angry face bold lines" is one of my favorite animation tropes and I could not tell you why
the very faint names inscribed on the barrel
raven skulls!
with pate in c3 I'm headcanoning that that was just A Whitestone Thing
see I can't remember if the armor was just a magical construct in the stream or if anders did it to them like here
dagger go Bonk
"we're in this shit together"
the fact that this means vax ran after percy
me: hi matt
my partner: bye matt
"which one can I kill?" "literally anyone" ">:D"
keyleth's hug in the middle of her panic
valid response, cass
UGH the transformations
ALL THE LETTERS
vex: [multi-arrow]
mala: ranger bullshit
"I hate your face so much"
you leave my low-wisdom son alone
that. is not a delilah.
the sun bursting into the dark
tracie thoms my beloved
"we're your friends, remember? we lo - "
vex catching keyleth
keyleth and vex working together to take grog down
vax used DAGGER! but nothing happened!
"why's he only after me?" GEE I WONDER
I’ve seen a few “I wish these were 44-minute episodes” and while I honestly don’t think it could carry 44 minutes at a time - I think it’d turn into a slog and fuck up the pacing - I think I might like a few more quiet moments between characters, to make percy’s friends attacking him hurt a little more, sell the betrayal a little harder.
maybe I am spoiled by longer-form shows (not just the stream, most of what I’ve watched lately has been hour-long or better) but a handful of scenes with them just...being with each other wouldn’t hurt
more shit like episode 5, the kind of interactions they had on the cart. just a whole nother episode of that.
or maybe I’m just a sucker for that sort of thing and want more of it in everything
monologue for your life
UGH the eye color shift
the no mercy percy music
what in the eye of sauron
percy snapping back to himself when he hears cassandra. dropping the gun and mask as he runs to her.
the cymbal ism
"I thought you were dead." "And I thought you'd come back to check."
“running away was never my specialty.” yes girl build that resentment
I don't know if we're going to get "cassandra is a briarwood/cassandra is a de rolo" but I dearly hope we do
I don't know why cass gives me dishonored vibes but here we are
skywriting without having to justify it without mentioning the word "airplane"
also can we acknowledge she's just casually manipulating the whole lower atmosphere
mala: TWO MOONS. MOON LORE.
suspiciously high servant turnover at the briarwood place
the burn means it's working
pike: I know it's wrong to fight and drink and curse
everlight: who told you that bullshit
"we do not choose. we walk down a path. any path can be a holy one, so long as one walks it with truth."
want to know how much fun they had animating scanlan's little dance
scanlan
"because fuck me, that's why"
vex when has scanlan ever run FROM a whore
"ooooooh, HORDE. got it."
have I mentioned I love the bumper image/end card illustration bc I do
#the legend of vox machina#critical role#spoilers#crititag#liveblog#reaction post#lovmtag#'these are always so short compared to my stream liveblogs' gee I wonder why dingus
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For the Holidays - Part 2
Summary: In which Spencer doesn’t want to go to his high school reunion, but you tagging along changes things. “It’ll be nice... having a friend there.”
WC: 1.8k
Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fake-dating trope, pining (so much pining), insecure and in-denial Spencer, light cursing, (tbh with all the shit that happens in CM they should be cussing way more)
Spencer doesn’t text you. But he’s tried.
First thing he got home, he tossed his bag aside and ripped off his blazer before he threw himself on the couch, digging through his pockets for his phone. Screw reading, taxes, dinner. There are more important things at stake here.
But he’s been sitting there for an hour, glaring at the empty text box with disdain, willing for words to appear.
No such luck.
Spencer writes essays and academic journals in an hour but formulating a simple text? He curses the universe for only making him academically gifted.
He runs a hand through his hair. Maybe he should call? No, you said text. And he doesn’t trust himself enough to have a verbal conversation with you. He will get tongue-tied.
Shit, what does he even say?
It’s not entirely his fault, alright? He’s never been put in a position like this before, except when he goes undercover. And even then everything is planned for him with little contribution on his part⎼he makes small edits to better fit the profiles but that’s about it. All he has to do is scan the file once and in seconds he has his fake identity, his fake backstory, and whatever fake details make up his fake life.
But this. This is different. He has to be brave because it’s you, and he has to chill out because this is supposed to be fake, he reminds himself. Both are tasks within themselves. And yeah, he’s a genius but as Albert Einstein once said, knowledge has its limits.
Shit, his thoughts are so jumbled he can’t even quote properly. This is all your fault.
You.
He still has to text you.
Spencer groans and flops on the couch, the phone clattering to the floor. He doesn’t bother, laying there until there’s an imprint of his butt in the cushions. He stares at the ceiling.
He remembers that you were the one to say yes. He hadn’t directly asked you but you agreed anyway, which means you are willing to spend time with him. Which means you like him (enough). Which means you are friends, and friends help friends out when they are in trouble.
Like needing a fake date.
He rolls onto his stomach, lips pursed as he stares over the edge of the couch. His phone glints in the lamp light.
Just friends helping each other out. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Spencer takes a deep breath and picks up the phone.
He can do this.
⎼
He can’t do this.
“I’m so excited,” Next to Spencer, you nestle into the seat and adjust the fuzzy blanket over your lap, eyes gleaming. “It’ll be nice to see where you grew up.”
Spencer only offers you a tight smile. His eyes dart about as the other passengers settle in, switching seats and fiddling luggage into the overhead compartments. Some of them already requesting for airplane food. Who in their right mind actually wants airplane food?
Spencer really wants to be as excited as you, and he is; he finally gets to spend some time with you outside of work, without the rest of the team hovering (waiting for one of you to make a damn move). It’s almost nice.
If only he can enjoy himself.
His knee bounces nonstop. Against the armrest his fingers tap a rhythm matching the thrum of his heart. And his hair is even more wild having run his hands through it repeatedly before meeting up with you.
He isn’t used to this, being alone with you. Sure, you partner up at work, in cases⎼hell, you've even accompanied each other to a few events. But those were as friends.
Technically, you’re his date. His romantic partner.
Spencer’s never let himself delve deep into his fantasies; he’s imagined (more times than he’d like to admit) taking you on dates to your favorite places, you in his arms, him in your arms⎼you know, minus the imminent danger. All the sweet things that couples do. But they always seemed out of reach. So he’d cut them off, squash the ideas before they went any further. False hope only hurts if you give in.
But now you’re on a plane, rocking in your seat as you hum to yourself, genuinely thrilled at the prospect of seeing his hometown.
This is more than he’s ever imagined. He feels like his heart’s about to burst.
Someone needs to call the bomb squad, real quick.
“Reid.”
"Hm?"
"Are you alright?" You're looking at him, voice drenched in so much concern his stomach twists. He made you worry. He feels guilty.
“Yeah-uh-” He clears his throat, attempting a smile. It’s a sad parody of the real thing. ”I'm fine.“
You raise an eyebrow and scoff, "Okay, I think I know why you're being weird. At least, weirder than usual."
Spencer’s heart drops. He leans back as you lean across your shared armrest, catching the sympathy in your eyes. He stiffens, bracing himself for the rejection. He should have known sooner or later you’d notice his not-so-friendly affections towards you. Of course you did, he isn’t exactly subtle; all the lunches, the museum tours, the stars in his eyes when you wrestle down unsubs⎼
"You’re nervous about seeing your old classmates again."
⎼Or, he’s much better at hiding it than he thought.
Spencer can only watch in awe as you continue, “And it’s totally natural. I mean, I haven’t been to a reunion, but I’d feel weird too if I got to see my classmates after all these years. But have no fear, (Your Name) is here.” You cringe, suddenly abashed. “Unless I’m completely off the mark and now you regret bringing me along. Oh no, that’s it, isn’t? You’re uncomfortable with the whole couples act.”
Spencer shakes his head, and for the first time since take off, he chuckles, “What? No, I’m happy that you’re here. And I couldn't think of anyone better to play my partner.” A relieved smile from you and he shrugs, feigning nonchalance. He fiddles with his sleeve. “But yeah, you got me. I am nervous.”
Which isn’t exactly a lie. You're here, next to him. That's more than enough reason to be.
If he had to be honest, between you and organizing the trip, he almost forgot about the reunion. Then again, he never liked reflecting on his high school years. For obvious reasons.
But your perception is a bucket of ice water over his head. Now he’s wide awake.
You’re doing this because you’re friends. You just want to help.
Friendship never hurt so much.
“I didn’t mention it before, but I’m sure you’re aware I wasn’t exactly the most popular kid in school, being 6 years younger and all,” Spencer swallows the ache. You nod in understanding.
Bright, brown eyes meet yours. He bites his lip. “So, I appreciate you coming with me. It’ll be nice... having a friend there.”
A split second.
Spencer glances away as he says 'friend'. The word leaves such a bittersweet taste he has to hold back a grimace, look anywhere else but you. The word just doesn’t sit right with him.
If he hadn’t looked away, he would have caught the way your smile dropped.
You nearly forgot, though you’re on holiday, this is a mission of sorts. This isn’t about you or how you feel. This is about Spencer. You berate yourself, remembering you're not a teenager anymore; you're a fucking adult and mature adults don't squee at their coworkers.
No matter how cute and adorable they are.
“Of course,” You plaster on a smile and finger the edge of your blanket, unintentionally mirroring him. "Your welcome."
Spencer gives you that white-person smile you love so much. You have to bite back a laugh.
To distract yourself, you pull out your phone and open the Chess app, holding it out to him. "Now, how about that rematch?"
Spencer's face lights up like a Christmas tree.
And as you immerse yourselves into another close match, you feel your confidence grow with every move, chuckling as Reid grumbles about you cheating (you’re not, he’s just a sore loser). You’re an FBI agent, for fuck’s sake. You played spouse and romantic partners for weeks, months. A weekend is nothing.
You can manage playing pretend with a coworker. Just operate like this is any other undercover assignment.
You can pretend you’re in love with Spencer Reid. You can handle it.
You can handle it.
⎼
You can’t handle it.
As one would expect, it’s hard to not fall in love with Spencer Reid. Just as it’s hard not to show it.
It feels like only yesterday the lanky man quite literally stumbled his way into your world and you decided, ‘Him. I will protect him with my life.’ And while you’d totally do that for anyone on the team, with Reid, it hits different.
After you landed in Las Vegas, you had a couple hours to kill before the reunion started, and as the good friend and partner you are, you suggested he show you all the places he frequented when he was little. For research, of course. After all, you’re playing his partner, so the more you know the better.
It’s definitely not because you’re invested in his life. Because that would be unprofessional.
(The way he beamed at you was totally worth it though.)
Then one step in the direction of his favorite eatery and he slipped on a patch of ice. You caught him in time, but the way he looked at you, brown eyes wide and filled with awe, made you feel things you shouldn't feel for a coworker.
It only snowballed from there. Everything about him is just so… endearing.
But you’re at your limit.
Love and affection threatens to spill out of you. Your hands flex in your coat pockets, itching to grab Spencer’s pretty face. Even your chest aches from your heart having swollen twice its size. You feel like you’re about to explode.
This might be the most difficult mission you’ve ever worked.
But this is it, you realize as you stand in front of the closed auditorium doors. This is the final lap. Where everything you’ve practiced really matters. You just have to keep up the charade for a few hours, then you won’t have to struggle to fight back the hearts in your eyes.
Although, your clothes fit tighter than you remember and you’re trembling. Why the fuck are you trembling?
Next to you Spencer eyes the double doors, almost like he’s daunted by them.
Multi-colored lights filter into the dark hallway, silhouettes flickering and shifting from the crack under the door as cheery holiday music faintly streams from behind them, accompanied by shouts and laughter. From his old classmates. Who are most likely making jokes at his expense.
Spencer already wants to go home.
“Ready, Doc?” As if sensing his hesitation, you offer a smile and an arm to him. Your eyes gleam with resolve. It’s more than enough for the both of you.
You can do this.
A deep breath, he slips his arm into yours. “Yep.”
He can do this.
Together, you open the doors.
AN: 2/4??
note: don’t expect part 3 to come out as quick. it’ll contain panic/anxiety descriptions and id like to take my time to write it best :))) i hope you enjoyed the last bit of happiness for a while :))))
also i apologize that i havent gotten to all the requests!! the ones posted on my masterlist are the ones currently being dealt with, but i’ll get through them eventually thx for the patience :D
i remember seeing a post ab Hotch x Prentiss and I didn’t get it but watching CM over again
i get it i so get it. when theyve both gone to each other’s homes? *tears up*
and my hate for seaver has been reinforced :)))))
#spencer reid x reader#matthew gray gubler x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x original female character#spencer reid x oc#mgg x reader#mgg x y/n#matthew gray gubler x oc#matthew gray gubler imagine#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid
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happy late birthday @thewritewolf !!!
it’s asdjfhlasdj kinda a mess, but it’s from his one-shot “ Running to Catch An Airplane Trope “ it’s super cute and I highly suggest giving it a read!! Jarl be ver talented
#miraculous ladybug#ml#marinette dupain-cheng#adrien agreste#adrienette#adrinette#adfahdsklf i rushed it a bit but like it also took two days idk how that math works#fanart#my art#woOP
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OREOs... and Electroshock Couples Therapy
You and infuriating precinct playboy Jeon Jungkook go undercover to lure out a killer targeting engaged couples. Literally nothing goes according to plan...
Genre: Fluff/Comedy/Suspense
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader
Trope: Enemies/Rivals to Lovers ~ Fake Dating
AU Type: Loosely Brooklyn 99 (with a hint of Smallville) Police Detectives AU
Word Count: 3315
Rating/Warnings: (PG-15) kidnapping with threat of harm (not graphic) ~ mature themes and innuendo ~ light/implied smut
“Your delusions have run away with you again.”
“My delusions? Now I know it was you. You’re even more insufferably pretentious when you’re trying to hide something.”
Jungkook grinned.
“Brilliant theory, Detective. Shame there’s no way to prove it.”
“You could confess,” you fumed tightly.
His grin became positively gleeful. You were this close to tasing him.
“Do you genuinely expect me to confess that I ate your last Oreo?”
“It was a violation of human decency.”
“Yes, and when we find the culprit, I’ll be sure to tar and feather him.”
“You’re not taking this seriously, Jeon.”
“Now, whatever gave you that idea?” Jungkook asked as he folded an arrest report into a paper airplane.
You were saved from responding when Captain Kim barked both your names across the precinct.
“Detectives _______ and Jeon. My office. Now.”
Namjoon sighed as he watched the two of you bicker all the way to the door.
It’s like having extra children.
“We’ve got a case. Commissioner marked it top priority and you two are taking lead as of right now.”
Your forehead wrinkled in confusion and Jungkook raised a single curious brow.
“But Jimin is my –”
“Why not Hoseok?”
Namjoon raised a hand to silence you both. You weren’t teaming with your regular partners. Questions were to be expected.
“Jimin’s staying on that trafficking case while you work with Jeon. We need to draw out a perp targeting engaged couples. Thus far, all of his victims have been a male and a female, mid-to-late twenties. You two fit the profile, so...” he grinned, “congratulations on your engagement.”
🕵🏻♀️👰🏻🤵🏻🕵🏻♂️
As special cases went, this one was … truly bizarre.
The victims always disappeared a few weeks before their wedding. Some couples were abducted, then later returned to their homes or vehicles with no memory of the previous 48 hours.
Others turned up dead in alleyways.
Ligature marks and burns on the bodies indicated the use of restraints and electrocution. After some digging, you discovered that all five couples visited the same jeweler and the same bakery in the process of planning their wedding.
Jungkook nibbled the tip of his pen, absently tugging his curls as he scanned the case files.
It wasn’t sexy.
It wasn’t.
“Looks like this is the best lead we have. Even though some of them ended up choosing other bakeries and jewelers – they all came through those shops.” He tossed the pen across his desk and stretched back in his chair – causing his shirt to strain over his chest.
You gulped.
Is it, like, hot in here? -your eyes lingered momentarily on his biceps- Why is maintenance messing with the thermostat right now? People are trying to work-
“Hello? Earth to Detective Space Cadet.” Jungkook waved a tattooed hand in your face. “Are we going with my idea?”
He had an idea? I must have missed it during that brief bout of thirstiness hot flash.
“I – uh – was analyzing some of the victim profiles …-in my head-” you paused to loosen your collar – which was suddenly strangling you, “-so could you just run it by me once more?”
Detective Jeon raised a single eyebrow.
“Daydreaming about me again?”
Yes.
“No. I was actually daydreaming about my last Oreo,” you leaned forward with an eyebrow raise of your own. “Really, it meant so much more to me than you do.”
He laughed and you felt yourself smiling (against your better judgement).
“Always so cold, Detective. I think you may have hurt my feelings.”
“Impossible,” you sighed airily, “we both know you don’t have feelings.”
“Says who?”
“Gina from Forensics.”
“Fine. Who else?”
“Wendy from Missing Persons.”
“Doesn’t count. I was very drunk.”
“Jimin’s sister.”
Jungkook winced.
“Is he still sore about that?”
“I wouldn’t accept food or beverages from him any time in the next decade.”
“That’s fair.”
It was your turn to laugh and Detective Jeon had the decency to blush. He recovered quickly, however.
“As I recall, there was a lot of feeling between those lovely ladies and myself.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Spare me Jeon. If I want to learn about baboon mating habits, I’ll watch Animal Planet.”
Jungkook hissed in feigned pain and clasped his hand over his heart.
“Ouch. Direct hit.”
“I am the top marksmen in the precinct.”
“Hey” he sat up – abruptly serious, “We’re tied.”
“For now.”
“Until I beat you.”
“Until you are beaten by me.”
He bit his lip and grinned – crinkling his nose in a way that was unfairly adorable.
“Kinky.”
“Oh-KAY,” you swiveled away in your wheelie chair and threw a paper clip at him (which he caught handily). “You were telling me about your plan?”
“Yes. While you were daydreaming about me-” (you snorted at that, but he pretended not to hear) “-I suggested we couple up and head to those shops. Maybe our perp will take the bait.”
You shrugged, “Sounds good.”
Gathering your coat and bag, you tossed a quick glance over your shoulder - already halfway out the door.
“I’ll swing by my locker and change into a dress or something. Meet me by the front gate in 10 minutes.”
Jungkook followed after you - catching up as you entered the elevator.
“I noticed you never denied being kinky.”
His grin was seven different types of sinful and if you were even the tiniest bit weaker, you would have cuffed him to the lift rail and addressed his statement explicitly.
You, however, were no Gina from Forensics.
Instead, your features twisted into a knowing smirk as you steered yet another moment between yourself and the delicious infuriating Jeon Jungkook into safe and familiar territory.
“Impressive,” you drawled cheekily as the doors began to close, “I can see why they made you a detective.”
🕵🏻♀️👰🏻🤵🏻🕵🏻♂️
The bakery was a famous family-owned establishment near the center of town. Its current owner, Kim Seokjin, had been crowned the city’s most eligible bachelor for 5 years running.
The man in question was, at the moment, personally campaigning for your vote.
“Now open wide,” he murmured as he slipped a sumptuous square of Seokjin’s Signature Red Velvet ™ between your parted lips.
Your eyes rolled back into your head. “Oh, that’s delicious,” you moaned.
Seokjin chuckled. “Thank you. I always hope customers can taste my passion in every bite.” The seemingly innocuous words sounded positively lewd dripping from his luscious mouth. You briefly forgot how to exhale.
The baker leaned in a bit closer and brought up his thumb to wipe away non-existent crumbs from your lips, “I find it really helps me connect with them,” he whispered intimately.
You were literal seconds from licking icing directly off Seokjin’s finger when-
“Okay. That’s enough of that.”
There was a firm tug on your elbow and you collided hard with Jungkook’s chest. It took a moment to regain your bearings (you were still slightly dazed from looking directly into Seokjin’s eyes), but suddenly Jungkook and Seokjin were staring each other down over a plate of cupcakes and all of Jungkook’s limbs were entangled with your own.
His legs rested on either side of your hips, his left hand latched around your back and torso - pinning you to him from chest to knee caps, and his right hand -
A surprised squeak slipped past your lips as he fully palmed your backside.
Mouth agape, your gaze shot up to meet his, but Jungkook was still glaring stoically at Kim Seokjin. He didn’t even flinch when you pinched him under the arm.
Frankly, you had not envisioned a scenario like this when you reported for duty this morning. Your mind struggled to process a reality where you were plastered all over Jeon Jungkook - surrounded on all sides by pastries and angry beautiful men - and oh my gosh that hand was still on your-
“Find what you were looking for, babe?” his familiar voice snapped with an extra edge of possessiveness that you absolutely - definitely - for sure - totally hated and did not make you shiver involuntarily.
Lies, lies, lies...
Seokjin’s eyes narrowed. A cool smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“I think the lady was very satisfied with what I had to offer.”
Jungkook’s jaw twitched.
Oh boy…
You learned long ago to dread that jaw twitch.
It was the jaw twitch of I-will-win-this-even-if-I-have-to-break-every-bone-in-my-body-and-burn-down-a-building-in-the-process.
Visions of flying muffins and bloodshed danced behind your eyes.
Not to mention Jungkook would likely wreck Seokjin’s face and that would be a travesty.
Time for some drastic measures.
Thinking quickly, you slid your hands up over his chest to bury your fingers in his hair and yanked his face close to yours.
“Baby,” you purred, letting your lips brush ever so slightly over his, “I wanna go look at rings now.”
Jungkook’s eyes darkened immediately. Tension thrummed in the space between you. Your body suddenly seemed to poised to ignite as you pleaded prettily with him.
“Won’t you take me, love?”
The was a sharp flare of something in his gaze and the next thing you knew Jungkook was sweeping you toward the exit - right hand still firmly planted on your-
“I look forward to seeing you again soon,” Seokjin called out - in a tone more suited to a bedroom than a bakery.
Jungkook froze. His jaw twitched again, but you were out of patience.
“Come along now, Poodle,” you growled before dragging him out the door.
🕵🏻♀️👰🏻🤵🏻🕵🏻♂️
“What was that?!” you hissed after walking a suitable distance from the bakery.
“I was about to ask you the same question. I can’t believe you called me Poodle!”
“You're lucky that’s all I did. Between the butt grabbing and the chest beating, I was tempted to bash both your heads in with the complimentary tea tray.”
He snorted.
“I was just maintaining my cover - unlike you.”
“Excuse me?!”
“You’re my fiancé, Muffin. Drooling all over Kim Seokjin’s goodies while he touches your mouth doesn’t exactly scream ‘I’m in a committed relationship’.”
Your jaw dropped and you sputtered out a noise that was equal parts guilt and exasperation.
“I was probing for information!”
“And he was about to probe right back,” Jungkook muttered.
“What was that?” you snapped.
“I said the jeweler is on the corner of 5th and Womack.”
🕵🏻♀️👰🏻🤵🏻🕵🏻♂️
The tension between you and your ‘fiancé’ was palpable by the time you finally entered the jewelry store.
“What kind of ring were you looking for, Precious?” Jungkook gushed with nauseating sweetness.
“The biggest and most expensive we can find, Cupcake!” you cooed through clenched teeth.
For several minutes you wandered aimlessly through the store playing the role of a hard to please couple (employing increasingly more obnoxious pet names with each exchange).
The clerk, a tight featured man with tiny glasses, kept shooting disapproving looks and sniffing loudly whenever you asked to see anything. After a few minutes of irritable huffing, Jungkook lost patience.
“I’m surprised this place is still in business, Cuddles.”
You snorted, equally put off by the jeweler’s brisk demeanor.
“I think we’re done here, Kookie Bear. I parked the car in the garage by Maxwell Market. If we get back in ten minutes, we won’t be charged for another hour.”
The last thing you remembered before completely blacking out was a sharp pain in your neck.
Then you opened your eyes to very real trouble.
🕵🏻♀️👰🏻🤵🏻🕵🏻♂️
It felt like there was a knife in your forehead - probably a side effect of whatever drug was used to knock you out.
As your eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lighting, you became aware of several things at once.
You and Jungkook were strapped to chairs facing one another in (what appeared to be) someone’s basement. Electrical stimulators simmered menacingly over various contact points on both your bodies.
...ligature marks and burns on the bodies indicated the use of restraints and electrocution…
Your gaze traveled cautiously over your partner. There was a cut near his temple - probably caused when he fell after being drugged - other than that he looked unharmed, but his eyes were still closed and his breathing seemed labored.
“Jungkook,” you whimpered. Your voice sounded cracked and raw.
How long were we out?
After a moment his eyes opened and his panicked gaze darted frantically before landing on you.
It suddenly occurred to you that his face might be the last thing you ever saw. The thought prompted a strange sort of comfort as well as a powerful surge of emotion.
A single tear slid slowly down your cheek.
Your head wasn’t entirely clear yet, but you could vaguely hear the jeweler rambling on about how he was going to save you both from the pain he suffered.
“What ...pain?” Jungkook’s voice sounded as rough as yours. He was still fighting off the effects of sedation.
“The pain of lies,” your captor hissed. “My wife’s lies destroyed me. I lost everything. I never would have married her if I’d known-”
His unhinged monologue continued in that manner for several uncomfortable minutes, but he did finally get around to mentioning why you were chained up in his cellar.
“-to find the truth. If you want to save each other, you must tell the truth.”
Your eyes fell to your fingers, already knowing what you’d find there.
“Lie detectors?” Jungkook whispered incredulously.
“To know for sure if you truly care. Your lies hurt the one you love. Down here, your lies will kill her.”
“What are you saying?” Jungkook snarled. His voice dripped with real menace.
“I’m saying, if you lie, this will happen.” He pushed a button on the small remote in his hand and excruciating pain suddenly tore through your entire body.
You screamed.
“Stop!” Jungkook shouted. His body jerked against the chains and the chair creaked precariously beneath him. “I will kill you, you bastard!”
“No! You’ll thank me for sparing you the pain of heartbreak.”
“We aren’t engaged!” you gasped, still shaking from the aftershock. “This was a ruse - to - to draw you out. We can’t pass it-”
But the jeweler ignored you and cranked up the voltage on his machine.
“First question to the groom. Are you hiding anything from her?”
Jungkook swore and yanked against his chains again.
“Answer the question or I’ll do it,” the jeweler warned. “Your silence can deceive as well.”
You whimpered in terror and Jungkook howled with rage.
“Yes. I am,” he bit out tightly.
The voltage cranked again and another tear drifted quietly down the side of your face.
“What are you hiding?”
Jungkook’s eyes dropped in shame, but he didn’t hesitate. He couldn’t.
“I do eat your last Oreo. Every time. The first one was an accident. I thought they were Jimin’s... I don’t even like Oreos that much... But I make sure I always get to yours.”
You couldn’t stop a pathetic cough of laughter. “You’re confessing to the Oreos? ...Really?” Your body shook as more silent tears tracked down your face. “Jeon Jungkook you’re so strange,” you whispered softly - almost tenderly.
The jeweler’s eyes narrowed.
“There has to be more than that!” He cranked the voltage again. “Tell her what you’re really hiding!”
Jungkook’s jaw clenched.
“She comes to see me when the Oreos disappear. I work mostly homicide and she’s narcotics. We were paired together on a task force a couple months ago and since then I...”
His eyes squeezed shut as he fought for the right words. When they opened again, he was speaking only to you.
“Our paths don’t often cross, but when you find me to yell about the Oreos... it’s the best part of my day.”
His gaze dropped as he continued, “There hasn’t been anyone else since the moment we met…” He heard your quiet gasp and his mouth tilted into a small tender smile.
“There’s only you,” he whispered.
The harsh scrape of a lever being pulled caused you both to jump. Jungkook grunted in pain. He passed the test, but the charge was live on his body now.
It was your turn to face the truth.
“Tell me,” the psychotic jeweler snapped - clearly disappointed that no one had died yet, “do you love this man?”
Your eyes widened and Jungkook’s head shot up. Your gazes locked significantly and you felt your heart wrench.
“It’s ok,” Jungkook whispered. “Just tell the truth.”
His beautiful face was filled with trust and understanding.
You knew what he expected your answer to be.
You knew what you’d say if his life wasn’t on the line.
But only the truth would keep him safe.
“Yes,” -your eyes fluttered shut - it was too much to face him when everything you buried deep down was now laid bare between you- “I do.”
You saw him flinch - as if he expected the pain to come.
But it never did.
For a moment there was only excruciating silence... then the barest whisper of your name passing breathlessly over his lips.
“NYPD! HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!”
You had never been so happy to hear Sergeant Min’s voice in your entire life.
But he’d come too late to spare either of you a confrontation with the truth.
🕵🏻♀️👰🏻🤵🏻🕵🏻♂️
The next several hours passed in a blur. You were separated from Jungkook almost immediately. You caught one final glimpse of him as you were both loaded into ambulances.
His gaze stayed fixed on you as the doors closed.
You vaguely recall giving statements and Namjoon yelling - a lot - like he always does when he’s worried.
He hugged you so tightly.
At some point you started to cry.
There was a constant stream of doctors and psychologists...
Then they sent you home.
Mandatory Crisis Leave.
Loud banging startled you off the couch and onto the floor of your apartment. It was only the second day of leave, but someone was already interrupting.
In hindsight, you should have known exactly who it was.
“Jungkook ... ”
He looked so wonderful it almost hurt. You savagely beat back the urge to slam the door in his face and bury yourself underneath a pile of blankets.
“I’m... really tired of eating those Oreos.”
His jaw worked reflexively. After a moment, his eyes crept up to meet yours.
You nodded.
It was literally all you were capable of doing.
“I want to talk to you every day,” he said with a little more confidence.
Tears began to prick the back of your eyes. You nodded again and he stepped slightly closer.
“I want to hold you. And not just when we’re undercover.”
You laughed. Tears began to fall in earnest.
Jungkook’s hand rose cautiously toward your face and you leaned forward ever so slightly, allowing his thumb to soothe away the wetness on your cheek.
“I am in love with you... and- and I have no idea what I’m doing,” he lowered his forehead to rest gently against yours, "but from now on... I want to do whatever it is with you.”
Pure burning joy bubbled up from your chest as you surged forward - finally pressing your lips to his.
There was laughter and more crying as you stumbled together into your apartment, shutting the door on the outside world to lose yourself in each other.
As you lay in his arms several hours later with the echoes of his touch still humming over your body and your mouth still swollen from his kiss, you realized that what you’d been running from all those months was nothing more than your own fears.
Here - next to him - was where you were meant to be all along.
Ask My Muse: Have a question for the characters in this work? Send it to my ask box and hear their side of the story.
Endnote: This is an extensive rework of a piece I originally wrote for another fandom (if you see it elsewhere - but with Reylo - it’s me - I promise). It is based heavily on the plot of one of my favorite episodes of Smallvile (I was a huge Smallville fangirl back in the day). The dynamics are inspired by one of the greatest shows of all time - Brooklyn 99. I haven’t written much for the BTS fandom, but I would really love to hear what you think! (Let me know what you thought pretty please?) Much like Jimin I survive primarily on takeout and praise.
#jungkook#jeon jungkook#bts jungkook#bts#jungkook scenarios#jungkook x reader#jungkook fanfic#jungkook fanfiction#bts fanfic#bts fanfiction#kim seokjin#kim namjoon#kim taehyung#park jimin#jimin#bts vocal line#bangtan#bangtan boys#bangtan sonyeondan#maknae line#bts maknae#jeon jungkook fanfic#jung hoseok#min yoongi#yoongi#my writing#lady artemesia#bts au#bts fluff#detectives au
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The Wrong Winchester - One Year Later
Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam x Eileen
Warnings: Cavity protection required.
Word Count: 12,304. (WHY)
Summary: One year after the fiasco that was Fourth of July, you’re back in Kansas and back at the Winchesters. This time with their other son.
A/N: A sequel for the trope fluff fest that was The Wrong Winchester. Somehow this is fluffier and more trope-y! Listen, I didn’t say it was good, just that it exists. Happy 4th July my bitches!
(*sobs in the corner* this was supposed to be a timestamp)
Ao3 if you prefer.
June has been cool this year, more so than normal, but then the heat of July hits like clockwork. Even though you enjoy airplanes, and the AC they provide, you’ve done the drive because Dean hates flying. It’s not even a compromise because the detour your journey takes means that it’s Thursday evening by the time you arrive in Lawrence. Sam and Eileen got there mid-morning. You’re hoping that the Winchesters are so distracted getting to know her that you can slip in like an old piece of furniture, unnoticed and ignored.
It’s when he turns the corner onto their street, and the family home looms in the distance, that it hits you. You’re here, again, and you’re doing this, again. And nobody would ever believe it but this is considerably worse because this time you love the guy sitting next to you.
Not that you’ve told him that yet. It’s been a slow year.
Loving Dean does complicate things though. It means that you care what the Winchesters think of you. Last year, pretending, was a walk in the park in comparison. You knew Sam was fake breaking up with you after you left. You could have cheated on Sam in front of him and it wouldn’t have mattered because it was all, well, fake.
Although you did kind of cheat on Sam in front of him. Boy, did you hope Sam hadn’t told them about that.
Now, the house you’re pulling up at makes your toes curl inside your shoes while hurried excuses start pouring out. “You’re positive you don’t want to stay in a hotel? Take the pressure off your mom having to entertain us and Sam and Eileen. That’s a lot of guests.” You nod to yourself convincingly while you stare at the front door.
He smiles at you like you’re adorable, which you don’t appreciate. “If you’re looking to make her hate you, then yeah, go ahead and tell my Mom you’re taking her firstborn to a hotel for the weekend.”
You huff and pout your lips so he knows exactly how frustrated you are, “I know you’re right, doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”
“When are you ever?” He counters, smirking as he gets out of the car. You follow suit although you’re convinced that as your foot hits the stone driveway you can hear the ticking of a countdown. One small step for you, one giant leap to your doom.
Dean grabs your case and his duffel from the trunk, settling one on top of the other so that he has a free hand to wrap around your waist. It’s probably a picturesque image, him walking you to the house like that. You’re not sure if he’s being nice or making sure you don’t run away. Dean’s a smart man so it’s probably a little of both.
His hand reaches to open the door but even after the long drive from Chicago, your reactions are lightning-fast. You pull his arm back to stop him and answer the silent look on his dumb face, “shut up. We should knock.”
“Did you give Sammy this much trouble last year?”
His joke drags a smile out of you, not a laugh but a smile. He’s been trying to calm you down the whole journey. You don’t get nervous often, so seeing you this anxious has both worried and amused him. He’s settled for being supportive, he’s done everything he can to take your mind off of this moment. He told you exaggerated fake facts about Kansas to stop you complaining that the entire state was too damn hot. He distracted you with questions about the case you’re working on when you panicked about exactly how Sam had explained everything all those months ago. And most importantly he fed you. A few hours out he’d pulled into a drive-through and minutes later you’d found yourself pulled over on a random stretch of highway, legs crossed, and a brown paper bag in your lap. He’d wiped sauce from the corner of your mouth and watched you wolf down cheese fries.
Dean knew how to keep you happy for the hours you’ve spent in Baby. But now that you’re finally standing at the threshold he, apparently, thinks it’s time to throw you to the wolves, which he does, literally.
In one swift movement, the door is open before you can rap your knuckles against it and he uses his arm—the one that’s around your waist—to guide you inside. Except guiding you inside is more like a gentle push, which means you trip your way into the Winchester family home while Dean remains safely on the porch.
“What the f-?” The end of your sentence never makes it past your lips, thankfully, considering the gathering in the living room as you turn your head.
Sam and Eileen are sitting opposite Mary and John, all of them holding a drink, clearly mid-conversation. They all stop. Four pairs of eyes are now trained on you. Even after a too-long second has passed none of them move as if your presence has frozen them in time. A perpetual state of being horrified by your existence.
“Dean!?” You don’t exactly shout but there’s a worried twang to your voice and still, none of them move. In fact, Sam doesn’t even attempt to help, which is a betrayal you won’t allow to pass unpunished or forgotten.
That’s for another day. Right now you’re about thirty seconds away from your first actual panic attack in years.
Dean slips in behind you, eventually. Even walking in with the bags he’s more graceful than you had been stumbling in. Not that you compliment him on that. You’re too preoccupied because you might have broken the Winchesters.
“Honey!” Mary beams with happiness at the sight of her eldest son and jumps up from her seat like a mannequin come to life. Whatever spell had been cast breaks so quickly that it might not have happened at all. Every single person takes a breath again and Mary walks over, wine forgotten on the coffee table, to hug Dean the way you’d seen her do a year ago.
“Mom!” He hugs her back, wrapping her up in his arms and lifting her from the floor an inch or two. You want to say he’s the cutest thing ever with that childlike smile on his face.
That’s what you want to say.
Unfortunately, the innocence doesn’t last as his expression morphs into a cocky smirk with a waving hand in your direction once he lets his mother go. “You remember Y/N, right?”
Is he freaking kidding?
Mary’s face steels, as if Dean had never entered the room. Your best friend and his girlfriend, who you know pretty well at this point, remain safely in their seats. And your boyfriend, your goddamn boyfriend who you love and trust, is standing there at an arm's length like this is an early fireworks display. The fuses have been lit and he is waiting for the explosives to go off.
The only person in the room who dares to make eye contact with you—outside of the matriarch—is John freaking Winchester. And he has the audacity to smile sweetly at you. Or as sweetly as John Winchester is capable of.
“Of course I remember Y/N.” Mary’s words are friendly but her tone does not mirror the sentiment. She taps her chin with one extended finger, thinking, “you were on Sam’s arm last year, if I remember rightly.”
You were going to murder Sam and thanks to your job you’d get away with it too. “I’m so sorry Mary, Sam told me he explained. It was all a misunderstanding, I was only…”
“Only jumping around between my boys? Or was the misunderstanding when we welcomed you into our home and you lied to us?”
You may have met your match. You could never admit this to the district attorney's office but Mary has found a way to silence you with a stare. Your lips snap shut without a good answer for her. You feel like a child being chastised for making a mess.
In fairness you had made a mess last year, however, you cleaned it up afterward.
Your eyes dart to the still-open front door before you rummage up an answer. “I don’t think jumping between them is very fair, Sam and I weren’t a real thing. I mean we’re still besties, even if he won’t call us that, but we were pretending. Which is still wrong but I defy any of you to say no to him when he does that dopey puppy face of his. Anyway I know he told you it was his idea, because it was, and I made sure he told you that because I don’t want you thinking that I came up with it and…”
“Great, you got her stuck in a loop, Mom.” Dean grumbles with a roll of his eyes.
“What?” You interrupt your own rambling to frown at him.
That’s when it happens. Mary breaks out into a grin so similar to Dean's that it’s frightening. If Sam got his smile from his mother then Dean inherited her devious smirk.
“It was your idea.” She answers your seemingly caring boyfriend.
You’re confused, as you should be. Hours. Days. Weeks of dreading this moment and this weekend. None of this makes any sense.
“I hate to sound like a broken record but, what?”
Mary turns her brightness on you, in the distance, John barks out a laugh and cracks his hand against his thigh as if this all went completely as planned.
“I’m sorry Y/N. We were only playing. It’s great to see you again.”
Then she hugs you, stiff as you may be from the complicated mix of annoyance and residual fear that you’re feeling. Her arms around you exude motherly warmth, something you’re unfamiliar with, until your muscles relax in her grip.
Over Mary’s shoulder, Dean is pressing his lips together to stop himself laughing and then finally your brain catches up. That bastard set you up. He sold you down the river. Still mid-hug you silently mouth to him, “I’m going to kill you.”
That sends Dean over the edge and a deep belly laugh escapes him. He doesn’t even attempt to apologize. He’s too caught up in how funny he thinks he is.
“So, you were all in on this? You too Sammy?” You splay your hand across your chest now that Mary has released you.
Mary links her arm with yours and leans in as if she didn’t rob you of ten years of your life, “if it helps Eileen told us we were being mean.”
You smile at Eileen, your now very good friend, as you take a seat next to her, “at least someone has my back.”
She shrugs nonchalantly, “well, Sam’s girlfriends need to stick together.”
And just like that. The final knife in your back sets them all off howling with laughter again. This was obviously going to be a long weekend.
It's not even day one, that starts tomorrow. It's been a few hours at best and you're already in bed and staring a hole in the ceiling. Ordinarily, you might be questioning why there is a suspicious rectangle that is whiter than the rest. As if the patch of paint had seen less light than the rest of the room like a poster had been there or something.
“You gotta tell me.”
You scoff. He has done nothing to earn any answers from you so far. Looking after you during the journey must have been an act to lull you into a false sense of security because he jumped ship as soon as you arrived. Winchesters are a tight-knit bunch.
“Come on, please?”
It sucks that you love this idiot, it sucks that you haven’t told him, it’s even worse that you cannot resist him. You roll over to his whining voice and prop yourself up on your elbow. It was foolish to ever hope for a good night's sleep when he’s amped up to be in his childhood home again. You can’t say that you remember him being like this last year but, then again, last year you were avoiding him since you were pretending to date his brother. “Oh my god, if I tell you will you let me sleep already?”
Dean nods, using a finger to draw a cross over his chest. Even in the dark, you can see the crinkles of his eyes deepen playfully, “cross my heart. I’ll even help you get off to sleep, by way of apology.” His fingers toy with the waistband of your underwear to hint at his meaning, under his oversized Zeppelin shirt you’re sleeping in.
“Nice try Benedict Arnold, I haven’t forgotten what you did to me.”
He knows by the tone of your voice he won’t get anywhere right now, although it’s nothing to do with his betrayal. You’re still obsessed with somehow clawing back any semblance of a good impression. Sex in his childhood bed doesn’t strike you as the correct way to go about that. He doesn’t tease and try to change your mind with filthy words he knows you love. You think maybe Dean knows tonight isn't the night either. Maybe that’s why he’s asking questions instead.
His hand slides up over your waist and settles comfortingly around your middle—almost as if he knows he has some groveling to do. He asks again hoping to get one of the things he wants; answers. “C’mon. Just tell me. I’ll tell you mine.”
You haven’t spoken much about last year with Dean and you were absolutely fine with that. Last Fourth of July wasn’t exactly a Kodak moment for you. It almost cost you Sam and as much as you love Dean, Sam’s friendship is one of the very foundations of your adult life. Sure last year was the kind of thing you’ve joked about, but the nitty-gritty details had stayed where they should, in the past.
However, being back here, albeit in the next room over to the one you’d previously occupied, has apparently opened the topic up for conversation.
“Fine. You really want to know?”
“With all my heart.”
“God, you’re lucky you’re cute. At the airport. Okay?”
His smile widens until you can see his teeth shine. “You’re joking?”
You bury your face in the pillow, only coming up for air when necessary despite the way he pokes your sides to make you squirm. “No, I’m not joking. I wasn’t sleepy getting off the plane. I was trying to figure out if there was a way for me to make out with my fake boyfriend's hot older brother.”
“You were too good for your fake boyfriend anyway.” He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, “too good for me too.”
He shouldn’t be allowed to catch you off guard like that, it’s against the rules. Yet he does it all the time. The sweetest secrets whispered in your ear while you’re brushing your teeth or watching a movie. As if he needs to tell you as soon as the thought pops into his head. And it’s not fair because he deserved some silent treatment or something. You know he’ll be back to his tricks tomorrow, so he should pay tonight. But now instead of being annoyed at him, your lips are following his while you realize you were never really mad in the first place.
His wandering hand moves to wrap around your neck, his fingers are lost in your hair and his thumb traces over your jaw. This is the classic Dean trick. He thinks he’s so smooth and that one day he’ll manage to keep you attached to his mouth forever if he holds you there, just right.
As much as you want to appease him, it never lasts. Eventually, you always need air in your pesky, needy lungs. Tonight though it ends with your hand on his chest nudging him off of you. “No way. You owe me yours. Come on, when did you start like-liking me?” You finish the question in a sarcastically childish voice.
Dean is nothing if not fair, sometimes, and he would never break a promise. He leans back a little and adopts what you have dubbed his ‘thinking face’. It may be nighttime but you’d recognize that furrowed brow anywhere.
“When I found you in my bedroom.” He finally answers.
It takes a whole second to remember. “Really? You mean when I was trying to find the bathroom?”
“Yeah, I mean a guy comes back to his room and finds a pretty girl...”
It’s your turn to frown, “wait. Correct me if I’m wrong but you’re saying that your ‘moment’ was when you found me in your room, in my pajamas, with bed head and a full bladder?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. You were all cute an’ twitchy when I caught you, then suddenly you’re all fired up and telling me off for making fun of you. You were a little spitfire.”
You drop your forehead to his chest and let out a laugh. Trust Dean to like you because you busted his balls.
He presses a kiss to the top of your head, “good enough answer?”
You yawn, happily, and shimmy down into bed proper. “It was your game De. The question is are you happy with yours?”
He settles down next to you, close enough to hear the deep, “mm hmm” in his throat.
Almost everything is different this year but one fact remains the same. You can take the running gear from Sam but you can’t stop Sam from going running.
He has emergency running shoes in his closet.
The new part is that you’re up as early as he is. You’re sitting on the sofa with your laptop propped up on your knees, with yet another witness statement that you were sure was made up. It was too perfect and a jury would never buy it.
By the time Sam, the sweat machine, returns you’re typing a passive-aggressive email to that effect.
“You had any coffee yet?” He asks with two mugs in his hands, passing one to you.
You take the mug without looking up from the screen and swallow a scalding sip, which you only half notice burns your tongue. “Obviously not. Your mom is in there and she still scares me.”
He laughs but doesn’t question it. He doesn’t need to. Dean may have dealt with you on the long drive and whenever he was in town but Sam deals with you every day. He has been privy to almost every one of your breakdowns in the last month. June felt longer than thirty days.
Sam sits down next to you and starts watching the news channel you’d been ignoring. It takes a minute but eventually, he grabs the remote to pause the screen, “ah, there’s my favorite celebrity lawyer.”
You don't need to look up to know that you are on the TV.
“I won’t be anyone’s lawyer if I don’t figure out why my client insists on lying to me and getting people to lie on his behalf.” Your fingers get dangerously close to pounding the plastic keyboard into smithereens. “Hasn’t he heard of attorney-client privilege?”
“Okay. I think you need a little break from that.” He says prying the laptop from you and closing it on the coffee table, so you can’t see the screen anymore.
You want to be mad at him but, of course, you can’t. You look up at him and his soft smile that’s all kinds of sympathetic to the workload you’ve been bearing of late. If you weren’t being driven insane by the biggest case of your career then maybe you’d be a little more rational when it came to this weekend.
Although, that’s unlikely. You were always going to go crazy about this particular get together.
“I swear sometimes I think he’s actually stupid. I’m trying to help him. Why did he even think he could escape arrest in the third most populated city in America?” You shuffle yourself so that you’re sitting sideways and facing him. Despite your insults about your client, the question is earnest.
“Probably figured it’s the only way he’d get to hire you.”
You roll your eyes, “sure, that’s why I’m co-counsel to fucking New York’s finest Marcus Delaney, who he trusts like a fucking brother.”
Sam widens his eyes at you in warning but you catch on too late; his mother is in the next room. You both hold your breath waiting for a reaction. When nothing happens you relax and he answers the least important part of your statement, “technically you’re a New York native too.”
“Objection, relevance?”
“Well, you mentioned…”
“Nah-uh. Enough about me. You took my laptop away so now we have to talk about you.” You smirk into your cup.
Sam knows where this is going. He told you his news two entire weeks ago, it worked like a charm and was also the biggest mistake of his life. Because two weeks ago Sam invited you to his office for lunch and told you over takeout that he was getting married.
He wanted to tell you because you’re his best friend. He’d told you before Dean and sworn you to secrecy until he’d called his brother later that day. Both of you knew the news was coming anyway, so it wasn’t really a race. Sam had been wringing his hands over how to ask the love of his life for weeks before he did it. You only found out about the ‘yes’ before Dean, because Sam had been trying to calm you down after another ‘4th of July freak-out’.
Sam had forgotten what happens if a seven-year-old gets their hands on too much sugar. Or, to be more precise, what happens when he gives a big, juicy, sensitive piece of information to you. Now he can't get you to shut up about it.
He sighs. He’s still facing the TV even though your eyes are on him. “I should have let you keep working, shouldn’t I?”
“Too late for that, Sammy. Have you decided when you’re telling everyone yet?”
He shifts to side-eye you, “oh, yeah. I was thinking, how about never?”
“You can’t bring your devoted fiance home for the weekend and not tell them!” You’re keeping your voice low but it’s insistent all the same.
“Ok. What about at the airport?”
“We’re dropping you back to the airport.”
“Right, before that then.”
You laugh, “why did you even come this weekend if you’re going to chicken out?”
“I’m not going to chicken out but, would it be so bad if I did? I brought you last year to avoid my Mom's crazy and now… I mean this will be like Defcon two.”
You wonder, briefly, what triggers Defcon one. Considering how quickly Mary had asked you if you were pregnant last year, you’d wager it’d be grandchildren.
In the pause where you both sip your morning caffeine again, neither of you notice the slight creak. The kind of creak where a door begins to open but never does.
“All I’m saying is, getting married is an amazing thing. It’s time to share the happy news. Hell, I’ll go wake Dean and we can do it now.”
“That’s easily the worst idea you’ve ever had. And I’m including the outfit you wore to the first office Christmas party.”
He’s walking right into your trap. “I dusted that number off for your brother over Christmas, you know.”
“Oh god. I don’t need to know about you and-and him-and a sexy Santa's helper costume.” He actually gets up, sweeps his mug with him, and sours his face.
“You brought it up, Sammy!” You're grinning all wide and evil, calling after him.
He pauses with his back leaning against the kitchen door, at the same time that Eileen walks in. “I hate you.”
You look up at her and sigh, “you see the way he talks to me when you’re not around?”
This is not the first time Eileen has been caught in the middle of you two, so she laughs and promises, “I’ll talk to him about that.”
Sometimes Dean likes to yank your chain and sometimes you like to yank his. It’s what makes you kind of perfect for each other, any bruised egos or pouting lips are part of the game you play. An excellent example is the way he’d betrayed you already this weekend. You weren’t mad, well, maybe a little, but in the end, you forgave him because it’s him.
In all the jokes there’s one thing that Dean knows not to play around with, one thing that he wouldn’t dare mess with.
Winchester. Family. Baseball.
You had agreed to wear his dumb spare jersey the same as you’d done for Sam. Like Eileen was doing for Sam this year. Although you had to admit her shorts are a little more family-friendly.
You’d even made a sign. A big piece of poster board, some markers, glitter, and stickers that you had gone to Target to buy special. It said GO TEAM DEAN! With a heart to dot the exclamation point. The sign was a surprise. When you’d shown him before leaving for the game he’d called you a dork and smiled so wide you worried his face might break.
You were ready for the game because you were safe. The worst thing that you expect is the comments when you turn up with a ‘1’ on your shirt this year instead of a ‘2’. You’ve already dealt with this from Mary and John but you weren’t so blind to forget about the rest of the family.
Charlie laughs at you when she notices, straight away, and threateningly asks for the story later. Bobby simply says, “switched teams, huh?” Before walking off. Granted he doesn’t seem to judge you, merely stating the observation like an interesting factoid. And Gabe starts, “lookie here when do I-” but smartly stops. He’s too tongue in cheek to be offensive but the look on Deans’ face might have something to do with his change of heart.
All of that you could handle. Par for the course. You had been ready for it because—can’t stress this enough—you were safe. Today was going to be a fun day of cheering on your boyfriend at his weird family baseball game.
You’re so sure of yourself that you even helped Mary pack drinks and snacks, with Eileen as a buffer, because you knew you’d get to enjoy said food. As a spectator.
When John does his ‘gather round me for I am John Winchester’ bit to pick the teams you’re choosing your spot in the stands. A little area in the front row for you, Mary and Eileen where you’re putting the food. You don’t join said gathering because that’s how not relevant it was to your life. You’d find out the teams when they’re playing and you’re only fifteen feet away from them all. You can hear them barking out names fine.
Dean picks Micheal. Sam makes a comment like ‘big surprise’. Bickering ensues until John gets them to focus up.
You could write this stuff in your sleep. You don’t want to call them predictable, considering this was only your second year here, but sometimes the truth is right there in front of you. And the truth is Winchester family baseball is going exactly how you expect.
Actually it’s the one thing that is going how you expect this weekend. Frankly, you needed that, some stability. Something you could rely on.
“Y/N”
Time slows down. In your head, you can hear that siren noise from Kill Bill and the world is suddenly devoid of color, except one. A red light flashes over your vision, as you turn in comically slow motion to find out which one of those idiots betrayed you.
Dean. Of course. The goddamn one you’re in love with.
He has the absolute gall to wave at you from where he’s standing. Smiling like, well, like it’s Fourth of July weekend and he innocently picked his girlfriend to play a game with him. That’s what it must look like to his family anyway.
To you? You feel like Lady Macbeth. Disappointed and betrayed by your significant other who can't do his one job. You’re not even asking him to kill the King of Scotland, all he had to do was not say your name.
Before you have an opportunity to write yourself out of this tragedy, he’s waving you over and your legs start walking. Apparently your body listens to him more than it listens to your own brain. Was nothing sacred anymore?
“There’s my girl.”
Those words would normally make you weak at the knees. Unfortunately for Dean, when it comes to baseball, you’re not melting that easy.
When you reach him you smile until you’re close enough to mutter dangerously, “I’m going to make you disappear and it'll look like an accident.”
You notice people dispersing which means your amazing boyfriend waited to call you till last. Not only did he screw you over but he made you the embarrassing last pick.
He leans in to kiss you and breathes against you, “you know you love playing with me.”
God, you do. You love playing with this dick, who apparently hates you, as well as his dick. Not baseball granted but other games.
“‘Sides,” he continues in your silence, “you don’t want to let all that practice go to waste.”
“All that practice? Practice?” You pull your head back, unable to resist showing him how offended you are, “you mean the time you forced me to go to the batting cages?”
He crosses his hands at your back and pulls you to him until your thighs are pressed against his. Were it not for his jeans then it would be incredibly inappropriate for a family baseball game. Actually, with the jeans, it might still be inappropriate.
“I seem to remember someone enjoying my arms wrapped around her while I taught her how to hit. I also seem to remember that someone forgot all about me in a damn second once she could do it on her own.”
“It was very stress relieving, I kept pretending the ball was the dummy who took me to the batting cages.”
A laugh rumbles through him, his body is so close to yours that you feel it in your stomach.
“Come on, this will be fun. You need more fun.”
You poke a finger into his chest, an inch above the collar of his jersey, “don't pretend you're doing me a favor. if I remember the rules, I don’t have a choice. But don’t you worry, I won’t forget this.”
He grins in that ‘brighter than the sun’ Dean way, “I know baby. I know.”
You’d made it home four times, an impressive three more than last year. None of them were from hitting a home run or anything preposterous. You do hit the ball almost every time though. You still couldn’t catch, throw or run--all three skills are apparently super essential in baseball. You can connect the bat with the ball though. Everyone seems pretty impressed every time it happens, if only they knew how impressed you were every time you manage it.
Your lack of skills aside, when Dean wins, he leans you over his arm and kisses you rightly. As if it’s V-J day and he single-handedly stopped WWII. Eileen sneaks up on Sam, from where she’d been watching in the stands. Although your ASL is not perfect, you’re at least 80% sure that her hand's sign “sucks to be you,” as she walks to him. You might love her a little more than you did ten minutes ago and Sam laughs a little harder too.
Dean chooses a steakhouse. The place is all wood paneling and soft lighting. The ambiance reminds you of your first real date in Chicago, although there will probably be less sticky fingers. From the ribs, obviously.
Mary and John drive ahead and they’re waiting outside when you all arrive. You’ve told Eileen to be prepared, told her to have her wits about her, promised her you’ll jump in if necessary. She’d told you not to worry.
Oh, you hate to see it happen.
As soon as you’re inside you volunteer to sit next to John, it’s the smallest kindness you can do for your friend. She should sit between the safety of Sam and Dean for what is to come.
It starts as you expect and it’s strange being on the other side of the interrogation. Nobody gives a flying crap about what drink or food you order but Eileen? She gets the same treatment you had last year. Silence and an entire table waiting to hear what she has to say. She’s the shiny, new thing everyone is interested in. You’re both glad and sorry. Glad the heat is taken off of you and sorry that it’s Eileen bearing the brunt of it.
Although—and it’s not your imagination—they are a hell of a lot easier on her than John had been on you. It presumably helps that Eileen is a Librarian. Her stories are all child reading groups and teaching elderly people how to use email in the computer room. Even you find yourself a bit smitten and you already knew her.
You’re trying not to focus on her too much though. Let her charm Mary and John, she doesn’t need another face watching her while she talks. Instead, you concentrate on your appetizer, one of those deep-fried onion things you’re sharing with Dean. The unspoken agreement is if you eat smelly food then you do it together.
He shakes his head, making eye contact with you as he takes a particularly over the top bite, when you’re pulled back into the main conversation.
“Y/N, where did you spend Christmas last year?”
“I’m sorry?” You ask somewhat dazed by being called on so soon.
Mary smiles kindly, “Eileen mentioned her parent's cabin, which I know is where they spent Christmas. I realized I had no idea where you spent the holidays?”
“Sure. I-erm, I stayed in Chicago.” Dean's hand under the table surprises you when you feel the weight of him on your knee.
“Oh, funnily enough, I remember Dean saying he was in Chicago too and I thought to myself how strange that was with Sam being gone.”
Everyone laughs at her joke, even your boyfriend while he moves his hand up your thigh.
“Didn’t want to head to New York and see your parents?” She continues her line of inquiry.
You have no idea where she’s going with it, why you’re the one in the hot seat, or why Dean is driving you crazy with his thumb rubbing those incessant circles in your skin. You answer anyway.
“N-No. They go to Europe every other Christmas so they’ll be home this year.”
Mary takes a bite of whatever-the-hell is on her plate. “The boys are coming to us this year too, I guess we’ll have to get better about syncing these things up, huh?”
His hand alone wouldn’t normally drive you as crazy as it is right now. He’s only tapping a slow, teasing rhythm into your thigh for crying out loud. But it’s been a few days and before that a few weeks, and you’d been resolved to not sully this wholesome family weekend. So, your breath is just a touch shorter than normal when he squeezes, and you can only hide it by talking.
“Yeah, yeah. I guess we will.” You agree easily.
“I’m looking forward to meeting your parents, yours too Eileen. Do you think we’ll be meeting yours before Christmas Y/N? Any other big events coming up?”
Were you not focusing on the heat of his hand under your skirt then you might be suspicious of the way she asks that. As it is Dean chooses then to wink at you because he thinks it's hilarious how preoccupied you are.
“Erm, Thanksgiving?”
“Right, right. Thanksgiving.” She smirks like she has a secret.
You stand up suddenly, needing to get away from your teasing boyfriend, “sorry. I’m going to go use the restroom.”
“Hurry back.” Dean’s mocking tone follows you.
Were his parents not at the table you'd tell him to go to hell.
Saturday morning comes faster than you expected. You did have a jump on the long weekend because you’d all taken a day off work this year but Saturday still seemed to have jumped from a cupboard to surprise you.
You wake up as you often do when you share Dean’s bed. One of you, today it’s him, has the other one, you, in what can only be described as an inescapable hold. He’s got one arm wrapped around you, fingers hanging loose over your stomach where you’re laying on your side. His other arm is encroaching on your pillow to surround you and his head is curled in your neck. His breath is slow and hot over your skin. You never imagined that you’d enjoy waking up like this, so incredibly close to someone. And then you met Dean. Sometimes you wrap him up in your sleep, your fingers in his hair, and one leg thrown over his. Either way one always claims the other and you wouldn’t want anything different.
Except at this very second.
Dean is a light sleeper. A bit of a contradictory trait for someone who likes to sleep as much as he does—yours is not to question why—but you never want to willingly wake him if you can avoid it. You’re more than happy to let sleeping Dean’s lie. When you don’t need the bathroom that is.
Even though this isn’t your first time trying you still give it your best shot to slip out without disturbing him.
You think you’re getting there. You’ve managed to roll onto your back for an easier way out, his face is now smashed into his pillow instead of your back, you’ve slipped down the bed a little to get away from his hand on your pillow. It’s only that arm across you that you need to get free from. Today is the day that you’ll finally manage to pee without waking him up. The trick, you think, is not to touch him. You’ve been burned before by trying to lift his arm off of you when you only need to slip out from under it.
“Come on, five more minutes.” He mumbles, fingers come to life to hold you tighter and you swear you see his lip curl because you’ve failed to sneak away again.
“I need to pee.” Who says romance is dead?
He huffs, you’ve hit on what he deems an acceptable reason to let go of you. Barely.
Not that he eases up. You have to wiggle from his hold which makes you crack your first smile of the day. Despite your need to hurry you bend over him and press a kiss to his cheek. “How about I get some coffee while I’m up, see if I can get you to forgive me?”
“You can try.” He mutters in his half-sleep state.
The house is quiet when you leave the bathroom, ridiculously quiet for how full of people it will be later. The calm tricks you into feeling invincible, where nobody else exists save for you and the man you left in bed.
“Morning Y/N.” Mary is sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee, and not doing much else.
“Oh my god!” You recoil with your whole body, arms bent into your chest like you’re trying to stave off a heart attack. You can be a little dramatic at times but the way she’s sitting in silence, illuminated only by the early morning light from the backyard, almost gives the illusion of her appearing out of thin air. “Sorry, Mary. I must be easy to scare first thing in the morning.”
A slow smile spreads over her face, “no I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I like a few minutes of peace before the boys are up is all.”
You grab two mugs, a pretty clear indication you plan to take coffee back to Dean, but before you can fill both she makes you an offer you can’t refuse. “You and I both know he is already back to sleep, he’ll keep for a few minutes. Sit with me.”
Dean's empty mug, your excuse to leave, gets left on the counter with most of your hopes and dreams. The only thing you try to cling to is that Mary wants to carry on sitting in silence, only, together.
“Y/N, we haven’t had a chance to talk, just you and me. Not since last year.”
Or maybe, just maybe, she’d been waiting for you all along.
“I guess we haven’t. I-eh, I really did mean what I said when I got here Mary. I’m sorry about everything.”
“I’m not trying to rake you over the coals here, and I’m not looking for another apology. I know what my sons think of me, Sam thinks I’m crazy. You were being a good friend.” She shrugs like it's that simple.
It’s kind of ridiculous how quickly you relax, and how quickly you start spilling your guts, “The lying though. I don’t feel good about that.”
Mary is quick. She leans over the table and wraps her hand around yours, “I don’t remember that much lying. I could tell you loved Sam last year and if that’s like a brother, I’m still glad he has you.”
She’s right. You do love Sam like a brother, the one you never had. He’s been more your family than your own. The first family you’d chose and only real family you had, which is why you’d been so scared at first. It’s why you’d been so quick to run from Dean at the risk of losing Sam. Hell, sometimes you wonder if it’s one of the many reasons you love Dean—because he’s the only other person on the planet who loves Sam as much as you do.
Your fingers twitch under her hand, unsure of the loving way she holds you. Unsure if you deserve it or why she offers it so easily. Whatever the answer is, she has your guard down.
“What about Dean?” It’s a loaded question. You need someone else to see what’s there before you can admit it to him. You're looking for confidence because you are unsure of his feelings. Who better to judge than his own mother?
She squeezes enough to tell you that you’re looking down at your coffee instead of looking at her, before she pulls back to lift her mug to her lips again. “That’s obvious Y/N.” She almost sounds bored at such an easy question, ”I knew I was right all along.”
"Right about what?”
Not even a pause. If she was indeed waiting for you this morning then she was waiting for you to ask this question.
“That you are going to be a Winchester someday.”
“No-I, no…” You trail off to nothing and it’s not because of the way Mary is still grinning despite your protests. It’s not her raised eyebrows over the rim of her cup. It’s not even the little hum like noise she lets out in affirmation that yes, you would wear the big 'W' as your last name.
It’s that you can see it. You’ve had a year of long-distance with Dean; scheduled weekends and facetime dates. You’ve been itching to tell him how you feel but terrified of scaring him away, scared of moving too quickly with the guy you don’t see enough, scared he doesn’t feel the same. And yet in the back of your mind, the vision is forming, pushing its way to the front without permission. Dean on one knee. You in a white dress. The moment you both say ‘I do’.
Is this what becoming a hopeless romantic feels like? Or were you always this much of a total sap?
“Don’t worry, I know.” She reiterates again.
Mary has a reputation, she’s pushy enough, so you assume that’s what this is. You assume she’s making a premonition, not looking for confirmation of something she thinks she already knows. So, you look to escape what you think is the awkwardness that you can’t answer.
“I’m going to get Dean his coffee or-or we’ll never get him out of bed.”
She nods you to leave but disagrees with your evaluation, “I think you underestimate how much my son loves fireworks.”
You smile wide, remembering how his face lit up in the dark the year before, “You’re right. Still, I should go get him up.”
Then you pour more coffee, including Deans, and run. If anyone else caught wind of this conversation they would never believe you were a defense lawyer, let alone the lawyer who’s been plastered over the news defending a celebrity on a murder case.
Dean has, predictably, gone back to sleep since you left. Although the light sleeper that he is, he is roused by the door opening and the smell of coffee.
“Baby?”
That’s all it takes to make you forget the conversation with Mary ever happened. You can’t help but laugh at his sleepy voice as you slip in next to him, careful not to spill anything while he fidgets awake, “who else would wake you up like this?”
He rubs at his eyes, “oh, y’know, my other girlfriend.”
“You’ll have to introduce us one day, we can compare notes.”
You’re still not used to the Winchester’s if you’re being completely honest. To you, barbecue has always been a type of food, and not necessarily one your parents approved of. It was never a place, a home. That’s what today is. Saturday afternoon and the sun is high, there's a faint twang of country music coming from somewhere. Not loud enough to hear the lyrics but loud enough to identify the genre, loud enough to wish you were wearing a cowboy hat. Everyone has a beer or a burger, or both. And it’s not all dopey eyed niceties. There are teenagers, Claire and Alex, hating everyone from the other end of the yard. Occasionally there’s a “screw you” or a “you idjit” shouted from the many random conversations happening. But it’s still somehow perfect in the imperfections. It’s cozy and homely. It’s a family. Love.
It would be easy to feel overwhelmed and convince yourself that you don’t belong. It’s lucky that you have your boyfriend. And since he has disappeared on you, Sam and Eileen. Although she is doing a much better job than you at fitting in.
“She’s going to make me look bad,” you tell Sam while you both watch Eileen animatedly tell Uncle Bobby something that makes him howl. Even his stoic expressions are hidden behind his beard but Eileen is a stand-up comedian, apparently
“That’s not hard is it?” He teases.
“That might hurt if you hadn’t picked me to bring last year, to protect her from all this.” You use the neck of your bottle to draw a circle in the air around the whole motley crew of his family.
Before you register his movement he has an arm around your shoulders, you’re expecting a headlock so you’re pleasantly surprised when he pulls you into a side hug. “That’s the first time you’ve joked about it since… since last year. I’m glad. Everyone else is over it, you’re the only one hanging on Y/N/N.”
You don’t want to choke up in the middle of their backyard but sometimes Sam’s big brother moments hit you like that. “I never said I was very good at letting things go.”
He huffs. “You’re too tough sometimes. That’s why I picked you to help me.” He sucks in a slow breath, “you have to get out of your head... and maybe stop being so annoying.”
You shove him back so he can’t lean on you but now you’re out of his hold he’s looking down at you with those damn puppy dog eyes. He hasn’t asked for something which means he’s trying to use them to make you feel better.
You hadn’t realized you’d needed to feel better, was your face sad enough to warrant a Sam pep talk
“I’m fine,” you wave away his concern. “Have you decided yet?”
“And there I was hoping you’d forget.”
“Is Eileen happy to let you forget?” You counter him with an expectant look.
“She wants to tell them but she’s happy to let me make the decision since it’s my family.” He says in a pointed, not pointed way.
You shake your head, “she’s going too easy on you. Good thing you have me to put you in line.”
“I thought I was the line?” It takes you a beat, you’re actually surprised he remembered you saying that to John.
“No, that was what I had to say when I was being paid to make you look good.”
His face turns somber, “I never paid you.”
“Tomayto, tomahto Sammy.” You finish the beer in your hand, “you know I’m not pushing you, right? If you don’t do it, there’s always Christmas, or send a save the date.”
He shoves at you this time and the air returns to its normal lightness. “I know. You only want me to put on my big boy pants.”
“I could care less about your pants. I want you to take the heat off me, obviously.” You hold up your bottle to him, “I’m out. You need another one?”
He chuckles, ducks his head, and looks at his fiance again. “Yeah, dutch courage might help.”
“Dare to dream.” You sympathize, patting him on his shoulder.
Sam might tell them today, he might not. You wouldn’t judge him either way. He knows you aren’t judging him. You’re nudging him, not so gently. You’re being for him what he is for you. A good friend. Sam has a tendency to drag his heels sometimes and his relationship with Eileen is one of the few things you’ve seen him jump into wholeheartedly. He is, after all, engaged in under a year. You’re beyond pleased because you’ve never seen him so happy, all you want is for Sam’s family to enjoy seeing that too. If you elbow him in the right direction it’s only because you know he’ll regret it down the road.
Besides, it’s not like Mary can scare Eileen away. She already said yes.
So, Dutch courage it is. You don’t condone drinking to excess in front of his parents but a few more beers wouldn’t hurt. They’d only loosen his lips.
The cooler is by the door to the kitchen, for easy refills whether that’s ice or beer. It’s out of the way. Most people stay close to the grill or their seat if they have managed to command one.
You assume your trip will be short and sweet. There’s no one else standing by the plastic box, which means no awkward cooler small talk to get trapped in. It’s half-empty but there are enough bottles that you won’t have to top it up even taking one for you and Sam. Then you stand up with a bottle in each hand, about to turn tail when at the edge of your peripheral you register Dean and Mary in the kitchen.
The window to the kitchen is wide and open and you should walk away. You almost walk away. Then Mary speaks and you can hear them so clearly that you have no choice. You duck down and sit precariously on top of the cooler.
“I know I’m not supposed to rush you but Dean, honey, I can’t stand it any longer. When are you going to announce it? I’m dying!”
Your interest is piqued. Unfortunately. It’s wrong, completely and utterly. Dean should be allowed his secrets whatever they are. Still, it’s not your fault that he chose to have this conversation, with his mother, in the kitchen. Where anyone could walk in or overhear them.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Although to be fair Dean doesn’t sound like a willing participant in this conversation, so maybe he doesn’t have a secret you have to worry about.
You don’t dare get up and peak through the glass since they sound quite close, but you hear Mary sigh.
“I heard her talking to Sam about it. How she wants to tell everyone and-and if it was up to her she’d have told us all already.”
The sound of the fridge opening and closing before he answers. “Still not following, Mom?”
“The proposal Dean. You asked her to marry you. She all but admitted it to me this morning and I’m so, so happy for you. I did think you’d talk to me first but… When am I getting my big announcement so we can celebrate?”
You suck in a breath and hope that it didn’t make a sound. If you can hear them it stands to reason they might hear you. Neither of them seems to. Or they’re distracted. Dean is silent for a too long beat, Mary is clearly confused, and she’s thrown you under the bus along with her, for good measure.
“You’ve got it all wrong. I don’t know what you think you heard…”
A pit forms in the bottom of your stomach at his tone, how against the idea he sounds. It’s fine, you try convincing yourself, he’s defending Sam’s secret.
“Don’t lie to me, Dean. I know you and your brother think I’m nuts but I want you both to be happy. That's all.”
There’s a part of you that knows you should stop this. Come to Dean's rescue and clarify. You could fix this in thirty seconds or less. That’s what you would do if you weren’t stuck like your feet are made of cement.
“You've gotta cool it with that, ok? Y/N is just a girl I’m dating, that’s it, and I don’t want her getting the wrong idea. You breathing down her neck won’t help anything.”
You have to remind yourself that you’d wanted to know his secret. But maybe you’d only wanted to know because you hoped, assumed, that he felt the same as you.
You’d never actually expected a proposal. Not for years. You’d have been happy with not getting one ever as long as you got Dean. He was your prize, not some ring. But his tone says you don’t have him in any way that you want, you’re just a girl he’s dating. Just a date. He didn’t even say girlfriend. He didn’t even say he likes you.
“Oh, well. I’m sorry. I must have had my wires crossed. I’ll leave it alone.” Mary sounds deflated and disappointed. About a tenth of the hurt you’re spiraling into.
She also sounds like her footsteps are getting closer.
You need to move this time. Because the only thing worse than hearing this conversation is one of them knowing you’d heard this conversation.
The beers get left on the decking next to the cooler you’re still balancing your weight on. You stay low, curled over, as you take long steps along the side of the house. Your immediate plan is to get out of the way while Mary re-enters the backyard but it’s a mere thirty seconds before Dean comes striding out after her. He looks around, maybe for you, maybe for anyone else, it doesn’t really seem like it matters.
You’ve been worrying if Dean loves you, if you would scare him off by telling him you do. You’d never considered that he’s not anywhere close to that. He might never be.
Your mistake had been to immediately take solace in his room. It’s so his. It smells like him, every single thing reminds you of him. It’s the inanimate object version of going to cry in his arms.
It only made everything so much worse.
Though Dean’s room doesn’t contain a small library like Sam’s, there’s still a desk and a padded desk chair. The desk is covered in random things; a picture of him and Sam while Sam graduates Stanford, some sunglasses and amongst other things a small model car. A model of the impala that you’d toyed with while you were sneaking in some emails last night. He’d told you his dad gave it to him as a kid because his obsession with the car had begun early. However currently the chair is not where it is supposed to be. It’s wedged under his door handle because neither brother has a lock on their door.
You’ve spread out since you’ve been here. Your laptop is in the only free spot on his desk, your case is open on the floor where you’ve been living from it for two days now. Not to mention your things everywhere, a mascara here, or a lipstick there. At home, you only manage to stay any semblance of tidy because everything has its place but this is Dean’s space. It’s not even his, it’s his teenage space, somewhere he outgrew but visits every once in a while. Not even he completely fits in here anymore.
The point is you clearly don’t belong. Not even an inch. Dean liked you but that was it. As painful as it is to admit that’s not enough anymore. You’ve outgrown dates and sex, well, you’ve outgrown only having those things. For the first time in your life, you want the next step and Dean doesn’t. That’s the risk you take when you care about someone, getting hurt is always a possibility.
The only problem is you promised yourself no more pretending. Last year was enough for a lifetime. So, you can’t skip back downstairs and pretend you hadn’t heard what you did. You can’t sit next to him and watch fireworks and not be heartbroken.
“Y/N? Sweetheart?” There’s a knock at the door that spooks the makeup you’d been collecting out of your hands. You don’t answer him instead, you scramble for the things you’ve dropped and scoop them up faster.
He twists the doorknob and you carry on your task because the chair will protect you.
Then the door starts moving. You expect to hear resistance after a second but the room is filled with the squeak of plastic wheels.
You’d forgotten that the damn chair is on wheels.
The makeup is dropped again, spilling out over the floor once more as you fall to your ass and slide across the carpet. You’d never managed anything close to a slide in baseball, never ever needed to learn one. Now you perfect it in all of two feet. Your feet plant either side of the chair and your hands wrap around the seat pushing it back until the door closes again. This was a mistake, the chair is only making it harder to push back, you should have moved it and shoved yourself against the door, it’s just too late for a redo.
“Hey, hey. Open the door.” It’s hard to tell if he’s angry, he mostly sounds urgent.
Your heart is pounding out of your chest, still, it’s impossible to find the words to answer him. You don’t want to say something you’ll regret, or can’t take back, even if you’re hurt. In your silence, he keeps pushing, literally and figuratively.
He twists the handle again but this time there’s a little weight on his side. The weight pushes against the chair and by extension you. It’s not his full weight, he’s bigger than you though so even his half weight is starting to force you backward. You scramble to gain some traction, planting your feet better, shoving some more. The carpet gives you some friction but not enough to help against the force of Dean Winchester. You keep moving.
After a minute things are about a hundred miles south of ridiculous. You love ridiculous, when you’re not trying to run away that is.
Dean is one foot in the room, thick fingers wrapped around the door and his head pushed in looking at you. There’s a confused knot in his forehead while he takes in exactly what he’s forced his way to look at.
You straddling the bottom part of his desk chair, shoved against the door, and looking up at him wildly.
“Really, sweetheart?” He asks with a mix of frustration in his eyes and a curl on his lips, “what the hell?”
That’s enough to snap you out of it and jump up from the floor. Your hands smooth over the wrinkles in your jeans as if nothing happened. “Hi, Dean. Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
You may be hurting, sure, but if your parents taught you anything it’s how to cover any emotion with pragmatic denial.
He steps all the way into the room now without you in the way. “Someone else? Comin’ into my room, looking for you?”
“Could have been anyone,” you shrug. Careful to keep your voice steady and neutral while you go back to collecting your twice dropped makeup from the floor. “Wouldn’t want any of your cousins to wander in here.”
“Right. Because they’re leaving the yard while there’s food on the grill, come on it’s like-”
“I heard what you said to your Mom.” The last thing you wanted to say makes it to the tip of your tongue anyway, as you dispense the collected make up into your case like a dump truck.
He parts those lips of his, which means he’s worried about something and then he smiles. He smiles at you while you’re doing everything not to cry.
There’s a quiver in your voice despite yourself, “it’s fine I get it. I wish you’d told me yourself but I can’t do anything about that. And I know I shouldn’t have been listening in and I’m sorry. Can you give me a few minutes to get sorted please?”
Dean cocks his head, takes a step closer to you, and then stops when you grimace, “what?”
“You said you-that we-I’m not expecting anything but I thought I was more than ‘just another girl’ you’re dating.” You shake your head, trying to stop those tears now you’ve said it out loud. Feeling your vision blur and wobble anyway. “Like I said it’s fine. I’m getting out of here though. I found a flight home, there’s no point in you driving me home eleven hours when it’s four to St Louis.”
Not to mention the fact that you couldn’t stand to sit in the car with him that long while you’re feeling like this.
“Woah, Woah, Woah baby.” He doesn’t pause this time. He doesn’t care about your frown as he approaches you, he’s more concerned about fixing whatever you have gotten in your head. He’s on you in an instant. One warm hand on your shoulders and one at your chin, lifting your face to his and taking in all your sadness. You hate that he’s making you stare into his eyes like this. Those green, soulful eyes had been one of the first things you noticed on his beautiful dumb face and now this feels like a goodbye. Of course, it's not a goodbye. He’s trying to tell you just by looking at you that you’re a goddamn idiot. “Have you met my mom? Remember when she asked if you were pregnant when you’d been dating Sam like a month?”
“Fake dating. Why does everyone forget I was fake dating him?”
He chuckles, “‘course. Faking. Well, you heard her, right? She thinks we’re the ones getting hitched. Imagine if I’d thrown fuel on the fire and told her that you’re my girl, I love you and that you’re it for me.”
There’s a big, huge lump in your throat stopping you breathing. Too gigantic to swallow down. Tears still want to rain over your face, again, but you refuse to be the girl that cries because her boyfriend, who she loves, finally told her what she’s been waiting to hear.
Wait, you need to say something back.
“I love you too.”
His smile is slow and lazy but it’s perfectly timed with how gently his body leans in to kiss you. His shoulders drop while you’re sighing into his mouth like every romantic comedy heroine. His hands still on your shoulders relax their hold a little and you realize, he might have been doubting how you felt too.
“That’s good to know.” He breathes. “But see if I’d have told my mom all that, with the whole family here, she’d have us shotgun married before I got the chance to actually ask you.”
Your eyes widen, “no. You’re not?”
“Nah, planning on knocking those socks off when I do. Fair warning though, that’s coming.”
A strangled laugh comes out of you because you are, and have always been, the stupidest person alive. Dean loves you. He loves you and you love him. And why have you waited so long to say it?
“Move in with me?” It seems like the next best thing to every sweet thing he just said. It’s not enough but for once you’re happy to be second best in a conversation. You’ve been thinking about it long enough, hating the distance and the weekends you’ve spent apart. It’s so obvious that you should have worked it out months ago.
“What?” He gives you the pleasure of seeing his goofy confused face while your finger traces the curve of his bottom lip. In case you ever forget.
“Move in with me. Move to Chicago to be with me. Benny can manage in St. Louis and you can open a second location... or be chief of police or a fireman or just eat deep dish all the day long, whatever you want. Be with me in Chicago? Everyday? Sam’s there too. How can you be his best man from three hundred miles away?”
Another kiss and a bigger grin that comes from his chest, not even you expected it to be this easy. Which is more of that stupidity because with Dean it’s always easy. You can only imagine how rosy your cheeks are as he answers, “you had me at pizza.”
You get to the foot of the stairs when Sam pops out of the living room. You’ve schooled your beaming grin into something more subdued because you don’t want to draw focus but Sam’s probably still just waiting for his beer. He tilts his head down and asks, “you good?”
Before you can tell him that you have never been better, Dean saunters down the steps behind you without any concern for drawing attention. “Sammy, how many times have I told you, you can’t have her back. She’s mine now.”
Sam purses his lips at his brother, which is still funny to you, and you press a hand to his chest to distract him from their brother games. “We’re all good Sam, I’ll fill you in later. The important thing is are you ready to go? Weekend is nearly over.”
He smiles at you, “couldn’t do it without my legal eagle.”
Finally, he gets it. “Legal eagles for life, Sam.”
“You two are a pair of dorks.” Dean slumps an arm over both of your shoulders, “I can’t believe I love a dork even dorkier than my dork brother.”
If Sam notices any difference or the massive L-word Dean dropped, he keeps his reaction in check. Besides he’s engrossed in something else, he kind of has something huge to announce to his whole family right now. Something you’ve been dying to witness since he told you.
You turn in Dean’s arm to threaten him, “he can still drop you and make me best man, you know that, right?”
Dean feigns anger, “he would never.”
“Keep talking pretty boy and see how fast I’m planning the bachelor party.”
“She thinks I’m pretty.” Dean turns his head to smile at Sam and involve him in your sparring match, you know since best man is his decision, but Sam is now bitch facing the pair of you.
He doesn’t say anything, just swings an arm out towards the kitchen and beyond that the backyard. An annoyed invitation to join him and his fiance for the big moment you’ve all been waiting for.
“Yeah, yeah. Come on De. Let’s go let Sammy-boo and Leney-bear be as disgusting as we are.”
You’re already in the kitchen when Sam shouts after you, “I told you not to call us that!”
“Eileen said she didn’t mind!”
Weirdly, the party in the backyard is exactly how you left it and yet you feel like everything changed, for the better, in the last twenty minutes.
Eileen sees all three of you step out of the house and senses that its time. Or Sam had already told her it was before he went looking for you. Either way, she walks over to Sam who magically ends up in the middle of the yard.
You can feel the excitement buzzing from Dean where he’s standing next to you, you bet he’s feeling that from you too.
“Hey everyone, I kind of have an announcement,” Sam calls out.
Most of them look around but nobody moves and he hasn’t captured everyone's attention in the way John does at the baseball game. For some reason that line from Highlander pops into your head, there can only be one. It’s a concerted effort not to snort at your own joke.
John is, however, one of the people that heard Sam so he hollers, “cut it out, Sammy’s got something to say.”
That’ll do it. The music shuts off and everyone gathers in a circle around Sam and Eileen. You notice then that Eileen’s ring has appeared back on her finger. You know she had it on a necklace until this announcement but the sleight of hand to make it happen is impressive.
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll keep this short and sweet because I know you’re all waiting on more food but while we had everyone here we thought we should tell you all.”
Somehow, you hear Mary’s heart stop from twenty feet away.
“As most of you know Eileen and I met just over a year ago,” a few people who haven't been briefed share looks since he’d been ‘dating’ you last year. “And well, I’ve never been happier or more in love with someone in my life. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted and a few weeks ago I got my act together and asked her to marry me.”
Eileen holds up her hand then, beaming, ‘and I said yes!”
They had to have rehearsed that on the flight.
Chaos ensues. Everyone claps and cheers and people try to move in to congratulate them. Above all of that Mary screams like she’s being murdered. She rushes forward letting every thought in her head fall out of her mouth, “But I thought Dean and Y/N… so you’re telling me it was you all along? Oh Sammy, sweetie, I am so, so happy for you. Oh god, I’m so proud of you.” She wraps her arms around him and crushes him. “And I’m so happy you’re going to be part of the family!” She lets go of her son to give Eileen the same bruising hug.
“Well done, son.” John claps Sam on the back with, you think, the faintest hint of proud tears in his eyes.
Dean wraps his arm around you then like he'd been unable to do it until everything with Sam was ok. You lean into his chest and whisper only loud enough for him, "he's going to be so excited about you being in the city with us."
"You think?"
"I know it. Granted not as excited as me."
He rests his chin on the top of your head, slotting you into him like a puzzle piece.
In the background, it goes on and on until everyone has said something to the happy couple. Even Bobby gets this choked noise caught in his throat. The whole display is actually very touching.
When they finish the mayhem John proposes a toast in which everyone raises their drinks. Then the drinking and eating continue, with much more vigor than before. The whole thing goes from a Fourth of July celebration to a party. The music is a little more upbeat, the hard liquor is brought out early and the hum of everyone feels excited.
Sam—who has been hugged, pinched and shoved playfully enough to last him till the end of days—wanders over to you and Dean with his fiance in tow. “Are you happy now?” He directs the question at you specifically.
You reach up to grab his face with both hands and jiggle his head while you baby-talk to him, “my little Sammy, I’m so proud of you.”
Dean and Eileen both laugh and it's one of those perfect moments you only expect to see in the movies. You realize then that with these three people around you could actually look forward to the Fourth of July with the Winchesters for years to come.
5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23
Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer
#dean x reader#supernatural fanfiction#spn x reader#dean winchester x reader#spn fanfiction#supernatural#spn#spn fanfic#supernatural fanfic#dean winchester#dean winchester x you#dean x you#dean x y/n#dean dean the soft lil bean#sam x eileen#timestamp#the wrong winchester#fluff#spn fluff#happy birthday america#you can have today and I get tomorrow#fluff without plot#basically this story is Mary Winchester obsessed with marrying off her sons
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the light in the piazza
pairing: bucky barnes x reader
warnings: love at first sight trope
summary: sergeant james barnes of the 107th meets a woman in while stationing in florence. inspired by the song the light in the piazza
I don’t see a miracle shining from the stars, I’m no good at statues and stories, I try. That’s not what I think about, that’s not what I see, I know what the sunlight can be ...
Wishing, wishing is a funny thing. When you wish for something you always think of the end goal of your wish, you never wonder how the universe will grant you your wish, in what conditions. It is not like you wish upon a star with a whole essay and plan of how your wish should be given, you just wish for it. Some wish for love, some wish for fame, for glory and riches, but no one wishes for something in a specific way that won’t guarantee the bittersweet hand of the universe.
James had been the most recent victim of wishing carelessly. In this case, James wanted to travel, wanted to leave Brooklyn and see those places that were somehow always plastered in the highly stylised adverts stuck of the walls of his dead beat neighbourhood. He left Brooklyn, he had travelled. He had seen England, Ireland, Scotland and most recently Italy. The consequence? War. Suddenly, all those dreams of becoming the man in the airplane drinking expensive champagne and travelling to European dream lands were misshaped into flying in army airplanes and going to camps where hope was something that had begun to disappear.
The Italian base camp was no different. The soldiers were tired, those with wives and families only mumbled their names at times, the single ones had began to get tired of the nurses and girls that would come to entertain and help the tropes and those who had someone waiting for them back home had started to believe it was time to say goodbye. Hope was running low, but not for the Howling Commandos. No. Their motto was ‘as long as there’s a bar and you get to sleep another night, there’s hope’, but James was starting to lose hope.
Today however was the day James lived by. Free day. They got to do whatever they pleased, whenever they pleased. James used this day to go sight-seeing, grab some postcards from his sister and try and rejoice in the twisted wish that had been granted. Florence was no different, he was walking around the piazza del duomo, looking at the view and how stunning it was. He stopped by a small shop, looking at the painted small postcards, offering the clerk some money and turning to face the middle of the piazza to return to the camp until he saw a small straw hat with a green ribbon wrapped around it fly aimlessly in the wind. James carelessly grabbed it from the mid air, wondering where the owner was. The owner of the hat wasn’t far as he saw a girl rush through the crowd dressed in a fancy outfit. He had seen something similar in the fashion magazines his sister would bring home. The new look, if he remembered. Hers was a shade of sunny yellow with green accents which matched the ribbon on her hat.
She stopped in front of him, a look of uneasiness yet relief on her face. He finally could get a good look at her, along with the fancy and expensive dress, she had white gloves on adorned by a pearl bracelet on her right wrist with matching white lower pumps. Her hair was pinned back, showing the pearls on her ears and the camera hanging from a tan piece of fabric.
- Penso che ... uhm, I, how do you say ... cosa di testa? - James Barnes was a hundred per cent that he completely butchered the Italian language. Head thing? What was he thinking?
- You’re American? - the woman asked, noticing the slight Brooklyn accent in the middle of what was the worse Italian pronunciation she’d ever heard in her whole life.
- Oh god, you speak English. I have your hat. - he was nervous. Why? He did not know. He did not know why he was tongue tied in both Italian and English in front of the most polished woman he’d ever seen. She couldn’t be older than him, he actually thought she was even younger considering the lack of an engagement ring on her finger.
- Thank you so much. - she gave him the sunniest smile, sunnier than the dress she was wearing. James handed her the hat which she held with both hands in front of her abdomen. - My mother would kill me if I lost another hat.
- God thing I was here then. - god James sounded like Steve. That’s it, his power did not work outside of Brooklyn.
- I’m Y/N, by the way. - she extended one of her gloved hands and James wondered if his hands were good enough to hold what looked like the most softest piece of fabric he’d seen.
- James Barnes. - he shook her hand, a bit hypnotised with her. She had to be the prettiest woman he’d ever seen and he had some many women before.
- Are you a soldier? - she noticed the mossy green suit he was wearing.
- Sergeant, actually. We’re stationing here for a few days.
- Me and my mum are visiting. My dad is here on a business affairs and we thought to come and say hi.
- That’s a nice camera you got there. - suddenly he realised he was staring to intensely at her chest where her camera was resting. God, was he spastic? She pulled the tan string over her head, holding the camera with the hand he had just shook. - I, me and my friend Steve have this jar we put quarters in every single day to try and buy one of those.
- Do you wanna take a picture? Maybe to send home?
- Really? - his eyes lit up like a child during Christmas. - No, I don’t want you to waste your film on me.
- Well, you did save my hat so the least I can do is give you a free picture.
- No, I don’t even know how use it.
- It’s easy. - she handed him the camera, standing by her side. - You look at this little window and find something you wanna take a picture off, spool the window and press the silver button.
- Are you sure it’s okay? - he asked, looking at the scenery through the small window of the camera. He slightly shifted the camera to face her, catching her staring at the church in front of them and clicked the silver button, she flash making her slightly turn her face to the ground. - That’s a heavy piece of machinery.
- Dad says it’s the future of fil ...
- Y/N! - a much older woman dressed in a more fitted burgundy dress with a matching burgundy hat rushing towards them. - I’ve told you several times not to run off, what if someone kidnapped you? Or worse, robbed you?
- Mum, this is Sergeant Barnes, he saved my hat. This is my mother, Margaret.
- Oh thank you so much. Unfortunately, we have an appointment, I’m sorry we have to ...
- What appointment? - Y/N interrupted, returning the camera to its resting place against her chest while placing her hat on top of her perfectly brushed and pushed hair.
- Let’s go, Y/N. - her mother turned on her back, walking straight ahead expecting her daughter to follow. Y/N gave him an apologetic look, knowing how her mother was when her plans got ruined and when she talked with someone she did not deem worth their time and attention.
- Wait, Y/N ... - James carefully grabbed her wrist, as not to alarm her mother who was walking with a might. - Where are you staying? I’d love to take you for dinner.
- I’m staying at the Grand Hotel. Go through the back. - she smiled at him before rushing to follow her mother wherever she was going, an ever so slight blush settling on the apples of her cheeks.
Night couldn’t come earlier, the hours that once seemed like seconds took years to pass by but night eventually came and he found himself standing at the back of the Grand Hotel. It was a huge contrast to the front of the hotel, mostly filled with employees smoking or making out with the daughters of their clients. Speaking of which, he saw her come through the back door wearing a dress in the same shape as the yellow one except in a floral pattern, with a pink ribbon wrapped around her waist.
- Y/N. - he raised his hand calling for her attention. - You look beautiful.
- Thank you. We have two hours until my mother wakes up and realises I’m gone.
- I only need a hour ... Oh god why did I say that?
- I have your picture by the way. - she opened her little bag, searching through it to hand him a black and white slightly sepia coloured photo. He smiled at it for a few seconds, realising he was now one of those army soldiers who had a picture of a lady in their pockets the whole time. - Where are we going?
- I have no idea. - he started to walk the beautifully lit streets that made him forget they were in the middle of a war period. - So, Y/N, where do you live?
- Well, right now we’re in London but next year we’re in New York. It always depends on where dad has business.
- Hey, I’m in Brooklyn, maybe you could come and visit me. My mum makes the perfect Sunday dinner and my sister can be less annoying than she normally is when there’s guests.
- I’ve never had a Sunday dinner.
- What? No way, doll. Do rich people not eat dinner? Is that why you’re all so very rich?
- No, we normally have a very late supper with some hors d'oeuvres and wines.
- Well, you don’t know what you’re missing.
- I guess I’ll have to take you on that offer then.
- And you can meet Steve. He’s pretty scrawny but he has some fight left in him, probably would win the war if they allowed him.
PRESENT DAY (ENDGAME)
Bucky stood on the sidelines as he watched the funeral go through. He felt dirty, he shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be watching the funeral of the person he caused the most pain to. The worse however was Steve, he knew what he was about to do, he knew what he was about to go to. Sam was a great guy but Sam was not enough to make Bucky want to stay.
His hands went to his pocket, taking the worn out picture he had gotten from the museum, the picture of her. The picture had grown old, so had him and so had she, but he could still remember it like it was yesterday. No one could steal that memory, the memory of her kissing his cheek goodbye before she got back to hotel, the memory of the sun hitting his skin when he took that picture.
- It’s been 80 years, Buck. Wanna tell me about her? - Steve patted him on the shoulder. Bucky just smirked, turning his head slightly to stare at him.
- No, I don’t think I will. - he used the same sentence Steve normally used when speaking about Peggy which always drove him off the wall.
- You should come.
- I don’t think the James that she’s expecting is me anymore.
- If it doesn’t work, you can always return. What else do you have to lose?
He stepped with Steve onto what he thought looked like something out of a sci-fi movie, his eyes still on her picture as they stood in New York. He knew where she lived, she had wrote to him a few times during the war so he knew where to find her. Steve gave him a sympathetic smile, hugging his friend before they went their way. He wondered what she’d think or how he was going to explain the metal arm or the hair.
James found himself standing in front of her home, fist coming to knock on the door. A slight commotion could be heard outside the door as the slight sound of heels was heard from inside the house. He thought about leaving, this was a bad idea, no, this was a terrible idea. As he was about to leave, the door opened. He saw her standing there, a blue dress on, hair free from any tight hair dos.
- James? - she questioned, recognising that face anywhere.
- Hi. - he didn’t know exactly what to tell her or how to say hi after all those years. The person he saw in his dreams at night was standing in front of him.
- You know, it’s extremely rude to leave a lady waiting so long. - she leaned against her door.
- My apologies. - just like that he was that hopeless soldier in Florence.
- Y/N, who is it? - a man dressed in a dapper suit joined her by the door.
- Oh, daddy, this is Sergeant Barnes, the soldier I spoke about.
- Oh, the hat guy. Come in, we’re having brunch and there’s always space for another one.
He took her hand, walking into her home.
Sometimes the universe puts you through one hell of a ride, but it eventually grants you your wish.
#sebastian stan#bucky barnes#sebastian stan x reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes/reader#sebastian stan/reader#sebastian stan imagine#bucky barnes imagine#sebastian stan drabble#bucky barnes drabble#bucky barnes fanfic
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165 - Charlie
There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are written about on Wikipedia.
Welcome to Night Vale.
Charles Rainier grew up in Becket, Massachusetts, nestled in the rolling small hills of the Berkshires. The fiery fall leaves, pristine winter snowfall, lush spring flowers and sparkling summer lakes belied the average life of young Charles. He went to school, passed his classes, he spent time with friends seeing popular movies and playing popular games. His family ate food together and generally got along. When he wanted to be alone, he went to a small pond, hidden in the woods, to fish. He studied sociology at Amherst College and graduated in the top 50 percent of his class. Nothing about his unremarkable upbringing indicated he would one day be standing in the middle of a desert, behind a roadblock, holding a rifle and a flashlight, and searching for fugitives from his own asylum.
Last month, a dozen inmates of the Night Vale Asylum escaped during a production of a play. As an attendee of that play, I would say that while the escape was clearly not part of the original draft of the script, it made for an exciting resolution. I mean, bout 30 minutes in Carlos and I were like, is there going to be a car chase or a shootout or something, I mean that play was bo-o-o-orring! And then suddenly, there was both!
But the warden, Charles Rainier from Becket, Massachusetts, did not like the last minute edits to the plot, as he and the Sheriff’s Secret Police have yet to round up any of the inmates now on the run, somewhere in our vast desert.
Night Vale citizens have expressed deep concerns about their safety. A scathing op-ed in yesterday’s Daily Journal by Leann Hart read: “Warden Rainier should never have been in charge of such an important institution. His unchecked irresponsibility will lead us all to be killed by psychopaths, who surely hide now inside our basements, our attics, our laundry hampers, perhaps inside our own pants pockets.” The editorial continued: “They wield knives, ropes, wrenches, candlesticks, or pipes. And when we least expect it, these crazed killers will leap out at us, screaming bout eating our faces or feeding us to rodents. Or whatever other evil actions those two very funny women are always describing on “My Favorite Murrderrr”.
Charles Rainier called Hart’s claims “neurotypical ableism”, saying that we become too biased from movies and TV shows that play up harmful tropes about mental illnesses. He added that none of the peoples inside were of immediate anger to any individual in Night Vale. The Night Vale chapter of the ACLU then responded, calling for in investigation into a public facility that would imprison people who had committed no criminal acts and were of no harm to society.
Charles Rainier replied: “I said they wouldn’t hurt any individual. I didn’t say they were of no harm to society.”
But who were the people in the asylum? Carlos and I attended the production of the play “18713/NTSB”, partially to have a nice date night, just the two of us. But also because I was curious if I would see Amelia Anna Alfaro there. The air traffic controller has not been seen since 2012, after hearing voices from the missing flight, Delta 18713. There were rumors she was checked into the asylum. Other rumors, that she had gone off to find the missing plane, and other other rumors, that she was disappeared by a Vague yet Menacing Government Agency.
Amelia was not inside the asylum the night of the breakout. But Doug Biondi was there. He played the pilot of the missing plane in the play we saw. Doug was the impetus for this entire story, really, because it was Doug who, according to Sheriff Sam, had real information about the missing plane.
Members of the National Transportation and Safety Board had also come to Night Vale to talk to Doug about what he knew, and Sheriff Sam obliged by sending those agents from Washington DC on an undercover investigation into the asylum.
Yet, like Doug and the dozens of other inmates in that fearful place, they did not return.
According to to Doug Biondi’s journal, which Carlos and I found inside the asylum after the play, warden Charles Rainier developed a paradoxical logic for dealing with these inmates. He encouraged them to talk openly bout their feelings under the guise of healing them, but the more they expressed their thoughts and emotions, the more the warden used this information as proof of their insanity, and by extension, ineligibility for release. But as Doug elaborates, if inmates refused to talk, they were deemed uncooperative and of course, ineligible for release.
Reading further into Doug’s journal, I realized it’s just like that novel, “Catch-22”, in that there’s a bunch of talk about airplanes.
What stood out most to me, though, was the fact that every other inmate Doug mentions also talked about the missing Delta flight. Every single person in there either heard voices of the passengers, or had theories about what happened or were, in the case of NTSB agents, just open to find survivors of a missing plane.
Doug railed against the collusion between the warden and the sheriff to imprison people simply because they knew something, anything, about flight 18713. “This is the last thing,” Doug wrote the day he escaped. “This nefarious conspiracy runs deep. Deeper than we can imagine. There are innocent people on a missing plane, and our government wants to destroy us for seeking the truth. Oh well. In other news, they fixed the TV in the rec room so I’m hoping to finally watch ‘Cheer’ on Netflix. Everyone says it’s super good.”
Doug makes a compelling claim here, but he is wrong. About the conspiracy thing, not about “Cheer”, that show is super good.
So. Back in 2015, my devoted husband and devoted scientist Carlos, was heading a research project into a desert otherworld, a place very similar to our own. We spent almost a year apart while Carlos was in this alternate dimension performing experiments and drawing charts and pouring bubbling liquids back and forth between flasks. It was hard. We had only been dating a year when he left, but we kept in touch talking almost every day, sending each other text messages at night, like a kissy face emoji with a big red heart emoji. Or sometimes we sent racier messages, like [naughty voice] the safety goggles emoji with the police siren emoji and the first place ribbon emoji. Oh, sorry if that’s a little too graphic.
Anyway. Carlos made friends during his many months out of town, and so when he finally decided to return to Night Vale, some of those he met followed him. They came through a portal Carlos discovered in the Desert Otherworld: a one-sided door. It was difficult to find in a never-ending sandscape, but it is still there. And as Carlos said, once you know the way, you never forget it.
One of the people who came with Carlos through the portal in 2015 was Charles Rainier of Becket, Massachusetts. It was not easy for most of these new arrivals to find comfort or employment in Night Vale, but in just a few months, Charles had become friends with our new Sheriff and secured himself a job at the Night Vale Asylum.
Few people looked deeply at the asylum, nor at Charles Rainier’s quick appointment as warden. Few people, in fact, looked closely at anything to do with mental disorders. It it almost as if we prefer not to see the mental illness at all. It is almost exactly like that. Well below the radar of public attention, Charles settled into his new position. And because there are no accounts of what went on in the asylum, and thus no stories of failure, it was inferred that he did a good job.
But Carlos discovered something this week. In reading Doug Biondi’s journal, Doug makes passing mention of warden Rainier cautioning his inmates against listening to the voice of the pilot. The warden warns them that the pilot can control other beings with his mind. It is odd that the head of a mental health institution would patronize his patients with their own inner demons. Carlos at first thought the warden was manipulating the mental stability of his charges to stir up their fear and confusion in order to keep them there. We don’t know if the warden profited from retaining inmates or if he just felt an evil thrill from playing these games. But in Doug’s notes, the warden apparently said: “It is possible to escape the allure of the pilot. The power of his voice. Some have, but it is rare. And it is dangerous that you can hear him at all.”
Carlos remembered when he first met Charles Rainier, five years ago in the Desert Otherworld. Charles was so enthralled with Carlos’ stories of Night Vale. Charles Rainier could not wait to see this fantastic town and more importantly, to leave the terrible place in which he lived. He told Carlos that he escaped some – frightening people there. Charles Rainier said he had live in a commune for a couple of years. It began OK, they foraged and hunted their food, they helped each other and shared shelter inside the fuselage of an old plane. Everything was fine. They were alive, but soon the group became cult-like and aggressive, fashioning weapons and manufacturing enemies. The constant threat of violence toward other, towards themselves, shackled Charles’s every move. But he could not leave. Every time he tried, he heard a voice that called him back. So he trained himself to block out the voices. It took him weeks of determined practice, but finally he broke free.
Carlos said to me: “Cecil, sweetie, my hypothesis is Charles Rainier was flying home from Detroit to Albany on June 15, 2012.”
And I said: “What are you saying, honey-pop?”
And Carlos said: “Babe, his plane blipped out of the sky and into the Desert Otherworld.”
And I said: “Are you saying, kitty-cake, that Charles ws a passenger on Delta 18713?”
But then Carlos aid: “You know, little piggy-pie, all this work talk is exhausting. Let’s have a glass of wine, sit out on the deck, and enjoy the nice weather.
[“Breathe” by Tanja Daub http://tanjadaub.bandcamp.com]
Listeners. I called Charlies Reinier, and I told him what Carlos and I talked about, and he confirmed what we discovered. He was indeed a passenger on 18713. They landed roughly but safely in the Desert Otherworld in June 2012. They ate their few food items and drank their water stores in two days. And soon they began spreading out to find civilization. But the desert was vast and seemingly uninhabited. They were too afraid to venture far from the plane, the only symbol of recognizable society. The pilot lead expeditions to find plant life and sources of water. He exuded calmness and clarity, and the passengers followed his example, occasionally finding peace in this unpleasant and frightening desert. Within a few months, they had developed a rhythm. They were finding food to eat, water to drink, the pilot seemed to know exactly where to hunt, exactly what to say, exactly how to behave.
Every passenger fell in line. They all had jobs to do, roles to fill, in this little commune. The fuselage kept them sheltered from the searing white days and the icy black nights. Sometimes they sang together, walked together, taught each other how to sew, how to cook, how to make tools. The passengers’ fear became comradery, which became unity, which became family. Which eventually became religiosity.
One day they were making salves from cacti, and the next they were crafting weapons. Charles hadn’t realized it at first, but every person on that plane could communicate telepathically. They could speak without talking – no, without learning. They were becoming a single organism separated into dozens of bodies. The loudest voice in their heads was the pilot. They had grown too complacent, and the pilot began to fill them once again with fear, fear of outsiders, of the rest of the world. They began to make barbaric expeditions hoping to find people or things to destroy.
“I tried to escape,” Charles said to me. “I tried to escape over and over, but the voice was too strong. It was only when I thought about a little fishing hole down near Stockbridge that I would go to in summers by myself, to get away, to be alone.”
Charles said he began to pantomime fishing, casting his imaginary lure on an imaginary line into and imaginary pond on hot desert sand. And when he did this, the voices quieted in his mind. He could free himself from the pilot’s voice, from the pilot’s control.
I asked Charles why he and Sheriff Sam were locking away people just for knowing about the plane.
He said: “Cecil, I locked up Doug Biondi before anyone else. He’s from that Otherworld, and he knows how to get back, and if he knows how to get back, he’ll join the 18713 and lead them into Night Vale.”
Charles said he was protecting our little town from the threat of the passengers of Delta flight 18713. “If the pilot enlists Doug and gets into Night Vale, he’ll recruit who he can and destroy the rest.”
“But why odes he communicate only through Doug? I-I mean why not Carlos or, or Dana Cardinal or Sheriff Sam themself? Why not recruit everyone who knows the way into Night Vale?”
“I don’t know, Cecil,” Charles snapped back. “But I don’t will into existence by yapping about it either, so drop it!”
Listeners, Doug Biondi is about six foot tall. With an unsettlingly… long smile and dark nightmarish eyes. If you see him, contact the Sheriff’s office immediately. If you do not see Doug Biondi, then close your windows, hold your family close, and repeat a mantra that will clear your head of all outside thoughts.
Stay tuned next for a meditative oummmm.
A single oummmmmm.
For one full hour, uninterrupted by breath and commercial free.
Good night,
Night Vale,
Good night.
23:07 time traveler
30:32 pottery class
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Interview with an Author Tag!
This game was originally posted by @goldenavenger02 and I was tagged (a, uh, a while ago, sorry about that 😅) by @mikauzoran. Thanks!
1. Your favorite fic that you’ve written (or just one you want to give a shout out to).
Oh wow, what to recommend? I’ll limit myself to just three since I’ve got 49 to choose from.
True Sight: Secrets of the Miraculous was my first fic and also my most ambitious one. The early chapters are rough but I get my feet under me after... three or four chapters, I want to say? And after that, I have my favorite Chloe redemption ever, plenty of character development and natural expanding of the core team (remember, I starting writing this when Rena Rouge was new).
Rekindle was my first fic to get any kind of real attention and honestly, its for good reason. Its an aged up Marichat fic with plenty of fluff, moments of angst, and a generally good time all around. Plus there is art of it! Which I embedded into it!
Four Times (and the Lucky One) is a short, focused story which is very cute - its about Adrien trying to ask Marinette out but having awful luck with it. Two things are notable with it. First, it launched a whole series of fics in the same timeline that have been a joy to write. And second, it was inspired by art from @ohsweetsweetie who I eventually became friends with way after I wrote it!
2. Your favorite fic title that you’ve come up with.
Running to Catch An Airplane Trope has my heart - it always makes me chuckle and honestly everything you need to know is said by the title alone!
3. How do you get inspiration to write?
In terms of actually making myself write, I’ve got playlists for characters, then there are MyNoise generators that help me get into the mood for writing.
When it comes to ideas, nothing gets the imagination going more than watching the show and seeing the characters interact! My imagination tends to go wild anyway, especially when I’m not doing anything but watching.
4. Your favorite genre/subgenre of fic to write.
Oh that’s easy - Fluff. Every single fic I’ve written either was primarily fluff or had plenty of fluff in it. And absolutely every fic had a happy ending. Be the force you want to see in the world, right?
5. Do you have other hobbies?
Well, besides writing fanfiction, I write a bunch of original stuff, including an entirely original world. Which I use sometimes for a D&D setting. Beyond that, I used to paint miniatures a lot but now that my friends are scattered all over, that sort of fell by the wayside.
Outside of creative pursuits, I play video games and watch youtubers like Game Grumps and Markiplier.
6. A fun fact about you that a lot of people may not know.
I’m caught between my abilities as a cat whisperer, where almost every cat I’ve ever encountered, excluding feral ones, will be my friend immediately and let me pick them up, or my degree in history/political science. Both of these facts are important to me 🤔
7. Pick one character to self project onto, go!
Adrien Agreste, naturally. I see a much younger me in him and I hope he has a better time of it than I did. 😫
8. Favorite genre of music.
Heavy mithril, folk rock... things like that. Although I listen to music of all kinds, so its hard to pick a particular genre
9. Your favorite singer/band.
I’d say its split pretty evenly between either Hozier or Sabaton 🤔
10. And finally, how has your experience in fandom been?
Pretty good, honestly. Well, in ML at least which is the only fandom I’ve been a active member of. Excluding salters its been an absolute dream - sharing ideas, meeting friends, writing and reading fics... and just being lost in the sauce of loving these characters. Its been a great time.
I think many of my writing friends have been tagged already so... I tag everyone who wants to do this! Go forth, be free!
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