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hockey-hoe-24-7 · 3 years

Text

Blue Lace, feat. Vince Dunn

Warnings: Smut, can’t really think of anything else

Length: 2.6k

This wasn’t a good idea. You thought it could have been. But it wasn’t. It had been 3 days ago but now...not so much. As you stared at yourself in the mirror, you went back and forth between the two voices in your head, aka your two roommates.

Omg, Y/N, he’ll love it. Andrew tore mine off me in 30 seconds.

I don’t know...Ben laughed when he saw me. I mean, he liked it but he laughed.

They were talking, of course, about surprising their SO’s with sexy lingerie. Sarah has a good experience with her boyfriend, but Lisa...not so much. Two completely different stories left you very conflicted as you stood in front of the mirror, staring at the brand new pair of blue lace lingerie you had on.

You had only been officially dating Vince for about two months, so you didn’t really know how he’d react. You known him for about five months before through the aforementioned roomies, who had a lot of players on different teams as friends.

When you had take Sarah and Lisa on as roommates, you had no idea what you were getting yourself into. It was a common occurrence to see hockey players, especially Blues players, lounging in your apartment on any given weeknight, or drinking your alcohol on a weekend.

You had always been too busy to really stop and join and for a while there you were the quiet roommate who worked all the time, paid most of the rent, and supplied the never ending stream of booze. It was convenient when you were trying to avoid a certain defenseman that you had a not so subtle crush on. You had been successful until the one weekend you had off, your roommates had been hosting yet another get together and they had cornered you in your room, all but dragging you out by your hair. Of course, your living room was filled to the brim with hockey players, a gorgeous defenseman in the middle of the chaos with a beer in his hand. When he saw you and gave you a cheeky smile, patting the spot next to you with his free hand. A pinch in the ass and a shove from Lisa had you tumbling on the couch next to him.

You two had fallen into easy conversation, the rest of the room melting away until it was just you two, heads bent together as you talked about anything and everything. Before you knew it, it was 3 AM and you were the only two left in the room. Based on what you knew about him, you thought for sure he was going to try to talk his way into your bed, but he left you with a knowing smile and a “good night.” You thought for sure that would be the last intimate interaction you had with him, but he was calling you late the next morning for breakfast. Breakfast had turned into lunch, lunch had turned into drinks, and drinks into dinner. He asked you on an official date that weekend and the rest was history.

Since your relationship was still relatively new, the two of you were having sex with frankly alarming frequency. You were still learning new things about each other, and you had gained enough confidence in yourself to try something new. Hence, standing in a pair of blue lingerie that cost you an arm and a leg. Your phone buzzed again.

“We need better lighting. Take a picture in the living room next to that one lamp.”

Rolling your eyes, you snatched up your phone and robe and made your way to living room. You were standing beneath the lamp, your phone set up against the wall for a full body shot when you heard the front door click open.

Shit.

You had been so excited about the lingerie you had forgotten to lock the door when you came home from the store.

Sarah was in Baltimore visiting family and Lisa was in Colorado for a business trip so....jesus christ someone was breaking in. Where the fuck was your robe?

Lunging across the couch, you grabbed your robe and flailed around desperately to put it on as the door swung open. You were going to have some dignity if you were beaten up and mugged.

“Babe?”

The male voice sent your heart to your throat, but it was followed by a crushing relief when you recognized it as Vince’s. Your boyfriend was standing in your doorway, his expression turning to one of shock and surprise when he got an eyeful of your outfit.

Your throat still thick with residual panic, you glared at him as you fumbled to tie the belt of your robe.

“Do you fucking knock?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, his mouth still slack. Grabbing a pillow from the couch, you hurled it at him. He dodged it with the easy grace of a professional athlete.

“What’re you wearing?”

“We’re not over the heart attack you nearly gave me.”

“It won’t happen again. What the fuck were you just wearing?”

You crossed your arms over your chest and gulped, trying to maintain your stern demeanor and keep your eyes away from the growing erection beneath his sweatpants.

“Don’t worry about it.”

His devilish cat-caught-the-canary smile made your legs go weak.

Not taking his eyes off of you, he closed the door behind him, turning the lock. “We both know that’s not happening, baby girl.”

You stood up straighter, but you both knew he had you. You were nothing in the face of any of of his seductions. Your nipples beading against the lace and arousal pooling between your legs, you decided not to fight it.

“I got you a gift.”

His eyebrows shot up as he began to round the couch. “What did I do to deserve a gifts?”

You shrugged, trying to act nonchalant as you backed away, keeping pace with him so he never got any closer to you. “You’ve played really well these past few weeks.”

He nodded. “Can’t argue with that.” Cocky bastard.

His eyes were hooded as he advanced on you. “Take off your robe.”

You shrugged again, your power in the situation going straight to your head. “Hmmmmm I’m not sure. You gave me quite a fright there. I don’t think you deserve your gift anymore.”

His eyebrows shot up a second time in surprise and he grinned as his cock twitched. You had never challenged him like that before.

“Y/N.” A warning.

“Hm?”

The two of you were still moving. “Do you like that robe?” He asked. “Yes, actually. Very much so,” you answered casually.

“Then I imagine you want it to remain in one piece, which it won’t if you make me tear it off you.”

You bit your lip and you could practically feel your eyes dilate with a flood of arousal. Both of you stilled, the air thick with sex and anticipation.

Suddenly, he was moving, lunging forward with an arm outstretched. You squealed and leapt out of his reach, taking off down the hallway toward your bedroom. You heard him thunder after you and he caught you in no time, swinging you up off your feet like you weighed nothing. He threw you down on your bed and you laughed giddily, making a half-hearted effort to get away. He shackled your ankle and dragged you back toward him, fisting your robe and pulling you onto your back. You put up a valiant effort to resist, but his weight and strength dwarfed yours. Manacling your wrists above your head, he straddled your hips, your breath leaving your chest on a deep exhale.

He leaned down and kissed you hard and deep. You groaned and tried to arch into him, every part of your desperate after the long separation you had just endured. After an eternal moment, he nipped your lip and pulled back, his mouth ghosting over yours. “May I?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. He thanked you with another quick kiss before pulling away, moving himself off of you and between your thighs, wrapping your legs around his hips. His hands steady and his cock hard against the inside of your thigh, he undid the belt of your robe with agonizing slowness. You made yourself lay there, even though every part of you wanted to beg to have him inside you again.

As he pushed your robe off, he groaned, his cock jerking against your leg as he slowly drank in the sight of you. “Jesus...fuck, baby.” You didn’t blame him for his reaction. All elaborate lace and straps that accentuated every feminine curve you had, you knew you looked good. But there was still a nagging feeling in the back of your head that had you asking: “Do you like it?”

His expression as he looked up at you was almost comical. “Do I like it? Christ, baby, I fucking love it.” His eyes flared with heat again. “Want me to show you how much I love it?” Catching your lip between your teeth you nodded.

You kept your legs tight around his hips as he leaned over you, bracing his arms on either side of your head. He took your mouth in another kiss, but this one was soft and slow, teasing. He knew how desperate you were for him, how easily he could make you do what he wanted. He could torture you any way he pleased and you would beg for it. Tightening your legs around him, you rolled your hips, smiling to yourself when you felt his hips involuntary jerk into you.

Pulling his mouth from yours, he kissed down your jaw to your throat. Craning your neck, you shoved your hands beneath his sweater, silently urging him for skin on skin. He complied, raising himself off of you just long enough to shed his sweatshirt before coming back to nip at your shoulder. As he moved lower, you ran your hands through his hair, scratching his scalp in that way you knew he liked so much. When he reached your breasts, he kissed along the scalloped edge of your lace bra, letting his tongue lick along your skin every so often. When he lapped gently at one beaded nipple you whimpered, tightening your grip in his hair.

“You like that, baby?” he purred, looking up to meet your eyes. You gulped and nodded, feeling no shame. You gasped as he pushed two fingers beneath your panties and inside of you. “Jesus, you’re wet. Did you miss me?”

You nodded quickly again and he grinned. He curled the two fingers inside of you and you cried out as he hit your g-spot. Pulling his fingers out of you just as quickly, he moved back to your breasts, sucking one lace covered nipple into his mouth. Crying out his name, you arched into him again, pressing his head down with urgent hands. Lapping at one nipple, he massaged the other with a callused hand. Pulling back for a brief moment, he dragged the lace cup of your bra down so his mouth was unobstructed.

“God, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice thick. “This lingerie is driving me fucking crazy.”

You let out a throat exhale of a laugh. “That was kind of the point.”

He laughed against your breast, a gravelly sound, before gently biting down on your nipple. Then he was moving again, kissing and nipping down your abdomen, his hands grazing over the intricate leather straps of the lingerie set. When he reached the delicate waistband of the lace panties, he took his time teasing you with light brushes of his lips everywhere but where you needed him.

“Vince...” He laughed breathily at the edge of desperation in your voice. He sunk his teeth into the mound right above your clit and you rolled your hips in silent reply, digging your nails into his bare shoulders in a silent plea for more.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured against the lace, dropping another quick kiss above your clit. “I know what you need.” With that, he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, ducked his head, and jerked your panties to the side, exposing you to him. He cursed again before pressing a long, open mouthed kiss to your seam, letting his tongue dip insigde of you. His name was a sharp cry, you hands tunneling through his hair again. Your thighs clenched around his head but he easily pried them apart, anchoring you to the bed with a forearm across your hips. He ate you greedily, his hand moving across you hip to roughly massage your clit.

As you felt yourself reaching your high, you slapped a hand over your mouth, a habit you had gotten into a long time ago. His mouth still between your legs, Vince’s hand shot up and he roughly dragged your hand from your mouth just as your orgasm hit you. You came with another cry of his name, your back arching wildly off the bed as he lapped at you through your peak. You shuddered as you came down, your hips still rolling against his mouth.

You didn’t have to time to recover before he lunged up your body and took your mouth in a bruising kiss, your taste still lingering on his lips. You threw your arms around his shoulders and granted him the control you knew he wanted. “Not done yet, baby,” he growled against your mouth.

You gasped as he wrapped his arms around your waist and hauled you up, your chest colliding. Keeping you tight to him with an easy strength, he moved to sit at the edge of the bed, you straddling him. As you reached in between your bodies and fumbled with the drawstring of his sweatpants, he grabbed the delicate lace front of your bra and dragged them down, taking one nipple into his mouth. You had just managed to pull him out of his sweats when his hands came between your bodies, followed by a loud ripping sound that sent another shot of arousal through you. Pushing your body up, he guided himself inside of you, both of you groaning long and loud at the familiar sensation. His mouth on yours again, you both gave a tentative roll of your hips, adjusting after being away from each other for so long. You gasped into his mouth, still sensitive from your first orgasm.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” he ordered, palming your hips with his hands. You did as you were told, bracing yourself against his shoulders as he picked up his pace, dragging your hips back and forth to meet the thrust of his own. You allowed him complete control as he settled on an urgent pace that brought you higher and higher. Whimpering, you buried your face in his throat, arms right around his shoulders. As his pace became sloppier, his thrusts deeper and longer, he reached in between your bodies again and grabbed your clit. You opened your mouth on a silent cry as you came for the second time. Vince was right there with you, his hips snapping up into yours, his face buried in your chest. As your bodies trembled through the aftermath, you laid a long kiss to the skin of his throat, his pulse strong against your touch. He made a contented sound, craning his head back lazily for you. Kissing your way up his jaw, you smiled against his mouth. “I missed you.”

That earned you a lazy smile. “I missed you too.” An arm around your shoulders had you leaning in for another long, sweet kiss.

“And I enjoyed my gift very much,” he continued, running his finger along the edge of one bra cup. You smiled. “Oh yeah?”

Another kiss. “Oh yeah. I think we need a new rule: I get this gift every time I come home.”

You snorted in response. “Keep playing well, mister. Then we’ll see.”

“Yes ma’am.”

#Vince Dunn #Vince Dunn smut #Vince Dunn imagine #nhl smut #nhl fic #nhl imagine #imagine #fic #smut #hockey-hoe-24-7 #mine #my work #lemon #hockey smut #hockey imagine #hockey fic

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psycheshorror · 3 years

Text

“Shut Up” Pt. 2

pairing: MCU!Brock Rumlow x reader

summary: Rule #1 of hookup culture: Don’t catch feelings. More plot than smut. Smut still included, of course.

authors note: Well this took me a hot minute but I wanted to continue our dear reader’s story. Reader and Brock have some self-work to do.

part one

The next morning you wake up to a relentless alarm on your phone and an empty bed.

Disappointment washed through your stomach and you tried to stifle it down with a sip of water, wincing when your hips adjusted against your body weight. If you felt sore now, you knew the bruises on your body would tell quite a story.

Flicking the alarm off on your phone, you squinted at the text message left by an unknown number two hours ago.

Meet later tonight?

You knew you were playing with fire the way the disappointment was instead replaced with utter joy at the fact that he wanted to see you again. You shouldn’t. Brock Rumlow wasn’t the kind of man that would treat you right; sure, in bed he gave you everything and more, but the absence of him left a chill in the sheets that was frankly, quite terrifying considering he had only spent the night once.

Brock Rumlow filled your body with molten lava and the next morning took it all away and replaced it with ash. And no doubt would he continue giving and taking more than you could handle.

Against your better judgement, you sent your response.

Yes.

The next three nights you spent with Rumlow, you could feel yourself breaking the one unspoken rule.

You were catching feelings, hard.

You couldn’t help it - the man was so damn beautiful. From the way he tossed his head back and whined when you were licking his cock to when he glared at you and growled when you dared to wiggle out of his grip mid-spank. He was intoxicating.

You found yourself with a black hole in your heart the morning after each “meeting”. He was a drug that came with a dangerous high and an even more lethal withdrawal.

This bed will never feel the same, you thought, fingers weaving through the spot where he should be.

Should be? you winced.

That wasn’t a good sign.

It wasn’t like Brock would ever start a discussion about feelings, considering the most you ever spoke to each other was during sex. His low, gravelly whispers of “Good girl,” as you came around his cock or the degrading name-calling that he knew you loved was as far as you two got.

It’s not like you would know how to bring it up even if he did stay the morning after. “Hey so uh, I know my vag and your dick have been well acquainted, but I was wondering if your brain would like to get to know my brain and go on a date?”

Yeah, no.

Taking the sheets off your bed and trying desperately not to huff the ghost of his scent, your phone pinged with a message. Brock’s name lit up your screen better than any Christmas lights on a tree could.

Won’t be around for a while. Mission overseas in progress.

You let out an breath of relief that you didn’t known you were holding. Space could be good. Maybe by the time he got back you’d come to your senses.

No need to ruin a good thing by asking for more.

Good luck. You typed out, hitting send and stuffing the sheets that smelled like him into the washing machine. The voice in the back of your head scolded you for replying, engaging. There was no need for that.

Clicking the “start” button, you stared into the machine, watching the dirty sheets spin through the water. As the rinse cycle began, you found yourself hoping that the memory of Rumlow’s eyes glittering with lust and praise would be washed away with it. Maybe with a little break, he could stop haunting you.

Your phone pinged again.

Don’t forget about me.

Your heart fluttered annoyingly.

Oh, fuck. This was gonna be harder than you thought.

🥀

Rumlow had never been a man that was easily distracted from a target, but during this mission, his mind couldn’t help but to wander.

Shallow breaths, the way your eyes bore holes in his when he made you orgasm, the curve of your satisfied smile afterwards.

Barely being able to register Rogers’ words in his ear as he shout out orders, Rumlow missed a shot at his target and it almost cost him his arm.

“Distracted?” Rogers grunts, knocking the gun out of the target’s grip with ease.

Rumlow finds himself knocking the target down onto his knees, securing his wrists tighter than necessary, growling at the man’s resistance.

“I’ve got some things on my mind,” he confirmed, twisting a sheepish smile on his face. Pulling the man to his feet and shoving him towards the rest of the S.T.R.I.K.E. team, he applauded himself for appearing friendly with the Captain, even with the pang of annoyance sitting heavy in his stomach. Any day now. He couldn’t risk raising any red flags.

Rogers let out a good-natured chuckle and patted his shoulder. He fought not to shrug the man’s hand off. Damn woman. He gets laid a few times and all of a sudden Rumlow feels like he’s in high school again.

“Hope it’s good things,” Rogers gave him a knowing smirk before catching up with the rest of the S.T.R.I.K.E. team.

Rumlow scoffed under his breath.

Good things don’t happen to people like him.

🥀

After two weeks of silence, you finally cracked and opened the mission file that Rumlow was assigned on. You couldn’t get over your pride to text him yourself - not wanting to come off needy, or demanding, so you did the totally-not-psycho thing and went behind his back.

It seemed like the file was taking years to download. Every second that passed, you found yourself wanting to close the window and just forget about it. You could get laid without his help. You weren’t the type to snoop around and wait for a man. Your finger twitched to click on the “exit window” tab but the file loaded before you could backpedal.

You frowned.

That was odd.

The mission file stated that he made his return 4 days ago - scrolling down, you found that his mission report was turned in 27 hours ago. Your colleague, Cal, must have been the one to process it during your day off.

You felt a familiar icy grip on your heart. Rejection. You could take a hint. Shit happens. It’s not like you two had an agreement. Or anything, for that matter. It was just good sex.

Closing the window, you tried your best to undo the furrow in your brow as Steve Rogers walked in with two steaming cups of coffee and a report tucked underneath his arm.

“Hey there, doll.” He smiled, lighting up the room. Setting your coffee down beside you, he handed you his mission report.

“Hi Steve,” you shyly glanced at the coffee, the scent hitting your senses and you couldn’t stop the smile spreading on your face.

“I’m sorry this report is so tardy,” he said, big hand rubbing the back of his head. You couldn’t help your eyes from wandering, first gazing at his golden locks that were the opposite of Brock’s dark tresses, and then Steve’s crystal blue eyes that presented a fondness that you weren’t sure Brock’s hazel ones could ever hold.

A pang of sadness struck your heart once again. Jesus, you were whipped.

“Is everything okay?” Steve asked, eyebrows knitting with concern.

“Oh - jeez, sorry Steve,” you laughed, realizing that you got so lost thinking about Rumlow that you had never replied.

“I’ve got some things on my mind.”

Steve had the strangest expression then - a flash of knowing - and he smiled with a certain kind of apologetic softness that you were confused by.

“I see,” he said. “I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy your coffee, doll.”

And with that, he turned and made his way out. You deflated. Steve never made a hasty exit with you - normally he’d stay and chat and you both would forget that he was Captain fucking America and instead just a good dude hanging out with a friend. What on earth have you done?

“I hope it’s only good things,” Steve said, before turning the knob on your door. He looked back then, giving you another apologetic, boyish smile, and then promptly walked out and closed the door behind him. Fuck. He knew something.

Oh lord. Bang the hot commander of the S.T.R.I.K.E. team, lose the golden boy. The universe could be cruel. Then again, what did you expect?

And now you weren’t even sure if you were actively banging the man. You sighed, feeling foolish. A few nights of mind-blowing sex has made you weak. Glancing at the coffee, you took a sip, knowing damn well you didn’t deserve it.

Undeserving or not, the coffee was delicious. Damn you, Steve.

It would be another week before you saw Rumlow again. You tried to find another man - even successfully nabbed one at the bar near your apartment, but the sex was as disappointing as you feared it would be. You craved the submissive state that Rumlow could so easily throttle you in. Staring at your empty bed, you couldn’t help but to think that you were right about one thing: it would never feel the same.

You huffed, throwing yourself on your bed. Time for the next best thing.

Reaching under your bed, you found the handle to a hidden drawer. Upon opening it, you were greeted with one of your favorite sex toys - a hot pink Rabbit vibrator.

Alright, you thought. Nobody better to get the job done than you.

Slipping your pants and shirt off, you shuffled the pillows and settled into a comfortable position. Clicking the “on” button, you couldn’t stifle the giddy smile on your face as your core stirred with excitement.

Rubbing the shaft of the toy against your clit gently, you sighed and threw your head back, imagining Rumlow’s thick fingers sliding up and against your slit instead.

Adding more pressure, your toes curled and you let out a mewl of pleasure, remembering what it was like for his stubble to tickle your pussy whenever he went down on you.

You hated how fast you got wet at just the memory of your midnight rendezvous with him, when the man you met last night could barely arouse you.

Clicking the next setting, the vibrations became more powerful. Any second now and you’d be able to slide the toy in and chase an orgasm.

You whimpered, sliding your panties to the side and gingerly lining the head of the toy to the opening of your cunt.

“Well what do we have here?”

You yelped, instantly dropping the toy. Your eyes could hardly believe what you were seeing.

There Rumlow was, in full tactical gear, arms crossed with blown pupils and that signature shit-eating grin.

You swallowed. Your pussy quivered.

“I saw that,” he said, slowly walking over to the bed. He leaned down, placing both hands beside your ankles. You fought the urge to cover up.

“Why don’t you continue for me, honey?”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Picking up the toy, you inserted it with ease and moaned lowly, shutting your eyes and throwing your head back again.

You could hear Brock purr and it made your toes curl into the mattress.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

Your head snapped back up slowly, shyly, and when your eyes met his you felt small.

Fragile. Horny as fuck.

“You’re so wet, honey,” he grabbed one of your ankles and yanked you closer to the edge of the bed. The same hand found it’s way to the back of your head, forcing your forehead to rest against his as his hazel eyes bore into yours. His other hand began pumping the toy slowly into your core.

You moaned and shifted, uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze.

“Were you thinking of me?”

You felt your heart tighten. Caught red-handed.

You nodded.

“Poor little slut,” he cooed. “Can’t get enough of my cock,” he then unzipped his pants and set his fully erect member loose. Turning the toy off and throwing it to a corner of the room, you jumped when it made a concerning clatter against the floor.

“I’m gonna make sure you don’t need shit like that no more,” Brock said in a low, gravelly voice that made your resolve melt. You shook the feeling of being ghosted off and finally spoke.

“Then do it,” you challenged. He smirked devilishly and thrust into you, not giving you any time to adjust.

With that slight twinge of pain paired with the heavenly feeling of being filled, you swore you could cum right then and there.

Rumlow’s pace was relentless, needy, desperate. He forced you to look into his eyes as he drilled into you, large rough hand gripping the back of your neck while the other held your hip in place to stop you from writhing. You found your hands cupping the sides of his face, trying to hold on, enjoying the tickle of his dark hair brushing across the tips of your fingers with every hard thrust.

You’ve never wanted to kiss someone more in your life.

In all these times you’ve had sex with Rumlow, not once did either of you initiate a kiss. Whether that be another unspoken rule to avoid feelings, or the more painful thought of he simply didn’t want to kiss you, you’d never know.

He must have caught your longing glance at his lips because he growled and suddenly his mouth was on yours, stifling your heavy moans. Teeth clashing, it was as messy and rough as the sex but exhilarating all the same. His tongue slid in your mouth and he tastes like fire and smoke.

Brock Rumlow was seeping into you and consuming everything you had while he fucked you. You gasped for breath when he broke the kiss, only to capture your mouth with his again as he thrusted in harder. Hips becoming sloppy, you could tell he was close.

A large hand slipped down in between your legs and a rough thumb began rubbing tight circles around your clit. You cried. It was too much - the kisses, the sound of skin slapping skin, his breath hitting your face and filling your nostrils with his scent.

All you could touch, smell, taste, hear - all of it was Rumlow.

The coil inside you snapped, hard, and you nearly screamed when Rumlow finished with you, cock throbbing hard inside of you as his hot seed filled your cunt. The warmth of his throbbing member and his hot cum made your body feel like a temple - the pleasure he granted you made it feel worshipped.

You struggled to catch your breath as Rumlow claimed your mouth again, this time with a rough bite to the bottom lip. You whimpered.

He pulled out and for the first time, he didn’t lay himself down next to you. He promptly got dressed.

Your crashing disappointment battling the euphoria of the sex was enough to distract you from the fact that he wasn’t dressed in his standard S.H.I.E.L.D. gear. Or, for that matter, the fact that he wasn’t scheduled to go out into the field for the next three days.

You watched him leave with faux acceptance and calmness and choked down the frustrated tears that threatened to spill out. Jesus.

You were so fucked.

Pulling the sheets and comforter over yourself and positioning your back to the door, you didn’t see Rumlow’s last glance. Longing, desperation and a dash of self-hatred made the perfect cocktail in his eyes.

Maybe good things did happen to Rumlow.

But that didn’t mean he deserved them. He turned the door knob and made his silent exit out.

The last thing you remember is a singular tear spilling out and frustration drilling a hole in your chest.

That night you dreamed of Rumlow staying, and softly kissing you while his large hands caressed every inch of your body. Nose bumping yours, there was that fondness that you had seen earlier in Steve’s eyes that was now in Rumlow’s, but it looked different.

It looked haunted. Sad, even.

The next morning when you rose from your dream, willing yourself to ignore the tear stains on your pillow, you made a pact with yourself to end things the next time he came around.

#frank grillo #rumlow #brock rumlow #brock rumlow / reader #brock rumlow fanfiction #brock rumlow x reader #brock rumlow imagine #fanfic #idiots fallin for each other #smut

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prettyricky187 · 4 years

Text

Sometimes You Don’t Feel Like A Winner

A/N: I was listening to Prom Queen by Catie Turner and it inspired this piece. I highly recommend listening to it while you read, at least for the first half.

Couple: Spencer X Fem!Reader

Category: Angst/Fluff

Content Warnings: Self deprecating thoughts

Word Count: 4K

MASTERLIST

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“Thank God we had Morgan there, otherwise we’d probably still be stuck in the elevator.” It was such an offhand comment from Penelope, said in a joking manner and alluding to earlier when her, Derek, and Spencer found themselves trapped in the elevator. Derek had to pry the doors open to get the emergency system to kick in.

Spencer knew she didn’t mean any offense by it, but he couldn’t stop replaying it in his head. He didn’t like how it implied that he wouldn’t have been able to get the job done. His thoughts spiraled down a rabbit hole, wondering about all the other times someone thought he wouldn’t be able to do something for one reason or another, but never said anything out loud.

He thought about the various comments from his team members over the years about his physical ineptitude. He was well aware of the fact that the only reason he was in the FBI was due to his brain, having to get waivers for all of the physical aspects of the academy. Even then he had heard the comments from fellow recruits. He always tried not to let them affect him, but he could only take so much.

He and Derek were paired up a lot, and it didn’t take much to see the glaring differences between the two of them. Whenever they walked into a room or to a crime scene, people noticed Derek, whereas no one ever noticed him. Derek was smooth, muscular, active, and very much a kick down the door first and ask questions later type of guy, whereas Spencer just…wasn’t. He could barely talk to a woman without feeling like he was going to throw up, he didn’t think his noodle arms counted as muscle, and he much preferred to stay behind at the station whenever it came time to arrest an unsub. He wasn’t even like Hotch, with his tailored suits, matching socks, designer accessories, and stoic face that could wither a concrete wall.

Did people want him to kick down doors? Wear matching socks? Get a Rolex? What did he have to do in order to stop the comments?

If being more like Hotch and Morgan was what he needed to do to be taken seriously, then he would do it.

The following morning Spencer grabbed the tailored ensemble that was a birthday gift from Rossi before hunting down a pair of matching socks. It wasn’t easy, and he felt weird putting them on, but he had to try. He pulled out his designer satchel and moved over his important papers.

“You look like I do when I have to switch purses for a night out.” His girlfriend’s voice sounded off behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see her leaning against the door frame with a light smile on her face. One look at him and she got an inquisitive look, almost as if she was profiling him.

“Is something wrong with your bag?”

“No, I just felt like a change.”

The noise she made gave away that she knew there was more to his actions, but she didn’t push it. “Do you think you’ll be home tonight?”

“I think so. Unless an urgent case comes up. I’ll let you know, okay?” She nodded as she watched him flit around the room in a manner that was very un-Spencer like.

“Alright. Have a good day.” He smiled at her words, the first glimpse of her true boyfriend of the day. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He gave her a kiss and was out the door, leaving behind a very confused (y/n).

--- “Woah there pretty boy. Your socks match today.” Morgan commented, coming up behind Spencer in the kitchenette. When he first walked into the bullpen, he had been surprised to see the matching plain black socks as Spencer bent down to grab a file from the bottom drawer.

“Yeah, what of it?” Logically Spencer knew Morgan didn’t mean anything about his comment, but Penelope’s words were still swirling around in his head, so his response was more hostile than he intended.

“I’m just not used to seeing it.” Morgan said slowly after a moment of silence, no doubt trying to profile the resident genius to figure out the cause of his attitude. “I thought you said it was bad luck?” He rose his eyebrows in questioning.

“I’m trying something new.”

While it was apparent there was something bothering Spencer, Morgan knew better than to press him. He’d talk to him when he was ready. “Alright.”

Everything that could have gone wrong went wrong and Spencer was over the whole day. He almost missed the morning train, he’d spilled coffee on his shirt, his shoelaces came undone and he almost faceplanted in the lobby. He realized around lunchtime that he’d forgotten his lunch at home, and when he was finally on his way home, he turned a corner right into a woman carrying a bag of groceries that ended up all over the sidewalk. Really, he just wanted to crawl under the covers and for the day to be over.

He heaved a huge sigh of relief once he was safely inside his dark apartment. Everything was familiar and comfortable; nothing could hurt him in his own sanctuary, except maybe his own thoughts. Taking a deep breath, he dropped his bag and made his way towards the kitchen for some food before going to bed.

Entering the bedroom and eyeing his sleeping girlfriend, Spencer felt a wave of insecure sadness flow through him so strong it almost knocked him over. She trusted him to protect her, and he knew he would fail if push came to shove. How could she possibly love him and want to be with him if he couldn’t even do the most basic thing for her?

Shaking his head sadly and trying not to cry, Spencer disrobed quietly and made his way to the bathroom in hopes that he could wash his terrible day down the drain.

After his shower, he stood naked in front of the mirror and analyzed the reflection staring back at him. Never before had he really taken the time to look at himself beyond a quick pass to make sure his hair was tame and his tie wasn’t crooked.

He didn’t like what he saw.

“Jesus.” He muttered, pinching at his skin in various places. His limbs were disproportionately long, his sunken eyes created the appearance of two permanent black eyes, and he didn’t have a tan nor much body hair. Based on his research, backed by conversations overheard from JJ and Emily, body hair was something women found manly and attractive. He felt beyond inadequate. Mostly though, he looked at his arms and stomach and noted that neither had copious amounts of muscle on them.

He was an FBI agent for crying out loud, he should have some muscles. He shouldn’t have to rely on someone else to help him kick a door down or get out of an elevator. Frankly, he had never felt more pathetic than in that moment. At best, he felt like a professor; at worst he felt like a string bean with a gun.

How was he to be trusted to protect his loved ones if he couldn’t even pass the FBI fitness test? Would he be able to protect his girlfriend if someone broke into their apartment? Would he always have to rely on someone else to keep him safe in the field? He was so absorbed in his self-deprecating thoughts that he didn’t notice the tired figure creeping up behind him.

“Are you okay?” The startled yelp he let out was high pitched and he found himself comparing it to a more manly sound Morgan or Hotch would have let out.

‘Great, I don’t even have manly scared sounds.’ He thought bitterly before locking his gaze on hers through the mirror.

“I had a bad day.”

“I guessed that.” She nodded rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

He felt bad waking her up, but he did feel better having her there. “How?” He really had tried to be quiet when he got home so he didn’t wake her up. “It could have to do with the fact that there are matching socks balled up next to the hamper.” The smile she gave him was playful, fully expecting a witty or snarky comeback. Instead, all she got was a sigh as his head dropped and his shoulders sagged.

She frowned and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face against the skin of his back; the feeling of safety and home filling her veins.

Spencer sighed again and grabbed onto her arms, anchoring himself to her and the moment.

“What’s going on?”

“Do you think I’m weak?”

Whatever she had been expecting him to say, that wasn’t it. Her frown returned and she instinctively tightened her grip on him as if to shield him from his negative thoughts. “What?”

He nodded, doubling down on his doubts. “Yeah, like…do you wish I had more muscles?” His eyes fell to his body, all his negative thoughts from before returning at once. “Do you think I’m too skinny?”

“No. Too skinny for what?” She questioned, but he only shrugged.

“When you look at me, do you think ‘federal agent?’ Am I too weak to be in the BAU?” He asked. She merely shook her head. He sighed, “Should I look more like Derek?”

In all their years of dating, (y/n) had never heard a more ludicrous statement come from his mouth. Much less while comparing himself to Derek Morgan. She stepped in front of him and hoisted herself on the counter so that she was eye level with him. Locking her legs behind his, she pulled him flush against her, sensing how much he needed physical and emotional reassurance.

“Spencer Reid, what on earth are you talking about?”

Spencer tried not to let his heart race at the thought of her being disappointed in him for any reason. He never wanted to disappoint her; he just wasn’t sure he was fully capable of protecting her. He didn’t like the idea of her being hurt in any way, especially knowing he could’ve prevented it – if only he was stronger or ran faster.

“Do you have things that you would change about me?”

(Y/n) drew her head back as if she’d been burned by his words. The thought of changing anything about him was simply absurd. “Absolutely not!” Her tone was adamant, and it was clear that she meant every single bit of it; she loved him for exactly who he was.

“What about my quirks? Do you think they’re weird?”

“What quirks?”

“I don’t wear matching socks.” He pointed out and she shrugged.

“So?”

“Do you wish that I did?”

“You tried it today and your day sucked.”

“You don’t have to remind me.”

“Clearly, you’re not meant to wear them, and matching socks are overrated. Embrace it.”

He merely pouted and shrugged. “But it’s weird.”

She knew she wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise at the moment, so she shifted topics. “Alright, what else?”

“What else what?”

“Whatever it is that has you feeling this way.”

Spencer was quiet as he pondered saying what was bothering him; he wanted to be completely honest for both her sake and his own.

“My hair.”

She raked her eyes over his wet hair hanging haphazardly and sticking up or out in some parts, clearly in disarray from his quick towel drying.

“What about it?”

“It’s always messy.”

“Probably doesn’t help that I love running my fingers through it. Even when you do comb it, I just make a mess of it again. I’ll gladly take partial responsibility for that.”

“What about the fact that I ramble.”

She shrugged as she absentmindedly stroked his hip. “I enjoy it.” She wasn’t just trying to make him feel better, she really did enjoy listening to him endlessly talk. She’d never admit it, but sometimes she purposely made him flustered just so he would start rambling like he does whenever he’s nervous.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” He frowned, but (y/n) shook her head.

“I’m saying it because it’s how I feel. When have I ever lied to you, even if it was only to spare your feelings?”

He immediately thought back to when they first began dating and he had gone on an excited rant about the new season of Doctor Who. He could tell she was trying to follow along and nodding like she knew what he was talking about, but she hadn’t understood. He remembered Derek telling him how girls sometimes lie to guys on a date so that they seem interesting. He asked her thoughts on the show and she told him that she’d honestly never seen an episode and had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but she was excited simply because he was excited.

“Never.”

“Alright then. So, believe me when I say that I do not mind your info-drops.”

“What about all the other things I should have accomplished by now, but haven’t?”

“Like what?”

“Having a family.”

“Is that something you want?” The topic of children had come up, but always in a ‘someday’ capacity. She didn’t even know he was actively thinking about starting a family.

“Derek has Savannah and Hank and Hotch has Jack. I mean, I have you, but we’re not married, nor do we have any kids so it’s like…are we a societal failure?”

“I’m going to pretend not to take offense to that.”

He squirmed as she lightly pinched at his outer thigh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it how it sounded.” He sighed sadly, not liking how his words weren’t coming out as he intended. “I just…”

“Not every couple has children or gets married, Spencer. Marriage or children doesn’t validate a relationship.”

“Did you know that humans 75 million years ago mostly lived in isolation and only came together to mate? In 2013, a study came out that said that monogamy only came to be so that men could protect their infants and lower the risk of infanticide from competing males.”

“Okay…” She wasn’t exactly sure where he was going with that information; she didn’t have an IQ of 187 so he needed to explain it for her.

“It means that the sole point of monogamy is children.” He exclaimed.

“Well, first of all we’re not giant pandas who only come out of some hiding to get it on with each other. Secondly, we are not living in the Flintstone era where a man kills another man’s child simply to procreate with the mother and ensure his lineage. And finally, the one I take the most issue with, couples do not need to have children to be valid. There are plenty of childless couples who are perfectly happy with just the two of them. If that’s what our situation turns out to be, then that’s what it is. We aren’t failures as people or as a couple.” She explained.

“You’d be a cute giant panda, though.” Spencer muttered after a moment.

(Y/n) laughed and nodded in agreement. “So, would you.”

“You know,” Spencer said suddenly, “I always thought I’d be in academia when I was a kid. I never pictured myself in the FBI.”

While the idea of Spencer as a teacher or researcher wasn’t preposterous, his words still surprised her. She wondered if he’d still be happy in that role.

“Really?”

“Do I really scream law enforcement material to you?” He rose an eyebrow as if to say ‘really’ and she held her hands up to concede.

“Well I’ve only ever known you in the BAU, which is part of the FBI, which is considered law enforcement. So, to me, yes.”

“I also thought I would have cured schizophrenia by now. Or at least been really close to a cure.” He said, “I feel like such a failure because I haven’t even gotten started on it.”

“Well, you’ve been busy saving the world in other ways.” She pointed out.

“What if it’s not enough?”

“Schizophrenia has been around for like…forever. It’s not solely your job to cure it; I don’t think anyone expects you to. It’s just you.”

“Actually, it’s only been around for 208 years. In 1809 both English physician John Haslam and French physician Phillippe Pinel wrote about English tea broker James Tilly Matthews. He is largely considered the first case of paranoid schizophrenia; except there wasn’t a term for it at the time. It wasn’t until the late 19th century that the term dementia praecox was used to describe someone who we now refer to as schizophrenic. There’s been some debate over who first used the term, some say Emil Kraepelin in 1896 while others say it was Arnold Pick in 1891. It wasn’t until Eugene Bleuler coined the term schizophrenia in 1908 because he believed that it wasn’t a dementia at all, but merely a separation of function between personality, thinking, memory, and perception.”

Maybe someone else would’ve been stunned or turned off by the correction and lengthy explanation, but (y/n) listened happily as he laid out the history of schizophrenia, all while looking at him like he hung the stars and the moon in the sky. She knew it was a touchy subject for him, between his mother, being scared of presenting signs when he turned 30, and genetics he might pass down to any children, so they didn’t talk much about it.

‘You realize you’re putting 200-”

“208.” Spencer quietly corrected and she smiled to herself.

God, she loved him.

“208 years of mental illness solely on your shoulders.” She finished. “You’re one man who can’t be expected to solve all the world’s problems. You have a genius brain, but you’re still human like the rest of us average folk. As much as it may pain you to hear, you can’t do everything.”

“I know that.” He protested, but sometimes she wasn’t so sure. She knew he forgot to take care of himself when he got too into his head, but she wouldn’t dwell on that at the moment. “I just, I wonder if I’m on the wrong track. You know?”

“I do. I think most people wonder that at various times in their life. Second guessing yourself is common, and while it can be worrying, it’s something we all can get through.”

“I never second guess myself. I’m always sure in what decisions I make.”

“Hate to break it to you bud, you’re currently doing exactly that, hence your tailspin.”

He cracked a small smile at her words, but ultimately sighed.

She noticed that he still looked off, like he had more that was bothering him. She knew it all wasn’t going to get solved with this bathroom talk, but she didn’t want him to go to sleep with these worries on his mind. “What else are you thinking about?”

Spencer shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, resigned to the fact that he was just going to feel shitty about things for a while. “It doesn’t matter. It’s stupid anyways.”

(Y/n) refused to accept that answer. “It’s not stupid. It matters to you, so I want to hear about it.” She said softly, playing with his fingers.

“How am I supposed to keep you safe if I can’t even kick down a door?” His voice sounded so soft and scared. She wanted to wrap a blanket around him and lay underneath; shielding him from the world.

“Who said I needed you to keep me safe?”

“It’s my job. That is literally in my job description, keep the public safe. You are part of that public.” He countered.

“How does being able to kick down a door correlate to keeping someone safe? Are you going to kick the intruder down?” The mental image was amusing to her, but she knew better than to laugh.

“Did you know that yesterday I was stuck in an elevator with Garcia and Derek?” He began, bringing her attention back to the subject at hand. “He had to pry the doors open enough to trigger the emergency system so that help could arrive. You know what she said after it was all said and done? ‘Thank God we had Morgan there, otherwise we’d probably still be stuck in the elevator.’ Like, I would have been completely useless had he not been there. It did not make me feel good at all.” He said. While things regarding his mood seemed to click into place for her, (y/n) had so many questions. Where were their cell phones? How was Derek even able to pry open the doors? Did they hit the emergency stop button?

All those things ran through her mind, but mostly she felt like she wanted to shake Penelope for her comment. She doubted there was any malicious intent behind it, and she knew Spencer knew that, too, but it clearly hurt his feelings and struck a sensitive nerve inside him.

“It’s alright though,” he said cutting her thoughts short, “it doesn’t really matter.”

“What doesn’t?”

“Being liked. Who says we have to be liked? Why should I care if people like me? It’s all overrated.” Maybe if he said the words out loud he might believe them, but even she didn’t look convinced.

“Except that it isn’t and really, we all care. It’s part of human nature, you of all people should know this.” She said eyeing him.

When he didn’t say anything, (y/n) decided she wasn’t going to let him spiral into his self-deprecating thoughts any longer.

“Alright Spencer, listen to me.” (Y/n) sat up straight so he could see how serious her next statement was going to be. “I love you with my entire heart. That being said, I don’t need a knight in shining armor to swoop in and save me. So, you didn’t go into education, you still can if you want to. But you don’t have to just because you thought you would as a kid. Who cares if Derek and Hotch have children and you don’t? You’re not Derek Morgan or Aaron Hotchner. You’ve had an entirely different life and set of circumstances than they have. They couldn’t do half the things you can, and that’s okay. Who cares if you don’t wear matching socks or that Hotch probably wears a tailored suit to work every day?”

“He does.” Spencer interrupted, but one look from (y/n) had him mumbling an apology.

“The whole point is, you all have your own strengths, weaknesses, and something unique that you bring to the table. Your strength just happens to be in your brain, not your body. It doesn’t matter that you can’t kick down a door because you know they always say to work smarter not harder. Let Derek do the hard work and you do the smart work. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

A beat of silence passed between them before Spencer smiled and let out a few hearty laughs. (Y/n) might’ve been put off by that at any other time, but she was just happy that he wasn’t frowning anymore.

“You are…not great at making me feel better. But you tried, and I love you for it.” His smile then was the first genuine one of the day.

Try as she might, motivational speeches were not her forte, but there was something endearing about how bad she was at it.

“You’re just being a grump right now, so no matter what I say is going to make you feel better. When it’s all said and done, at the end of the day I love you, Spencer, for exactly who you are. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you. Even the things you might want to change about yourself.”

Even when he didn’t feel like the shining star that she thought he was, she was there for him and would support and love him.

“Thank you. I appreciate knowing that I always have you in my corner.” He smiled down on her and gave her a pert kiss on the nose, making them both smile.

“You always will.” She agreed, mirroring his kiss. “Do you feel better?”

“I do. You’ll never be a motivational speaker, but you did make me feel better.” He nods with a laugh.

“I gave it a valiant effort. You want to go to bed?” She tilted her head in question. She knew her shortcomings and made no qualms about them. She knew Spencer loved her for who she was, just as she loved him for who he was. That was part of what made them so great together, at least in her mind.

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #Spencer Reid comfort #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid angst

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yikesharringrove · 4 years

Note

I’ve just always loved the idea of Billy and Steve being chilhood best friends since they were litte kids and then slowly as they get older they’d start to like each other. So, what about them having their first time with each other? Billy slowly fucking Steve while they’re both so new to all of it and in a way it’s very tender.

Steve met Billy at the park when he was six.

Billy was only five, was new to Hawkins with his dad and his brand new baby sister.

Steve liked his curly hair.

Billy liked Steve’s brown eyes.

They had been inseparable since.

Steve came over for lots of play dates when his parents were out of town and his nannies didn’t mind dropping him off at the little house on Cherry Road.

He and Billy would run around in the backyard, would jump in puddles and stomp through mud. They would help Mrs. Hargrove with dinner and clumsily set the table with chubby hands.

And then Steve’s nanny would whisk him away and Billy’s father would berate him for whatever he did wrong that day.

But the two boys were joined at the hip, spent as much time as possible together.

They knew one another inside and out.

Steve was the first person to tell Billy that he loved him.

Billy was the first person to tell Steve that he loved him.

And they shared everything. Their clothes were so intermingled that neither knew which t-shirt originally belonged to whom.

They told each other everything.

“Don’t you think that Stacey’s totally hot now?” They were fourteen, laying on their stomachs on Steve’s bed, talking through the first day of high school.

“I don’t know. Wasn’t really looking.” Because Billy only ever had eyes for Steve, had since he was five.

“She’s got boobs now.” And Steve had only come into his own. His braces had come off two summers ago, and he was beginning to fill out, probably had one last growth spurt left in him.

“I didn’t notice.” Billy was trying as hard as he could to keep off the baby weight he had finally shed this summer. He was going out for the high school basketball team, was heartbroken when Steve decided he was going to go for swimming, since he already swam for the Hawkins Comp. team.

“You never notice girls.” And Steve said it so nonchalant, like it was just a plain old fact. Billy supposes it is.

“I notice boys, though.” Billy’s voice was small.

He knew he could trust Steve, but his heart was still thundering as Steve flicked the page of last year’s yearbook. What if Steve turned? Called him disgusting like his dad does and told him to get out of his house.

“Yeah, me too.”

So they shared the same shameful secret.

It was only fitting.

“What do you think sex is like?” They were sixteen, sitting in the front seat of Steve’s brand-new BMW. The old Camaro Billy bought much too cheap and had been fixing for the past year and a half was so damn close to being finished.

Sometimes Billy got jealous. Steve had fucking everything. He didn’t have to buy a junked car and fix it up just so he can have some transportation. He doesn’t have to clip coupons with his step-mom just so they can afford some dish soap.

But Steve didn’t ask for any of this. It’s just what he was born into. And he shared it with Billy, no qualms about it.

“I mean, like jacking off. But better, I think.”

“I guess that would be pretty good.”

“I don’t know. I kinda just wanna get the first time over with. I feel like there’s too much pressure for it to be this magical thing you’ll fondly look back on for the rest of time.” Billy took a drag of his cigarette. Steve stole it from him as he was blowing the smoke out the window.

“I hope mine is.” Billy rolled his eyes. He knew Steve was a hopeless romantic, always had been. “I hope it’s with someone that I care about, and that cares about me, and even if we break up or something, I’ll always think about my first time and feel good.”

Billy took back the cigarette.

He had an idea. Didn’t know if he could broach it to Steve, didn’t know if Steve would take it well.

He had thought about fucking Steve plenty of times.

He had swiped enough gay skin mags from truck stops outside of town to know what to guys got up to together.

And he knew that Steve’s eyes were big, and his legs were long, and his heart was kind. And he knew that he was in love with Steve. He’s known that since he was a little boy.

He blew out the smoke, locking his jaw. Didn’t want to ask.

“Um, hear me out.” Steve wasn’t looking at him, focused on the windshield. “What if, what if we, um, did it.”

Steve was staring at his hands, fidgeting with the steering wheel.

“Wait, like, you and I have sex?” Steve shrugged.

“I mean, best of both worlds. Like, you can just kinda get it over with, and I can have something nice with someone, someone that cares about me.” He got quieter with every word.

“So you, you think we should fuck?”

“Just forget it. It was dumb.”

“I mean, I was thinking the same thing.” Steve’s head snapped to look at him, dark eyes searching his face.

“Really?” Billy shifted in his seat, trying to open his posture.

“It makes sense. Plus, I mean, I know I said I wanted to get it over with, but at least I’ll never regret it, you know? Plus like, I can make it real special for you. Candles, and Michael Bolton. All of it.” Steve had red patches on his cheeks, looking past Billy out the window. “What do you say?”

“Um, yeah.”

Steve didn’t know what gay sex was like.

He had pawed through a few of Billy’s nudie mags, had seen naked men enough to know that he wanted, had seen Billy naked enough to know that he really wanted.

He drove out the city, shoved a hat low over his brow as he walked into the store.

He bought a few different films, watched them that night with his hand on his cock.

He thought about fingering himself, getting used to the stretch of something inside him, but then he thought about Billy’s fingers, thought about how thick they are, thought about Billy stretching him open, and he blew his load.

Steve had told him he didn’t want to know what Billy was planning, and he especially didn’t want to know when he was planning it.

Billy had pulled out all the stops.

Well, as many stops he could pull out on a limited budget.

He bought lots of nice candles, and put a lot of ideas into music.

He picked a random Saturday, when he knew Steve was at swim practice to get everything set up.

He toyed around with taking him in Steve’s parents room, but didn’t want to give Steve any reason to be uncomfortable.

He had made a mix tape, songs that he knew would make Steve all sappy and gooey. He lit the candles, put lube and a few condoms on the nightstand.

He was a little jittery.

Steve had told him that he wanted to be the one taking, that he had come to really love the idea of Billy fucking him.

Which, Billy was fine with, had been hoping for.

He had whacked off that morning, figured he wouldn’t last long once he got inside Steve.

He was getting hard just at the idea.

He heard Steve’s car out front.

He sat on the end of the bed, didn’t want to pull some awful pose.

Steve’s eyes were wide when he opened the door, hair still wet from his post-practice shower.

He dropped his bag.

He was on Billy in a second, straddling his lap, sinking both hands into his hair.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Billy pushed forward, connecting their lips.

Steve sighed into him, melting into Billy.

Billy brought his hands up Steve’s frame, feeling up his back from his hips.

He laid back, Steve pulling Steve on top of him.

They made out for a little while, just taking it slow, easing each other into it.

And then Steve ground his hips down, and they both gasped, breaking their kiss to look at one another.

Billy rolled them over, Steve’s eyes were wide as Billy settled on top of him.

“You want this?”

“Yeah, I want this. Want you.”

Billy pressed his hands under Steve’s shirt, pulling it over his head, tossing it on the floor.

Steve scrambled to get Billy’s shirt off as well, feeling down his chest.

He squeezed at the bulge in Billy’s jeans.

“I wanna blow you.” Billy fucking moaned at Steve’s voice.

“Yeah, Baby. Go for it.” He rolled off him, sitting against the headboard.

Steve sat on his knees between Billy’s legs, undoing his belt slowly.

His hands were shaking a bit as he pulled the zipper down, reached inside and pulled out Billy’s cock.

He stared at it for a second, and then bent forward, sucking the head into his mouth.

He thought about what he saw the pornstars do, licking up the length of Billy’s dick.

Billy sighed above him as he took him into his mouth, pressing down as far as he could.

He buried his nose in the soft pubic hairs at the base of him, the head of Billy’s cock hitting the back of his throat.

“Holy shit, Stevie.” Steve pulled off, jerking his spit-slicked cock.

“What?” He sank back down, taking all of Billy, bobbing his head.

“Oh my, God.” Billy was stuttering. “I thought deepthroating was supposed to be-ah-hard.” Steve pulled off him again.

“I don’t really have a gag reflex.” Billy rolled his eyes.

“Jesus, ‘course you don’t.” Steve just shrugged, kept going.

Billy was gonna lose his shit.

Steve gave head like a goddamn pornstar, like he’d been doing it for years.

He set a sloppy pace, swiping his tongue along the underside of his cock.

“Stevie, Baby pull off.” Steve pulled off him with a frankly obscene slurping noise. “Don’t wanna cum yet.” Steve smiled coyly at him. “Yeah, yeah. You did a good job. Whatever.”

Steve laughed at him, started tugging Billy’s jeans down and off.

“I mean, didn’t really take you for a minute man, Bill.” Billy kicked off his jeans, slamming Steve back to the bed.

Steve yelped as he roughly pulled off his shorts.

“Let’s see how cock sure you get.” He reached for the lube, pouring some out onto his fingers.

He pressed Steve’s legs open, taking a look at his hole.

He pressed one finger against him, just rubbing small circles.

He pushed his finger inside.

Steve gasped sharply as Billy teased his finger, pressing in slowly.

“You ever finger yourself?”

“Thought about it, but, but wanted you.” Billy pumped his finger in and out.

Steve breathed deeply, relaxing into it.

“You okay?” He smiled lazily at Billy, nodding slowly. “What’s it feel like?”

“Honestly, doesn’t feel like much.”

“You think you can take another?”

“Yeah.” Billy pulled his finger out, began prodding at him with two.

Steve’s eyes went wide.

“Okay, yeah, now I’m feelin’ it.”

“Good?”

“It’s just, it’s a lot.”

“You want me to slow down?” He was still drilling his fingers in and out of Steve, and gave an experimental curl.

Steve arched off the bed, inhaling sharply. He went limp again, Billy watching with wide eyes.

“Whatever the fuck you did, do that shit again.” Billy barked a laugh, started curling his fingers, making Steve moaning loudly, and fucking writhe below him.

And then Steve went rigid, his thighs trembling, cumming all over himself.

He was breathing heavy as he opened his eyes, looking back at Billy.

“Who’s the minute man now?” Steve lazily slapped at him. “For real though, that was hot. Didn’t know you could cum like that.”

“Yeah, me neither, or I woulda stopped you.” Billy was suddenly aware he stil had two fingers in Steve.

“So you want me to stop, or?” Steve shook his head.

“I’ll be good in a minute or two. Just keep, you know.” He waved a hand at Billy’s arm, his face flushing. Billy smirked at him.

“Just keep what, Doll?” The more embarrassed Steve got, the more Billy wanted him to say it. “I don’t know what you want.” Steve whined.

“Keep, like, keep fingering me.” Steve wasn’t looking at him, his cheeks red.

Billy took out his fingers, pushing three in at once.

He rubbed up and down Steve’s chest, could feel him tensing against the intrusion.

“Breathe, Stevie.” He closed his eyes again, visibly relaxing.

Billy fucked him with his fingers, moved slowly in and out of him.

He spread his fingers, making room for himself.

He took his time, loved sitting here making Steve feel good.

He was starting to get hard again, bucking his hips to fuck himself on Billy’s fingers.

“I’m ready, Bill.”

Billy pulled his fingers out, lubing up his cock. He wanted to feel Steve, knew they were both clean anyway, didn’t wanna bother with a condom.

He scoot on his knees closer to Steve’s body, lining himself up.

“You ready?” Steve wrapped his arms around Billy’s neck, pulling him closer to him.

“Want you.”

So Billy pushed his way in.

It was like Heaven, sinking into Steve.

His body was so hot, tight and perfect around him. He slumped on top of Steve, lazily kissing his neck.

Steve was holding onto him, started tapping his shoulder.

“Move, Bill. Fuck me.”

He pulled his hips back, pushing back in slowly.

“Oh my God.” Steve felt like he was being split open, his mind short-circulating at the feeling of Billy on top of him, all around him, inside of him.

Billy lost himself in the slick slid of his cock, the perfect heat of Steve around him.

“Feel so fucking good.” Billy’s mouth was right against Steve’s ear.

Steve was completely hard again, his dick caught between their stomachs.

“God, Billy.” Billy pushed up on his elbows to look at Steve’s face, still moving slow.

Steve wrapped his leg’s around Billy’s waist, pulling him close. Billy picked up his pace a little bit, bucking his hips a little harder, a little faster.

He was toeing the edge, felt like he could cum for the past half hour.

“Love the way you feel.” Steve was babbling, his eyes hazy. “Love you.”

Billy bucked his hips, and came deep inside Steve.

He buried his face in Steve’s neck, embarrassed that Steve saying he loves him made him cum.

And then he thought about it more, realized Steve had just said he fucking loves him.

“Wait, hold on.” He pushed back up to look at Steve. “Did you, did you mean that?” Steve looked to his right, trying to avoid eye contact at all costs.

But his cheeks were red, and his bottom lip trembled just so, and Billy knew.

“I love you too, Stevie.” He reached down to tug on Steve’s cock, jerk him quickly.

Steve’s eyes went wide as Billy touched him, his hips bucking into his hand.

“Wanna watch you fall apart again. So pretty when you cum. Lemme see it.” Steve was panting, his body going tight.

His eyes screwed up as he came for a second time, his chest heaving.

Billy flopped next to him, pulling Steve into his side.

He brushed his fingers down Steve’s back.

“How you feelin’?” Steve hummed into his chest.

“Real good.”

“And um, about what you said-”

“Bill, just leave it. It’s fine.” His back was stiff, his shoulders rising to his ears.

“No, but I-”

“It’s fine.”

“I meant it when I said it back. Meant it the same way you meant it.” Steve looked up at him, his hair all wild.

“You serious?”

“As a heart attack.” Steve smiled, all big and so pretty, burying his face in Billy’s chest, let him pet through his hair.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Baby.”

#yikes writes #lemons #steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble

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mulderist · 3 years

Text

Wicked Game

Previous chapter || Read on A03 || tagging @today-in-fic

CHAPTER 9

Hegal Place

Alexandria, VA

My footfalls echoed down the hallway as I approached the front door. With a firm push it swung open and I descended the short brick staircase to the sidewalk. I surveyed the familiar rowhomes across the street; small front yards bordered by thin wrought iron fences. A small child was being led by the hand down the steps of one brownstone. I waited for the kid and her mother to walk up the block then I chose the opposite direction. An older model Packard chugged down the otherwise quiet street, coughing an exhaust smoke signal as it passed. That driver should probably see his mechanic sooner rather than later.

As I walked I felt my holster sticking into my right ribs, suppose that’s what I get for hastily slipping it on. It was enough of an annoyance to force me to focus on the task at hand; finding Alex Krycek. The steady afternoon breeze brought in clouds but not enough to predict rain. I still had a few hours before sunset and wished for a drier evening than my previous outing. I sighed and hoped Scully found herself a cab.

A dog bark caught my attention and I saw an excited yellow Labrador happily wagging a tail at an average looking man. As I moved to get a better view I saw the dog connected to a leash being held by a young woman. The average man gave the dog a gentle pat on the head and must have felt my stare because he straightened up and let the woman and her furry companion pass by. I knew it was him by the way he watched the woman walk away. Krycek slipped his hands into his pockets and stood firm on the spot. I ran through a dozen different scenarios of how I would approach him; close-quarters-combat, a strong right hook, or a simple shot to the leg. I honestly didn’t want to draw too much attention. The challenge was having a conversation without sounding like two territorial alleycats. Right as I finished my thought, Krycek took off around the corner.

I swore to myself and tightly gripped the butt of my gun as I followed in pursuit. A footrace was certainly not where I wanted this to go. My lungs burned while my feet pounded against the sidewalk, a stern reminder that I needed to resume my visits to the campus track. There was a flash of a jacket down what I assumed was an alleyway. I slowed my pace and found a proper hold on my gun. I pressed against the brick wall, careful to hide my position until the right moment. Like so many times before I took a deep inhale and with the exhale I glanced around the corner. I ducked back to avoid Krycek’s fist, then I charged forward pushing him farther into the alley. He stumbled and tried a quick jab to my stomach. I tightened up right as he made contact and in return I let my gun give him a kiss on the cheek. Krycek doubled over and spat on the ground. With both hands I grabbed him by the shirt I tossed him against the wall, the tip of my Browning wedged into his abdomen.

“You know as well as I do that a bullet to the gut is a slow way to go,” I said with my left arm braced across his chest, “So you better talk.”

“Well that’s a fine how-do-you-do,” Krycek grumbled with a crimson smile. I quickly frisked him, found his Walther and relieved him of it. I pressed my weapon back into his stomach then said,

“A little birdie told me you were at Washington General earlier today.”

“Is that so?” he mumbled.

“Cut the shit, Krycek,” I responded, applying more pressure to his chest, inching my forearm closer to his throat. He choked out a laugh,

“The redhead! Ah Mulder you sure can pick ‘em.”

“Leave her out of this!” My gun pressed harder into the soft surface of his abdomen. I saw him wince and I twisted my hand hoping I found a nerve,

“Damnit,” he hissed, “I only gave her some friendly advice.”

“Stay away from her,” I growled. He shook his head disapprovingly with a limited range of movement.

“Oh now I get it. You’re sweet on her, aren’t you --ah! -- jesus!” His assumption was cut short thanks in part to my weapon stabbing him in between the ribs. I cocked my gun and felt my jaw clench as he struggled.

“Red got herself involved when she worked on that autopsy,” Krycek sputtered.

I eased up a bit, put the hammer back down but still held my aim.

“What do you mean? Who was the stiff?” I asked, uncertain if I was going to get a truthful answer. He swallowed and licked his lips.

“A nobody by all accounts.”

“Then what’s the big deal?” I shrugged and felt like this was starting to become a waste of my time.

“The body wasn’t disposed of properly. He never should have ended up at the hospital morgue.”

Finally, some clarity. It’s as though the sea of confusion was at low tide, revealing an answer like shells on the shore. I witnessed it myself that night at the Navy Yard. They thought the cabbie would just float downriver and disappear. Now they wanted to cover their tracks as soon as that body washed up near the marina. Scully was just doing her job in the wrong place at the wrong time. Scully. I had to get back to the precinct.

“Are we done, Mulder?” Krycek asked, breaking my concentration. My attention snapped back as he was fixing his shirt.

“Not quite,” I said as I tentatively put my gun back in the holster, “I want to know one other thing; tell me your connection to Spender.”

“Spender?” Krycek’s voice was now hampered with a slur, “God, I am so tired of hearing that name.”

“Talk.”

“It’s like I told you before,” he gestured, “Spender was a hophead. Got a taste of the stuff when he was investigating Vincenti. Do you remember that tip I sold you about four months ago? Turns out your partner wanted to have a private meeting with Vincenti’s second in command. Detective Spender dealt himself right into the drug game on the government’s dime.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Because,” Krycek coughed out, “Carlo Lodi told me.”

My mind worked like playing cards being shuffled, each revelation waterfalled onto another until the deck was stacked.

“You told Lodi to put the hit on Spender,” I said pointedly.

“I’m a snitch,” he stated a little too simply for my taste. “Frankly I had had enough of being the information errand boy, so I sold him out. Your partner thought he could muscle in on Vincenti’s pushers and try to expand the trade routes, so to speak. The elder Spender got wise and to keep things kosher with Vincenti and his boys, he ordered a hit.”

“Wait a minute. Did you say Spender’s father?”

“Who do you think helps keep the peace?” he replied rhetorically. I thought for a moment and chided myself for not seeing far enough up the ladder.

“Whose side are you on, Krycek?”

“My own,” he curtly answered, “I don’t care if the mob kills the whole lot of you.”

“As long as you get box seats to the show,” I said. He chuckled and spit a trail of red once again onto the pavement. There wasn’t much more I could add. No more interrogation to give. I returned his Walther and left the alley.

------

After a less than ideal cab ride, I arrived at the precinct and bypassed the front desk, heading straight for the stairwell. As I descended the steps I tried to think of how I would untangle this web I found myself in. I never fully trusted Krycek, apparently Spender did. The new information was swirling in my head and I needed to pin down the facts before I approached Skinner. But first I needed to talk to Frohike and the boys.

The door to their department was ajar, sending a quick surge of adrenaline to my chest. I pushed the door open further and entered the lab, relieved when I saw Langley flipping through a thick-bound book.

“You guys should really put a lock on that door,” I began, “never know what’ll wander in here.”

He chuckled and quipped that instead I should have a bell around my neck so they’d know when I was coming. I asked if Scully had arrived and he directed me around the corner where I practically bowled over Frohike, who clutched a blanket to his chest. I raised an eyebrow.

“I uh -- this was for our guest,” Frohike said softly. I reached over and he relinquished it, then I gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder. Scully was curled into the threadbare sofa, she looked exhausted. It surprised me to see an actual piece of furniture in the lab, though I’m sure they needed something other than an army cot for those overnight cases. I unfolded the blanket and gently laid it over her sleeping frame. The sudden weight caused Scully to stir, eyelashes fluttered against the makeshift pillow of her hand. I crouched down and heard a hum escape her lips.

“Glad you made it,” she said with eyes still closed.

“True to my word,” I replied. She turned her head away from her hand and slowly blinked open her eyes.

“Did you find him?”

“I did. We had a friendly chat and a smoke.”

“What actually happened?” she asked, voice heavy with sleep.

“He took a swing at me and I shoved him into an alley; he won’t bother you again. As it turns out, my former informant has his finger in just about every dish on the crime buffet.” I tried to adjust the blanket which had slipped down her shoulder but her arm snaked out, fingers pressed tenderly against my forearm.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Rest for a little bit. I’ll be back,” I left her with a kiss on the forehead then went to round up the boys.

Langley passed by and I gestured for him and Frohike to join me, moving towards the exam tables on the opposite side of the lab. Byers suddenly emerged from the front door with a binder in hand and I waved him over as he muttered something about a body coming in for autopsy.

“Mulder you look like something’s on your mind,” Frohike said.

“Krycek was the one who confronted Scully at the hospital,” I relayed, “After twisting some truth out of him, he told me the body she did an autopsy on should never have been found. He can’t be trusted.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Langley, scratching at a blonde temple.

“I need to give a report to Skinner, he needs to know it was Krycek that put the hit out on Spender.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph it was all true,” Byers exclaimed as he folded his arms.

“We still need to find out who killed Lodi and his henchman,” I said, running a hand over my neck, “It had to come from whoever is at the top of the food chain.”

“Do you think Krycek could actually be pulling the strings? I mean he’s basically been lying to you from the start,” Frohike countered, pushing the bridge of his glasses back up his nose. I nearly laughed aloud but thought long and hard at the potential of Krycek being a crime boss. It would be a hell of a curve ball to try and take a swing at. Langley, Byers, and Frohike exchanged looks as I continued to ponder the question.

“No,” I said, “but I appreciate the creativity. He isn’t loyal to either the DCPD or Vincenti’s mafia family. The profile I’ve developed is that he’s a man who would just like to sit back and watch the city burn.”

The shrill sound of a telephone ring interrupted our conversation. It continued until Frohike broke away to answer it. I heard him agree with the party on the other line, then he shot a glance in my direction. He nodded then quickly hung up.

“The Captain must have a sixth sense or have a bug somewhere down here,” Frohike said as he walked back over.

“I certainly hope we’re not bugged,” Byers responded with a quick look up at the ceiling.

“He wants me upstairs?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Double time,” quipped Frohike. I rolled my shoulders and as I turned to leave I heard a new voice say,

“Leaving so soon.”

The boys seemed to scatter, save for Frohike who was glued to the spot when Scully stepped into the main area of the lab. Her stark white nurse uniform fit a little too perfectly amongst the shelves of science and macabre medical arts. She approached me and Frohike got the hint, trying to busy himself with tidying up the counter behind him.

“The boss is requesting my presence,” I told her, “And I’ve got a few things I’d like to say to him as well.”

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, a look of concern in her eyes, “I could give a statement about what happened.”

“Sorry Scully, this invite is for a party of one.”

“Are you coming back?”

“Planned on it, unless they burn me at the stake.”

“So dramatic,” she shook her head and reached for my hand with slender fingers. With a quick squeeze she added, “As much as you hate to hear this, I’m involved now. I don’t want to sit on the sidelines. Let me help where I can.”

I saw Byers timidly approach out of the corner of my eye.

“Excuse me Miss Scully,” he said with a kind wave, “there is a body due to arrive for an autopsy if you’d like to observe.”

“I’m sure we could use her assistance,” Frohike piped up, “that is, if she wouldn’t mind.”

I tried to think of a jab but she silenced me. She gave a pleasant smile in their direction then leaned a little closer, the faint scent of her perfume hit my senses.

“Go. Don’t want to keep the boss waiting.”

I got caught in her blue eyes, only able to manage a simple nod of agreement. My hand slipped from hers and I left the quiet of the forensic lab, bracing myself for the roar of the bullpen and Captain Skinner.

#i wrote this #historical au #xf fanfic #mulder pov #my fic #noir fiction #hey look an update #xfiles

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river-bottom-nightmare · 3 years

Text

Pepperony Valentine’s Day Fic Exchange

to the wonderful @pepperonyspizza ! i’m not used to writing high school aus, but i tried my best. i hope you enjoy!

It was the start of the school year, and Rhodey could honestly say this was the year he would help Tony blow the gym up.

“You’re the one in JROTC,” Tony waved his hand around, as if gesturing vaguely to the gymnasium proved his point. “You can’t complain.”

“I am complaining,” Rhodey said. “I am complaining so hard. They said just ‘cause I’ve been in JROTC for three years, I can’t be in tech lab this year. Something about ‘conflict of interest,’ whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

“They’re not letting you take it? Like, at all?”

“Nah,” Rhodey sighed. “They don’t have any control over what classes I take. But the instructor’s got a lot of pull, you know? And he could make my life difficult for the rest of my high school career.”

“If you don’t take tech lab with me,” Tony announced, rounding a curve and nearing their lockers, “I will throw a fit. I will turn the slushie machine in the cafeteria into a hose that will not stop. I will break into the principal’s office and play the Siberian national anthem over the intercom. I will-”

“I know,” Rhodey laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m taking the class.”

“Good,” Tony said, and Rhodey leaned against the lockers to watch Tony struggle with opening the locker. To make up for the trouble Rhodey was having, the universe had decided to give Tony a top locker, and Rhodey was enjoying this immensely.

“You need some help over there?” Rhodey asked, amused, watching as the kid genius propelled himself to his tip-toes with all the energy in his body. He still couldn’t see the locker numbers properly.

“If you’d just let me climb on your shoulders,” Tony said between labored breaths, “we wouldn’t be having this problem right now.”

“Oh no, that would take away my entertainment!”

“You’re the best, Rhodes. Quite literally the most helpful friend.”

“Glad to be of service.”

“Um...excuse me?”

Rhodey turned to see a girl standing near Tony’s locker. She was tall, looking almost shy when she tucked her strawberry blonde hair behind her ear, but there was a steel in her voice that Rhodey wasn’t used to hearing come out of the mouth of a high school kid.

“That’s my locker,” the girl said, pointing to the locker right underneath Tony’s.

“Yeah, well, I’m a little busy right now,” Tony said, tongue peeking out of his mouth. “I gotta get this open before class starts.”

“You’re not the only one with a class to get to,” she said.

“Well, I was here first.”

“Real mature,” she said, then dropped down to her knees and shoved Tony to the side. Ignoring Tony’s protested shout, she opened her locker smoothly, exchanging a couple books, then shut the door with a click, walking off without glancing back once.

After a minute of silence, Tony turned to Rhodey and said, “Did you see that? Did that just happen.”

“She had a point, y’know.”

“I know she had a point, but she shoved me to the side! I almost fell! Did you see me almost fall?”

“You didn’t, though, did you?” Rhodey said. “So it doesn’t matter.”

“Thanks for your support, Rhodey,” Tony’s tone was mocking. “I guess I’ll just have to go into battle alone?”

“Battle?”

“War.”

“War?”

“With the girl. She dishonoured me, and now I have to figure out how to open this goddamn locker so I can win my honour back over a period of time that consists of me opening this piece of junk with the best lock-opening skills since, uh, who’s that one famous locksmith?”

“There are famous locksmiths?”

Tony waved his hand. “Of course there are famous locksmiths. Otherwise the famous locks would be stuck every time they needed to be fixed.”

“Your logic astounds me.”

“This is war, Rhodey!”

---

It was midway through the school year, and Rhodey was certain that Tony was losing the war.

The girl, Pepper Potts, had proven herself a formidable component, and Tony-wrangling had turned into a much easier pastime with her around. Initially wanting nothing to do with them, Pepper soon learned the lesson that Rhodey had figured out years ago: you don’t catch the attention of Tony Stark and not end up becoming his friend. Or his enemy, but Rhodey wasn’t sure any sixteen year old should have an “enemy,” no matter what Tony said.

Now, along with their locker espionage and warfare, Rhodey got to witness the absolute delight of Tony staring at Pepper’s chest without a hint of shame, but blushing as red as the colour of their school mascot the minute Pepper smiled at him. Rhodey was seriously considering recording all of this for blackmail material.

He was leaning against the wall near Tony and Pepper’s locker, a place he honestly probably spent more time in than his room. “The bell rings in two minutes,” Rhodey said.

“Shit!” Pepper exclaimed, shoving Tony off her books, where he’d been balancing on one foot, attempting to open his locker blindfolded. “I’m going to be late.”

“Looks like someone’s admitting defeat then, right?” Tony crowed, throwing his arms up in victory.

“No, you moron,” Pepper slapped his arm lightly. “I’m not admitting defeat, but I’m about to mess up my perfect attendance record.”

She rushed through getting her belongings together while Tony rolled his eyes. “Right, I forgot you care about this stuff.”

“I do, Tony. I really do.”

“Well what do you want me to do about it?”

“Here’s a thought,” Rhodey spoke up from the corner, exasperation filling his tone. “How about the two of you, wait for it, switch lockers?”

The two of them looked as if they’d never considered the idea before.

Then, Tony said, “You’re a genius, Rhodeybear!”

“I know,” Rhodey said.

“I’ll give you my combo after school,” Pepper was walking backward, nearing the end of the hallway, “but if I don’t leave now I really will get a tardy. You two need to get to class.”

“I’ve got a free period,” Rhodey said.

“I’m making myself a free period,” Tony said.

---

“There’s no way she’ll say no!” Tony argued, and Rhodey sighed, putting his head in his hands.

“Tony, that is literally the worst line in the history of pickup lines.”

“You’re wrong, it’s beautiful.”

Sometimes, Rhodey really questioned the quality of his taste in best friends.

“If you’ve been reading the entire situation wrong,” Rhodey said, “Pepper will slap you.”

“Do you think I’ve been reading the situation wrong?”

Honestly? No. Rhodey was pretty sure organizing Tony’s locker for him and giving him a custom planner for his birthday was Pepper’s way of flirting. Tony had, unfortunately, picked up on it, and the last couple of weeks had been full of Tony raving to Rhodey about how incredible Pepper was.

Rhodey could give Tony an itemized list of reasons why Pepper was incredible, none of them including a freeverse poem about the way she looked when she nibbled on a pencil, but he had to admit, Pepper had been good for him. There had generally been less miniature controlled explosions this year, so now, in May, Rhodey was hoping Tony’s frankly awful plan to ask Pepper would be successful so she would stick around for the near future.

“Oh wait hold on, she’s coming,” Tony said, and sauntered up to the locker, aiming for cool as he always did and ending up about two feet too short (as he always did.) “Pep, I got something for ‘ya.”

“Oh really?” she raised her eyebrows.

Rhodey mentally prepared himself.

“Mhmm. I changed the combination to your locker.” Tony handed Pepper a slip of paper. “Here’s the new one.”

And here it comes, he thought.

“Tony,” Pepper said slowly. “This is your phone number.”

Tony raised his eyebrows, smirking. “Why yes. Yes it is. I’m giving you my phone number. Imagine that.”

Then, enunciating each word as if talking to a toddler, Pepper said, “Tony. I already have your phone number.”

Oh dear God, Rhodey wished he had been recording this. A tremendous oversight on his part, because he was struggling to keep it together.

Tony blinked as if processing, then apparently decided the bluntest approach was the best approach. “Pepper, I’m asking you out.”

Pepper squinted. “Like actually?”

“Yes, Virginia, I’m actually asking you out. That’s what giving people your number means.”

“If I already had your number, though, the action’s redundant.”

“That’s not the poi-Jesus. Pepper. Will you go out with me or not?”

“Yes, Tony. I’ll go out with you,” Pepper said, but before Tony could properly celebrate this moment of elation, she also said, “Now move. You’re in front of my locker.”

Oh yeah, Rhodey could tell Pepper would be staying around for a bit longer. Maybe even more than a bit. And looking at Tony’s surprised blink and offended expression, Rhodey couldn’t find it in himself to be the least bit disappointed.

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booksimp · 3 years

Text

Begin Again - Azriel - Part One

Synopsis: Azriel and Alora broke up six months ago. Alora still isn’t sure exactly why Azriel shut her out, and she can’t stand to be in the same room as him. With Nesta’s help, Alora has been avoiding Azriel at group events since the breakup. Inspired by “Into You” by Julia Michaels.

“So he’s gonna be there then?” I whisper into the phone, trying to keep my voice from breaking.

“Actually, the asshole’s already here. I’m sorry, Alora. He was supposed to be away for work until next week.”

Nesta’s voice is hushed, her irritation obvious. I sigh, my breath creating a cloud of ice in the air around me. I stop walking and turn on my heel, heading back the way I’d come. I had been walking to Feyre and Rhysand’s baby shower, gift for their little one in hand. But Azriel, my ex-fiancee, has decided to make an unscheduled appearance. I scowl to myself and shove the wrapped parcel into my coat pocket. Rhys and Feyre are some of my dearest friends, and I was really looking forward to being there today.

“It’s okay, Nesta. I’ll just give Feyre her gift later. Can you tell them I’m sorry, something just… came up?”.”

I sigh again, hating that I have to miss their big day and even worse, lie to them about it. Though I’m sure they see right through it, since Feyre knows every dirty detail about the breakup.

Nesta has been acting as my personal Azriel detector since he and I broke up six months ago. I’m beyond grateful for her help, but I know the responsibility of it is starting to wear on her patience.

“You know you’ll have to be in the same room as him eventually, right? You guys have a lot of friends in common.” Nesta says frankly. I flinch slightly, but I know better than to take her words personally. Nesta is nothing if not painfully forthright.

“I know. I just can’t be in the same room as him and Mor right now. I can’t see how he looks at her.” I pause to shudder, flashing back to the night I’d found them dancing at Rita’s, a mere six weeks after Azriel and I ended. She was all over him, and he was grinning like a fool. I hadn’t seen him smile like that for quite awhile. I suppose I should be happy he found his smile again, even if it wasn’t with me.

“I’ve been thinking of moving back home to San Diego.” I blurt, as if getting it out faster will make it easier. Nesta is one of my best friends, but she still scares the shit out of me. I know she’ll like the idea of me leaving about as much as a bull loves the color red.

For a few beats, Nesta is entirely silent. I chew my lip nervously, bouncing on the balls of my feet as I wait for my turn to use the crosswalk. I’ve lived in Chicago for three years now, since I moved here to pursue a career in publishing. I met Nesta and her sisters almost immediately. Soon after, they introduced me to their friends, and we’ve all been inseparable ever since.

“You’re not actually fucking serious, are you? You can’t just run away because that idiot broke your heart. This is your home.” Nesta growls, and I hear a door shut from her end of the line. Oh shit, she really has something to say if she felt the need to find a more private venue. Nesta isn’t one to hide her outbursts. Seeing as I’m not in the mood to get my ass chewed and spit back out, I retreat. Strategically, of course.

“I’ll let you get back to the baby shower. I have to go anyway.”

Nesta snorts, and I can hear the scowl in her voice.

“Okay, coward. We’ll talk tomorrow, I’m coming over.”

I roll my eyes and pocket my cell phone. If there was ever a way to describe Nesta, its ‘Tough love’. I walk the three blocks to my apartment in a huff, trudging through ankle deep snow all the while. I take my frustration out on fluffy piles of snow, kicking at them as I walk. By the time I’m locking the door behind me, my socks are soaked and I’m shivering despite my massive winter coat. You can take the girl out of California, but you can’t take California out of the girl.

I take a burning hot shower, dress in my warmest pajamas, and I’m curled up in bed in no time. I’m halfway through White Christmas when a text pings on my phone.

Azriel: Nesta says you’re moving back to SD. Can we talk?

Instantly, I’m cold as death beneath my plethora of fluffy Christmas blankets. That all too familiar pang in my chest returns in full force, so insistent that I can’t seem to catch my breath. Without meaning to, I’d read the text in his voice. I haven’t heard his voice in months, but it haunts me, a ghost I can never exorcise. I hear it in my dreams, in crowded rooms, in the harmony of some of our favorite songs. A second text pops up.

Azriel: Please, Alora. I know that you’re seeing this. You can’t keep shutting me out. I’m sorry, okay?

I scoff indignantly, my vision going red. I can’t shut him out? Him? I spent months trying to get him to talk to me, to tell me what was so obviously eating him up inside. Instead of letting me in, he pushed me as far from him as possible. And then, there was The Mor Incident. I knew he’d had a massive crush on her in college, but I thought it was long over. How naive of me.

For weeks after I moved out, Azriel tried to contact me everyday. He would text and call constantly, and ask our friends to get me to talk to him. At first, I was too hurt to respond.I needed my own time and space for a while. And when I saw him with Mor, I decided he’d never get a response from me. I knew what I needed to know. If anyone deserves to be iced out, it's the man who proposed to me and changed his mind about it like he was changing his order at starbucks.

Azriel: Talk to me. What can I do?

I grind my teeth and explode up out of my bed, too angry to even sit still. I pace my bedroom, my stomps probably heard by my downstairs neighbor. What can he do? For shit’s sake, if only he’d asked himself that question six months ago. A deluge of memories flood through my mind, dragging me beneath their frigid depths. Our one sided battles, where I begged and pleaded for him to let me in, and he refused. The nights he slept on the couch, or at Cassian’s. But the one that hurts the most, is the last one.

“Jesus christ, just talk to me! Please, Az. I just need you to talk to me.” I plead, tears running freely down my cheeks.

Azriel keeps his back to me as he hurls clothes into a duffel bag, the muscles of his shoulders tensed to the point of breaking.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Lora.”

His voice, that deep, melodic voice I love so much, is empty. Devoid of all feeling, all the love that used to shine through in every word he spoke to me. My chest feels like he’s cracked it open, and scraped me empty. Stolen all the warmth, all the joy. The fireplace crackles nearby, and yet I don’t feel a lick of its flame.

“There’s everything to talk about! I don’t even know why you’re leaving. You’ve been in pain, but you won’t tell me why. You won’t let me help.” I’m yelling now, but he still hasn’t so much as looked my way. A dark, heartrending thought creeps in.

“ Are-are you leaving me?” The question comes out in a broken whisper. I can hear the heartbreak in my own voice, and he curses under his breath.

Finally, he turns to face me. His face is nearly as empty as his voice, save for the deep purple circles beneath his eyes. Those gorgeous, hazel eyes that are filled with a nameless agony he refuses to share with me. His hair is more tousled than usual, his shirt wrinkled, shoulders slumped. He looks like a man defeated.

“Fuck baby, of course I’m not leaving you. I just- I need some time. To clear my head.”

His eyes finally meet mine for a second, and he reaches for me. His fingers barely brush my cheek before he yanks them away, fisting them at his side.

I’m close on his heels as he storms into the living room, towards the front door.

“But you are, Az. You’re choosing to leave instead of talk to me. We’re supposed to be partners, remember? We're getting married, Az .” I’m desperate now, my voice climbing an octave for every step he takes away from me.

He stops with his hand on the doorknob, looking over his shoulder at me. But he refuses to meet my gaze again. Like he can’t bear to look at me.

“Maybe we shouldn’t.”

His words hit me like a punch to the stomach, and all the breath leaves my body. A trembling begins in my hands. I feel untethered, like a boat abandoned at sea.

“You don’t want to get married?” I rasp, hugging my arms around myself. Cold is seeping into my bones, my chest. I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.

Azriel struggles for words a few moments longer, a battle raging in the eyes I love most. He turns to me again and I see the tears building in them. I search his face for an explanation, silently begging him. Stay. Please stay. His voice is thick with emotion when he speaks.

“We can talk about it later. I’m gonna stay with Cassian tonight.”

He turns towards the door once more, but I can’t stop myself from asking the question that's been buzzing in my head for weeks.

“Is that really where you’re going, Az?”My voice is clipped, cold to my own ears. He pauses, confusion clear on his face.

“Are you sure there’s not someone else you’re seeing when you ‘go to Cassian’s’ ?” I demand, placing a hand on the dining table to my right.

If he gives me the answer I’m expecting, I may well need the support. Azriel’s face goes blank with shock, and he leans back against the door, not able to stand on his own.

“Jesus, Lor. I’m not fucking cheating on you.” He spits out, as he hoists the duffel bag over his shoulder.

My relief is short lived.

He wrenches the front door open, and the ancient thing groans like it might very well come off its hinges. In that moment, something snaps inside me.

“If you walk out that door, you might as well be leaving me. If you walk out right now, we’re done.”

I expect the words to finally wake him up, to reach where he’s hidden himself away, and bring my Azriel back. The Azriel that planned a picnic for our first date, or ran through the ER with me in his arms when my appendix burst. The Azriel that asked me to marry him, then made love to me under the stars.

But wherever that Az is, he’s far, far away.

“I need to go. I’m sorry, Lor”

After a moment of hesitation, he walks out the door. The sound of it closing like that of the lid of a coffin, sealing me inside. Alone.

I stay up all night, waiting for him to come back. Praying that he comes back. I lay alone in our bed, the sheets suddenly frigid and too abundant. All the extra leg room is a slap in the face. I watch the flames in the fireplace dying as the sun rises. Until all that’s left of that once roaring fire are embers. I watch until those too burn out, and go cold.

I blink, the sound of another message breaking me free of the torturous cycle of memories. I wipe traitorous tears from my cheeks and retrieve my phone from where I discarded it.

Nesta: Hey, I might’ve let slip to Elain that you were thinking of moving home. And of course she told Lucien, who told Azriel. Apparently, he wasn’t pleased. I’m sorry, Lor.

I sigh, type a quick reply and check the time. 9:58pm. Jesus, today has felt like a lifetime. I look around my apartment, at how dark and empty it's become as night has fallen. When I moved in, a week after Az left, I couldn't bring myself to decorate it. Because that would mean that this is home now, and not the house Azriel and I bought together. It would mean that the beautiful victorian in the suburbs was as gone as the life we could’ve lived in it. So, six months later, boxes sit in the corners. The walls are bare, the fireplace unlit even on the coldest of nights. And every night since has been glacial. Suddenly, the loneliness is nearly suffocating. I can’t spend another night just staring at the solitary wasteland my life has become.

All of my friends are together already, and he’s there. So going out alone it is.

I blast music as I get ready in a rush, effectively drowning out every unwanted thought. I go a little heavy on the eyeliner, hopefully concealing any evidence of tears. I slip into my newest dress, gifted to me by Feyre on my birthday. It's the perfect balance of elegant and sexy. A lovely slip of wine colored silk, skin tight and just the right amount of revealing. Looking at myself in the mirror, I smile for the first time all night.

Half an hour later, I’m shooting whiskey at Rita’s, scouring the dance floor for my next conquest. Probably not the healthiest coping mechanism, but I digress. The vast room is dark, the only lights being flashing rainbows of color timed to the music. Thick smoke snakes around the dancers, thanks to a mixture of incense and hidden fog machines. The scent of patchouli, sweat, and alcohol tickles my nose. Peculiarly enough, it's not a bad combination.

As I’m scanning the crowd, nursing a glass of scotch, a pair of unusual green eyes catch my gaze. He’s easily six feet tall, dark haired, and moderately handsome. He’s sitting with his friends, but no longer paying attention to the conversation. Instead, his eyes are shamelessly undressing me, lingering on my exposed legs. When he eventually meets my eyes again, I give him a slow, inviting smile. It only takes him a few moments to cross the bar, and sit on the stool beside mine.

“What’s a beautiful woman like you doing alone on a saturday night?”

I barely restrain an eye roll at his creative opening line. Instead, I lean closer and give him an obvious lookover. He’s definitely fit, his tight black shirt revealing a broad chest and toned abdomen. But I can’t help but note the lack of tattoos and scars. Once I’m done comparing him to Azriel, I meet his eager eyes again.

“I’m not exactly alone now, am I?”

The man smirks, and places a hand on my thigh.

The next morning, I hurry my house guest out the door as soon as he wakes up. He tries to get my number, but I carefully maneuver my way out of that one. The sex was good, but not that good.

I shower and dress, then scarf down a quick breakfast. As I’m drinking my second cup of coffee, I finally look around at my sad excuse of an apartment. It's not that the actual space isn’t nice. The hardwood floors are new and shiny looking, the walls a neutral gray, the countertops a gleaming marble. But like last night, it's overwhelmingly empty.

I take a deep breath and decide today is the day. Hesitantly, I walk to the closest box and start cutting away the packing tape. Each stroke of the scissors is like another nail in the coffin of my old life. I ignore the tears that burn in my eyes and keep cutting. With my heart racing and eyes closed, I reach my hand in and grab the first object I touch. I take three deep breaths in an effort to center myself, and look down at what’s in my hand.

“Oh for fucks sake.” I exclaim, my heart squeezing painfully.

The cellophane wrapped bundle of blank wedding invitations glimmers in the morning sunlight, like the fangs of a poisonous snake. Beautiful, but deadly. With a cry, I hurl the invitations across the room. They land with a satisfying thunk against the far wall. I plop down next to the box, letting my head fall into my hands. The wound in my chest is raw and throbbing, an ever present pain.

Of course it had to be the wedding invitations. It couldn’t be something easy, like a throw pillow or a bunch of CD’s.

I lean my head back against the wall, and let my eyes fall closed. Would this ever stop hurting? Would there come a day where I wake up, and I don’t reach for him?

I’m staring at the box like the dangerous, wicked thing it is when a knock at the door rescues me from my own pity party.

“Thank fuck.” I mutter to myself, eagerly jumping to my feet and practically running to the door. Nesta had said she’d be coming over today, and I thank my lucky stars at her timing. At least this way, I won’t have to unpack my old life alone. Nesta will help me. I’ll cry, she’ll make me laugh, and we’ll get drunk. Very drunk, knowing us. Maybe we’ll call Elain and Feyre. They’ll spend the night, and tomorrow will be easier. I’ll start looking at apartments in San Diego. As I’m opening the door, I take my first easy breath in days.

“Thank god, Nes I need-”

But it isn’t Nesta on the other side of the door. It's Azriel.

“Hey, Lora. Can I come in?”

#acotar #azriel #sarah j. maas #the night court #rhysand #fanfic #azrielfanfic #smut #acotarsmut #acotar fic

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imnotoverlyobsessive · 3 years

Text

Looks Like Someone Picked a Whole Bushel of Oopsie Daisies: Chapter One

ooo chapter one! chapter two is on the way! big thanks to @edward-or-ford for all the help brainstorming and editing!

Chapter One: The Dating Issue

What a tragic attraction; what’s the point of romance?- Neon Trees, Teenager in Love

Mabel Caroline Pines, age 17, had never had a boyfriend.

It’s not like she didn’t want one. She totally did. Her parents were both super encouraging. Sometimes she thought they might even be pushing her into dating.

There were two problems with this. The first was that Mabel had a soulmark, and nobody wanted to go on a date with somebody who had a soulmark. Why bother? Clearly their soulmate is already in their life, so there’s not much point.

Mabel had always had a soulmark. For as long as she could remember, there it was, on her wrist. Taunting her. Mocking her. Hahaha, laughing at her inability to find her stupid soulmate, wherever he’d run off to. She’d just come home from preschool one day and there it was, her mom had told her. Whoever her soulmate was, she didn’t remember him. He obviously went to her school (her lack of withdrawal symptoms told her that) and she was forever trying to peek at boys’ wrists to see if it was them. It wasn’t, but she tried anyway.

The second problem was that Mabel was desperately, hopelessly, stupidly, ridiculously in love with someone already. She’d been in love with him for years, which was the opposite of smart, because he was the last person in the world who would ever look at her that way. Like, ever. Ever ever.

Even so, she waited eagerly for each of his texts, staying up late more often than not just to talk to him. He’d put a beehive in her stomach, and the bees went freakin’ nuts whenever she was around him or even thought about him (which was basically all the time, Christ, get it together, Mabel!). So basically her stomach was all buzz buzz buzz all day long.

He made her so nervous and so happy, but he also made her incredibly sad. She knew he couldn’t see her like that. There was no way. So she’d been stuck pining after him since she was, like, fourteen. Which, whatever. She was used to it.

She was on her way to see him, as it happened. Or rather, she and her parents were. Her parents always accompanied them, and watched them together constantly.

Mabel went to visit her brother (yeah, okay, she’s in love with her brother, shut up, it is what it is) in Gravity Falls, Oregon (or Mount Hood for a ski trip if it was warm) multiple times a year. Usually once every few months. She didn’t know Dipper as well as she would’ve liked to. At least, not in person. Sure, they texted all the time, and they even Skyped a decent amount, but she didn’t get to hang out with him unless her parents were watching them. Which was suuuuuper weird, but her parents had always been weird about some stuff.

Most parents didn’t want their daughters dating. This was not the case with Mabel’s parents. They always seemed annoyed when she didn’t have a date for Homecoming. On Valentine’s Day, Mabel’s mom always asked if any of the boys had confessed to her (they hadn’t; everyone knew Mabel had a soulmark at this point, despite the social taboo against discussing such things), and was visibly disappointed at Mabel’s annual response of “no”.

Mabel got the feeling that if a boy did ever ask her out, her parents would expect her to go out with him whether she liked him or not.

“Just give him a chance, honey,” her dad had told her once when she asked what to do if a boy she didn’t like asked her out.

Mabel’s mom had nodded, saying, “you might like him more than you thought!”

Mabel didn’t have much of a desire to give anybody a chance if she wasn’t interested. Why waste each other’s time? Frankly, she’d been longing after Dipper so long she didn’t think she had it in her to even try thinking about another boy that way.

Her phone’s text tone sounded, and Mabel felt a smile grace her lips.

Dipper: are you here yet?

She stifled a giggle and texted him back.

Me: not yet, silly. I think we’ve got like fifteen minutes left, so we’re close

Dipper: well hurry up

She was thinking of a reply when several minutes passed and he texted again.

Dipper: I miss you

She smiled. It was really freakin’ hard not to feel hopeful when he said things like that. He doesn’t see you that way, Mabel! Get over it!

Me: I miss you, too, Bro Bro!

“Mabel,” her mom said, getting her attention. Her head snapped up.

“Yeah?”

“You sure you’re good to stay at your friend’s tonight?” Mrs. Pines asked. “We don’t want to impose on the Chius, and it’s your first night here since last year.”

Mabel bounced excitedly in her seat at the thought of a sleepover with her friends as soon as she got into town. Her friends, Dipper, Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford, Dipper- all her favorite Gravity Falls peeps in one place!

“Absotively, Momster!” Mabel nodded emphatically. “It’s been waaaaaay too long since I’ve gotten to hang with my GF GFs! Plus, I’m seventeen now! I’m old enough to properly find my soulmate, y’know!” She learned forward conspiratorially, her seatbelt locking against her neck and completely missing the way her parents flinched. “And I know the girls have got some major boy talk to dish out that they’ll only share in person!”

“Remember, Mabel,” said Mr. Pines firmly. “No-““Touching the Dipster, yeah yeah, I know,” she grumbled. “Stupid I’ll-die-if-I-touch-my-twin allergy.”

Mrs. Pines rolled her eyes as they pulled up to the Mystery Shack. “Okay, let’s go say hi.”

Standing in front of the Mystery Shack, however, was Dipper, one hand in his pocket and the other scrolling through his phone.

He looked up when they pulled into the clearing the Shack was in, and a huge grin split across his face when he saw their car. Mabel unlocked her seatbelt before the car had fully stopped.

“Mabel, wait-“ before Mrs. Pines could even finish her sentence, Mabel had opened the door and jumped out of the car. “...until the car has stopped.”

Mabel had barely even heard her, tripping over her feet to get to her brother. Squealing, Mabel stopped several feet away from Dipper, squirming excitedly.

“Dipper!” She squealed.

He put his phone into his hoodie and shoved his hand in his pockets. “Hey, Mabes,” he grinned at her.

His eyes were kinda twitchy, and he wasn’t looking right at her. He was kinda… looking over her shoulder, or at the car, or at her parents, but never her. Was that… nervousness? Nah, of course not. He’s got no reason to be nervous. Unless maybe he got her or their parents a risky gift and he’s not sure how they’ll feel about it? But no, Dipper knows what they like, he’s got no reason to be nervous.

Mabel dismissed the thought.

The thing about Mabel one must understand is that Mabel is a hugger. She hugs everyone, and not being allowed to was very difficult. Risk of dying or not, this no-touching thing was the absolute worst . Not being able to hug Dipper after not seeing him for months was awful. Her parents had been super extra adamant about it this time, too. Even more so than they usually were.

One time, Mabel saw an episode of this show where this guy brought dead people back to life by touching them and if he touched them a second time they died permanently, but the guy had this girlfriend he wanted to hold hands with and stuff and they worked around it. Why couldn’t they do something like that? Mabel’s parents had said no, though.

Which sucked because Mabel really wanted to touch Dipper. Like, she really really wanted to touch Dipper. Seeing him now, being just a few feet from him, not touching him felt… wrong. All wrong. There was something very very wrong with this no-touching situation.

The longer she stood there not touching him, the more it felt like there were needles under her skin, poking at her from the inside.

Their parents stepped out of the car after what seemed like an eternity (in reality, it was about thirty seconds or less), breaking Mabel out of her stupor. “Okay, kids, let’s bring the presents inside,” said Mrs. Pines. “Dipper, can you help? I’m going to go tell your uncles we’re here.” Dipper nodded, walking around to the back of the car with Mabel in tow.

“Ugh, Dip,” Mabel groaned. “The drive was so long and after school just got out yesterday sitting for the whole freakin’ car ride was the worst!”

She was trying really hard not to blush. Honestly, she was! It’s just that from behind, she could see his butt so well when he walked, and he had just the nicest butt ever and it was soooooo hard not to stare at it. Anyone would’ve stared! Really! It was physically impossible not to.

“I know, you were telling me that the whole way here,” he turned to face her as they reached the trunk, a grin on his face.

Ugh. Not that grin! No, anything but that grin! It made her heart flutter and the bees swarm! Dammit, Dipper, couldn’t you be a little less attractive? Just a little bit? For the good of humanity! Okay, really just Mabel, but she was part of humanity and she deserved a normal brother/sister relationship that didn’t involve her staring at his butt when he walked, right?

Mrs. Pines had opened the trunk, grabbed a meticulously wrapped present, and stepped back, waiting patiently. Reaching into the trunk, Mabel went to grab the same present that Dipper did. They were so close, standing side by side, and their hands nearly touched. They both pulled back abruptly, each looking down to mutter a quiet apology.

It was so hard to resist inching closer to him. Even with years of practice, somehow, it had gotten harder. God, how had it gotten harder? She’d gotten used to ignoring the suffocating need to touch him, hadn’t she? Jesus, Mabel, get a grip, girl!

He smiled slightly at her again, and Mabel thought her heart might stop.

#gravity falls fanfiction #gf fanfiction #pinecest #mabel pines #dipper pines #fanfiction #fanfic #looks like someone picked a whole bushel of oopsie daisies #my writing

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bubbashawn · 4 years

Text

Fine Line || part i

author: here we go, lovies!! Want to give a quick shoutout to my babe @wholesomemendes because Kaleigh has been so supportive and I love her. Also quick thanks to @sauveteen and @shawnjpeg for writing you flower, you feast (I tagged it) because it made me want to do this and @watchmegetobsessed because she reinstated my need to write this story when I read back to you (i tagged it). I hope you fall in love with Maia like I did and enjoy reading this as much as I loved writing it!!

synopsis: she walks the fine line between friends and lovers. he walks the fine line between love and heartbreak. they walk the fine line where everything is blurred.

warnings: 4.2k of oblivious “best friends” obsessing over each other. It’s a little angsty but more fluffy than anything.

Jet-lagged Shawn is simultaneously Maia’s favorite and least favorite version of Shawn. Or maybe her favorite was her drunk Best Friend after her seventeenth birthday when he became affectionate and clingy crying out her name. But the jet-lagged version was definitely up there.

He looked soft, in grey sweatpants and his ‘Youth’ sweatshirt. With hooded eyes, rosy cheeks, and chapped lips, emulating a sigh from the back of his throat. Exhaustion hid messily behind his smiling features. It was clear to her though. Maia could recall this look, and his crushing weight on top of her, since high school before he was selling out stadiums.

She enjoyed this sleepy side because she knew what followed his sweet demeanor. His forehead would crease, his hands would tug at his perfect curls, his voice would drop to a grumble while his muscles flexed. It was the worst.

Maia has seen a lot of jet-lagged Shawn throughout the years. Whether he was in a different country while on tour or flying to Los Angeles from Toronto too much, she’d confidently say she knew her best friend in this state quite well.

The Oceania leg of his headlining world tour was complete. Shawn had rushed from Auckland, New Zealand all the way to his condo, and happily found her curled around the softest blanket he owned, sunk into his white couch.

The second he heard ‘New Girl’ reruns coming from his tv through the door, his heart was light. Finding Maia exactly where he hoped she’d be, just bringing up his heart rate further. And he took a minute just drinking her in. It didn’t matter that her hair was messy with knots littered about, that her, his, sweater was wrinkled, and she softly snored. It didn’t matter that those noises began overpowering the dialogue of the show she’d seen too many times to count.

What mattered to Shawn was seeing his Maia for the first time in months. She didn’t live here, though he had asked her to move in with him on multiple occasions, she had always refused because her life was in Montreal, five hours and eleven minutes away from him. A few hours doesn’t seem terrible, because frankly, it wasn’t, but Shawn missed seeing her the moment he got home. Back when she lived in Toronto, a mere four-minute drive from the famous boy, Maia ended up spending more time frolicking through his halls than her own.

Things did change, though. No matter how hard Shawn denied it. Because she got her dream job, and she moved away. Away from him.

Yet, here she was. His Maia, five hours away from her congested apartment, instead found sleeping soundly in his. Shawn couldn’t be happier seeing her there. He toed the heel of his Chelsea boots off his feet and shuffled over, praying his socks would mute the sounds of movement. Crouched by Maia’s face, hand coming up to cup her cheek, he was undeniably adoring her. He stared from this closer angle before pressing the calloused pad of his thumb across her cheekbone and peacefully roused her from her dreams.

“Papillon?”

She had called him that jokingly in school after a French class they had together. Leaning against her locker as students bustled and shoved their way down the small halls of Pine Ridge Secondary School. One extra aggressive classmate pushed so hard against Shawn’s bag he ended up pressed into Maia.

“You’re so fragile, Papillon.”

“Papillon? What ev-”

“It’s French for butterfly.”

“Really? And why am I a butterfly again?”

She had responded with some stupid excuse about him being delicate and a clutz before shoving him off her chest.

The nickname stuck. It didn’t matter that Shawn’s limbs had filled out or that he could lift her off the ground with ease. He was always Maia’s Papillon.

Her eyes were shut tight, her brows furrowed, and she mewled his name in question over and over.

“Maia,” he smiled when your shifting eased as his voice echoed along the walls, “Flower, I’m right here. Open your eyes, M.”

“Papillon?”

He watched as her eyes opened and nodded, his smile only growing when her arms wrapped around his neck.

Maia had driven, on Ontario-401 East, with every intention of surprising Shawn. She had thought about going all out, but after considering how jetlagged he’d be, Maia simply bought some popcorn preparations and flipped his television on.

“When did you get in?”

“About an hour ago. We took the long route home, Jake said something about a wreck on Gardiner Expressway.”

She nodded, too overwhelmed by her happiness to speak more. Maia’s hands found the small of his back, under the navy fabric of his sweatshirt, and pulled his body over her figure. Shawn’s arms quickly adjusted to brace his weight on his forearms on either side of her pouting face.

“What?” He flicked the hairs framing her face out of her eyes, “don’t give me that look!”

Her hands pressed down harder on his back, trying to effectively press his body down to hers.

“Stop! Your hands are so fucking cold. Jesus Christ, woman.”

Maia’s hands slipped out from under his clothes, holding his shoulders. Pulling down harshly, still wanting his weight on her.

“Honey,” Shawn’s hands slid along her jaw, “hey, I really don’t want to crush you.”

“Just c’ mere.”

“Flower, I love you, but I’ll crush you.”

He wasn’t lying; his 6’2” frame would smother Maia’s shorter figure, by seven inches. She had always been dainty, her hands barely reaching his second knuckles when they compared their hands.

“I know,” she smiled sheepishly, “you’re just far away.”

Shawn agreed, even though their legs were intertwined, her chest was pressed to his, and he felt her familiar heartbeat. He smiled softly when Maia continued pouting until he quickly shifted to flip their position. His body, now resting against the cushions, cradled her as she laid on top of him.

“I’m right here,” his hands made grabby motions at her hips.

She was quick to oblige, her head tucking into the crook of his body. Her lips grazed the crease in his shoulder, her hair brushed along the underside of his jaw. This was her favorite Shawn, the one who seemed happy to just exist with her.

“Bub.”

“Mmm?” He hummed against her skin, Maia felt the goosebumps crawling up her spine from the vibration.

"I have popcorn and hot chocolate makings on your counter.”

He hummed again, softer this time. Shawn knew they'd move from this position before too long because she wasn’t really his to hold, not like this, at least. No matter how many times he called her his Maia. She’d never be his, not really.

“Let me hold you a little longer,” he relished in the feeling of her lips pressed sweetly to his neck, “okay? M, just a little longer.”

“You good?”

His hands squeezed the curve of her side, before letting her pull away just barely. His perfect Maia coming into view.

“More than good,” he smiled as she brushed her finger down the bridge of his nose, “perfect, really.”

Her smile grew, her gaze remained locked on his. Maia leaned down, kissing the scar on his cheek, remembering that day happily. His heart almost hurt from beating so hard, and Shawn had to hold back a whimper when her eyelashes fluttered. She was so perfect, staring down at him. The moment broke off much too fast for either of them as she rose to her feet, hand outstretched for his.

“I love you, Papillon.”

“I love you too,” Shawn’s eyes locked on their intertwined hands, “God, I really fucking missed you.”

She just laughed and pulled him towards the kitchen. Both with gushing smiles and red cheeks, looking like a teenager with a stupid crush.

Maia wasn’t lying when she told Shawn she’d gone shopping for popcorn, but she wasn’t being completely truthful either. She had stocked up all his cabinets with food of all kinds, including a takeout box holding his favorite french toast from Regine Cafe, a local favorite down the block from her Montreal apartment. She had bought the makings of chocolate chip muffins, and he saw what looked like all the parts of a traditional English roast dinner. Shawn’s favorite meal his mom, Karen, makes when she comes by.

“You’re too good to me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re too good to me, we even out,” she chuckled, stepping up behind him, “I know you get homesick, and I just saved your mum the drive down. She always made you food before you get home, and I was already here. It made sense, Shawn.”

He hadn’t even been processing Maia’s voice behind him, all too focused on her small arms looping around his waist, her chin resting between his shoulder blades.

“Either way, thank you.”

“You’d do the same.”

“True,” she could practically hear his eye roll, “but, just let me say thank you.”

“Okay.”

The two just remained in the corner of the kitchen, enjoying the sweet, homey silence of Shawn’s condo. They worked happily making hot chocolate because it was past midnight, neither of them needing caffeine, and Maia had never liked the bitterness of coffee. Before long, they both had steaming mugs being stirred with silver spoons.

“Put your drink down.”

“Why?”

“Just,” he smiled at her confused look, “trust me, okay? Drink down, Flower, please.”

The moment the ceramic touched the marble countertop, his hands found the small of her waist just above her hips. He lifted Maia into the air, chuckling, as she squealed in shock. The hair of her arms stood up, her warm skin made contact with the cold counter she was now sitting on. She nearly gasped when Shawn’s hands found home under her shirt where the fabric met her cotton shorts, kneading the skin gently.

“You’re crazy,” her head fell to his shoulder.

“Yeah, for you. Only for you, M.”

Her heart dropped, freezing up her whole body, but Shawn’s hands continued to massage the tight muscle.

“Jesus, woman, why are you so tense? It’s just me.”

“Would you stop saying ‘woman’?”

“You are one, aren’t you?”

He was being cheeky, Maia’s body remained stiff in his hold.

“Relax,” his lips kissed her forehead, hoping she’d melt into his touch again, he repeated his mumble, “it’s just me.”

Shawn continued to move his hands, reassuring her of his words, until she slumped against him like putty in his hands. She turned her head, letting her lips brush the soft skin above his collarbone. Maia’s eyes fluttered closed, enjoying their closeness, knowing she couldn’t have it for much longer.

“Honey,” she hummed against his skin, sending vibrations down his spine, “what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve just been clingy.”

Maia’s eyes snapped open the second he finished his remark, quickly, adjusting her legs, forcing Shawn to move out from between her thighs. She offered him a half-ass, awkward smile before hopping off the counter.

“Whoa, wha-what?” He followed her figure with his eyes, not moving, still in shock from her sudden distance, “what just happened?”

“Nothing, um, I’m heading to bed, it’s late.”

“Flower…”

“See you in the morning?”

“What about,” his eyes searched for an excuse for her to stay, “what about your hot chocolate?”

“You can have it or just dump it in the sink.”

Shawn nodded his head, a frown on that perfect face of his as he watched Maia leave the kitchen, wandering down the hall.

He just stood there, processing the demeanor change, it was completely drastic to your soft persona he adored so much. His hands found his curls tugging on them harshly like she had predicted he would at some point, just not for the same reason. Shawn hated it when she blocked herself off from him, especially when he caused it.

Maia was never one to let her emotions out, she liked to keep them bottled so no one would worry until Shawn would mumble one word and she’d be falling apart in his arms.

His hands absentmindedly found the two lukewarm mugs dumping them into his sink and placing them on the metal drainer, reminding himself to deal with it in the morning. The quiet the two of them shared, now seemed bitter practically nipping at his mind until he walked down his hallway. He found himself staring at his bedroom door.

He let the light from the hall sneak in when he entered the room, not wanting to disturb your quiet and unmoving body with the overhead fixtures. His hands found the neckline of his soft sweatshirt, pulling it from his body. The once comforting warmth was now claustrophobic against his flustered skin. Shawn wanted her cold fingertips to run along the valleys in his back, to lure him to sleep. He lightly padded his way to the bed, feeling around the duvet for the curve of Maia’s figure only to come up empty. The mattress was cold, her perfume only lingering from that morning when she crawled out. Shawn could feel his stomach drop, knowing she was upset enough to not curl into his king-sized bed for comfort.

He flopped back, not bothering to pull any blanket over him, his arm folded behind his head as he considered his choices. Knowing Maia wouldn’t fall asleep laying across the hall from him, Shawn climbed out after only minutes of staring longingly from the ceiling to the crack between his door and the frame.

He stood silently in the hall, peeking into the guest room, sure enough seeing her resting form in a lump under the wool blanket stolen from his bed. His legs had a mind of their own walking towards you until he was kneeling at the foot of the mattress. He felt the fabric sink under the new weight, and Maia’s red eyes were connected with his all too welcoming honey ones. He could barely see her face, but the city lights reflected off her cheeks, tear tracks hitting him in the gut all over again. Shawn walked around the bed until he was kneeling by her face, just like she’d seen him earlier that night.

“Shawn, what ar-” her voice was cracked, and she had sniffled when taking a breath.

“Baby,” he was basically whimpering, reaching to cup her damp cheeks, “I’m so sorry. You don’t have to tell me anything, okay? M, I shouldn’t hav-”

“Shaw-”

“No, I shouldn’t have pushed you to talk to me. I swear, I just wanted to be helpful. And you’re absolutely not clingy, I love it when you let me in, and you are so close to me. Flower, I’m so sorry, so, so sorry.”

Shawn was crying, when Maia’s hands gripped his. Pulling him into her embrace, this time, however, he let his weight crush her dainty figure.

Shawn buried his head deep in her dark hair, his lips moving next to her ear mumbling.

“Sorry, Baby,” he repeated, again and again, mixed with sweet nothings.

“Papillon, hey,” she pulled his head back, so their temples pressed together, his nose against her cheekbone, “hey, I overreacted, please calm down. It kills me to see you like this, Bub.”

He pulled back further to hold her gaze, both their teary eyes making them let out soft chuckles of relief. Shawn rolled them over, letting his Maia bury herself in his chest, breathing in his expensive cologne.

“I love you,” He littered kisses on her eyelids, before letting Maia curl up in her spot in his neck.

“Mmm,” she hummed, the goosebumps down Shawn’s spine were back, “I love you too, Papillon, so much.”

He smiled as her breathing evened out, her grip loosening but still holding his bare chest against her now sleeping body. Shawn let his hand travel across the expanse of her spine under his sweater, adorning her figure. Maia leaned into his touch, her mind not letting her overthink in its restful sleep. It was like all her inhibitions were gone when his calloused thumb stroked the curve between her shoulder blades, enjoying the softness of her tanned skin. This was Shawn’s favorite Maia. His Maia. It was rare, but when he could just hold her silently, it always sent a serene wave over his mind just being with the girl he adored, holding her.

Shawn didn’t mind that he didn’t sleep before the sun peeked through his windows, the rays sending a glow over the skin he could see from the gap between her shorts and the rolled-up knit fabric of his sweater. He didn’t mind staring at her with a soft smile because he couldn’t sleep. His jetlagged head was eight hours ahead of hers. He definitely wouldn’t mind curling up with her later when he did, finally, tire out sometime in the afternoon.

“Shawn?”

His gaze moved from where his hand grazed her skin to her now open eyes, hours after sunrise. Shawn took in the depth and warmth of her brown irises. He smiled when her cheeks crinkled as she giggled at his sheepish expression, after being caught watching her sleep.

“How long have you been up?”

“Not long,” he was lying, Maia could tell when he gazed back down at his hands, not daring to make eye contact, “how did you sleep?”

“Good. What time is it in New Zealand?”

“Like twelve or one I think, why?”

“You haven’t slept?”

“Honey, it’s fine. I’ll go to sleep early tonight, eh?”

She nodded yawning and enjoyed her view of her best friend's home. Maia’s hands found the edge of the covers, pushing them off of her, Shawn's hand slipping out from under her clothes when she adjusted. He quickly grabbed her waist, pulling her back into bed, flush against his chest when she tried to climb out.

“Where do you think you’re going, Flower?”

“Mmm, up.”

He held her tight when she went to stand again, laughing when she huffed, realizing she’d be unable to overpower his strength.

“Shawn, our day is already shortened because you’ll be collapsing in exhaustion by like two.”

“I’ll stay up for you.”

“Yeah,” she frowned from on top of him, his hands holding her down on his stomach, “you and I both know that’s not what I want, Papillon. It’s not healthy.”

“Stop your worrying, woman.”

“Stop calling me ‘woman’”

She groaned, still sitting on him, her legs on either side of his waist. His hands squeezed her legs, showing no signs of letting go at any point. Maia realized a morning cuddled into Shawn wouldn’t hurt, even if both their sleep schedules changed in the result, so she let her chest slump onto his and just enjoyed the feeling of his touch everywhere.

“Shawn?”

“Mmm?”

“How long are you home for?”

He sighed and his movements stopped for a moment before she looked up at him. Shawn smiled down at the girl in his arms before continuing to rub her back and kissed her forehead softly.

“My first show is the twenty-ninth,” he tried to ignore the pull on his heart when Maia frowned, “so, I’ll leave in a couple weeks for rehearsal and publicity.”

She nodded, wanting to say something along the line of ‘I wish you could stay’ or ‘I wish I could go with you’ but, wishes were all they’d be. So, Maia held her tongue not wanting to give Shawn any ideas or hopes that she’ll skip the rest of her school semester. She would skip the rest of the semester, she’d probably skip the rest of the year because no one, in her mindset, could say no to him.

“How long can you stay?”

“Um,” she glanced up at him, trying to see past the little stubble on his chin, resting on his chest to see his eyes, “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

His eyes looked down to hers in shock, the idea of her staying in Toronto with him for two weeks almost too overwhelming.

“Really?”

“I mean, yeah. I’m taking a couple classes online right now, so I’m in no rush.”

“In that case,” he tickled at her side, getting a sweet laugh in reward, “you’re stuck with me, forever.”

“Forever?”

“Baby, now that I have you, I’m not letting you leave this bed, much less my city. Or Drake’s city, whatever”

Maia giggled and settled back in his arms, smiling at the idea of being his forever, just the two of them holed up in his bed, his apartment, and this perfect little world for both of them. Her heart fell a bit, knowing he’d share that world with a different girl, eventually, that Maia wouldn’t always get the benefits of Shawn’s love once a girlfriend enters the picture. Once he finds the love of his life.

She couldn’t bear the idea, much less a reality like that. She pulled away, just slightly.

tbreak. She’d excuse her love towards the boy on multiple occasions by choosing to believe she just missed him like any best friend should. And maybe a bit more.

Shawn could read Maia like an open book, his concerned eyes watching her, searching for answers in her silence. He watched the shift in her eyes from its warm, chocolate color to a dark, sad muddied color.

“Hey, Honey,” he was still watching her reactions, “we’re taking advantage of this time, yeah? And then it’s only a month apart, and then we’ll be back in Pickering for Christmas. My parents would love to have you again, and then I can stay in Montreal with you for a while. You’re stuck with me, M. You should know that by now.”

She smiled, but that sweet light he loved hadn’t shown up again, so Shawn pulled her down onto his chest, hoping Maia would curl into him again. She’d be happy again, and that’s all he cared about.

“I love you, Flower.”

“I love you, too,” she rested her chin on his chest, the little hairs tickling her skin, to stare at him, “I’m just homesick, I think.”

“Want to go back to Pickering for a couple days, then? I was actually thinking that’d be a good trip. I’d love to see my parents and Aaliyah again.”

“No,” he looked confused with furrowed eyebrows, “I mean, yes, but I’m not homesick for Pickering. I think I’m just missing you more than usual.”

Shawn felt like jumping around and squeezing Maia, so she’d squeal in shock, but he settled for kissing the crown of her head and holding her hip that much tighter.

“I’m right here.”

She hummed, her lips pressed into his chest, feeling the thump of his heart. He was so close, acting like Maia’s favorite Shawn. Just holding her.

“Is that why you were upset? Last night?”

Maia nodded, deciding that was close enough to the feeling of her heartbreak. She’d excuse her love for the boy on multiple occasions by choosing to believe she just missed him, as any best friend should. And maybe a bit more.

“M,” Shawn waited for her eyes to lock on his, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Papillon.”

And for once he actually believed she could be his Maia. Not his best friend. Not the girl he loved since he was seventeen when he admitted his feelings, drunk. Not the Maia he adored from a distance. His Maia.

“C’mon, up we go,” she’s pulling at his hands, “it’s Sunday, so we can head to the farmer’s market. I’ll make that raspberry jam you like to put on the bagels I brought from Montreal. It’s time to explore, eh?”

Shawn’s perfect morning is ruined just like that. It’s a wave that hits him, pulling him underwater the rips too strong. He knew she wasn’t his — his Maia. He sat up letting the covers fall from his stunning physique that Maia tried to not ogle at before turning and sashaying her way into his kitchen.

This was their reality. Walking around the market, pinkies brushing each other, her eyes searching his profile covered by those stupid Tom Ford sunglasses. They couldn’t hold hands and they definitely couldn’t kiss. They just stood side by side, longing for something they feared they’d never get. Reality sucked.

flsm taglist: @oyesmendes @someinsanefangirl

permanent taglist: @wholesomemendes @fallinallincurls @ashwarren32 @mendesficsxbombay @haute-shawn @turtoix @prncsnee @http-isabela

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lilzebub · 3 years

Text

The Here and Now (Through the Years CH2)

Summary: Five has returned, and no one expected the condition that he would be in. Can (Y/n) and Five navigate the major set backs, thwart the Apocalypse, and resume their happily ever after?

Five Hargreeves x F!reader Word count: 11k total

Warnings: TUA typical violence, angst, awkward interactions, brief mention of spicy time, brief description of depression Also posted on AO3!

She stared blankly at the young man that stood distressed on her porch. “Five…I….Hurry up, get inside.” Her hand darted out to grab the sleeve of his tailored blazer, and she quickly dragged him through the threshold. He awkwardly stood in the foyer of their house, with his hands shoved in the pockets of his shorts. “(Y/n) this is a nightmare. I’m an old man trapped in this body. Ever had growing pains and indigestion at the same time?” He glowered up at her. A quiet snicker escaped from her lips. “You think this is funny? Huh?”

The snicker sparked a roar of laughter that erupted deep from her belly, and Five could do nothing but stare blankly at her. He considered the last time he saw her looking genuinely this amused by something was the day of their wedding after they had tossed his Commission tracking device.

“I mean, no. It’s not funny. It’s just…ridiculous. I waited all this time. Counted all these days. And you show up here….like….” she gestures vaguely. “It’s absolutely absurd, and honestly, kind of unfair. Here is was, expecting my 100% normal, thirty year old husband to poof into my house today. And I get the awkward teenager slash old man version of you. This is too much.” She dramatically wiped tears from her eyes.

“Okay, are you done now?” Five stated frankly, with no hint of irritation. He opened his arms to her and she met his embrace, throwing her arms over his shoulders.

“It’s really hard to hug you like this. You lost a few inches in the fray, buddy.” She pressed a kiss onto the top of his head. He pulled away from her to protest, but she just pulled him back in tightly.

“Come on my grumpy little man. Let’s get you over to the Academy and see if your family can possibly help with this. They’re used to things outside of the ordinary.

The couple walked down the street, awkwardly meeting the glances of everyone around them. The uniform jacket was telling, and it was apparent that everyone was shocked to see the prodigal son of the Umbrella Academy, alive and in the flesh, looking exactly how he did nearly fifteen years ago. A man pushing a two seat baby stroller gave them a wide berth on the sidewalk, and gave (Y/n) a double take.

“(Y/n) (Y/L/M/N)?” He proclaimed, causing Y/n to screech to a halt. She turned to face the man, quickly glancing down at the stoller.

“Um, yes? It’s actually (Y/n) Hargreeves now, but yes, that’s me.” Realization dawned on her, and hit her in the face like a runaway freight train. “Uh, how are you, (ex F/n)?”

“I’m great! So great, it’s really fantastic to see you! I’m just on the way to surprise the wife at work, it’s her first week back after her maternity leave, and I know she’s missing the kiddos.” (Y/n) glanced down at the pair of cooing babies in the stoller. “And who’s this strapping young gentleman? I didn’t know you had a little brother.”

Five took an immediate offensive stance. “I’m Five Hargreeves, and I’m her HUSBAND.”

“Oh, God I’m sorry. I guess you just looked a little different the last time I saw you….At our, uh, or rather, your, uh. Wedding.” The young man stammered, and (Y/n) watched Five grow increasingly more irritated.

“Yep, Five is a time traveler extraordinaire. Just had a little mishap with his calculations. He’s not normally a teenager, or anything. Like, it’s not like that at all, I mean…God that sounds so weird. Sorry.” She was beginning to grow flustered, and no longer felt the need to explain herself. “It was nice seeing you, we’ve got to be going now.” Her arm linked around Five’s, as she began dragging him away.

“Well you couldn’t have possibly made that any more awkward,” Five fretted at her. “Bad enough you dumped him at the alter and now you had to explain how your husband, who I don’t know if I mentioned it already, but you DUMPED HIM FOR, is stuck in a teenage body.”

She whipped around him in front of him, staring him down. “Look, you don’t get to be angry at me for your mistake. It’s not my fault that you aren’t even old enough to DRIVE now.” “Well you could have driven if you had ever taken the time to learn how to drive a stick shift.” Five puffed up his chest to look tougher, but it was futile in his current form.

“You’re the one who was never around long enough to teach me how to do it.” He flinched, and she instantly felt a wave of guilt wash over her. “Five, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. We’re both just…tense right now. The world is ending, you’re hormonal and also crabby because you probably won’t get to take advantage of the senior citizen discount at Griddy’s today.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her. The moment he fell through the portal, and realizing his body was now in shambles due to his miscalculations, all he could think was how she would react. Would she faint? Would she promptly turn him away? Instead, she surpassed all of his expectations and was making jokes at his expense. He paused for a moment and grabbed her hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. “You know, now more than ever, I’m so glad I married you. I can’t imagine anyone else being able to handle this curveball.”

“What can I say, Mr. Hargreeves. You had me on the hook for a long time. A little hiccup like this isn’t going to scare me off.” He smiled, lacing his fingers with hers as they continued down the street, the Umbrella Academy looming just a few blocks ahead.

The pair quietly entered the front door, only to be bombarded by all of the siblings at once. Five sulked behind his wife, as each of his family members warmly embraced her. Klaus picked her up and spun her around, quickly locking eyes with his brother. “Oh Jesus Christ, what do we have here?” Klaus murmured, gently placing (Y/n) down on the ground. “If it isn’t our dear little brother, alive and in the flesh…And perhaps a few inches shorter than last time we saw you, hm?”

Allison spoke next without giving Five a chance to respond, a look of shock on her face. “So I’m guessing something wasn’t quite right with your math, was it?”

Five pulled on the sleeves of his blazer. “You can say that again. I fucked up royally. That’s the least of our concerns now though. We only have a few days to stop the Apocalypse from happening, and I still have no idea how we’re going to do it.”

Days had passed, and the family was no closer to determining the catalyst of the Apocalypse than they were when Five and (Y/n) had returned to the Academy. They sat around the kitchen table on the day that Five had so loudly proclaimed would be the end of the world, all eyes sunken in from lack of sleep. Luther dragged his hands down his face, as he looked over at Five sulking over his late night cup of coffee. “Maybe it’s just inevitable. We should have had at least some clue by now.”

Allison scanned over the newspapers scattered along the table. “I mean, there’s nothing in the news that indicates anything out of the ordinary. Nothing political, no threats of nuclear warfare, literally nothing.”

“Or maybe it’s just not going to happen at all? I mean, today is the day isn’t it? Everything has been completely normal.” (Y/n) yawned, her forehead meeting the wooden table

“Maybe it’s you, little brother,” Klaus said, pausing to light the joint pressed between his lips. “I mean, think about it. You’re the only one who experienced the end of the world. Did you ever think, maybe it has something to do with you?” Vanya nodded her head in agreement.

“Klaus might actually have a point. Have you done anything you know of to alter the timeline at all?”

“Yeah, you know like, in time travel movies where someone accidentally kills a bug and it causes the entire future to change? Killed any bugs lately, Five? Or like, Presidents, or whatever it was you had to do with the Commission?” Klaus coughed.

Five thought for a moment, taking a sip of his coffee. “Not really, before I left the Commission, I only did one thing….” (Y/n) jerked her head up from the table, eyes widening. The family looked at him expectantly, then over to her. “You know, the whole crashing her wedding day thing. The head of the Commission, the Handler warned me she would kill us, but I didn’t really think much about it.” The group collectively groaned. Diego stabbed a blade into the table. “Well, these are the kinds of things you might want to tell us, Five. Your former boss literally threatening to murder you seems like a pretty good reason to be on high alert.”

A loud rap at the front door of the Academy put everyone on high alert. They all rose from their spots, quietly making their way towards the door. “Hey, maybe it’s the Apocalypse knocking. We can just ignore it, maybe they’ll think we aren’t home.” Klaus whispered, throwing the remains of his spent joint into a potted plant. Diego peeked out a window near the door. “It’s some blonde woman in a dress. Sound familiar?” He whispered, and Five immediately straightened his tie. “Yep, I’ll take this.” He moved towards the door to unlock it, coming face to face with the Handler.

“Good evening, Five…Assorted Hargreeves.” She flourished her hand, shoving past Five into the living room, depositing a large briefcase by the door. “And Mrs. Hargreeves, a pleasure to see you once again.” (Y/n) felt her heart tighten in her chest, recalling the last ill fated encounter with the woman, and the impossible choice she posed for the pair.

“Wish I could say the same,” (Y/n) scoffed. “Care to tell us why you’re here? You’re getting a bit too familiar with these unexpected housecalls.” The family gathered around her in a protective stance, and she felt the tightness in her chest dissipate.

“Well, I did advise you that I’d be back at a date of MY choosing to dispose of the pair of you, didn’t I?” The Handler towered over (Y/n) in her heels, frowning down at her.

Five shook his head. “That wasn’t part of the deal. I came back to the Commission, I did what you asked, and you sent me to that God-forsaken wasteland.”

She advanced towards Five. “Ah, yes, that much is true. But what I didn’t anticipate was you defying the odds. Do you know what the odds were that you’d be able to time travel back to any point in time to your wife?” She emphasized, venom dripping in her voice. “One in thirty million. Now, wouldn’t you say, the odds of that are simply astronomical?” Five looked over at (Y/n) and his family.

She paused, looking back at the family, then pointed her icy gaze to (Y/n). “You two couldn’t just leave well enough alone, could you?” The Handler smirked at the distressed boy, as she positioned herself in between him and his wife. “Did you really think I could allow you to take everything from me?”

“I didn’t do anything to you. I did my job, I did my time. I just want to live the rest of my life with my wife.” He glowered at her, as she chuckled.

“Five, tell me, why do you think I had such a vested interest in you and your boring little wife here, in your holy union, hm?” She gestured behind her. He shrugged. “I haven’t the inkiest, enough with the damn riddles, why don’t you fill us all in on why you’re so hell bent on killing us?”

The Handler nonchalantly looked at the gun in her hand, then turned towards (Y/n), cocking it in her direction. “It’s really nothing personal, dear. It’s about your baby. Specifically, the baby that you’re set to have in…oh…” She thought a beat, “four years, give or take. If I eliminate you now, the Apocalypse can resume right on schedule.” The family exhaled a collective gasp.

Klaus laughed, “Well, congratulations to my dear brother and his wife on their non-existent baby. But I have to ask, when did you get in the business of murdering babies?”

“Let me break it down for you. If Five had followed orders, he never would have married (Y/n). (Y/n) would have settled down with….that boring guy, what’s his name? Five would have continued working for the Commission, and everything would have been hunky dory. But the moment he defied his orders, the entire timeline changed. He and (Y/n) had their happily ever after, and eventually, (Y/n) will give birth to a beautiful, bouncing baby girl. Not just a girl though, the most powerful time traveler in history, in any timeline. With the inherited skills of her father, and with the complex ability of their mother to become a big flashing beacon in the space-time continuum, which might I add, didn’t seem like much until we determined Five could find her in ANY timeline under any circumstance, you have a recipe for someone powerful enough to overthrow the entire Commission, namely me. Because this child was born, the entire scenario for the Apocalypse was avoided completely, no matter what variables we changed, infinitely into the future. It just never happens. The only variable that changed was me. My entire life’s work, bypassed, like a bump in the road. The Apocalypse that I deemed absolutely necessary, gone, thanks to a single choice.”

Allison stared at the Handler incredulously. “So what you’re really saying, is you’re too selfish and drunk off power to give it up. Someone more suited to the job, who doesn’t even exist yet, is so much of a threat to you, that you’ll eliminate anyone involved?”

“Well, I was only going to eliminate (Y/n), I don’t particularly enjoy getting my hands messy. There would have been no greater delight than seeing Five suffer for his indiscretions; however, since the whole family is here, I might as well make a day of it.”

Chaos erupted in the expanse of the Umbrella Academy’s living room. (Y/n) wasn’t sure who cast the first stone, but a flurry of bullets began raining down on the Hargreeves family. Diego curved as many of the bullets as he could, as he ushered her towards the hallway. She craned her neck to peer over his shoulder, desperately trying to find Five in the fray, as she was shoved into a bedroom in the hallway, a gun being thrust into her hands by her brother-in-law. In defeat, she pressed herself against the wooden door, trying to hear anything at all, only to be met with the sounds of glass and furniture breaking, guns being fired, indiscernible shouts of her family fighting for their lives.

Gathering her resolve, she crept from the room, unable to stand not knowing what was occurring just beyond the walls. Gun outstretched in front of her, she quietly made her way down the hall, just as all of the fighting abruptly stopped.

“Where the hell did she go?” Vanya hissed, as the family peered around, puzzled. “We had her pinned down?”

Luther cautiously evaluated the rest of the family. “I don’t like this one bit. She wouldn’t just zap out of her, would she?” Allison looked towards the front door, noting the telltale briefcase that sat by the door. “She’s still here somewhere, she couldn’t get out without the briefcase.”

(Y/n) peeked around the corner glancing around at the scene before her. All of the lightbulbs in the room had been mostly shattered and the room was awash with the little light that shone in through the innumerable windows. In the dim light, chairs and tables could be seen upturned and scattered around the room.

“Five?” She called out weakly, in a desperate bid to get his attention. His gaze quickly turned towards her, and a look of terror overtook his features. A loud pop resounded through the space, and a searing pain shot through the center of her chest. Slowly, (Y/n) peered down, noting the slow stream of dark red that stained the front her shirt. Everything started to go black, as Five rushed towards her.

“What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?” He screamed at the Handler who stood smugly behind where (Y/n) had collapsed on the floor. Five removed his blazer and pressed the fabric to her steadily bleeding chest.

“Restoring order, that’s what, Five. Her being alive was a conflict of interest I suppose you could say. I think there’s going to be a little change of plans though, seeing the anguish on your face, I think that’s the best punishment I could ask for.” She glided past the family towards the briefcase, and no one moved.

“(Y/n) please stay with me, stay awake, you’re going to be fine.” Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, as he desperately fumbled with the compress on her chest. Her breath began to slow, as she reached up and pressed a hand to Five’s cheek. Klaus crouched down beside the pair, and placed his hand over Five’s.

“Five, I can feel her leaving. She isn’t going to make it.” Klaus whispered, remorseful. Five stood beside her, the space all around him glowing blue.

“I didn’t come all this way through time just to lose her.” He tightly shut his eyes, and the room began moving slowly in reverse, the Handler moving slowly backwards towards the clandestine hallway. (Y/n)’s crumpled form rose from the spot on the ground, the dark blood receding back into her body, as Five’s nose began bleeding profusely from his efforts. He felt himself weaken, as the scene resumed before him.

“Where the hell did she go?” Vanya hissed, looking towards Five who stood in his new spot near the hallway. “We had her pinned down?”

“She’s in the hallway,” he replied weakly. “She’s going to kill (Y/n). I just….reversed time by just a few minutes. We have to make sure she doesn’t kill her this time.” A moment later, (Y/n) peered around the corner. Five rushed forward with the last bit of strength he had left, pulling her into the living room and shoving her aside as he collapsed on top of her. The Handler revealed herself, looking thoroughly confused. The gun fell to her side. “Well, this is certainly odd. Did our boy just manipulate time here? So much power, so much wasted on a perfectly normal girl.”

Klaus strode forward, fists illuminated. “She’s not perfectly normal, she loves Five and that’s a feat all on its own. The kid’s hard to love, no doubt about that, but she does, and that’s worth saving.” In a flash, a barrage of tentacles burst forth from his chest, and the ghostly figure of Ben could be seen just beyond Klaus’s form. The Horror reached forth, grabbing onto the Handler’s limbs, gruesomely tearing her apart bit by bit. The family looked on in shock at the grisly scene, until there was nothing left of the Handler but a puddle of blood and gore, spewed on the floor and walls.

And just like that, the Handler was gone, ripped apart by otherworldly forces that seeped from Klaus’s body. The family stood, stark-still, covered in entrails, before erupting in fits of laughter. Luther swept Allison up in his arms, her shrieking delightedly. “I can’t believe that’s it. That it was just that easy. Klaus, I think dad might have been wrong about your powers being totally useless.”

Klaus’s hands were still shaking, as he peered down at them in disbelief. “That….bitch. I can’t believe she would have just killed (Y/n) to intentionally cause the Apocalypse. And (Y/n)…” he shot a glance over at her. “I can’t believe you were the key it all along.”

She hadn’t moved. The ringing in her ears had barely subsided, when she pressed her hands into Five’s chest to meet him face to face. His expression was barely readable, save for the telltale upturn of the corners of his mouth. The words came out so soft, the family could barely make it out. “Our baby? The Handler couldn’t handle the idea of being replaced…That’s why. That’s why they warned me we couldn’t be together. Why they tortured me, making me see you be with that asshole over and over again. If we were together, the Apocalypse would never even happen. I really ruined her timeline, didn’t I?” He chuckled, rolling over onto the bloody floor, wiping his nose of his own blood.

Diego walked across the room towards the phone, wiping his knives on his already bloodied pants. Vanya looked at him incredulously. “Diego what on earth are you doing? Is now really time to make a phone call?”

He picked up the phone and dialed quickly. “It is. I’m calling (Y/f/n). Knowing how close we were to the whole world ending, I’m not taking anymore chances.” (Y/n) turned to him, shocked. “You know, she’s been hung up on you for years, Diego. I think everyone deserves a chance at a happy ending, now.” Five stood and stretched his hand down to hers and pulled her up. He carefully snaked his arm around her waist, pressing a chaste kiss on her bare and bloodied shoulder. “Even us, Five.”

He smiled, peering up at her through his dark hair. “Especially us, Mrs. Hargreeves. Especially us.”

Luther lurched over to the liquor cabinet, and sighed. “You know, I know it’s usually Klaus that suggests we start drinking, but I propose we go ahead and pop one of these nice bottles and celebrate tonight.” And they did. Vanya pulled out her violin, creating lively, happy music for the group as they danced and laughed around the living room. Allison stole a not so secret kiss from Luther, and the family loudly teased them, secretly grateful that they were no longer hiding their affections after so many years. Klaus was able to manifest Ben once more, who although he couldn’t drink, still engaged in the party just as much as any living person could. Diego had snuck out quietly sometime after his phone call, and (Y/n) hoped with all hope that he was finally going to apologize for being a such a jerk to her closest friend.

Five had pulled her into what she could only describe as an “awkward middle school style slow dance”, with her arms clasped loosely around his shoulders as they swayed side to side. “You know”, Five started, “my father taught all of us how to ballroom dance as kids.”

(Y/n) laughed, pulling him in a bit closer. “Is there anything you can’t do, Five? You’re remarkable.”

“Well obviously I’m not great at time travel, but I think those days might be behind me. At least, after I figure out how to get my normal body back.” He frowned. “(Y/n), have you considered what we’re going to do if I’m stuck like this? Permanently?”

She considered him for a moment. “Truthfully, no. I hadn’t really considered that to be a possibility. I mean, it would be kind of nice, you’d be able to take care of me when I get old and senile.” He pushed his foot forward and tripped her, easily causing her to lose her balance in her tipsy state . “HEY! Come on, Five, you know I’m kidding. I think…..I think we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it, okay? I love you. I love you no matter what. Even if we can’t really….do the thing normal married people do. It’ll be okay.” She yawned, slowing her movements.

“I admire your persistent optimism. But my wife appears to be growing weary. Want to go relax in the library while I go over some of my old notes?” She nodded, craning down to place her head on his shoulder. “Alright, let’s go.” He gently pulled her arm across the back of his shoulders, and they made their way towards the stairs, calling out their goodnights to the family as they went.

The math was right there all along, in one of his oldest, most worn down notebooks. In disbelief, he reread his notes over and over, and was sure he couldn’t have possibly gotten it wrong. (Y/n) was dozing off in the plush arm chair, and he took a moment to admire her: all of the stress from the impending doom was gone. No tell-tale gunshot wound, no signs of excessive blood-loss. Her shoulders were no longer tense, the space between her eyes no longer creased. A peaceful expression had fallen over her, as though she would be perfectly content to live out her days in that chair with Five’s company, illuminated only by the small lamp in the middle of the table.

He drew a large red circle around the offending equation, and rose from his spot. He peered down at her snoozing form, and ran his hand through her hair. Careful not to wake her, he placed the notebook on the arm of the chair and strode quietly towards the door, knowing what he had to do.

He whispered something softly to himself, towards the empty hallways of the Academy.

The ocean waves were breaking softly along the shore, now littered with seashells after an afternoon rainstorm. The only chaos that remained was the wind that whipped through her hair, now unruly and wild from the rain. She turned around and saw him standing there, frozen in time with a grin on his face. Everything moved in slow motion as she ran towards him, crashing into his embrace. His palms rested on her cheeks, capturing her in a passionate kiss, until a small voice interrupted them.

“Mommy? Daddy?” She turned to peer down at the source of the small voice, to be met by a tiny girl with dark hair and verdant green eyes. Five bent down, finding purchase under the child’s arms, hoisting her to his chest. (Y/n) gingerly kissed the child’s forehead, then pressed another dizzying kiss to Five’s lips. He whispered words against her flesh that she had read so long before, words that were so real, she’s certain she couldn’t have dreamed them. “If something happens, just know I’ll find you eventually. I promise.”

(Y/n) woke with a start, knocking something off the arm of the chair. She slowly reached down, peering down at the foreign numbers and figures, outlined in bold red, then glanced across the room. Five was no longer situated at the table, and she began to panic. The woman leapt from her chair, sprinting down the hallway, shouting at the top of her lungs.

“Five? Five where are you?!” The pounding of her feet and the thundering of her pulse led her straight to his childhood room’s door. Before she could connect with the doorknob, a flash of blue illuminated the space beneath the door, accompanied by the telltale “pop” of her husband attempting some sort of jump. She flung the door open wide, only to be met once again with darkness. The room was empty: Five was gone. Again.

Weeks had passed, maybe even months at this point. (Y/n) wasn’t sure. No longer having the list of dates to guide her now that the Apocalypse had been avoided, she had, for the most part, lost herself in time. She could only assume it was midday, judging by the light that cascaded through the windows. Padding down the halls of their still empty home, she stopped to stare at herself in the bathroom mirror: her eyes had grown weary, and her hair was a matted mess, sticking up in all directions. Gently, she prodded at her ribs, which protruded slightly more than usual, a testament to her terrible diet since Five had…..Disappeared? That didn’t feel like the right word for it. Someone can’t disappear when this is their entire modus operandi. The absences were something she had grown accustomed to, but this time felt entirely different. There was no carefully curated list of dates, handwritten by Five. Nothing to look forward to. Nothing to expect. Not even a “goodbye” or “I’ll see you soon” to soothe her addled brain, only the words echoed in her dream from the note he wrote her as a child.

Starting the shower, she went through the motions. “This is what he would want me to do, right?” She thought to herself. “He would want me to try to be normal. Whatever that means.” Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes. “Come on, don’t cry. You cried it all out the first week. You’re too dehydrated to cry anymore.” Throwing her clothes haphazardly across the bathroom, she climbed into the shower.

And there she sat. She sat on the floor of the walk-in shower until the water ran cold. When she finally collected herself from the floor and wrapped herself in an oversized towel, she could have sworn she caught the wafting scent of coffee, but she waved it off as wishful thinking. (Y/n) glided towards the kitchen, a towel-clad phantom of a person haunting her home. Just beyond the threshold, she stopped dead in her tracks. A full pot of coffee sat brewed on the countertop, steam floating towards to ceiling. For a moment her breath left her lungs. Clutching her towel to her tightly, she raced towards the living room where Five Hargreeves, looking about fifteen years older than their last encounter, sat on the couch. The moment he laid eyes on her, he moved towards her as fast as his legs would carry him, stopping short as he saw her chest heaving in what he could only assume to be rage.

“I can explain. I can explain everything.” Five spoke calmly, as though he were trying to persuade an animal to not attack him. “I had the equations right years ago, I just didn’t realize it before. I was such a cocky asshole kid back then. I knew I could make this jump, it had to be just the right moment in time to get it perfect, to get me back to my normal body. Back to you.”

“Are you….Are you really home? For good? Just like this?” Her breathing was still erratic, knuckles turning with how tightly she squeezed the towel.

“For good.” He nodded, taking a step closer.

“And no more big jumps? No more accidentally getting stuck in the wrong body?”

“Nope. No more Commission. No more assassinations. I think it’s time to grow old…again. The right way.” He reached towards her, his palms resting on her shoulders.

“And what’s the right way, Five?” She closed her eyes, relishing in the warmth of his hands.

“Together. With you.”

She moved so quickly Five was afraid he may not be able to grab her in time. She darted forward, throwing her arms and legs around him, nearly knocking him to the ground. He supported her weight and held her flush against him. A sob erupted from her against the side of his neck. “Promise me, Five. Promise you won’t ever leave me like that again. I was so scared you were gone. For good. That you would be lost and I would have no idea.” She grabbed his face, kissing him in earnest over and over, her lips salty from the broken dam of tears that ran down her face. “God, I never want to stop kissing you. It feels like I haven’t been able to in ages.”

Five felt his emotions getting the better of him, and thought for a moment that he may cry. “You know I was always going to make it back to you. My lighthouse.” He smiled against her kiss, returning it with equal fervor.

“Take me to bed, Five. I think we need to make up for lost time, no pun intended.”

#fivehargreevesxreader fivehargreeves #the umbrella academy #tua #romance #angst

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hartigays · 4 years

Note

81 for Harringrove please?

81. “Here’s my number, call me some time.”

steve is really fucking drunk.

he probably should’ve planned better, considering he drove here. but hey, hindsight is 20/20, or whatever the fuck they say.

tommy’s having one last blowout before everyone takes off for college. everyone except for steve, that is. he’ll still be moseying around this nightmare of a town come august, working for his father.

if that’s part of the reason why steve has downed half a bottle of whiskey in the last hour and a half, well. no one needs to know other than himself.

the other reason - the somehow bigger reason - is rather basic, really.

being in love is a bitch. plain and simple.

and quite frankly, calls for a night of a heavy drinking every now and then. or every other night, which has been steve’s philosophy as of late.

because honestly, watching billy shove his tongue down another girl’s throat right here in the middle of tommy’s living room is less than ideal. it’s even less than ideal when he does it in the middle of family video, like he knows that steve is there, knows that steve’s eyes will always be on him anytime he’s around.

like it’s some kind of fucking test, constantly gauging steve’s reaction.

which, realistically, is a little ridiculous. billy hargrove has made it very clear what his feelings are towards steve.

steve just so happens to be the unbelievable dumbass who somehow fell for him anyway.

it’s not like billy has ever even been like, remotely nice to him. maybe he’d stuck up for steve once or twice, when tommy stooped a little too low in his effort to pick on him as often as possible, but other than that? billy might as well just write i hate you across steve’s forehead in permanent marker.

that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, if steve really thinks about it. maybe then he’d be constantly reminded to forget this strange obsession he’s developed for hawkins’ resident bad boy.

steve really doesn’t know how, or why, his attraction to billy even came to be. nor does he really even remember when. he’d just looked over one day, towards the end of the school year, and found himself looking at billy right as he tossed his head back, laughing loud and boisterous at something someone had said.

and it was just like, there he was. there this whole time, but steve had never really seen him. not until then.

a small thing, really. but it was enough.

steve’s affections grew, day by day, with every passing glance, every accidental touch during basketball, in every insult tossed his way that slowly started to become softer around the edges.

or maybe steve himself just became soft around the edges. soft and mushy emotions filling him up every time billy speaks to him, even when it’s words that are meant to hurt him.

steve takes another long swig from the bottle. feels the room tilt a little, feels that familiar burn in his gut.

he’s really fucking thankful that the bathroom happened to be free at this precise moment.

he unloads the contents of his stomach immediately after stumbling inside, shutting the door behind him clumsily.

steve recognizes that he probably should’ve eaten more today. but again, hindsight.

a pitiful groan escapes his lips as another round of wretching begins. his stomach rejects all the alcohol that steve has forced into it, until he’s just dry heaving over the toilet bowl.

hawkins high school’s former king. if they could only see him now, broken-hearted and dangerously intoxicated, his cheek resting on tommy h.’s fucking toilet seat as his stomach makes it its personal mission to destroy him.

“jesus, harrington. think you’ve had enough?”

every hair on steve’s body stands on end. he lifts his head, looking up at billy through wet lashes. his eyes must’ve been watering, but it hadn’t really registered in his mind until he looked at something other than the inside of the toilet bowl.

steve can’t keep his head up for long. just long enough to see billy eyeing the now mostly empty bottle of whiskey on the bathroom counter, before glancing back at him.

“fuck off. can’t you see i’m busy?”

billy snorts. steve squeezes his eyes shut, willing billy away with his mind.

it doesn’t work.

there’s a long stretch of silence, and for a moment steve thinks billy might’ve actually left. but then he hears the sink turn on, and the sound of billy rummaging through the cabinet beneath the sink.

then, steve nearly leaps out of his own skin in surprise. because billy places something ice cold and wet on the back of his neck without so much as a warning.

“hey, hey. it’s just a wet rag,” billy tells him. steve feels his other hand resting on his bicep, warm and heavy. “don’t shit your pants. if you haven’t already.”

“fuck you,” steve groans again, but doesn’t make any move to shove billy away.

truth is, the cold actually feels pretty damn good once steve gets used to it. or maybe it’s just the grounding weight of billy’s skin resting against his.

“here, sit up,” billy says, his voice gentler than steve has ever heard it. “come on, harrington, we don’t got all day here.”

steve makes a soft noise of protest when billy tugs at him until he’s sitting upright. his stomach churns, still queasy and full of alcohol.

billy puts a glass of water up to his lips, coaxing him to drink. watches him carefully, his brows furrowed and his blue eyes full of, what - concern?

he must be imagining things. again.

“ugh.” steve bats away the water glass, his face screwing up in displeasure once his stomach begins to turn unpleasantly.

billy just snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. puts the glass back up to his lips, gesturing for him to drink again. “nuh-uh. all of it, come on.”

steve glares at him. wants to tell him to fuck off again, to let him vomit up the contents of his stomach in peace.

he complies anyway.

“i’ll take you home,” billy offers once steve polishes off the water, setting the cup on the edge of the bathtub. “think you can walk?”

steve tries, he really does. but billy ends up nearly carrying him halfway to the camaro, supporting most of his weight.

the camaro feels cozy and warm once steve is tucked safely inside. but it smells overwhelmingly like billy - something like cigarettes and cologne and hairspray, with an undercurrent of something so uniquely billy that steve is pretty sure he won’t be able to live without after this moment.

the drive is mostly silent, until they pull up to steve’s parents’ big, empty house. until billy practically carries him inside again, up the stairs and into his room, where he then deposits him onto the bed.

“roll onto your side,” billy orders. huffs out a laugh when steve just rolls onto his stomach, smushing his face into his pillow. “you’re a fuckin’ pain in the ass, you know that?”

steve finally rolls onto his side, peering up at billy. “i might’ve been told once or twice.”

billy rolls his eyes. if he’s trying to come off as annoyed, it doesn’t work. it just looks endearing.

something warm and fuzzy blossoms in the pit of steve’s stomach.

“if i leave you here, do you promise not to choke on your own puke?” billy asks, arching a brow.

steve shrugs. “maybe.”

“that’s not very promising,” billy points out. shakes his head a little, like he’s had it up to here with steve’s antics.

steve just watches him through lidded eyes. billy looks like he’s about to turn to leave, before he pauses. he looks back down at him, chewing on his lip.

then, he leans down, pulling the covers over steve, taking his sweet time tucking him carefully into bed. when he’s finished, he hesitates again. before moving to tuck a lock of steve’s hair behind his ear, his cheeks tinged pink.

“i ever catch you drinking like that again, i’m gonna kick your ass.”

steve rolls his eyes, but cracks a small smile. it turns sad rather quickly, when he remembers why he’d been drinking like a monster in the first place.

“you wouldn’t stop kissing her,” steve says, before he can stop himself.

billy freezes. looks down at him with wide eyes, before hesitantly sitting on the edge of his bed.

“what?”

steve takes a deep breath, his cheeks burning. but the alcohol is still coursing through him, effectively skewing his judgment.

but he’s also just kind of fucking tired of all the bullshit.

“annie walker,” steve clarifies. “you were kissing her all night. you’re always kissing someone. but it’s - it’s never me.”

billy gives him this look, like he’s not sure if steve fully knows what he’s saying. “i think you’re just drunk, harrington.”

“i think that’s just a stupid excuse. i’m tired of excuses. i want it to be me. i want to be the one you want.”

a long stretch of silence, blue eyes burning into his with a scorching intensity. and then, “who says you’re not?”

“you say i’m not, every time you’re around me. you’ve always got some dumb girl’s tongue down your throat,” steve says, bitter.

“that’s - it’s not what you think.”

“oh yeah? then what? what’s that all about?” he asks, impatient. wanting billy to just fucking break it down for him already.

billy sighs, glancing up at the ceiling. looks back at him a moment later, tentatively reaching out and combing steve’s hair from his forehead. then says, simple and soft, “keeping up appearances.”

steve’s mind goes completely blank.

because, okay. it makes a lot more sense than steve was hoping it would. he kind of just wants to be mad, but. he gets it. and he’s not quite sure what to do with that.

“oh,” is all steve can come up with.

“yeah, oh.” billy gives him a goofy smile, a look steve has never seen on him but now that he has, he’s pretty sure he’ll need to see that look every day for the rest of his life just to feel happy.

billy stays silent for a beat, before standing up and crossing the room. grabs a piece of paper from steve’s desk, scribbling something onto it before walking back over. puts the paper on steve’s nightstand, right next to the bed.

“let’s talk about this tomorrow, yeah? you need to sleep this off,” billy suggests, his voice soft and small, even in the quiet of steve’s bedroom. “here’s the number to my new place. call me sometime? i’m, uh. i’m free all day.”

steve looks up at him with big eyes, before giving him a hopeful smile. “yeah?”

billy, only hesitating a moment, leans down and brushes his lips across steve’s forehead.

“yeah. get some sleep. i’ll - um. i’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

steve just nods, then watches billy walk across the room. he gives steve one last long look before disappearing out the door. steve hears the front door open and shut a moment later.

the next day, he buzzes around the house, occupying his body and mind with an endless list of chores. doing anything he can to avoid looking at the phone.

because he’d woken up feeling like death warmed over, remembering the night’s events with startling clarity. and the more he remembers, the more he worries that billy himself had just been drunk off his ass, making spur of the moment decisions in his impaired state.

when steve finally nuts up and picks up the phone, his stomach churns unpleasantly. he tries to blame it on the hangover, rather than his anxiety over billy potentially not picking up the phone. but in the end, all his worrying was for nothing.

because billy picks up on the third ring, his voice laced with excitement when he speaks.

“thought you’d never call, pretty boy.”

send me a number + a pairing!

#thank you for the request lovely!!! 💕#harringrove #my fics #ask #anon

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swan--writes · 4 years

Text

Jealousy

I will get to my asks soon, but this has been sitting in my docs for about a week and I wanted to finish it up! I wanted to see what would happen with someone who sees Beetlejuice’s possessive and jealous tendencies and his trust issues escalating and who isn’t having it. Honestly, this might be the most Me thing I’ve written in a long time.

Warnings: possessiveness, hot kissing, violence, like a lot of violence, some stabbing, some nail guns, a defenestration, just so much violence you guys, but surprisingly not much blood, cursing

So, here’s the thing:

You would be the first to admit that Beetlejuice could be a bit on the possessive side. He was jealous of your coworkers, your newer friends, your oldest friends. From the moment you first summoned him, you could scarcely go anywhere without feeling ghostly fingers tapping at your back. At the grocery store, you had the sneaking sense that he hung off the end of your shopping cart. In line at your usual café, you felt him providing an invisible buffer between you and whoever happened to be waiting behind you. And hell help you if you tried to go to a bar with your friends.

You could always tell when someone he deemed threateningly attractive walked past the table. Before you realized what was happening, a vice-like cold patch would crop up on your inner thigh. Without fail, every time this happened there would be a crash several feet away, and whichever poor soul had strayed too close would be picking glass shards from the newly stained area of their clothes.

On the up side, the frequency of this meant you knew Beetlejuice’s type. Still, it was a problem.

And then there was the dress code. On the night you finally decided you couldn’t take it anymore, you were trying your best to leave the house. Your demon did not want you to.

“Y/N, we’ve talked about this.” Already, you could hear the restraint in Beetlejuice’s voice cracking.

“No, you ranted about this, and I listened because I didn’t want to fight.” You kept your tone steady, but with a note of finality.

He had been following you around your apartment, watching you get ready for a night out. You had asked him not follow you out after your last night out, and he had agreed. Just like the time before that. And the time before that. You had long since given up on having that argument, and you didn’t like arguing with him much to begin with. You knew he wouldn’t leave you, he didn’t like the Netherworld much. And you hated leaving things unfinished, which meant that one of you always had to win whatever the disagreement happened to be.

The trouble was that fighting with Beetlejuice had become so easy lately. The demon had a pile of trust issues, and a temper to match. You were determined, however, that you were going to win this one. Unfortunately, Beetlejuice was determined that he was going to win.

“I don’t want you going out looking like some goddamn free snack for any breather to sink their teeth into!”

“Good thing I’m not dressing for them then, huh? Why can’t you just tell me I look hot and leave it there?”

Frankly, you did look hot and Beetlejuice was highly aware of it. Your arm cuffs shone, standing in contrast to the soft skin of your arms. Your crop top was snug around your waist and the glitter you had dusted across your chest was subtle – tasteful rather than cheap. With every step you took around the apartment, the heels of your boots came down on the laminate flooring with a noise that said ‘I will step on you, and you will like it.’ And good Lord, he would.

Him and just about everyone at the concert you were going to. That was the problem.

“If you’re not dressing for them, why are you wearing your fuck me shirt?”

“Any shirt can be a fuck me shirt!”

He followed you into the kitchen and gripped the back of a chair while you shoved your arms into your sweater. “Good point! Guess you’re staying home.”

“For a guy who’s so precious about freedom, you really hate when anyone has it who isn’t you, don’t you?”

“Only when that person is mine!”

You rounded on him immediately. “Oh, I know you didn’t say that. Because you know I belong to myself, right?” You saw a spark of doubt – almost fear – light in his eyes, but his hair was such a bright crimson that you knew he wasn’t going to back down.

He stared at you with an intensity you rarely saw, and his teeth were sharper now when he spoke. “You’re shacking up with a demon, babes. You really think you don’t belong to me?”

“Oh my God, this isn’t about you being a demon!” At any other time you would have been nervous, but by this point, you were barely in control of your words. “This is about you having trust issues and thinking I’ll hook up with someone who doesn’t have lichen clinging to their hairline! Jesus Christ, Beetlejuice, how many times to I have to tell you that that isn’t gonna happen?” Finally – finally – Beetlejuice looked staggered. There was silence for a moment. Shaking your head, you moved for the door, grumbling “I won’t be back too late.” Then, Beetlejuice did something very stupid.

He blocked the door.

With only a dim thought, you lunged for the counter. The first thing your hand landed on was a long, sharp boning knife. He’s already dead. Clinging to that dim thought, you turned to face Beetlejuice, shifted the knife in your grip, and shoved it underneath his chin and up through his mouth, his nasal cavity, and into his brain. He’s already dead. You felt the tip of the knife scrape against his skull. Already dead.

The groan of exertion you made rung through the kitchen, the only sound now. Beetlejuice was stunned. Or so you assumed. There are only so many expressions one can make with a knife through their head. You didn’t wait to find out what it was. You wiped your hand on his back as you rushed out the door.

To your muted surprise, your mind was blank as you drove to meet your friends. You had a drink at your favorite bar, you walked together to the venue just a few streets over, and you managed to enjoy the concert. All in all, a successful night. You laughed, you drank, you took selfies that you would later regret, you even cried at that one song. You always cried at that one song. The whole time, you were totally serene. Maybe it was the knowing that you hadn’t really hurt Beetlejuice, or the feeling of complete justification. The lingering high from the righteousness coursing through you when you stabbed him. Anyway, you knew that Lydia and the Maitlands had decapitated him a few April Fools’ Days ago, so chances were that the demon probably liked it.

As soon as you pulled into your parking space at home, your hands started shaking.

At first, you were confused. You had been so confident just moments earlier. Now you could feel the cold dread sitting in your stomach. But your body seemed to move without consulting you, opening your car door and shutting it behind you, walking up to your side of the duplex as calmly as ever, and slipping right inside. Beetlejuice never locked the door when he was home. Once, a few weeks earlier, you had asked Beetlejuice to possess you, just to see what it was like. You knew how it felt, and you knew this wasn’t it. Still, you felt detached. Frightened.

You closed the door behind you as quietly as you could. Then, slowly, you walked through the kitchen. It was spotless. There had been dark blood (ectoplasm?) when you left, you were sure of it. You had washed your hands since leaving, and there were still dark crescents under your nails. But you saw nothing on the floor, nor the table or the chairs. More than that, the counters were clear, there were no dishes in the sink, and both of the dishtowels were hanging neatly on their designated hooks. That wasn’t how you had left your kitchen – it hardly ever was. The only thing out of place was the long, sharp boning knife on the dish drying rack, winking at you under the exposed fluorescent light.

Rather than investigate the living room, you drifted over to the knife. You lifted it to inspect it in the light. Both sides of the blade were gleaming, and it appeared as sharp as ever. The tip was thankfully intact. When you turned it over, however, you felt something under your thumb. Upon closer inspection, you saw what looked like a small letter B marked into the handle. It had to be deliberate – you took excellent care of your knives.

“Hey there, dollface,” came a low voice at your ear. The arms that wrapped around your exposed waist were cool, but the breath on your neck was hotter than hell. You gasped and tried to whip around, but those arms held you fast. “Easy, babes, it’s just me.”

Beetlejuice had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. His cold flesh was pressed tightly against your stomach, pinning you against him. You could feel every inch of his torso on your back. He nuzzled into your neck. A haze was invading your mind, though you suspected there was nothing supernatural about it.

“It’s late.”

“Sorry, I didn’t–”

“You wanted to belong to yourself,” he growled.

You tried to keep your head from lolling back onto his shoulder. “I wanted–”

“You do to belong to yourself.”

In an instant, your mind cleared.

“What?” He still wouldn’t let you turn around, and you felt his lips curving into a smirk against your neck. Now he had your full, prompt attention.

“But I need you too, baby.” There was a neediness in his tone. But unlike his usual, pained neediness, this was hot. Demanding. Beetlejuice bit down on your neck. You hissed. If it were at all possible, his arms tightened further.

You stopped trying to turn. In a spark of creativity, you ducked out of them instead. He let you, not expecting your sudden drop. Seconds later, you had turned and risen, slipping through his still encircled arms so you could face him.

“Then stop trying to take me, sugar.” You threw an arm up over his shoulder. His eyes were flashing golden in the light and his hair was streaked with the brightest magenta you had ever seen.

“That was some move you pulled, stabbing me in the face.”

“Technically, I stabbed you under the face.”

“Hate to damage these features.”

“Of course.”

“I need you, babes.”

“Ask nicely.”

Now it was your turn to kiss his neck. Your lips ghosted over the sensitive skin, your teeth nipped at the column of his throat, you smiled at the sounds he made when he realized you were taking control.

“Make me,” he said. You raised yourself a few inches on your toes to look Beetlejuice straight in the eye.

Saying nothing, you shoved him backward, grabbed his now free hand, slammed it onto the counter behind him, and stabbed right through it with the boning knife you were still holding. He cried out, but recovered quickly. When his gaze returned to you, he didn’t seem to be in pain. He almost seemed in awe of you.

“Looks like I’ve created myself a monster.”

You smiled at him, nearing his lips. “Honey, I’m shacking up with a demon. I was already a monster.”

Honestly, you shouldn’t have been surprised that Beetlejuice would enjoy something as objectively unsexy as murder. But after that night, every time he tried to keep you from leaving the apartment or said something a little too possessive, you stabbed him with the nearest sharp object. It might have passed for a casual occurrence, except that he gave you a show every time you did it, staggering away from you, performing death monologues more eloquent than you would have thought him capable of, forcing you to drag him from whichever inconvenient spot he had chosen to fall onto.

You stabbed him with the same boning knife a few times – in the chest, in the eye, in the chest again, but on the other side. After the fourth time, it started to feel like a stale bit. The next time you ‘killed’ him, you were helping the owner of the duplex build a shelf. The owner lived on the other side of your duplex and, because she was your landlady, you could hardly say no to helping her. So, bright and early on a Saturday morning, you were in the small backyard wearing overalls with a sports bra and carrying a nail gun.

About an hour into the project, your landlady went inside to get drinks. You heard Beetlejuice before you saw him.

“Hey, nice bra, sweet cheeks.”

You rolled your eyes. “Good morning to you too,” you muttered, mindful that no passers-by could see the demon at your elbow.

“Don’t remember you saying goodbye on your way out this morning. Afraid I’d make you change?”

“As if you could make me do anything.”

“Maybe, but I could certainly make your landlady’s son stop staring at you through that window.” You didn’t bother to look. Actually, you froze. This was almost certainly not an idle threat. Since your landlady’s son lived in the duplex, and the duplex was technically one house, it probably wouldn’t be any trouble at all for Beetlejuice to simply float through the wall and onto their side.

“Don’t you dare,” you breathed.

“Hey, he’s the one who’s staring, and if you’re not gonna put a shirt on, then I’ll just have to–”

The nail in his forehead choked off his sentence.

“Y/N, is everything alright?” your landlady asked, walking down the steps at the back of the duplex.

“Oh, yeah.” You fought the urge to watch Beetlejuice keel over beside you, or to talk over the sound of him thudding to the ground. You cleared your throat. “Everything’s fine.”

You took a sip of your drink and tried not to laugh at the demon’s lame croak.

The next time you felt the urge to ‘kill’ your demon was couple weeks later. This time, you were at the Maitland-Deetzes. You had noticed that Beetlejuice’s body did not react normally to being stabbed. Unlike the helpful videos shown in your classes at mortuary school, his blood did not spurt from the wound, and it was generally helpful to remove whatever you had stabbed him with. Normally, there would be a thick dribble of something black and vaguely gelatinous and, depending on where you stabbed him, it might leak onto your hand.

Neither the Maitlands nor the Deetzes would stand for that. Well, Lydia might. It wasn’t so much the violence, though you suspected Delia was somewhat opposed to it. Their issue would more be with the cause of the violence. Demon-stabbing was not an appropriate response to Beetlejuice’s possessiveness, even you knew that. Really, what needed to happen was an open and honest conversation between you about his jealousy and where all those feelings were rooted. You had mentioned the first time that he had trust issues, and both of you knew it was true. Still, you didn’t feel quite ready for that.

You also weren’t about to stab Beetlejuice with the pocket knife he had given you for your birthday on the Maitlands’ nice clean attic floor. But once he started, you knew you had to do something.

“C’mon Maitlands, you know I’m just kiddin’!” Beetlejuice waved them off. You weren’t entirely sure what he had done, you had been looking through some scrap wood by the attic door. You were sure it was something appropriately lecherous for the demon, though not so offensive that the Maitlands couldn’t brush it off.

“Of course you are, Beej,” said Barbara, rolling her eyes.

Beetlejuice feigned insult. “I’ll have you know that I would never be untrue to this woman.” Before you had fully straightened beside the scrap wood, you found yourself being squeezed into Beetlejuice’s side. “Even if she does insist on flirting with the UPS guy.”

“I do not flirt with the UPS guy.” Your tone was playful, but you were watching him warily.

He laughed. “Yeah, right. Hey, Mr. Post Man!” Damn him and his perfect impression of you. “Have you got some packages for me to sign? Oh, Mr. Post Man, you’re such a hard worker. Ooh, ooh, Mr. Post Man! Thank goodness you’re here, I’ve just been dying to try a new–” You shoved him backwards. “Hey, whoa-whoa! Tell my story!”

Faintly, you wondered why the attic window had been open. Barbara and Adam could not feel or really smell the fresh air. Maybe they had done it for you. How thoughtful.

“Y/N!”

“What?” You shrugged. The Maitlands bustled past you to look down at the demon you had just pushed through their window. You didn’t bother to look, knowing he would be back in just a few moments, probably praising your ingenuity as he had when you stabbed him with your landlady’s nail gun.

Barbara turned back to you and sighed. “Y/N, you guys need to talk about this.”

“Why? I’ve never thrown him out a window before, but I’m sure he’ll tell me if he likes it.”

“Wait, you–?”

Adam came to his shocked wife’s side and finished her thought for her. “You mean this isn’t the first time you’ve solved a problem with violence?”

You raised your eyebrows, truly not understanding why they were looking at you as though you had really murdered someone. Hadn’t Lydia stabbed him a few years ago, and actually killed him?

Though, you supposed, he did deserve it for marrying a fifteen year-old, even if it was a business arrangement.

“And he likes it sometimes?” Barbara’s voice was pitching upward, and you raised a placating hand.

“Barbara, he’s a demon. He’s into some weird stuff,” you explained.

“But what about the reasons you’re fighting? Don’t you think you should work that out?” Adam pressed.

“Nah.” Beetlejuice floated in easily through the window, right over to you. His feet dropped to the floor and he faced the Maitlands with you, flinging an arm around your shoulders and leaning on you heavily. You staggered under his weight for a moment, but recovered quickly and wrapped an arm around his waist, taking the hand he had on your shoulder with your free hand. “We’re working it out just fine, aren’t we babes?”

You gave him a serene smile, knowing he would see the smugness behind it. “You know it.” The Maitlands, openly staring at you in clear disbelief, shook their heads.

Yo, I made reader and OC. Here she is. Nobody wanted this.

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deansmyapplepie · 4 years

Text

Reckless Abandon

Pairing: none

Tags: angst, arguing, Dean is an asshole, angry!Dean

Word Count: 1,419

(Gif not mine)

"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean yelled. Gnashing your teeth together, you threw your gun into the trunk and slammed it shut. You were seriously not in the mood right now.

"I saved his life!" Dean grabbed your arm roughly and wrenched you around to face him. "Get off of me," you growled lowly, dangerously. When his grip loosened, you pulled away.

"That was way too damn risky, Y/N, don't you know that?" Dean continued. "What if you hit him instead, huh?" You and Dean were both stubborn as hell; you knew that. If you kept going at it like this, you would be fighting tooth and nail until one of you passed out.

"I don't know what else you want me to say, Dean," you said in your best calm voice as you climbed into the Impala. "There was an open shot, so I took it. And guess what? I saved a kid's life." Shaking his head, the oldest Winchester yanked his door closed a little harder than necessary.

"You missed his head with that bullet by a hair!" he continued. "A hair! You almost killed him!"

"But I didn't!" you shot back. Dean let out an irritated growl and turned the keys in the ignition, tearing off into the night.

"You see, this is your problem, you know that? You don't focus on the parts that could get someone else killed. You only focus on the parts that make you look like a damn hero! You're a shit hunter, Y/N. No real hunter would risk an innocent kid's life like that!" Oh, fuck this. If he was going to hit you where it hurt, there was no way in hell you were going to just sit there and take it.

"Don't you dare," you seethed, enunciating every word. "Don't you dare talk to me like that. Who the hell do you think you are? You think I call the hard shots so I can look like a hero? Screw you, Dean!" You could've sworn he flinched. You had never spoken to him like this before, and he was floored. "I'm just trying to save as many lives as I can before my ass gets killed in this crazy life we decided to live. Save the world one innocent life at a time. That's our job, right? I'm trying to do what's right for everybody involved. So, you listen to me, Winchester, and you listen good. I wouldn't have taken that shot if I thought it would've killed him. It was either I pulled the trigger, or he got his damn throat slit by that bastard. Yes, it was risky," you admitted fiercely, "but what isn't? Now, I know you don't like me, and quite frankly, I have absolutely no idea what I did to make you hate me so damn much, but I refuse to sit here and let you talk to me like I'm just some stupid hunter who gets in your way all the time. Do you even remember how we met?" Dean's knuckles went white on the steering wheel. "I could've let your ass to die in that vamp nest. You were out cold, bleeding out, and had three of those sons of bitches crowded around you. I didn't have to help you!" you snapped. The car went quiet for a brief moment as you allowed yourself to catch your breath. "But I did. Do you know why? Because I'm not some heartless monster, Dean. I see someone that needs my help, you bet your ass I'm gonna help them." You glared at him. "Even if it turns out that they still treat me like shit. That's the difference between me and those things that we hunt. And we hunt them together. I may not be the best out there, but I am damn good at what I do. But maybe you're so caught up in your ego you think the only good hunters in the world are you and Sam." Dean slammed on the brakes hard, and you had to brace yourself against the dashboard. You could feel the fury rolling off of him in waves as he stormed out of the car. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" you demanded, throwing the door open angrily.

"I'm taking a walk, for Christ's sake!" he snarled over his shoulder. You scoffed loudly.

"Oh, what, you just want me to wait here for you in the car while you go listen to the sounds of nature and 'find yourself?' Hell no. I'm coming with you." You grabbed your jacket from the passenger's seat and pulled the keys from the ignition, making sure to lock the doors behind you. Dean sighed heavily and stopped in his tracks as you approached.

"I didn't say you had to wait in the car for me," he grumbled, scuffing his boot into the gravel road. "You could've driven back to the bunker or something." You rolled your eyes. He always had been a drama queen.

"And let you walk for three hours to get back? We're in the middle of nowhere, Dean. Pass. If your ass got lost or killed on my watch, something tells me your brother wouldn't be very happy." Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and sighed again.

"So, that's what this is. You're just babysitting me for Sam." You shook your head.

"I never said that."

"Sure what it sounded like."

"Jesus Christ, Dean!" you exclaimed, exasperated. "Like I said, I know you hate me, but I never said I hated you. Or that I didn't care about you, for that matter. I mean, yeah, you drive me up the fucking wall sometimes-" Dean snorted. "-but that doesn't mean I want to see you hurt."

"Yeah, where'd you get that idea anyway?" Dean asked. You looked over at him in confusion, his breaths coming out in little puffs in the cold air.

"What?" you asked. He shrugged.

"That I hate you," he stated as if the answer was obvious. "I never said that either." You allowed your shoulders to sag.

"You didn't have to." Dean ran a hand through his hair and finally turned to face you.

"Look, Y/N," he began, "I ain't good at this touchy-feely crap, okay? But I'm gonna try." He licked his lips thoughtfully, much to your amusement.

"Don't hurt yourself," you mused sarcastically, earning a scowl. As Dean rolled his shoulders, you had to keep your eyes from widening. He looked... nervous? What the hell?

"The stuff I said back there... I didn't really mean any of that. You're not a shit hunter. Hell, you're one of the best I've seen." You frowned at him, confused.

"Well, then why did you say that?" Dean looked away.

"Y/N, I've killed people because of a reckless decision. Innocent people. And the guilt that comes with that?" He blinked away the ghost of a troubling memory. "It can kill you," he warned. "I've seen it before. Hell, I live with it every day." You swallowed hard. You hadn't been expecting to talk about this, but it seemed like the right time to finally bring it up.

"I know," you agreed. "I had a sister." Dean's eyebrows went up.

"I didn't know that."

"You never asked," you pointed out. He opened his mouth to say something, but you held up a hand to stop him. "It's okay," you reassured. "I don't really like to talk about it anyway." Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes for a brief moment. There was no going back now. "We hunted together for a couple years," you explained. "We were really close. She was my best friend. We followed a case in Ohio. Demon. I was reckless, and I got too close. He had a blade... she jumped in front of me." Not even the crickets dared to make a noise as you let out a shaky breath, fighting back tears. "I've, ah, never told anyone that story before." Much to your surprise, Dean Winchester took your hand and gave it a small squeeze.

"I guess there's a lot we don't know about each other," he said. You nodded.

"Yeah."

"What do you say we start over?" A small smile had the corners of your mouth quirking up.

"I'd like that a lot," you nodded.

"Good." Dean gave you another squeeze before releasing your hand and reaching into your jacket pocket for his car keys. "Me too. C'mon," he urged gently. "Let's go home."

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